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Fic: Noon As Dark, 1/?
Title: Noon As Dark
Authors:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
beanside & nilchance
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Never happened. Never will.
A/N: Companion piece to my wife's Dawn-verse Jeremy and Zach's story, circa 2004.
They wait a week after they cut his fourth child from his womb before they come for number 34. Not like he wasn't expecting it. After the child punched its way through his uterine wall, they'd sterilized him. Officially, he's male now, never mind the leaking (aching, longing) breasts that mark him as "other." Officially, he's useless. 34 died in childbirth. He wonders why they bothered to save him for the incinerator.
He's moderately surprised when they shuffle him into a van and start driving, but it makes sense. Don't want the public to see this part of the breeder program. Then they pull to a stop and shove him out onto a familiar dirt road, with a familiar house.
Fuck. The fetus must have died.
34 feels dim sorrow at that, an ache like the emptiness inside him. Jeremy, his donor, had been more than kind during his stay. Even if he'd spent the better part of 34's time there higher than a kite, he'd always been gentle, and always had made sure that 34 felt pleasure during their matings. 34 guessed that Jeremy has requested to take out his grief on the breeder who produced the faulty child, 34 can't blame him.
Jeremy had been so pleased when he'd become pregnant.
Jeremy is standing by the front door. Waiting. His eyes tick up, following the van, and his mouth thins. "They could've pulled up the drive. Assholes."
Steeling his will, 34 shuffles forward, head low. "I apologize," he murmurs. Maybe Jeremy will make it quick if he's polite. "My sympathy for your loss."
"What?" Jeremy seems confused. "The baby? No, she's fine."
34 blinks. His eyes feel sticky. Pain medication; the hours blur together into one long smear. "Why am I here, then?"
Jeremy puts his head against the doorframe. He's got a cloth slung over his shoulder. He looks good. Tired. Sad eyes. "I requested you, Zach."
Zach. The word sounds familiar, but meaningless. "She?"
"Our daughter," Jeremy says, gently. "They've got you all fucked up, don't they?"
Our. Another meaningless word. Breeders owned nothing. Had nothing. Were nothing. 34 rubs his eyes. "A girl."
"Come inside," Jeremy says, holding out his hand. When 34 doesn't move, Jeremy takes hold of him like he's a child and guides him in.
The house isn't any different than 34 remembered, except for the half folded stack of clean diapers on the table. Jeremy settles him on the sofa, and sits onto the coffee table.
"Zach," Jeremy repeats. "That's your name. Zachariah Selwyn."
"Zachariah." The word burns 34's throat, somehow. He remembers that name. His grandmother's clear high voice calling him in for dinner. He remembers the disappointment and the fear in her when he'd first gone into heat. Heat--
(Jeremy holds him together, bodies sliding in sweat, the pressure of Jeremy's eyes. The friction, the burn of it, the hunger. Feeling the slick hot spill of Jeremy inside him, hot like fever, hot as the way Jeremy pants down at him and smiles his crooked smile.)
"Zach."
He looks up at Jeremy, stomach aching in a way that has nothing to do with staples. His mind wanders. Always dangerous.
Moving slowly, he slides off the sofa, kneeling in front of Jeremy and palming him through the thin sweatpants.
"What're you--" Eyes widening, Jeremy pulls away from him. "No-"
"You can fuck me if you prefer," 34 says. His throat hurts. "I would suggest that you put down plastic, in case a staple pops-"
"Zach--"
"Stop saying that," he spat. "Zachariah Selwyn is dead. I don't want to be him. I don't want-"
Has it ever mattered?
34 gestures, anger bubbling up. "I can't be him!" His hand bumps the lamp, sending it flying. At the crash, a wail rises from the other room. The baby. Jeremy's baby. The faint, fluttering life that had stirred and hummed in 34's belly, the scalpel ache scar left when they took her away. They take everything away, eventually.
Jeremy looks stricken, glancing between the door and 34. Torn.
"Go," 34 says dully, the anger draining away. "Go get your daughter."
Jeremy ought to rage at him. He ought to do something. Instead he bends down and pulls 34 up like he doesn't weigh a thing, like he's as hollow as he feels, and puts him back on the couch. He touches 34's face, his stubble, the vulnerable places under his eyes. 34 doesn't flinch.
"Okay," Jeremy says, quiet. He pulls a throw off the back of the couch and puts it over 34's shoulders, smoothing the edges down. "I wanted her to meet you anyway."
34 stares at Jeremy's retreating back. Meet. Jeremy's daughter.
Pain twists in his stomach again, and 34 finds himself moving. Can't-no. No way.
Why doesn't Jeremy understand? He's not--he can't handle-
The door to the hallway closet is in front of him, and 34 ducks inside, tripping over a pair of boots and landing in a graceless heap. An immediate, sharp pain makes his breath catch, and 34 puts a hand to his staples, oddly not surprised when it comes away wet.
Maybe that's it. Maybe he'll just bleed out now. Better here than at the birthing center. Here in the dark, safe from lights and pain, guards with free rein to "keep the breeders ready for their next cycle." Better to die than to be the guards whore, or to die in an incinerator.
At least here, surrounded by Jeremy's scent, it would be a peaceful end. With the warm wet soaking into his pants, 34 closes his eyes, letting the comfort wash over him.
It seems like forever until the closet door opens. 34 looks up blearily, lost in a haze of misery and pain.
Jeremy stares down at him, eyes wild. "Jesus, you're bleeding!"
"Staples popped," 34 manages, trying to talk around a tongue that feels thick and wooly. Jeremy's scared, so he feels obligated to add, "S'okay."
"Shit, shit, shit!" Jeremy bends and hoists 34 up with a grunt.
Pain darkens 34's vision. When it comes back, a blonde woman is bending over him, shining a light in his eyes. He makes a noise in his throat, lost in the familiar nightmare, and turns away. He's supposed to be done.
"Shh," she soothes. "You're safe."
More words. Meaningless. Never safe. Never alone.
A tiny pain in his arm, and the world softens, warming. "Drugs. No drugs," 34 slurs. "'ll do whatever you want."
Something squeezes his hand. 34 looks over slowly, like he was swimming through gelatin.
Jeremy smiles at him. "It's okay, baby. She's here to help.".
Help who? 34 wonders. But the drugs were making everything fuzzy and slow, and he couldn't force himself to move.
It was like what they used for the breeders, he thinks muzzily. Something to keep them still, quiet. The guards liked them placid. The surgeons liked it for the c-sections, cheaper than anesthetic, and safer for the baby.
Never mind that he can still remember every slice of the scalpel, ever time they touched him. Couldn't fight. Just lay there and take it.
Jeremy's talking again, but it seems distant. 34 tries to hear him, tries to pay attention, but it's slipping away.
Warmth spreads through him, and he sees the blonde woman pushing something from a syringe into his IV. “Nighty night, sweetheart,” she says softly.
The last thing he remembers before the spreading lassitude takes it's hold is the feminine voice saying, "okay, let's see what the butchers did this time.
Authors:
beanside & nilchanceRating: R
Disclaimer: Never happened. Never will.
A/N: Companion piece to my wife's Dawn-verse Jeremy and Zach's story, circa 2004.
They wait a week after they cut his fourth child from his womb before they come for number 34. Not like he wasn't expecting it. After the child punched its way through his uterine wall, they'd sterilized him. Officially, he's male now, never mind the leaking (aching, longing) breasts that mark him as "other." Officially, he's useless. 34 died in childbirth. He wonders why they bothered to save him for the incinerator.
He's moderately surprised when they shuffle him into a van and start driving, but it makes sense. Don't want the public to see this part of the breeder program. Then they pull to a stop and shove him out onto a familiar dirt road, with a familiar house.
Fuck. The fetus must have died.
34 feels dim sorrow at that, an ache like the emptiness inside him. Jeremy, his donor, had been more than kind during his stay. Even if he'd spent the better part of 34's time there higher than a kite, he'd always been gentle, and always had made sure that 34 felt pleasure during their matings. 34 guessed that Jeremy has requested to take out his grief on the breeder who produced the faulty child, 34 can't blame him.
Jeremy had been so pleased when he'd become pregnant.
Jeremy is standing by the front door. Waiting. His eyes tick up, following the van, and his mouth thins. "They could've pulled up the drive. Assholes."
Steeling his will, 34 shuffles forward, head low. "I apologize," he murmurs. Maybe Jeremy will make it quick if he's polite. "My sympathy for your loss."
"What?" Jeremy seems confused. "The baby? No, she's fine."
34 blinks. His eyes feel sticky. Pain medication; the hours blur together into one long smear. "Why am I here, then?"
Jeremy puts his head against the doorframe. He's got a cloth slung over his shoulder. He looks good. Tired. Sad eyes. "I requested you, Zach."
Zach. The word sounds familiar, but meaningless. "She?"
"Our daughter," Jeremy says, gently. "They've got you all fucked up, don't they?"
Our. Another meaningless word. Breeders owned nothing. Had nothing. Were nothing. 34 rubs his eyes. "A girl."
"Come inside," Jeremy says, holding out his hand. When 34 doesn't move, Jeremy takes hold of him like he's a child and guides him in.
The house isn't any different than 34 remembered, except for the half folded stack of clean diapers on the table. Jeremy settles him on the sofa, and sits onto the coffee table.
"Zach," Jeremy repeats. "That's your name. Zachariah Selwyn."
"Zachariah." The word burns 34's throat, somehow. He remembers that name. His grandmother's clear high voice calling him in for dinner. He remembers the disappointment and the fear in her when he'd first gone into heat. Heat--
(Jeremy holds him together, bodies sliding in sweat, the pressure of Jeremy's eyes. The friction, the burn of it, the hunger. Feeling the slick hot spill of Jeremy inside him, hot like fever, hot as the way Jeremy pants down at him and smiles his crooked smile.)
"Zach."
He looks up at Jeremy, stomach aching in a way that has nothing to do with staples. His mind wanders. Always dangerous.
Moving slowly, he slides off the sofa, kneeling in front of Jeremy and palming him through the thin sweatpants.
"What're you--" Eyes widening, Jeremy pulls away from him. "No-"
"You can fuck me if you prefer," 34 says. His throat hurts. "I would suggest that you put down plastic, in case a staple pops-"
"Zach--"
"Stop saying that," he spat. "Zachariah Selwyn is dead. I don't want to be him. I don't want-"
Has it ever mattered?
34 gestures, anger bubbling up. "I can't be him!" His hand bumps the lamp, sending it flying. At the crash, a wail rises from the other room. The baby. Jeremy's baby. The faint, fluttering life that had stirred and hummed in 34's belly, the scalpel ache scar left when they took her away. They take everything away, eventually.
Jeremy looks stricken, glancing between the door and 34. Torn.
"Go," 34 says dully, the anger draining away. "Go get your daughter."
Jeremy ought to rage at him. He ought to do something. Instead he bends down and pulls 34 up like he doesn't weigh a thing, like he's as hollow as he feels, and puts him back on the couch. He touches 34's face, his stubble, the vulnerable places under his eyes. 34 doesn't flinch.
"Okay," Jeremy says, quiet. He pulls a throw off the back of the couch and puts it over 34's shoulders, smoothing the edges down. "I wanted her to meet you anyway."
34 stares at Jeremy's retreating back. Meet. Jeremy's daughter.
Pain twists in his stomach again, and 34 finds himself moving. Can't-no. No way.
Why doesn't Jeremy understand? He's not--he can't handle-
The door to the hallway closet is in front of him, and 34 ducks inside, tripping over a pair of boots and landing in a graceless heap. An immediate, sharp pain makes his breath catch, and 34 puts a hand to his staples, oddly not surprised when it comes away wet.
Maybe that's it. Maybe he'll just bleed out now. Better here than at the birthing center. Here in the dark, safe from lights and pain, guards with free rein to "keep the breeders ready for their next cycle." Better to die than to be the guards whore, or to die in an incinerator.
At least here, surrounded by Jeremy's scent, it would be a peaceful end. With the warm wet soaking into his pants, 34 closes his eyes, letting the comfort wash over him.
It seems like forever until the closet door opens. 34 looks up blearily, lost in a haze of misery and pain.
Jeremy stares down at him, eyes wild. "Jesus, you're bleeding!"
"Staples popped," 34 manages, trying to talk around a tongue that feels thick and wooly. Jeremy's scared, so he feels obligated to add, "S'okay."
"Shit, shit, shit!" Jeremy bends and hoists 34 up with a grunt.
Pain darkens 34's vision. When it comes back, a blonde woman is bending over him, shining a light in his eyes. He makes a noise in his throat, lost in the familiar nightmare, and turns away. He's supposed to be done.
"Shh," she soothes. "You're safe."
More words. Meaningless. Never safe. Never alone.
A tiny pain in his arm, and the world softens, warming. "Drugs. No drugs," 34 slurs. "'ll do whatever you want."
Something squeezes his hand. 34 looks over slowly, like he was swimming through gelatin.
Jeremy smiles at him. "It's okay, baby. She's here to help.".
Help who? 34 wonders. But the drugs were making everything fuzzy and slow, and he couldn't force himself to move.
It was like what they used for the breeders, he thinks muzzily. Something to keep them still, quiet. The guards liked them placid. The surgeons liked it for the c-sections, cheaper than anesthetic, and safer for the baby.
Never mind that he can still remember every slice of the scalpel, ever time they touched him. Couldn't fight. Just lay there and take it.
Jeremy's talking again, but it seems distant. 34 tries to hear him, tries to pay attention, but it's slipping away.
Warmth spreads through him, and he sees the blonde woman pushing something from a syringe into his IV. “Nighty night, sweetheart,” she says softly.
The last thing he remembers before the spreading lassitude takes it's hold is the feminine voice saying, "okay, let's see what the butchers did this time.
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This line SLAYS me every time. Just...kills.
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*grin* Thank you!
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Absolutely wonderful chapter. I'm completely hooked on this world you've created!
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This chapter made me want to cry. Especially when Zach tries to hide from meeting his daughter cuz he doesn't want to get any more attached than the inevitable bond from carrying the baby for 9 months. Just...GUHHHHHH.
I think I love Jeremy, though. Although I wish he'd just tell the poor guy what's going on! And yay that he brought a cool doctor/medical-type person to help Zach!
I think you should update hourly. I am DYYYYYYYYYYYING for more, seriously. Of this now AND of Dawn AND Deathknell, which I just stayed up all night re-reading, fyi LOL
Anyway, AWESOMENESS ON A STICK! Sorry I can't be more coherent - I think you've killed me.
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If the misscarriage is early enough, they might leave it, just let them have it "naturally." Assbabies!
*nod* There's more in the coming chapters about that. *grin*
I'll see what I can do. *Grin* Thank you!!!
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Thank you!
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(Anonymous) 2008-08-22 08:38 pm (UTC)(link)no subject
*Grin*
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Loved it.
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Thank you!
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Thank you! I'm glad you're enjoying it!
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Zach is so damaged, it's a testimony to both his strength and Jeremy's kindness that he ultimately ends up being as stable and healthy as he appears in the rest of the story. And to his friendship with Jensen, too. :(
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Now, since all births are at the CFC, they do ultrasounds on each child, to check for a viable uterus.
*Grin* Thank you!
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And how do you think women relate to the breeders? Sympathetic? Or angry, at their role being usurped? I'd look for terrorists in groups of ultra-conservative women-the Stepford Wives gone militant, as it were. Just because the breeders are innocent wouldn't stop anyone from blaming them. Enough to kill?
Um. One more thing. (Hey, it's your turn-I've already been pestering nilchance! *pokes you*) Do you think the heat could be postponed for a while via chemical injections? Like...hm, not estrogen or testosterone, but the juvenile equivalent-something that will keep the body chemistry "immature", while the person still grows up? C'mon Rebel scientists, get cracking!
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Thank you! I'm glad you like it!
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Thank you!
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But at least I already know this one has a good ending :-)
More soon please?
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As far as a happy ending...we'll see.
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Hmmm... 'kay *says nothing* :-)
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