November

November 21: Monday

"No."
Jesse stared at him in disbelief.
"What?"
"I said no."
Jesse laughed a little.
"Michael, I said I want to cut my hair. It's not a big deal."
Michael shrugged.
"It is to me. No."
Jesse furrowed his brow.
"But, Mike, it's just hair. It'll grow back."
Michael reached across the table to finger the ends of Jesse's hair.
"No. It's a little long, but there's nothing wrong with it."
Jesse was taken aback at Michael's sternness.
"Michael..."
Michael shook his head.
"Jesse, no. I like your hair as it is. You should like your hair as it is. There's nothing wrong with it."
Jesse felt a weird mix of anger and hurt.
"But I don't like it this way."
Michael sighed and rubbed his thumb across Jesse's cheek.
"OK. Maybe we can talk about this after I get home tonight."
Jesse pushed his lunch plate away from him. His fork clattered to the floor. Michael paused mid-bite and looked up at him.
"I want to talk about it now."
Michael tilted his head a little.
"Jesse, let's talk about it tonight. I don't want you to keep something you don't like, but I think that for right now, it would be best if you left it as it is."
Jesse crossed his arms over his chest. His stomach hurt. Why was Michael behaving like this? Was it because Kosin had finally given him control? Was that what this whole thing had been - a ruse, a ploy to get Jesse to trust him? So now that he felt more secure in his power, he was willing to drop the act? Just the thought of Michael betraying him made his heart ache. His hair tickled his neck where loose strands were out of their knot.
"This isn't fair."
Michael looked worried.
"Jess, I'm sorry. But let's just discuss it at another time, when we're not in the middle of a cafeteria."
Michael's staunch refusal was frightening to him. Was this who his lover really was? Tears began pricking at the back of Jesse's eyes.
"You're acting just like Kosin."
Now Michael looked taken aback. He swallowed his bite, blinking quickly.
"I'm sorry?"
"Just like Kosin! And James. And all the rest of them. You only want to control me."
Michael made a little face.
"Jesse, you know that's not true. I want you to be happy. I'm just saying that we should talk about this later."
Jesse shook his head. His heart was pounding. He felt on edge. This needed to happen here, now, or not at all. If they didn't talk about it, then he would know; he would know that Michael had betrayed him. He would rather be dead than consider that possibility.
"No. I don't want to talk about it later. I want to talk about it right now. I hate my hair. It makes me miserable. And you don't care! You just want it long because you think it's pretty. You think it makes me look sweet, like a pretty, good little carrier. Well, I'm sorry if that's what you want, because that's not who I am."
Michael's expression had switched from concerned interest to full-blown worry.
"Jesse, that's not what's going on here."
"Then tell me what is! Because you're being unfair."
Michael glanced around. Some tables were starting to take interest.
"Jesse, lower your voice."
Jesse mimicked him back.
"Michael, fuck you."
Michael's eyes widened. He got up immediately, and Jesse felt a wild moment of panic.
"You're leaving?"
Michael shook his head tightly. His expression was angry.
"No. We're leaving. Get your stuff."
Jesse got up, began picking up his notebook and pens, his folder and jacket. Michael swept the pills he hadn't taken yet into one hand and offered them to him.
"I don't need them."
"Jesse. Take the pills. They're for your own health."
"No. All they do is help you get pregnant and dumb."
Michael closed his eyes for a minute, and Jesse felt a twinge of regret. He really hadn't meant to do this, but it was what was happening now.
"Jesse, take these pills, and take them now."
Jesse glanced at Michael's face, then tossed the group of them in his mouth and swallowed.
"Great. Let's go."
Michael picked up his backpack, took Jesse's elbow in an iron grip, and began push-leading him towards the door. For a moment, another fear seized Jesse. The man pulling him was someone he didn't know. He'd seen Michael impatient before, had seen him annoyed, horny, happy, worried, sad, tired, and troubled, but he'd never really seen him mad. And definitely not when he himself was the cause of it. For all he knew, there was a Jekyll and Hyde situation lurking here, and he'd only just released it.

In the hallway, Michael didn't release his grip or ease up even a little bit. He took them down the way to Jesse's room.
"Is it locked? Where's your key?"
Jesse unlocked the door and let them in.
Michael let the door slam behind him, then used his own key to lock it from the inside. Jesse retreated to the opposite side of his bed.
"Michael, please, I don't want to fight -"
"Yes, you do. You must. You simply have to, because if you didn't, you wouldn't keep pushing me. I think you want to fight. But Jesse, I'm not the one you're fighting with. I am not the person who is hurting you. There are two enemies you have in the world, and that's people who want to take away your freedom, and yourself."
Jesse's eyes felt damp.
"I just want to cut my hair."
"And I'm asking you not to do that! Do you understand me? Do you understand what I'm saying? I am asking you not to do it! I need this from you. I need you to trust me."
Jesse felt a little disarmed. He'd expected an argument, enraged yelling, a beating, maybe. Not this.
"I do trust you."
"Then why do you question everything I say?"
"I - I don't, I just - "
"Right. Haven't I tried to help you, Jesse? Haven't I done everything in my power to make your life nice? Haven't I listened to you, respected you, explained to you every single thing I've done? Haven't I rearranged my schedule, my priorities, and my life for you? Haven't I dedicated immense amounts of time to ensuring that you suffer only the mildest of consequences for insanity you've engaged in on an emotional whim? Haven't I made it clear, in the little time you've known me, that I am a good person and I do not intend to hurt you? But this is how you treat me? This is how you thank me for everything I do for you?"
Michael shook his head.
"You're acting like a spoiled brat, Jesse. Please, just grow the fuck up." with that, he turned on his heel and went to the door.
"I'll see you in private room four on the base for dinner. Please be dressed. It is your choice whether or not to wear a natori."
Halfway out the door he paused, turned partially back in.
"And please, Jesse," he said, seriously, one hand on the knob, "Don't do anything stupid until then."

~:~

Havar woke up at noon with his stomach achingly empty. No one was in the room. The sunlight fell in patterns over the floor. The sheets were clean. Havar got up, stretched, padded barefoot over the cold hardwood floors and the slightly-warmer rugs into the bathroom. There was a packet on the sink, certain things laid out for him: a toothbrush with his name on it, toothpaste, deodorant, a variety of soaps, some fancy-looking shampoo and hair creams, and some bluish lotion. He picked a soap and pulled a towel and washcloth down from the shelves above the toilet.

After he'd bathed and washed his hair, then dressed in the clean clothes which were sitting in piles in the windowseat, he was at a loss. He stood in the middle of the room for some time, both hoping for and dreading Yavisk's return. He kept his ears open for any sounds; any voices or changes in the house which may indicate somebody coming. There were none. He waited a while longer. It felt strange, to stand like this, a soldier at attention with no orders to follow. After a while, his mind began to stray back to Brian, to the four bodies in the mountains and Awni-ra looking out of the jeep's backseat window and the kick-slap sound of a beating and the field before the train passed and then it all just shut down, went to a blank screen. This, Havar decided, was probably his mind's way of keeping him sane. He looked for something to do, and his eyes fell on the pile of clothes which he supposed Yavisk had brought for him. He recognized some of them as his own. They had cleaned out his room on the base, then. He refolded the ones that had fallen out when he'd picked something to dress in, then began searching the dressers and armoires for empty drawers. Yavisk had, in fact, left a few, and Havar quietly organized the clothing into piles - first old and new, but then he resorted them into pants, shirts, undershirts and briefs (new; he wore boxers), natoris (also new) and sweaters (new, and much nicer than his old ones) - and filled the drawers which would be his own. Afterwards, he returned to the center of the room, standing on the blue rug with one foot on top of the other for warmth, waiting for further command. None came. He went over to the bed, made it up with military precision. He picked up Yavisk's clothes where they'd been abandoned on the floor, laid them on a nearby chair. The door cracked open and he jerked his head up.
"Hello."
Havar looked his visitor cautiously over.
"Hi."
"I'm Tiger."
Havar finished picking up the clothes and turned to face him fully.
"I know. We've met."
Tiger was standing nervously in the doorway.
"Can I come in?"
Havar shrugged, then looked around for a window he could open. It felt stuffy in the room. Tiger let himself in and went over to lean onto the bedframe, wringing his hands back and forth around the post as he watched Havar move.
"Miljan says you're a carrier, too."
Havar looked sharply up at Tiger.
"Miljan?"
"Um, Cubri - Cubruv - Cibrov -"
"Cubrovic."
Havar corrected, more sharply than he meant to. He remembered the man. He'd been there that night.
"He's Anton's brother."
Havar gave a slight nod as he wandered around the room, checking the windowsills to see which of them opened.
"He is your companion."
Tiger cracked a grin.
"Delicately put." Havar shrugged. Tiger leaned forward a little, focused his attention on the carpet. "So are you?"
"Am I what?"
"A carrier?"
Havar stood up, faced him off evenly.
"Are you?"
Tiger's expression was inscrutable. Havar glanced Tiger over. The boy looked young, just a kid. He seemed nervous; he was biting his nails and watching the floor. Suddenly, Tiger looked up at his face so that his dark eyes met Havar's.
"I think I am...and I'm very scared to be here."
Havar felt a wave of pity and a weird urge to look after the kid rise up in the back of his mind. He blinked at him for a minute.
"It's a scary place to be."
Tiger sat down on the bed, his eyes on his lap, then the carpet, then back up to Havar's face.
"Aren't you worried about what's going to happen to us here?"
A flashback threatened. Havar shook his head hard to make it go away.
"I already know what's going to happen to us here. Don't you?"
Havar tilted his head; Tiger shook his.
"They didn't teach you in Academy how the Union treats its carriers?"
Havar's voice was a little bit mocking, but Tiger ignored it and shook his head again. Havar looked him over, then moved on to another part of the room.
"You're young. How old are you?"
"Seventeen."
Havar had to take a minute to try very hard not to imagine what it must be like to be seventeen and kidnapped, held in bondage, beaten and probably raped. To be seventeen and already tied up, a slave to some man's will and bed. At seventeen, he'd never even seen the ocean. What an age for a child to have to suffer. At seventeen, he remembered, he had still sometimes wanted to cry for his mother.
"How old are you?"
Havar searched the wall full of shelves, found a small window which would crack and used all his strength to open it.
"23."
his stomach rumbled. Tiger looked at him.
"Are you hungry? Miljan says I should learn to prepare food, but he doesn't know I already know how to cook. It's just my dad and me at home, after all, and most days he works really late. He's probably working late today. When he comes home, the house will be dark. He hates that. I think he's a little bit scared of the dark, so when I'm home, I always leave a light on for him, even if I go to bed. It makes him feel better. And then when he comes in, I get up to go see him, and he says 'Tiger, ah. The day I had.' and then we talk. I learned how to cook so I could make dinner for him, because when he's cooking he won't talk. And even though I almost never got to see him, it was OK, as long as we had time to talk. I want - "
Tiger bit off the last bit, swallowed a couple of times and rubbed at his eyes with the back of his fist. Havar wasn't sure how to handle this; he watched, cautiously, from across the room. Tiger took several deep breaths to calm himself, closing his eyes and then reopening them.
"I'm OK. I'm OK. Honestly," Tiger said, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles out of his natori with thin-boned, trembling hands, "I'm fine."

~:~

"Cut it."
Ortega looked worried, the scissors in one hand and Torréon balanced under his arm in the other.
"Are you sure? How much, Jesse?"
"Halve it. I want it gone. Get it to my ears, or above."
Ortega eyed the scissors with some trepidation.
"And you're sure Michael won't be mad about this? I really don't want to get you in trouble."
Jesse set his jaw.
"No, don't worry. I'm sure he'll love it."

~:~

Sloane's stomach felt queasy. He picked at his meal.
"You're not hungry?"
his eyes jumped up to Clint, who was chewing and watching him carefully. Sloane felt scrutinized. He tried to pick some part that was appealing to him. Nothing did it, and panic was making the nausea worse.
"No, I am, I just - "
"It's OK." Clint interrupted, "If you're not, I mean. You can eat something later, if you don't feel fine."
Sloane stared at him. Clint looked awkwardly away.
"OK." he pushed the plate away tentatively, half expecting Clint to change his mind and suddenly be mad.
"You look pretty."
Sloane, usually at least passable at hiding his reactions, couldn't control the confusion which crossed his face. Then understanding dawned. He lowered his voice.
"I don't - I don't think the kids are in my hall, if that's where you want to go. Tega and Jess went to the craft room, and Sai is sleeping in the library. I don't know where Sul is, though."
Clint shook his head.
"No, I don't - fuck, can I compliment you without you thinking it's all just so I can get a fuck? Sometimes I just want to say something nice to my goddamned girlfriend. Shit."
Clint threw his fork down. Sloane put his hands in his lap.
"I hate that word."
"Sorry. I forgot. Boyfriend. Carrier fucking boyfriend."
Sloane was getting a little red.
"OK, what's this all about?"
Clint frowned.
"What?"
Sloane shook his head. His voice was almost a whisper.
"The act. The fucking act, Clint. Why this front like you're suddenly Mr. Romeo? There's nobody here but me. Who are you impressing? What are you doing this all for?"
Clint shook his head.
"Maybe I just want to do something nice for a change. Maybe I don't want to fight."
Sloane scoffed, sat back in his seat.
"You mean to tell me you're different now."
Clint sighed.
"I mean to tell you I don't want to fight."
"You're a goddamn liar, Clint."
Clint backhanded him, hard.
Sloane checked his teeth with his tongue.
"OK, I'm sorry. I guess you proved me wrong."
Clint frowned, took two deep breaths.
"That was - I'm sorry. But listen. I am...different now. I am. I'm a new man."
Sloane looked at him skeptically. Clint exhaled in frustration.
"Look at it this way: the Old Clint would have hit you twice."

~:~

"Oh. Tiger. You are here. Miljan has been looking for you; he's worried you escaped."
Tiger shrugged.
"Escaped? Where to?"
Yavisk balanced the covered tray he'd been carrying in one hand, jutting it against his hip, and used the other to dial the intercom to downstairs.
"Tiger is here, Miljan."
Tiger heard a tirade of words in Serb. On their end, Anton laughed.
"OK, I'll give him the message."
Yavisk set the tray down on the bed next to Tiger.
"Miljan would like to see you in the study on the first floor."
Tiger looked confused.
"You know how to get there? Go down the stairs, turn left and go down the hall. It is the door at the end."
Tiger nodded and got up to go, but stood where he was instead, fingering the hem of his shirt.
"Is he - is he mad?"
Anton chuckled.
"No. He was just worried. You'd better go down there quickly, before his mood changes."
Tiger hastened to the door and out; they heard him going swiftly down the stairs.
"Now, for you - "
Havar hadn't moved from the place he stood, across the room.
"Come here."
he wanted to - he really did. He tried to make his feet move. They wouldn't. Yavisk looked up at him, lifted one hand and uncovered his tray. It was arrayed with bread, fruit, stacks of meat and some kind of creams. There were glasses of water and what was most likely orange juice.
"Are you hungry?" the food looked so seductive. "Then come eat something, Havar."
he felt his feet begin to move.
"That's it. Good. Come closer." Yavisk was cooing to him. He took the glass of orange juice first, took long, thirsty swallows from it.
"Hey. Hey. Not too quickly." Yavisk took the glass back, replaced it with the water one. "Too much sugar for you, all at once. You haven't eaten. That will make you sick. Come here, Havar, and have some bread. It's freshly baked."
Havar reached for it, but Yavisk moved it from his hand.
"Kiss your husband first."
Havar's stomach rebelled immediately, and adrenaline rushed his veins. Please not that. He was starving. Yavisk observed him calmly.
"Kiss your husband, Havar, and you'll get something to eat."
Havar tilted his head, trying desperately to process this new event in his mind. Brian, and the nighttime and the smell of the water in the Cove and the squeal of diesel engines and truck tires. Havar blocked it out. Hungry. But to do what he asked...his heart was pounding. Havar whined, an animal's cry, unable to verbalize the confusion he felt. Yavisk lifted a piece of the loaf to his own mouth.
"Do you smell that? It's warm. And delicious. Come for it, Havar, and I will feed you. Kiss your husband, and you can have whatever you want."
His voice was even, soothing, hypnotic. Havar moved forward.
"Good, Havar, good."
he stopped, inches from Yavisk's face. Anton met his eyes firmly and unflinchingly.
"Do what I've asked you, Havar, and you will have everything you could ever want."
Fear and disgust and tremulous desire swirled on his tongue. He kissed him, then immediately began to cry. Yavisk pushed a piece of the bread loaf into his hand and held him, rubbing his back.
"Very good, sweetheart. You've done very well."

~:~

Jesse hadn't realized that human beings could turn that particular mix of red and violently purple, but Michael did it, the minute Jesse walked through the private room door.
The officer stood when the door cracked, and Jesse had a brief moment to think of how handsome Michael really looked in his full and proper uniform before the rage began.
"What in the hell did you do to your hair?"
The doorman who had let him in raised an eyebrow, tried to look disinterested, and casually let himself out of the room. Jesse glanced after him. Turncoat. He didn't need him anyway.
"Oh, this? Just a little trim." he patted the ends of his hair, which fell just past the top of his ear. Michael narrowed his eyes.
"Michael? Is this your carrier?"
the officer turned into the voice, and Jesse's eyes fell on a man who was either Michael's father or his identical, decades-older twin.
Michael half-bowed, his tense posture and angry face clearly revealing his emotions.
"Yes, dad. This is Jesse Paik."
Michael's father got to his feet - a little unsteadily, Jesse noted, and waved one hand at him. The admiral was a burly man with greyed hair and a bit of a beard forming on his chin and cheeks.
"Nice to meet you, Jesse."
Jesse waved back.
"Jesse, this is my father, Admiral Eric O'Connor. And this is my stepmother, Joseph."
The carrier, a well-fed, femme brunette of about 45, with refined features and hair side-combed into a long ponytail, waved casually from behind an upturned wine glass.
"Nice to meet you."
Joseph nodded.
"Dad, Joey," Michael said tightly, "It appears Jesse isn't prepared for dinner after all. We'll have to meet again, later."
Eric eyed Jesse's hair suspiciously.
"Well, we've already ordered the meal, Michael-boy. The fish doesn't take long to cook. If you're going to beat him, perhaps you should do it later."
Michael rolled his eyes.
"I'm not going to beat him, dad."
Eric settled himself back down into his seat.
"Oh? Well, that's probably the reason he's gone and cut his hair too short without your permission, then. They never listen until you prove to them you're serious."
Michael rubbed the bridge of his nose.
"Yes, thank you, dad."
Eric furrowed his brow.
"What's wrong? What's the problem, Michael?"
Joseph extended one hand across the table and settled it on Eric's hand.
"I think you're overstepping again, sweetheart."
"Am I? I'm just teaching him how to handle a problem, that's all I'm trying to do. He's forever complaining that I don't teach him enough, and here I go trying to help and he gets upset! Well, I don't understand the boy; never have, never will."
Joseph refilled his own wine glass.
"It's alright, dear. Just let them be."
"You tell him how to handle the carrier, Joey."
Joseph rolled his eyes.
"Beat him, dear."
"Damn straight."
Jesse was becoming faintly amused by the exchange. Michael was not. He was crossing the room, his veins bulging. When he reached Jesse, he took his arm in a bruisingly sharp grip. Jesse gritted his teeth and smiled warmly.
"No dinner?"
Michael marched him firmly out the door. Jesse waved to the doorman on his way out, but got no response. Defector.

Upstairs, in Michael's room, he first locked them in with his keycard, then marched Jesse over to the bed and sat him down. He ran his hands through his hair.
"I'm sorry, Jesse. I am so fucking sorry."
Jesse's eyes got wide.
"But I really am going to have to punish you."

~:~

Anton praised him heavily for the way he'd tidied the room. He got even more praise for putting away his own clothes. Yavisk was so pleased, he even promised Havar he'd have someone make him some baklava; at the word, Havar perked up a little, but just for a moment before he began to wonder how Yavisk knew that little fact about him. His question must have shown on his face.
"When we were moving your stuff, I read some portions of your diaries."
A blow to his stomach couldn't have shocked him more.
"Why - why would you do that?"
His fingers shook. He'd written a lot of things in there.
Yavisk shrugged.
"You are my wife. I wanted to know you."
Havar wanted to scream, to rage against him and swing and punch. He burst into tears instead, and Yavisk, looking more than a little sorry, just gathered him up into his arms and let him cry his heart out.

~:~