Ivan Kosin

May 12

The honeymoon was over. Friday morning, Malcolm and Ivan got up at 5 a.m., put their bags in the car, and drove the three hours back to Brookham. Ivan was quiet for the first half of the car ride, staring out the passenger window of Malcolm's old black car.

"Did you remember to bring a copy of the marriage contract?" he asked suddenly, breaking from his reverie with the road. Malcolm glanced over at him and nodded.

"Yes."

"OK. Good." Ivan went back to staring out the window, but his hands were fidgeting in his lap, a tic that Malcolm took to mean his carrier was nervous. He tried to make his voice sound light.

"It's going to be OK, you know."

Ivan was silent for a minute, and Malcolm almost thought he hadn't heard. Then he spoke.

"They're going to examine me."

Malcolm changed his grip on the steering wheel.

"Yes. And I'd like to be in the room with you while it happens, if that's OK. I want to make sure you're comfortable and safe."

Ivan shrugged.

"I'll be fine." he murmured.

More silence passed between them.

"Is there anyone in particular you want me to arrange for you to see while we're at the Centre? I bet people are wondering what happened to you. Is there somebody you want to call?"

Ivan shook his head.

"No." he said, still staring at the road. "There's no one."

Malcolm blew a breath out slowly. He'd only been married a week to Ivan Kosin, and he already seemed to be closer to him than anyone else in the world. Absolutely insane, Malcolm thought to himself. Absolutely sick to live a world like this. With no table in the lunchroom, no cards at the winter holidays, no small talk in the office break room, no inquiring minds or phone calls on the weekends or boozing on birthdays. Just nothing. No thing at all. And to have only a father who prostituted his own son as your home.

Malcolm cleared his throat.

"Are you going to be OK at Brookham, Ivan? Really think about it. Because if you even feel like you might need to go somewhere else - "

"I don't need - " Ivan snapped out before he stopped himself. His fingers worked hard on the bottom button of his borrowed shirt, buttoning and unbuttoning it as if the answer might be just through the next buttonhole. Ivan opened his mouth as if to finish, and Malcolm braced himself for the rest of the tirade, but it never came. Instead, Ivan retreated into silence. But another mile or so down the road, in a very tired voice, he finished what he'd meant to say.

"I don't need anything."

~:~

Ivan had spent most of the car ride imagining just how bad it could possibly be. Of course, the horrors he had imagined had been completely wrong; everything, in fact, was worse.

Malcolm carried two of their three bags into the Centre - his own overnighter and Kosin's bag of stuff that he had to return. Knowing the process already, Ivan had moved preemptively; they had stopped by his office on base this morning and gone through as much of his stuff as they could manage in an hour. The most counterfeit items had been stuffed into the duffel bag, to be turned in at the Centre.

There was a carrier Kosin recognized at the front desk, which was his first indication that the day was not going to go well. The young man looked up, startled and wary, at Kosin and Malcolm's approach, sat a little straighter in his chair, widened his eyes, and folded his hands on the desk.

"Officer Kosin! Good morning, sir. How may I help you?"

Kosin stood there for a second, paralyzed with uncertainty. Was this a game? His hands shook as he took his ID out of his pocket and slid it across the desk. Perhaps he could fudge his way through all of this if he kept things short and undecorated.

"I need to speak with an intake officer."

"Certainly. Just a moment, sir."

The carrier's eyes slid over to Malcolm curiously and with a vague look of pity as he took the ID and began to type into his console. Ivan was able to identify the exact moment the man figured things out, because the typing stopped and the carrier looked up at him with a strange expression, then got up and indiscreetly rushed over to whisper something to the other front desk staff.

Kosin set his jaw and focused on the clock above the desk. One minute ticked by, then two. Three. Malcolm squeezed his hand and Ivan realized someone was talking to him.

"Take your folder, Ivan."

Kosin reached out and took the blue folder that was lying on the desktop in front of him. 'Ivan Lawdon' was printed across the front in the cutesy block letters that the intake officers always used, and when Ivan looked up from noticing that, the carrier behind the desk was smirking at him.

"Welcome to the Brookham Carrier Education Centre, Mr. Lawdon. I'm sure you'll have a great time here."

~:~

Ivan spent the morning with three other carriers in a Carrier Health & Anatomy Condensed Seminar. The CS courses were held in a separate wing of the CEC, and so Ivan had been blessedly excused from the whispers and pointed stares that he knew he'd receive from the rest of the CEC population. From the minute he'd heard he was registered, he'd known what the result was going to be. They were going to hate him. They had hated him before, but then it had been mitigated by fear - held back by the vaguest understanding of the kind of power Kosin had wielded. But now…nothing. He had no power, no protection, no defense. This frightened Ivan, because e was a man who loved power above all things, but in some small way, it also relieved him. He had come, as so many had done before him, to make a confession, serve his penance, and move on with his life.

Three hours into the class, and yet the lecturer was still rambling on. Ivan glared at the man (which had no effect), shifted in his chair, and wondered again what incompetent interviewer had hired the lazy professor in front of him. Although some of his boredom could be attributed to his prior experience - Ivan already being well-versed in carrier health and anatomy - there was a significant element that could be blamed on the professor's monotone.

So instead of listening, Ivan had spent the morning doodling geometric shapes on the notebook the CEC had provided and wondering what Malcolm was learning across the hall. It was going to be lunchtime soon.

On the heels of that realization, dreadful thoughts struck him. Would he have to dine with Malcolm? In the eating hall? Was there a dining room in this wing, separate, for the day learners? This was one part of the carrier process which was completely unfamiliar to Ivan. As an Investigator, he'd worked primarily with regular-process carriers…there'd never been any reason for him to have contact with the day learners. These were men who usually had had too little time to even understand what had happened to them, let alone go around causing trouble about it. They were the shell-shocked and the numb, the captured and the already-owned. They had people at home to deal with their problems.

Struck with a sudden curiosity about the mass of human misery in the room with him, Ivan began glancing furtively around at the other carriers. Two were clearly officers - young, of fighting build, but with lines of stress around their mouths and a wildness in their red eyes that betrayed a lack of sleep. They had been discovered, Ivan surmised. Probably tried to hide the change until they couldn't any longer. Who had taken them? Commanding Officers, probably. That was the most common. Ivan looked at their faces. No bruises. Men of class, then. Higher-ups. They wouldn't dare do something so gauche as leave a mark; they were respectful.

Of the two ex-officer carriers, one had pale skin and light brown hair, grown far past the length accepted for officers. Not long enough to indicate a life of carrierhood; maybe just a few months. He'd been kept for some time, then, before coming here. He'd been sequestered. That, too, was common. He was staring straight ahead, focused attentively on the speaker, and he took profuse notes. He was trying hard to be on his best behavior, Kosin figured, probably under threat of a severe beating. Those carriers were the worst kind - the ones who only found their motivation at the end of a lash. Kosin watched him for a minute. The man glanced at Ivan, blinked curiously, then looked away. Kosin frowned and turned away. He wasn't here to make friends.

The other officer had the caramel skin and black hair of a Southerner, and looked significantly more relaxed than his counterpart. Southerners tended to be that way, he'd noticed. They took the change more easily. Kosin had hardly ever had to beat a Southerner.

The third carrier in the class seemed young, barely 16, and had the gangly look of a farm boy about him. A local kid, then, from one of the rural towns still surviving in the hills nearby. Dirt poor, most likely. The families of that type, if given the choice, always sent them to Brookham. For most of them, the inside of the CEC was a place of unimaginable luxury. The farm kid wasn't looking up at the speaker, and definitely not at the anatomical slides. He just shyly stared down at his notebook and kicked the leg of his chair. An evangelistic upbringing, then. Kosin tilted his head curiously. Who owned him? Probably the wealthiest man in town; the biggest local landowner. Whoever had paid the most cattle. That would probably be an older man, maybe in his early fifties. Most likely distrustful of the government and worried about the CEC corrupting his little precious. That was why they'd settled on the shorter CS classes; he wouldn't have wanted to let the kid go away for a month. Either that, or the kid was knocked up already and they didn't have the time to spare. That could be the case. That was how things out in the countryside usually went. When the boy shifted in his chair, Kosin noticed the swelling of a small gut on him. Ten points for a correct answer, Ivan awarded himself.

Suddenly, the slideshow went off at the front of the room and the speaker was looking expectantly at them.

"Well, carriers, that's lunchtime!"

~:~

Lunch in the cafeteria was bad - awful, in fact. Ivan's office hadn't been far from here; just up the stairs into the administrative section, first door on the right. He had come down for lunch often, because it allowed him to check in, to observe, and to be seen and feared. By the time he had started at Brookham, Officer Kosin had been a master at what he did. A legend. The younger officers feared him; the carriers feared him. The other Investigators admired him. He was the most loved, the most loyal, the most celebrated servant to the higher offices, and he had been untouchable. Now, he was a joke.

Kosin trembled, and couldn't stop trembling, no matter how much he insulted himself for it. He ran a self-conscious hand over his hair. Ignore it. Ignore it. Don't let them in. Don't let them get you.

Silently, Ivan followed the rest of the CS group, their seminar teacher leading the way, up to the check-in lines for the cafeteria. The whispers started while he was still in the hall. What was Officer Kosin doing in a CS group? Was he observing them now, too? Why has he dressed that way? Then the answers, the damning answers. Didn't you hear? He's one of us now.

By the time he made it into the food line, the whisper was a full-blown rumble. Ignore it. Kosin tried to focus on the menu, but he felt sick all of a sudden, and not in a mood to eat. He lost his group inside the eating area, and looked around in a panic to find them. But the room was beginning to crowd, and it was difficult to make out four strangers' faces.

It was easier to find people he recognized.

Here and there, shifting through the crowd, their eyes on him, were men he'd beaten, men he'd punished, men he'd threatened and men on whom his threats had been carried out. Men who had not forgotten him, and probably never would. Kosin stared at his tray until it was his turn in line, then he ordered numbly and stared at the menu until the food came. Luckily, he didn't know any of the chefs.

The whispers continued. That wasn't the worst part. The silence was the worst part. The cold, angry, silent stares. Kosin took some comfort in the lack of open antagonism to him - they were still scared, he realized. Still trying to figure it out. Like vultures circling a lion - leaping too soon could be a fatal mistake. So that must mean that they weren't sure yet. Everything was still just a rumor, backed up only by some dubious evidence and the fact that he'd come into the Centre acting strangely. If they were sure, it would have been worse. Maybe it was better he'd lost his seminar group. Being seen with them would only give evidence in the rumors' favor. Kosin straightened his shoulders up. Be tall. Be firm. Don't let them in. He tried to look like himself, to feel like himself, to be himself. It was impossible, with the aching feeling of emptiness between his legs and the peculiar rush of...something he got whenever he thought about his own last name.

Go. Sit. Eat. He tried to give himself simple commands. Ignore. Sit. Eat.  Every table he tried to sit at hastily became occupied. Kosin ended up eating as he had only a few times before, standing alone at one of the ledges lining the wall of the cafeteria. In this place, there seemed some refuge; the whispers diminished. He stared at his plate. A sandwich, carrots, a cookie. Six vitamins, two of which were obviously medicinal, one of which was obviously the relaxant he'd been prescribed at his entry evaluation. Fucking psychologists. He didn't want their pills. He didn't want his food either, but he couldn't get out of here without eating at least 60% of what he'd been given. The monitors were strict about that rule. At least they should be, Kosin reflected - he'd fired two and disciplined five of them to make it so.

He ate most of the sandwich and half of the cookie. He tasted the carrots, but they seemed to make his nerves and his nausea worse and so he left them. He glanced at the clock. 32 minutes left. He wondered where he could go - he wasn't sure what would be allowed. He had an appointment to go to his office after classes with Malcolm. They were going to pack his things. First the office, then the apartment.

Across the cafeteria, he recognized the usual stern visage of his neighbor and colleague, Mac Scarborough. Scarborough was two years Kosin's junior and also in the Investigator program. They shared an office wall. Mac was the closest Ivan had to a friend. Kosin picked up his tray and made his way over to the man's table.

"Mac. Hey."

The officer looked up from his coffee slowly, suspiciously. His eyes did something funny when he saw Kosin, but Ivan didn't notice. He was too relieved to see someone - anyone who didn't have a death wish waiting for him in their stare. Kosin reached out to shake his hand, balancing his tray on his hip. Mac ignored the outstretched hand, lifting his coffee in greeting instead.

"Kosin. Nice to see you."

Kosin's relief faltered. Mac's voice was cold. Ivan swallowed and tried again.

"Thanks. It's - I've been on leave."

Mac blinked at him for a moment, then his expression turned to an indulgent smile.

"Of course. Sure have missed your smiling face around the office."

Kosin understood Mac's implication: If you're going to tell lies, so will I. Kosin stood there, staring at him for a minute, his palms getting sweaty from gripping the tray. He could hear the whispers again.

"I changed, Mac."

"I know."

Ivan nodded, his eyes suddenly feeling particularly itchy and beginning to sting.

"You know."

Mac indicated the room. When Kosin looked up, half the faces looked away.

"We all know."

Ivan swallowed and nodded quickly.

"Yeah. Yeah. I just, um - "

"Was there something you needed, Carrier Lawdon?" Mac cut in coolly. Kosin froze, completely taken aback. He shook his head, trying to recover. Everything was different. Everything was spinning out from under him.

"No. No, I just - just came over to say hi."

Mac stared at him for a long time, and for the first time, Ivan noticed how dark those icy blue eyes could look.

"Hi."

Somehow, Mac made that single syllable into a direct insult, and Kosin felt a strange aching in his chest. He wondered if his heart were dying or simply wounded.

"Yes," he heard himself saying, "OK. Well, I'll just leave you to it. Nice seeing you again, Mac."

Kosin didn't even get a reply.

~:~

He made it through lunch, and afternoon seminar (on marriage & sexuality), and dinner with Malcolm. He made it through his office - ransacked, for supplies and to remove sensitive documents. His case files had been transferred to his colleagues. He made it to his apartment - spartan as ever, but clear it had been searched. Malcolm helped him pack everything. Malcolm helped him clean, helped him divide and place in boxes and decide what to keep and what to throw away.

After they last bin was sealed up and labeled, they went to evening seminar together. In the hall on the way there, they ran into another of the couples from the seminar. It was the brown-haired ex-officer carrier, being led by the elbow by a rather severe-looking officer of indeterminate middle age.

"Keith!"

Upon hearing his name, the officer turned and, spotting Malcolm, smiled.

"Malcolm, hey!" he released his carrier, who jerked a little, and walked towards Malcolm. "This must be yours." he said, turning his attention to Kosin and sticking his hand out. "Colonel Keith Vance."

Kosin hesitated for a moment before shaking the man's outstretched hand.

"Ivan Lawdon."

The man smiled and then gestured to his companion.

"Introduce yourself, sweetheart."

The brown-haired man lifted his head and glanced at his husband before extending his hand; first to Ivan, then Malcolm.

"I'm Charlie Vance."

The young man glanced once more at his husband, then back to Ivan.

"You were in my seminar this morning." he added, earnestly.

Ivan nodded, not really feeling like talking to anyone, let alone an overzealous carrier stranger.

"Yep."

Charlie looked like he wanted to say something, but hesitated and shut his mouth instead. Malcolm gave Charlie an amused grin.

"Pretty verbose pair, the two of you."

Ivan gave Malcolm an annoyed glance, but his husband ignored it.

Keith glanced at his watch.

"Five minutes. I guess we should go in."

Malcolm nodded.

"Yeah, sure. You ready, Ivan?" he reached out to grab hold of Kosin's hand, but the carrier pulled away.

"I'm not in the mood for touching."

Malcolm rolled his eyes and grinned.

"You're never in the mood for touching. Besides, it's not touching. It's handholding."

Malcolm tried to reach for him again, but Kosin crossed his arms over his notebook, holding it tight against his chest.

"Don't touch me." he snapped, but kept his voice low.

Colonel Keith Vance tilted his head slightly, a curious expression on his face. Malcolm sighed and raised his hands in surrender.

"OK. Fine. I won't touch you."

With another annoyed glare, Kosin turned on his heel and went on into the classroom. Keith watched him for a minute, then reached out and squeezed Charlie's hand.

"Hey, why don't you go on after him? He seems like he's had a pretty tough day."

Charlie blinked at Keith, then glanced at Malcolm and nodded.

"OK."

Keith leaned forward and kissed his carrier's forehead.

"I'll see you in there in a minute."

Charlie nodded and went after Kosin. Keith and Malcolm both watched him for a few moments until he disappeared into the classroom. Then Keith, a frown crossing his face, said gently to Malcolm,

"You know...you really shouldn't let him talk to you like that."

~:~