sunchime | ☆ the vorkosigan saga psl post, volume 3

[ He finds he can't breathe. In this, a mockery of how they'd been before - their intimacy, their sweetness, their warmth - something rises up in him that strangles all the air from his lungs. He pushes her off of him - desperate, scrambling, frightened - and scrabbles to his feet, backing away from her like from a wild beast. His hands are shaking.

Don't look at me like that. God, no, don't... ]

[ he only knocks her to the floor in his scramble away from her, and she tries to catch herself with the wrong hand, rolling to her other side with a pained hiss so she can sit up. her hair is just a wild mess, stuck her face and neck in tear tracks. her heart is thudding so hard it's making her head hurt -- the anger and fury and frustration are all still there, but sonia's throat is suddenly thick and her stomach clenches.

she doesn't think she's ever seen that look on his face before. she's never seen him afraid before. afraid of her? god, no. he'd shown no fear through that beating, just that cold mockery. she cradles her strained wrist in her lap and she's still just staring at him, wide eyes tracking him as he moves. god, his hands are shaking. she feels sick, in more than one way. he's never looked at her like she was something to be afraid of. her voice is choked, thick, still a little gasping. ]

Byerly --

[ A plausible story. He needs a plausible story. They'll be watching via cameras, listening in, everything. He needs something reasonable, something that they'll believe, something that isn't this girl is so much to me, she means so much to me, and all I want is to spirit her out of here to somewhere safe, away from this war, and I'm afraid that if she touches me I'll break down altogether.

Something like - ]

Watch where you kick. That hurt.

[ It comes out in a strained voice. Half-desperate. Only half plausible. ]

[ no, something small in her mind whispers, and sonia's chest seizes, and now she finds she really can't breathe, her last breath trapped in her lungs. for a moment there's no trace of the angry, hurt woman hurling the most painful blows she could come up with, verbal and physical. for a moment instead there sits half-sprawled on the floor a scared and hurt girl, more vulnerable than she's ever realized she could be, and she isn't shaking, but she might as well be. she doesn't get up from the floor, just watches byerly and tries to swallow. her mouth opens, her throat works, but nothing comes out. she feels suddenly, nauseatingly hopeful, burning up in the back of her throat before she can swallow it down. no. there's nothing to hope for here. there is no hope here. there is no hope here...

she can't think of anything to say. she can't even bring herself to get up from the floor. and then her breath comes back in a rush, and she starts to cry. ]

[ He can only watch that for a moment. Then he has to look away. God, all he wants to do is go and hold her. Offer her a handkerchief. Tell her jokes and feed her ridiculous lines until she starts laughing through those tears. Flirt and tease. That's all he wants. But that's not possible here. That's not possible for him. All that he can do is - is stare off to the side and say, roughly - ]

Stop that. That's not going to get you anywhere. [ A beat. This is bad. This is wrong. This is stupid. This is stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, the only thing that's worth anything is maintaining his cover. But his eyes slide over to hers, and he holds her gaze as he tells this lie: ] I'm not like General Vorkosigan. You can't just throw a temper tantrum and have me give in like he does.

[ she starts to feel angry again, if only for that faint flicker of hope, but it isn't enough to get her up off the floor. she can't quite stop crying, not just yet -- you think this is a temper tantrum? doesn't make it out of her mouth, probably for the better. she hiccups, trying to get her breathing under control, but she holds his gaze, her eyes burning with a desperate challenge. she wipes the tears off her face with her good hand, smearing that little well of blood over her cheek. ]

And what -- [ her voice is shaking, thick, but her gaze doesn't waver. ] What is it you're not giving into?

Edited 2017-03-04 00:44 (UTC)

[ No. No...She's too upset to catch on, it seems. That little falsehood, that story of Vorkosigan ever giving in, it had escaped her notice. Damn it all. Possibly...Possibly for the best. ]

I haven't the faintest. What is it you want from me, exactly?

[ the crushing tide of emotion hasn't stopped, not for a second, but the tears are dying down and god, she's getting a headache, but she's getting some of her wits back, too. the entire room feels blurred around her except for byerly, in perfect focus. she rubs her wrist, trying desperately to tease out truth from hope, but there's confirmation bias on every side. she wets her lips, tastes blood for the first time, puts the heel of her hand to her mouth. ]

What do you want from me? [ her voice is hurt, angry, hoarse from yelling, and adrenaline still pulses through her, the only thing keeping her up now. but the look she gives him is very odd. ] You came in here. What the hell do you want from me, Byerly?

[ not hope. don't let it be hope. i can't bear to hope again. she fights with herself, cyclically, because she cannot decide which is worse. and what she's done to him -- oh, god. for a sickening moment, she wishes he had forced himself on her, because if there was any hope to be had, any sliver of light, it might better have been concealed that way. ]

Oh, I don't know.

[ He shrugs indifferently and raises his gaze to the ceiling. I don't know, I don't know... ]

A bit of cooperation, ideally. It would be nice if you could give your parole and be out and walking around.

[ she narrows her eyes at him, mind tangled, frustrated all over again. she feels sick thinking about it, but the rage had been easier. clearer. he isn't looking at her, but she doesn't take her eyes off him, even as she slowly pushes herself to her feet. ]

Somehow I don't think your ghem lords would be so keen on that. I could cut myself open right now, spill every useless thing in me, and they still wouldn't let me out of this cell.

[ she's still struggling to keep her voice even, but she's thinking better now, enough that every word there was deliberately chosen. she wipes the last bit of blood from her mouth and walks back toward him, slowly, closing the distance he'd so frantically put between them. just to see what happens. ]

Are you referring to your secrets, or your blood?

[ His gaze drops down when she moves close. His eyes are wary. He doesn't quite flinch away, but he's clearly considering moving back. But there's always the possibility that she's moving in to slap him again, which he does desperately crave. ]

[ she's never had anyone react to her like this before. she might hit him again -- she might -- but she isn't that angry just now. just curious and...and desperate. she doesn't know what's been accomplished by byerly even coming here. she takes another step closer. ]

Which would you consider my parole?

[ He shifts back a little bit, warily. Still, his voice stays rather light, unconcerned. ]

It's only to Barrayarans that your blood means anything special, Princess.

[ she watches him takes that step back, takes another of her own. that's a slight, and she feels that hurt and anger bubbling up in her chest again, sick as it makes her. he's running circles around her, making her dizzy, and she knows it -- struggling to stay oriented through all this pain and fury. one hand curls into a fist at her side.

her lips thin, drawing back, and it could've been a smile if her eyes hadn't gone so flat, so angry. her voice is quiet, mostly because it's hoarse, but it comes out venomous. ]

Ah. Of course you fancy yourself more than just an expatriate.

[ His eyes flick down to that curled fist. He lifts his chin just a bit to give her a good angle. ]

And here I thought you liked that I didn't treat you any different.

[ he seems to have recovered his composure somehow, but it's impossible to forget the way he'd recoiled from her like prey. it's never occurred to her to play the predator. something nags at the back of her mind -- he's letting you do this -- but it's drowned out by the rising livid tide in her chest.

she talks another forward step even though he hasn't shifted back yet, directly into his personal space. she's hurt, she's angry, and she wants to see what happens. her answer comes through clenched teeth. ]

As a Barrayaran. You were the only one that warranted that oath. [ her lip curls back in disgust. real, honest loathing. her breath catches in her throat. ] I'm sure it gives you great joy to play pretend with the ghem.

[ He fights the urge to recoil from her again. Instead, he lifts his eyes heavenwards and sighs. ]

The only real difference between ghem and Vor is that the ghem have bathed in the past month.

[ this time when she hits him it's with a closed fist, a nasty right hook that connects with his chin and leaves her hand hurting, but it's almost guaranteed to have hurt byerly more. she never used to fight like this, never used to know how, but as it turns out, tucker's a pretty good teacher, and she isn't a terrible student, either.

the blow catches in her breath, too, fighting off another round of tears. she's never known anyone to make her so angry. she's been bruised before, hurt by people, but none of them have ever made her this angry, and she hates it. but she doesn't stagger back, even as she withdraws her hand to rub over her knuckles. ]

[ He staggers again, the breath going out of him as his brain rattles around in his head. Another wave of satisfaction ripples through him, pure miserable masochistic joy. He turns towards her, and unsticks his jaw enough to goad her: ]

Go on. Hit me again.

[ it's much easier to make sonia cry than it is to make her angry enough to hit someone, but she is a temperamental girl -- what was it that piotr had said? gives in too easily to fits of emotion? it isn't hard to get any kind of reaction out of her. and right now she's angry, angry and dizzy enough to just keep hitting him, to block all else out.

another ragged cry claws its way out of her throat as she takes another swing at him, hand connecting with his jaw again. her form is bad, she's not hitting him at the right angle and it's hurting her hand, but she doesn't care. ]

[ He doesn't care, either. Later, he'll beat his head against the wall in self-loathing, furious at himself for having dragged her into that, made her do all that. It couldn't have been good for her, could only have made her miserable...But in the moment, he's just enjoying it too much. So: ]

Again.

[ she isn't enjoying it, couldn't ever admit to enjoying it, but it's satisfying something and she isn't thinking, doesn't have to think with byerly goading her like this. every breath is hitched, on the verge of angry tears, and this time when she hits him in the face, she drives her knee into his stomach again -- just tall enough to manage -- she hits byerly like a prisoner beating her fists against the wall, begging for escape. ]

[ He falls to his knees, gasping for breath. At this point - reasonably - the guards decide that this is enough; two come in, one to restrain her, the other to help him back to his feet and pull him from the cell. He doesn't go truly willingly. ]

I'm all right -

[ a guard lays hands on her and sonia goes still again, doesn't fight in the least, just hiccuping and trying to swallow the rising tide of tears creeping up the back of her throat. she doesn't resist when the guard pulls her back, doesn't even complain that his grip is far too tight -- she just stares after byerly, red-eyed, calling out hoarsely so loud it might as well be a scream. ]

Why wouldn't you hit me back?

[ Don't you know?

He doesn't respond to that. The guard looking at him looks at his face and pulls him out of the room, evidently determined to take him to the medical bay. After a bit more reluctance, Byerly allows it to happen, going out with them. He doesn't look back at her. ]

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