Fiction: True Love 1
Jan. 2nd, 2010 09:40 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kethniName: True Love Part 1
Pairing: Matt/Mohinder (in this part)
Rating: 18
Warnings: Adult language, dubcon/noncon sex
Note: For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
boudecia7, sorry it took so long!
Summary: AU in which people of ability are considered as subhuman, and the ‘dangerous’ have been locked up under Mohinder’s tender care.
(One day I’m going to do a story where the Specials are all in charge. Oh yes.)
The pictures on the walls are of landscapes, sunsets, and other places and things I’ll never see again. In the morning, or what they tell us is morning, the door to the corridor opens the shadows fall across the walls and floor. Fall like bars on prison cells, or cages, or the blade of a guillotine. Bars would be better I think. Bars would be more honest. Better than this, better than the unyielding, impervious walls around me, around my habitat. They’re not brick or concrete, there’s no illusion of being able to scrape and scratch a dint, a gouge, a hole. No, they’re clear solid plastic that doesn’t scratch or dint no matter what I do. The pictures are bolted to the thick plastic walls, too high to reach and too solidly to knock them down with a thrown book or DVD. The furniture won’t move, even the bed is bolted down. The bed, the chair, the table, the entertainment unit, all of it trapped where someone else decided it should be.
I see the shadows slice brutally across the floor; someone must’ve opened the door in the corridor. In the habitat opposite, the young male is just staring listlessly at the opposite wall. I used to feel bad when I didn’t know their names but I don’t get a chance to find out any more. I used to bang on the wall and shout but most of the time I couldn’t even attract their attention, let alone communicate.
The Doctor. I back away from the door quickly. His lips are pursed as if he’s whistling and there is a smear of blood on his sleeve. The boy in the other habitat notices him and shudders, but he’s lucky today. The Doctor isn’t here for him, he’s here for me, and he smiles at me through the thick, unbreakable plastic and gives me a jaunty wave.
The door slides open slowly and he walks in, eyes raking over the unmade bed.
‘Rough night’s sleep?’
I shrug and a muscle jumps angrily in his cheek.
‘Not this nonsense again, hmm? Aren’t we a little old for sending someone to Coventry?’
I don’t know if that’s English slang or normal slang. They keep us cut off from them, from the normals, we can’t even watch the same programmes, read the same papers. Not that ‘our’ programmes or newspapers are worth bothering with, they’re all written by the Ministry anyway. The programmes acted out by Others pretending badly that it’s glamorous and exciting to be a role model for obedience and submission.
‘Matt?’ he prompts, his hands tucked in his pockets. ‘Come on, don’t be childish.’
The seconds stretch into a long, unpleasant minute and his face reddens.
‘I don’t know why I bother with you,’ he says eventually. ‘I really don’t. I try so hard with you, Matt and you just treat me like the enemy. All I ask is some civility, I’m not even... I’m not even asking you to... just to be treated as someone who is doing his best to look after you.’
He keeps looking at me, keeps waiting, hands clenching and unclenching. After a few seconds, he starts to blink rapidly and then rubs his eyes with the back of his hand.
‘Alright,’ he says quietly. ‘I have some baseline tests to run before you have some breakfast. Come along.’
Two guards are waiting in the corridor tooled up like SWAT or something. Just shapes buried in armour and weapons. Can’t even tell if they’re men or women, white or black or something else. We troop out with the Doctor at the front, then a guard, then me, and the second guard at the back. No control collar today, no shackles, and no sedative. He’s feeling sorry for himself, feeling hard done by, and making a big show of being gracious.
Before they take me into the lab, they make me shower in disinfectant. Like I’ve got dirty just walking down the corridor, like I’ll contaminate the lab just by walking into it. I squeeze my eyes closed against the burn of the disinfectant and force myself not to flinch at the bitterly cold water that rinses it off.
The guards barely pay attention as I dry and dress in a fresh paper suit but the Doctor watches closely. Watches, talks constantly, touches me.
‘Is it too cold, Matt? A little cold is good for your system but not too much.’ His hand in my hair, on the back of my neck, on my shoulder.
The lab is stark and bare. In one corner, there are three cages with the current unlucky denizens curled up and shivering on the floor.
‘Over there please Matt,’ the Doctor says gesturing at The Chair.
It’s all black and chrome, harsh and ugly against the painfully white tile. Straps along the arms, along the legs, over the waist, and chest. The padding is worn on the seat and the headrest and there are scratches on the hand rests. Some of those are probably mine.
A guard shoves me forward and I nearly trip over the thing.
‘That’s not necessary,’ the Doctor says sharply. ‘Matt, sit down please.’
I fought the first few times. Kicked, shouted, even landed a few punches. It never helped. Beat down, sedated, dragged out of my habitat in restraints. Anger only got me so far and then I was just... tired, too tired to keep kicking and punching.
So I sit down, look away as he fastens the straps, and don’t listen as he hums to himself.
Heart, blood pressure, lung function, brain activity. Day in, day out, I could do it in my sleep. On the other side of the lab, the three test subjects are starting to wake. Criminals, normals condemned to death. They probably thought this was better and there they are. One of them is a mass of scales and bleeding wounds, one has eyes growing shut, and the other just moans and twitches.
That could be me. One day it might be. Is he like this with his other test subjects? Does he stand stroking their hair?
‘Are you going to say something for me?’ he asks softly. ‘Please?’
The lights flash as the door to the lab opens. It’s too much to hope for someone who’ll treat me like a human being. The only people I see are staff, guards, and her.
It’s her now; making an expensive suit look like something from a thrift store as she wanders across the lab.
He steps half in front of me, shielding me with his body, and rests his hand on the back of my neck.
‘Hey Suresh,’ she drawls. I can’t see her but I can hear the smirk in her voice. ‘How’s our boy, chatty?’
‘Director Hanson. Matt’s still refusing to comply,’ he says, and his thumb caresses the nape of my neck. ‘He’s stubborn but in time...’
‘I thought you were going to paralyze his vocal cords so he’d have to?’
‘I did.’ He moves back and to the side so he’s standing next to me. ‘He’s obviously not feeling very communicative.’ He tips my head to the side so it’s resting against his side.
Hanson leans down to talk to me directly. ‘Well I’m sure that can be resolved one way or another.’
‘If that’s everything then?’ he prompts, stroking the side of my face. ‘Matt hasn’t eaten yet.’
Hanson smirks at me. ‘You hate that don’t you? We could take you back to the internment centre if you like. No more being pampered and cosseted. No nice cosy habitat...’
‘That’s enough,’ Suresh says harshly. ‘This is a research facility not a bloody playground. Go and pick on one of the unfortunates in your centre.’
‘Diddums,’ she sneers. ‘Maybe if you were a little harder on him he’d be a little more motivated.’ She stands up and strolls away. ‘You boys enjoy your breakfast.’
Suresh sighs and starts undoing the straps on the chair. ‘That woman, it frightens me to think of her having authority over anyone.’
In the cages, the scaled and bleeding young woman stares sobbing softly.
He lets me out of the chair to use the bathroom, or to ‘do your business’ as he puts it. He opens the door when I’m washing my hands and gives me a disposable toothbrush already loaded with toothpaste.
‘Don’t take too long now,’ he says, leaning against the wall. ‘I’ve let the cafeteria know what your nutritional requirements.’
Just like every day, I don’t know if it’s my blood, my urine, or something else, but he tests something and tells the cafeteria what to let me eat. That’s on top of the ‘food restriction’. Apparently ‘diet’ is a dirty word around here, or maybe too human to be applied to me. He doesn’t say how much weight I’m supposed to lose and there’s never any suggestion of how long it’s going to last. Others are too much of a drain on society as it is without us getting unhealthy. Once a year we have a compulsory physical and failure to pass lands us in fitness camp. Long-term medical problems are categorised by severity and cost; being diagnosed with an A1 medical condition means immediate termination.
But if I’m good then I’m allowed a ‘treat’, although there haven’t been many of those. The Doctor pleased and wanting to reward is even more unpleasant than when he’s feeling sorry for himself.
‘Matt,’ he prompts. ‘Don’t brush your teeth for too long, you’ll damage the enamel.’
I certainly don’t another visit with the dentist. He doesn’t think we’re capable of feeling pain.
There are other subjects here but they come and go. I don’t see them every day so it’s easy to notice them get thin, get sick, twist with pain and misery. The Doctor is in charge overall but there are other researchers as well. The other researchers don’t bring the subjects in themselves, they have the nurses, or orderlies do it.
They all tense when he brings me into the cafeteria, because of him, not me. The guards stay by the doorway and watch as he leads me over to an empty table.
‘Take a seat Matt and I’ll get your breakfast.’ He ruffles my hair and scratches gently at my scalp. ‘Any special requests?’
He blinks his eyes rapidly as I push his hand away and I hear the rattle of the guard’s armour as they start towards us.
‘Don’t be like that,’ he says sounding hurt and waving the guards back. He waits for a couple of seconds as if he thinks I’m going to reply. ‘You’ll feel happier when you’ve had something to eat.’
He says that a lot but I can’t say I’ve noticed.
Over on the table opposite this one a youngish male, early thirties, blond haired, blue-eyed, and beautiful meets my eyes and gives me a wry smile. He looks surprisingly good and healthy for one of us in here. He’s chained at the wrists and neck, and from the hang of the chains down his body probably at the ankles. Scary guy apparently.
Hello over there.
I’m not reading. I’m not listening. It just turns up in my head clear as day and with an English accent even. And he gives me a little wave. Is this a trick?
The Doctor stamps back and slams a tray on the table in front of me. Brown mush that threatens to slop over the side of the bowl and a tall glass of creamy green goo.
‘So you can’t be courteous to me but you can flirt with some random Other you’ve never seen before?”
People turn around at the sound of his raised voice. Nurses and staff smother giggles and the blond rolls his eyes.
He’s waiting again, completely ignoring everyone around us. I pick up the spoon; it’s a rare metal piece of cutlery. They’re usually so careful about keeping us away from anything that we could use for a weapon.
The moment drags on unpleasantly.
He’s a touchy sort, isn’t he? But you’ve rather backed him into a corner. You best let him have his little moment of triumph.
I’m not giving him what he wants. My curse is the only thing I have control over. This is the only ‘no’ I have.
I look up at him and mouth ‘sorry’.
He deflates and looks away, pushing the hair back off his face. ‘All right, Matt,’ he says finally, and sits down next to me. ‘You should eat your bran, you need the fibre.’ He puts the glass in front of me. ‘This too, it’s got the added vitamins that you need.’
Oh joy, vitamins and fibre. Be still my heart.
‘I’m not sure that it’s doing you any good to be here.’
Right, because all this is for my benefit.
He looks over his shoulder at the blond. ‘I think from now on you might be best eating in your room.’
I don’t know if it’s supposed to be a punishment. It’s not as if I ever get to have a conversation or anything when I’m in here. I haven’t had an actual conversation, with someone treating me like a person, since they brought me in here.
The brown mush is tasteless and that is a punishment. When I was first here, they made all the food tasteless as punishment for fighting and refusing to cooperate in every way I could. Cardboard would’ve tasted better. I try to take a sip of the green goo and almost vomit at the smell. Never, never smelt anything like... I shove the glass away and try to suck in enough air to clear the smell.
‘Don’t be childish,’ he says sharply. ‘It’s for your own good. Drink it all now and I’ll take you off for your exercise.’
If I don’t drink it do I get no exercise?
‘I’m not going to tell you again,’ he says, and we both know it’s not true. He pushes the glass back towards me. ‘The food restriction leaves you short of vitamins. I don’t want you to become ill.’
I pick up the glass and offer it to him. He wrinkles up his nose but shakes his head.
‘It’s for your own good. Drink it fast and it won’t be so bad.’
I shove it away and sit back.
That’s a spectacularly poor idea, old boy. I have no doubt he will force you.
Shut up blondey. You’ve already got me into trouble today.
The Doctor changes tack, stroking the back of my hand. ‘Please Matt, drink it for me. Please?’
He flutters his eyelashes at me. Actually bats his eyes at me. In another life I might find him attractive, might be flattered by the attention.
But I know too well how quickly it passes and how furiously his temper blooms.
The blond is right, he’ll force me and then punish me again. Worse than drinking that?
I hold my breath as I gulp down the first.. urggh, I’m going to puke... I’m going to... Choke it down, choke it down. Finish the mouthful, the glass, lunge for the jug of water.
Laughing, cheering, clapping, wash away the taste, wash away the taste. The Doctor ranting and screaming at them to shut up. Just makes them laugh all the more.
I stand up and take a bow, if you can’t laugh at yourself then you’re lost, right? When I straighten up the Doctor’s face has this waxy, sheen and he’s not blinking, at all.
He doesn’t say anything just stares as I straighten myself up. He grabs me by the upper arm hard enough to hurt and tugs me out of the room.
I could easily stop him. He’s shorter than me, and even with the diet he’s still a hell of a lot lighter than me too. The guards are lagging behind, struggling to keep up as he charges along. I could do him some real damage before they caught up and stopped me. Yeah right, keep dreaming. That’s not me I’ve never been violent. Even if I was violent what good would it do? God, I don’t want to end up in one of the cages in his lab.
‘Get in there,’ he spits, shoving me towards my habitat. ‘Someone else will come and take you to the exercise yard.’
I think he’s probably disappointed that he can’t slam the door shut behind him.
The male in the habitat opposite shudders as the Doctor stamps past him.
It’s the pretty African-American girl that comes to fetch me for exercise. She has big brown eyes and moves like a dancer. She smiles automatically but it doesn’t reach her eyes. There are four guards with her and she’s holding manacles and the control collar.
She’s probably a perfectly nice woman really. She doesn’t try and get me to do anything other than go here or there.
‘Turn around for me.’
She chains me at the wrists, waist, and ankles and puts the control collar around my neck. It’s a stiff leather collar that connects to the chains and also has a long handle so she doesn’t have to get close. I’m still paying for previous misbehaviour although I never injured anyone.
Oh great. The blond is in the exercise room. There are guards everywhere here because of all the weights and other equipment. Most of the other subjects are walking drearily in a circle although a couple are on the weights. The blond is on one of the treadmills going at a hell of a lick.
They take the manacles and the control collar off and I start for the circle.
Bennet walks over and my stomach churns. He smiles coldly and nods at the woman.
‘Simone, nice to see you.’
‘He just needs twenty minutes or so...’
‘Parkman, get on the treadmill,’ he says not looking at me.
‘Oh come on!’ she protests. ‘He’s not up to that.’
‘Basic interval training,’ he says smoothly. ‘We’ll start with a cycle at sixty seconds moderate speed followed by sixty seconds high speed for twenty minutes.’
‘No, no way,’ she says sharply. ‘He’s not up to that. Some basic cardio every day and build up to it, maybe.’
‘I’m not asking your permission Simone,’ he says, mildly. ‘Parkman, I won’t tell you again.’
When he says it, he means it. He’s not the Doctor; he won’t flatter and cajole, I don’t want to know what he’ll do if I’m not a good obedient little Other. I get onto the treadmill next to the blond and wait for Bennet to programme it.
She clatters away on high heels, stamping her feet as she goes.
The blond is bright red and panting painfully as he runs. Sweat is running down his face, dripping in his eyes and off his chin. Why doesn’t he wipe... his wrists are chained to the guide rails, he can run, but he can’t raise his hands to wipe the sweat from his face.
I reach over and wipe his forehead and eyes just as Bennet finishes the programme.
Thank... you.
He’s even panting in his thoughts.
‘Simmer down lovebirds,’ Bennet sneers and starts up the treadmill.
It builds up slowly a walk, a trot, a run. Sixty seconds at a run and then it gets faster. That was the moderate speed? Shit, shit. Hurts... hurts... my chest splitting and ripping, burns to breathe...
Purple spots are popping in front of my eyes as Bennet brings me off the treadmill and has me doing the worst kind of push-ups. My feet on a chair as I lower myself down and push back up, my back screaming, and my lungs cramping. My arms and legs are shaking, my chest is burning, and purple and white light fuzzing my vision.
‘What the hell...’
Voice fades out everything goes dark.
Comfy bed. Warm. Everything aches, pounds with aching. Something cool on my face.
‘It’s all right, it’s alright, don’t move.’
His voice. Soft and cooing.
‘You’re going to be sore tomorrow but I’ll look after you, Matt.’ Wistful, pensive.
It’s a cloth. He’s wiping my face over with a cold cloth.
Daylight. I’m on a bed lying in a patch of daylight. Where am I?
‘There you are sleepyhead.” The Doctor says smiling at me but it’s tight, and unreal. He puts the cloth aside and pats my face dry with a towel. ‘How do you feel?’
I’m in a large room, airy and light, with windows, actual floor to ceiling windows. I haven’t seen outside in such a long time. The bed is big, a double, and so comfortable. Where am I?
‘Matt?’ he prompts, snapping his fingers to drag my attention back to him. ‘How do you feel?’
I pull a pained face and he laughs. ‘As bad as that?’ He strokes the back of his fingers over my cheek and his eyes glisten oddly. ‘You’re so handsome. You’re not quite broken in but I’m sure it won’t be long now. I wanted to leave you in the facility until you were fully domesticated but it’s obviously not the right environment. I’m going to take such good care of you.’
I’m in a house? His... house? His... fuck... fuck...
‘Whoa, relax,’ he says softly. ‘You’re safe, you’re safe here Matt. Nobody’s going to hurt you again. Let’s sit you up shall we?’
Locks on the windows, sensors on the floor, and cameras on the ceiling; this is another cell. I’m supposed to be grateful to swap one prison for another.
‘You’re going to be happy here, Matt,’ he says softly. ‘I promise.’
He drags me into another room by the hand and bounces up and down in excitement.
‘This is the playroom,’ he burbles. ‘See, I got you lots of toys. Crayons, paper, so you can draw, a little rubber ball, it’s squeaky! There’s a football, a soccer ball I mean, some soft toys, and if you’re good I’m going to get you some Plasticine and Lego.’
Toys. Children’s toys. This is what he thinks of me? Not only does he think I’m subhuman he also thinks I’m a child? He hasn’t even given me good children’s toys like a science set or... I don’t know, a telescope or something.
‘What’s wrong?’ he asks, his face falling.
Shit, shit, I’m a bad, bad liar always have been.
I shake my head and kneel down to pick up a toy bear, anything not to look him in the face.
‘You like it?’ he asks, voice strange. I jump as he touches my face and he smiles slightly. ‘I’m sorry, Matt, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.’ He strokes my hair and then steps back. ‘I’ll let you look around, you can go anywhere in the house, and settle yourself, establish your territory.’
Right, I’ll just pee on the floor.
I don’t remember too much about getting to the facility but I think that’s it outside. I guess he lives in the grounds? No guards in here but guards, road blocks, and guard towers out there. Not that getting out of here would do me any good anyway. I can’t get the ID transmitter out from under my skin so I’d be caught in minutes and punished, punished badly. Maybe put in the cage in the lab, bad.
Playroom, bedroom, bathroom. Am I supposed to sleep on the floor? In the playroom? Typical for him to build a playroom full of cheap rubbish and forget to give me somewhere to sleep. Maybe downstairs? I don’t want to go down there. He’s down there. Maybe I can have the upstairs as my territory huh?
‘Matt?’
He steps out onto the stairs. Shit! I back away quickly and listen, but there’s no footsteps.
‘Matt?’ he calls again, loudly enough that it’s obvious he doesn’t know where I am. ‘I’m making you something to eat. Come downstairs, please.’
I step out onto the stairs and his face lights up. ‘I didn’t realise you were just there,’ he says, taking a step back as I tramp downstairs. ‘What do you think? I just had it redecorated for you, do you like it?’
I force a nod and a smile before following him into the living room. More neutral colours and huge windows as well as bookcases full of thick textbooks. It’s like a show house; no personal touches, nothing messy or misplaced. Nobody else lives here from the look of it, he barely lives here from the look of it.
The kitchen is a little better. It’s warmer in here though, and smells of chicken and pastry.
‘I made chicken pie,’ he says happily. ‘It’s been a while since you’ve had cooked food isn’t it?’
I can’t remember the last time.
‘I’ll still be monitoring your health but I don’t think it’s necessary to be quite as stringent regarding your diet.’ He winks at me. ‘You’re towards the upper end of the ideal scale but you are still within the ideal range.’ He rubs my chest with his hand. ‘I don’t think I’d like you too much slimmer. You’re just nice right now.’
He just used to touch my hair, then my hair and face, now my chest. Where the fuck is this going?
He’s waiting for some sort of response and I don’t know... I don’t know what he wants.
After a few seconds, he sighs and pats my shoulder. ‘Okay, sit down and I’ll get the food out.’
Forgot, forgot how good cooked food can be. Eat it slow, really taste every mouthful, make it last as long as possible. Don’t look, don’t think about him watching me eat.
‘Have some wine,’ he says, filling a glass and pushing it towards me.
We’re not allowed intoxicants, we might get violent or anything. Is it drugged? I don’t care if the food is drugged, I don’t care, I’m enjoying it too much, and besides if he wants me drugged he’ll just do it some other way. In the food, in the water, or just have me put in restraints and inject me.
‘It’ll help you relax,’ he urges, smiling too warmly. So it is drugged. If I refuse, he’ll just get angry and force me. All I’d do is piss him off and now more than ever I can’t risk it. He rubs a hand over my back and I sit up straighter. ‘You’re so tense. I understand why, this is a new place, a new situation, and that’s stressful and perhaps a little frightening.’ He kisses my forehead and moves slightly away.
I take a sip of the wine. It’s cold, sharp and tastes of windfall apples.
‘Is it nice? Not too much of a bite for you?’
He blushes when he says ‘bite’, like he said a dirty word. I shake my head and concentrate on my food, try to block him out. I drink some more wine and he strokes my hair.
Little dizzy now. Too long since I’ve had a drink. God, I miss beers at Barney’s, watching the game and shooting the shit. The Doctor’s in the living room doing... something, so at least I don’t have to worry about him flapping right now. I just have to get my breath, get my balance, and I’ll be okay.
He’s the television on. It’s huge but the way he’s futzing about it looks as though he hardly ever uses it. He spins around when I trip over my feet and beams at me. He’s got a big cushion, one of those one for dogs, on the floor in front of the sofa. Oh great.
‘Come and sit down, Matt,’ he says, sitting down on the opulent sofa and leaning down to pat the cushion. ‘Right here, by me.’
He’s back to being excited. About what? How crap does your life have to be for you to be so thrilled at me being here.
While he’s distracted with the Tivo I move the cushion a few inches away. Such a rebel.
‘Here we are. Passion’s Point,’ he burbles.
A soap? He wants to watch a soap where makeup passes for physical attractiveness and a combination of soft focus and musical stings for acting talent? I’m not even allowed to watch this crap. I’m not allowed to drink alcohol either so what... was that a last meal or something?
‘Matt?’ he asks softly, hand resting on my head. ‘Scootch a little closer.’
No, he set up that playroom, bought all that stuff. No. He’s planning on me being here a while.
‘Matt,’ he says again. ‘Come on, just a little bit. There’s a good boy.’
I can’t see his face from here. His hand is in my hair, tipping my face against his knee, but at least I can’t see his face.
Of all the insulting, cack handed, obscene, manipulative... This is why he wanted me to watch this... drivel. A Very Special Episode which is all about dealing with the poor, stupid, weak-minded token Other character. I guess calling us all terrorists and murderers started falling apart when people realised how many of us they knew. People probably find it easier to believe that we’re brain dead morons, somewhere between animals and mentally damaged children, than evil geniuses.
‘Are you paying attention, Matt?’ Mohinder asks. ‘Do you understand?’
More than you do.
Sleepy now, that’s the wine too; the wine and the fact that he’s stroking my hair and the back of my neck. Something is burbling on the television, I don’t know what. Nothing good I’m sure. Don’t look, eyes closed, just ignore it.
‘Matt, Matt, wake up sweetheart.’
Tired.
‘Come on sleepyhead.’ Laughing, soft voice.
Sore. Stand up and I’m sore, stiff. The Doctor brushes the hair off my face and puts a hand around my waist.
‘Let’s get you up to bed.’
Not that tired. Stop touching, stop touching.
‘Stop squirming,’ he says. ‘Stop squirming or you’re going to fall down the stairs.’
I’m awake now. I don’t need help.
He takes my hand and pulls me towards the bedroom. Am I supposed to sleep on the fucking bed like a dog?
‘The paralysing agent will be wearing off soon,’ he says leading me inside and rubbing my chest.
Standing too close to the bed to back away. Try not to move, maybe it’ll be over soon. In the facility, after Christmas parties and that kind of thing, he sometimes came to my cell, tipsy and too busy with his hands. Never more than touching and trying to kiss. Always called me names when I fought him off, and then sulked for days afterwards.
‘That means you’ll be able to speak, with your voice,’ he says helpfully, like I didn’t get it. ‘I don’t want to paralyse your vocal cords again if I can avoid it. I fear it might have long-term effects. If you’re a good boy and use your affliction then I won’t have to.’
I have nothing to say. Not to you.
Hand slips down and I grab it before he cups my crotch. He glances back at the bed and... no, no, no.
‘Matt, it’s alright, relax.’ He tries to kiss me. No, no. Try to move away and fall back on the bed.
Away, away, got to... out of the room, shit, shit, where to go. Nowhere to hide downstairs. Hear him getting up. Run for the playroom, slam the door, sit down, brace my feet on the floor.
‘Matt?’ Tapping on the door. ‘I’m sorry that I gave you a fright, open the door please.’
He wants... he wants... why? I never thought he’d really... not really. Why would he? He thinks I’m stupid, an animal. Why would anyone want to... to do that with someone they think is barely human?
‘Matt, are you alright in there?’ he asks. ‘I’m sorry. I’m really so sorry. Please open the door.’
Think. Come on Matt. He’ll get the orderlies to break down the door. They’ll drag you out. They’ll drag you out and... and...rape you. That’s why you’re here. He brought you here to...
‘Matt, please?’
He’s crying. He’s crying.
Quick, open the door before he gets angry. Open the door and get low and small, so I look unthreatening.
He pushes the door all the way open and walks in, all snot, fat tears, and red eyes. He blows his nose on a cotton handkerchief and tucks it back in his pocket, yuck, yuck.
‘I’m sorry Matt,’ he says, hunkering down in front of me. ‘I didn’t mean to frighten you. I won’t hurt you. I promise.’ He smiles, a little wavering smile. ‘You’re my baby doll.’
He really means it. Doesn’t think there’s anything odd at all about calling me his ‘baby doll’.
‘Come to bed?’ he asks hopefully. ‘It’ll be fun, you’ll enjoy it.’
My head shakes by itself.
He purses his lips. ‘If you do, I’ll let you have a treat. You’d like that wouldn’t you?’
I jump at the touch of his hand on mine. He strokes the back of my hand too gently, tickling and itching. He’s going to start getting angry soon.
Deep breath. It’s going to happen, he doesn’t care what I think. He doesn’t believe that I do think.
I slide up the wall and he stands up, smiling uncertainly.
‘Okay?’ he takes my hand and then wraps his arm around mine.
Maybe he’ll let me go when he’s done. Maybe he’ll lose interest. Back in the lab. Lab I can live with. The cages... maybe if I behave well he’ll just let me live in the lab, maybe he won’t put me into the cages.
Don’t fight, don’t fight. In the bedroom he’s like a kid on a sugar high; babbling, shaking, eyes wide, hands everywhere.
‘Sorry, sorry, nervous...’ he stammers, tugging at my t-shirt.
Has he ever done this before? He’s never done this before.
Cover his hands, pat them, and pull them away. I pull the t-shirt over my head and take off the rest of my clothes.
He just stands there; staring at me like Christmas came early. Do I have to do everything? I undo a couple of his buttons and he launches at me. Mouth all over me, hands everywhere, cock straining his pants. Get his shirt off, get his pants and shorts down, push him towards the bed. Humping my leg like a dog on heat.
He pants in my ear and against my neck. His hands scrabble at my, my chest, and he comes against my leg.
Lie quiet and still for a few minutes. Maybe he’ll fall asleep and I can grab some blankets and go sleep on the floor.
Shit, he’s crying again.
‘Sorry,’ he snuffles. ‘That’s so embarrassing.’
Happens to me whenever I’ve had a long dry spell. I think maybe my body figures it might not get another chance so better pump out that DNA.
Pat his back, pat his shoulder, nothing to... nothing to lead him on.
‘Thank you.’ Still snuffling, still sniffling. Horrible. He sits up and takes a tissue from the box on the bedside table. Probably not what they’re usually for. He smiles sheepishly and blows his nose. ‘You won’t tell anyone will you?’
Again, he’s totally serious.
Shake my head and he leans down to kiss me. Flip him over before he can and he’s excited again, eyes widening. He wriggles on the bed and rubs a leg against mine.
Shit. Shit. Now what?
‘Matt?’
He reaches up toward my face and I can’t catch myself from jerking back.
‘Sorry, I’m sorry,’ he cringes. ‘I’ll be good. What should I do?’
Go to sleep! Doesn’t help. He just lies there watching me. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Roll him onto his front. For some reason he shifts onto his knees so he’s on all fours, legs spread out wide.
‘There’s lube in the drawer.’ He looks over his shoulder at me. ‘Condoms if you want. Bare if you want. Do you... want?’
No! No, I don’t want! God, on no level do I want this, him. Not even as release. I’m not hard; not even semi hard. I can’t just... it doesn’t work that way. What does he think I am, some kind of animal?
‘Do... you want me on the floor instead? I can do that.’
What happens if I don’t; can he make me? Give me something to make me hard, he could do that. Tell me to do it or else... what, the cages? Does he know to threaten me with that?
Make the best of it. Grab the lube and the condoms. Feel it as little as possible. Still not hard. Prep him, try to prep him but he’s so tense, so... just a finger makes him whimper. He’s not looking, can he tell? Keep using a finger and with the other hand stroke his balls.
More whimpering but softer, better, and he’s pushing back against my hand. A glisten of sweat across his back and he’s squirming, like he’s going to come again. His balls tighten in my hand and he shudders as he comes, spattering semen across the sheets. He falls forward onto the bed bonelessly, just twitching, and his eyes closed.
Leave him in the bed, in his mess, and wash my hands in the bathroom. Maybe he’s got a duvet or something in the bedroom. I go back into the bedroom and he’s snoring, the breath whistling out. Nothing in the cupboards and wardrobes but cheerfully coloured, painfully patterned clothes. There’s a chest at the bottom of the bed though with some unpleasant smelling, threadbare blankets. When I pull them out, dead moths flutter down onto the floor.
I could kill him.
I’m shivering. Not cold but shivering. Where did that come from? I never... I’m not that guy. I never even punched anyone and now, what, I’m fantasising about murdering someone? I’m not even capable.
He’d wake up at the first touch of the pillow over his face. Wake, struggle, fight. Couldn’t do it. Horrible.
Never used to think this way. Before this happened, before I was an animal to be traded, I would’ve never dreamt...
Don’t think about it anymore. Go downstairs. Make a nest on the couch like the animal I am.
Cold, cold touching... who’s touching... long time since anyone...where am I?
‘Good morning baby doll,’ the Doctor whispers. Touching, touching, stroking my arms and hand. Got me trapped against the back of the sofa. ‘Would you like some breakfast?’
I shake my head but my stomach growls loudly. He just laughs though and ruffles my hair.
‘You mustn’t skip meals; it’s not good for you.’ He kisses my forehead, leaning forward as I shrink back. ‘I’m sorry I took up all the room in the bed. Next time wake me up, alright?’
I pull the duvet tightly around myself as he goes off into the kitchen. He can’t stay here all day. He has to... to do whatever he does all day. Whatever he does with the poor bastards in the cages. No me, dear god, not me.
‘Matt, come and get your breakfast,’ he sings.
Last night I was lucky. My luck never holds.
Oatmeal for breakfast and a mug of coffee, decaf of course. He sits me down next to him, hooks his leg over mine, and beams at me.
‘This is nice isn’t it?’
Desperation. His and mine. The air is thick with it. Makes people edgy, uncertain, hysterical.
Smile, smile, try to smile.
He puts his hand over mine; it’s shaking.
‘Um, there’s CCTV so... so I’ll be able to keep an eye on things.’
He’s going to be out all day, all day!
He bites his lower lip. ‘Will you be lonely do you think?’
Shake my head quickly, too quickly.
‘You don’t have to be brave,’ he says softly. ‘At the facility there were Others around; in the canteen and the exercise room. I wouldn’t like you to get bored or frustrated while you’re here by yourself.’
Just go, just leave, just let me be. Please, please, please.
He pats my hand, pats and stokes it like he can’t quite let go. ‘I’ll see how today goes and then decide what to do.’
Don’t look lonely today. Do whatever needs doing but don’t look lonely.
‘I’ll keep an eye on the CCTV,’ he says for the third time. ‘There shouldn’t be any problems. There are some sandwiches under the cover on the table and a jug full of juice so... so you shouldn’t go hungry and thirsty.’
He kisses my forehead and strokes my hair again before finally leaving.
It’s finally quiet. I haven’t been able to suit myself in so long that I have no idea what to do first. TV? A bath maybe. Fuck it, I’m having something decent to eat and find where he’s got the booze.
Pizza, Chinese takeout, Thai food... he must live on junk food. Pizza in the microwave for a couple of minutes, just a couple of minutes, and crack open a beer.
Oh boy, that is... that is such a rush. I haven’t a beer in years, beer and cheese, pepperoni and grease. So good. So good. Chinese food... come here and be eaten little food...
Urgh, I’m going to barf... going to... urgh...
A bath. Not a disinfectant shower, not a scrub down with cold water, a hot bath. Close my eyes and drift.
‘Matt?’
No, no, no!
Feet on the stairs, heavy, clattering urgent steps. Knock at the door.
‘Matt? Matt are you...’ Rattles the doorknob. ‘Matt, oh god, are you alright?’
Panic in his voice. What does think has happened? Crying now, crying and banging the door.
‘Matt, please, please...’
Unlock the door. Half out of the bath to unlock the door and he nearly falls in the room. Weeping, panicking, covered in tears and snot. He wonders why I’m not all over him.
‘I thought you’d drowned!’ He shoves me and I fall back in the bath, water slopping everywhere. My head just misses slamming into the tiled wall and I catch my elbow sharply.
‘Shit!’ It’s a rasp but it sounds loud.
The Doctor grabs for me but I shove him off, getting my balance back.
‘You... you spoke?’ he says, flapping to mop up the water with a towel. ‘Good, I was... I was worrying that... will you please get out of the bath!’
Push him away and cross my arms over my chest.
‘Get out of the bath!’
‘I’m not going to drown.’ It hurts to talk, the words scratch and scrape at my throat.
He stares at me, his chest heaving as he breathes noisily. ‘Matt,’ he says in a tight, shaking voice. ‘Please get out of the bath.’
I reach over to grab the towel and wrap it around me as I stand up.
‘I was worried,’ he says, blocking the door. ‘You shouldn’t take those kinds of risks.’
It’s all I can do to say nothing, to do nothing. I can’t even bathe, can’t relax in any way, without his hysterical attention.
‘What were you trying to do?’ he asks, scrubbing his face with his hand. ‘I saw you eating all that junk food... why have a bath after you’ve eaten, and what if you’d got cramp?’
That’s swimming you ass, and it’s not even true. Some doctor.
‘It wasn’t that deep.’
He folds his arms tightly. ‘That isn’t your choice to make.’
‘I’m cold.’
He wilts and steps aside. ‘Go and get dressed. I have to go back to work.’
I know I’m going to pay for it, but what else am I going to do?
It’s stupidly childish to stay in the living room and just watch television but I feel stupidly childish. I avoid the soaps and the daytime movies but watch sitcoms, the news, and quiz shows. It just keeps going. So many of us in camps, in labs, and it just gets absorbed into everyday life.
Don’t think about that, don’t think, just watch, and vegetate.
Woken up by the door being unlocked. I sit up and pull a cushion into my lap, anything to put a barrier between us.
He comes in, putting his coat up on a hook, and dropping his bag by the door. He stands on the threshold of the living room and looks at me. He looks exhausted and stressed out.
‘I have a treat for you if you’ll meet me at the door,’ he says quietly. He waves a packet of candy vaguely in my direction. ‘I don’t think you should be on the furniture.’
I’ve pushed him already today. I shouldn’t push my luck, or what passes for it. I get up and walk over to him, still holding the cushion.
His expression changes so quick it’s scary. So pleased it’s worrying. ‘I really missed you.’ He rubs his hand over my chest, sliding it up to the back of my head and pulling me down into a kiss.
My jaw’s tense. I can’t help it, can’t relax it. His tongue flicks at my lips but I can’t open my mouth, even if I wanted to, I couldn’t.
‘You’re tense,’ he says, standing back. ‘Well, I guess the changes are a little stressful.’ He tips some candy into his palm and holds it up to my mouth. ‘Don’t tell the nutritionist!’
I’m not eating out of his fucking hand. I’d rather go into the damn cages.
‘It’s good,’ he says, popping one into his mouth.
I take them from his hand and walk back to the couch.
‘You haven’t... you haven’t been there all afternoon have you?’ he asks, locking the door and trailing after me.
‘Was I supposed to do something else?’ I ask, lying down with my back pressed against the back of the sofa.
The Doctor switches off the television and folds his arms. ‘I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to watch so much television. You’re impressionable and television is really not realistic or a good guide to morality or appropriate behaviour.’
I pull a cushion over my face and hope he’ll leave.
‘Wouldn’t you like to play upstairs?’ he asks hopefully. I feel the couch dip as he sits down. ‘I think you’ll better for it.’
Don’t look at him, don’t look as I get up and go upstairs. If he wants me to go up into the damn playroom, I will. I might at least get some peace.
I want to break the crayons, rip the paper, tear apart the stuffed toys. Scream, shout, and stamp my feet. He’s making me into a child, an animal, and I’m letting him. I get up and look out of the window. Somewhere in the distance is the real world, where the ‘real’ people have jobs and lives.
Dinner is chicken salad. He presses wine on me again but I’m not risking it.
‘It’ll help you relax,’ he insists.
‘I don’t want it. I’m not an alcoholic.’
‘I wasn’t saying... I don’t think... it’s just a drink, Matt.’ His hand is shaking and the bottle chimes against the glass.
‘I’d rather not,’ I say more carefully. I don’t know what he’ll do if he’s pushed. ‘Thank you.’
He picks at his food, watching me too closely as he eats. ‘I’ve been thinking... maybe you being here all day on your own isn’t the best idea. You were obviously...’
‘I wasn’t lonely!’
‘Perhaps not,’ he says slowly, dropping his eyes. FUCK! FUCK! ‘But I think maybe you were bored.’
‘I wasn’t, I’m fine, I like being on my own!’ Too quick, too loud, too desperate.
‘You don’t have to be brave, Matt,’ he says, blinking. ‘I should’ve considered getting you some company earlier. I’ll find you someone.’
Wait, what? He’s not going to drag me around the facility after him? That’s something, right?
‘Find me someone?’ Someone else to treat me like a child or worse? ‘I don’t need... I don’t need company.’
He tries to take my hand but it twitches at his touch. ‘There’s nothing wrong with admitting you need something Matt. It’s normal to need contact with your own kind. I should have thought before.’ He kisses my cheek. ‘Why don’t we have any early night, hmm?’
He pants and paws at me as he pushes me down onto the bed. He climbs onto my lap and bucks against me; his hands slick with sweat as he grabs at my clothes. He comes in his pants this time and bursts into tears.
Is he going to do this every time? The crying is... I wish he wouldn’t.
‘What must you... what must you think of me?’ he snuffles.
Nothing based on him going off still in his pants. Rather that than... that than what he wants.
Pat his back, nothing encouraging, nothing to lead him on.
‘I’m not doing a very good job of keeping you sated am I?’ he pants against the side of my face. ‘I’m sorry.’ His hand works into groin.
‘Not... Don’t want...’ I try to push his hand away. ‘Not tonight, Doctor.’
He sits back and scrubs at his face with his hand. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I don’t need to. I’m tired.’ He’s just staring and staring at me. ‘Can I go to sleep?’
‘But I want to make you happy,’ he says softly. He stands up and starts undressing. ‘We don’t have to... we can do it a different way. Would you like to do something else, you can do... you do anything you want to me.’ He finishes undressing and waves his arms idly. ‘Please?’
‘I’m tired.’ It sounds small even to me.
‘I’ve been looking forward to it all day,’ he says, wet-eyed. ‘Please? It doesn’t... it doesn’t have to take long. You don’t even have to do anything if you don’t want. I can... I can suck you off? Or use my hand? Please?’
Maybe if I think about something else it’ll... it’ll happen automatically. Put down my jeans, push down my shorts, lie down with my legs wide, and hope he doesn’t bite.
‘You’re not even going to look?’ he says plaintively.
Look at the ceiling. Little flaws up there in the plaster. Little holes and scrapes from the thing they use to do it. He’s got his hands on my knees. He’s kneeling between my legs. If you look at with your eyes half-closed it could be clouds maybe. He’s licking my thighs and moaning softly. I haven’t been outside in... must be years now. Not to see anyway. He drugged me to bring me here. He’s tonguing my balls. They knocked me out to get me into the facility. That was before they broke me. When I still had enough hope that things would change for the better. He’s stroking the flat of his tongue along the underside of my cock and I’m not hard, not even a little. I miss the sun. When I was a cop, I used to bitch about being outside all the time. Be careful what you wish for. He’s sucking like a pump but I’m not hard.
Finally stops.
‘This isn’t working is he?’ he sniffles. ‘I haven’t really... I’m sorry.’
‘It’s okay. I’m... I’m tired.’
Hear him moving. Puts his hand on my cock.
‘Let’s try it this way, eh?’
I miss being with someone. Really being with someone, I mean. Not treated like a thing, like a toy or an animal. Such a long time since anyone talked to me like a person. His thumb strokes my cock. The blond, maybe. He talked to me like a person. The Doctor’s hand is rough. The blond was cute in his way. Nice eyes, nice body. I’m getting a little... a little hard. The Doctor sighs and shifts position. The blond panting and sweating on the treadmill. Like to see him panting and sweating in bed. I’m hard. I’m hard and he’s too rough, too excited. Hear him panting. Hear him moaning my name.
He makes me wait where I am. Comes with a cloth to wash me off. I curl up on my side as he cleans himself.
‘That wasn’t so bad, was it?’ he asks, coming back from the bathroom. ‘We got there didn’t we?’
I feel him climb onto the bed and then he gets close. Puts an arm around my waist, kisses my neck, and rests his forehead on my shoulder.
He goes to sleep quickly, does everything quickly seems like. Push back my elbow and he falls onto the bed. The more I see him, the more he touches me, the uglier he is. When he begs, when he cries, when his face is covered in tears and snot, he’s like some kind of creature. Some alien, insectoid thing that buzzes and twitches when it means to speak. Jerky stick arms and legs that pinwheel out of control. Cold touch of clammy hands like some slimy thing, like a slug.
Breathing wet and heavy. Only have to put my hand there... only a few minutes. A few minutes of spluttering, a few minutes of struggling, and then it’d be over. Would they know? Would they care?
I never used to think like this.
Get up, get up, get a duvet and a pillow, go downstairs. Curl up on the couch. Even with the duvet I’m still so cold.
Wake up with the sunshine coming through a gap in the curtains. It’s early; the birds are screaming blue murder outside. The dawn chorus: I always used to love that on a night shift.
I’m really hungry. Really, really hungry.
He crashes into the kitchen while I’m eating oatmeal sweetened with honey. Tempting to eat something worse but I’ll get weighed soon enough. Don’t want to be put back on starvation rations. He’s wide-eyed but half-asleep, hair everywhere.
‘What’re you doing?’
‘Eating. I’m hungry.’
‘Stop doing that!’ he yanks the bowl away and oatmeal slops out of the bowl, splattering across his legs. ‘Shit!’ He hurls the bowl into the sink where it smashes. He snatches up the cloth off the side, soaks it in cold water, and scrubs at his scalds as if he thinks he can rub them off. ‘Why can’t you just let me take care of you!’ He throws the cloth into the sink and glares at me. ‘Answer me!’
I stand up and push away my coffee cup, before he can throw that too. ‘Why’re you yelling at me?’
He lunges forward, is he going to hit me? No, he stops just short and then backs away. ‘It’s early,’ he says. ‘I’ve not woken up properly.’ He rubs his eyes with the heel of his hand. ‘I’m sorry I shouted but you shouldn’t be cooking... it’s not safe.’ He steps forward and takes my hand. ‘You don’t have to do that kind of thing. I’ll look after you, feed you, you don’t need to worry.’
‘I’m not worried,’ I say quietly. ‘I was just hungry.’
‘I don’t want you feeding yourself,’ he says, rubbing his thumb over my fingers. ‘Alright? Can you do that for me, let me feed you?’
It’s small piece of freedom. One of the few pieces I have, but if I don’t give it then he’ll take it, and punish me for not giving it freely.
‘If it’s important to you then I will.’
His face fills with smiles. I never knew anyone to have his moods turn so quickly. ‘Thank you. I know it’s difficult, and strange maybe, but that’ll pass.’ He lifts up my hand and kisses it. ‘We’ll get used to each other. You’ll see.’
He comes back mid-morning when I’m watching ‘Wizards of Waverley Place’ and wondering if it’s wrong to lust after an actor in a Disney show.
I meet him at the door and he kisses me, but quickly. ‘I’ve brought you a present. Someone to keep you company.’
Orderlies bundle in someone chained and hooded. Looks male, smaller than me, doesn’t move like he’s drugged.
‘What... what am I supposed to...’
‘His name’s Hiro,’ the Doctor says undoing the chains. ‘His English isn’t good but he’s a fairly placid type. If you use your affliction you can probably make yourself understood.’
I see.
‘I don’t want to displease,’ I say carefully and he looks so pleased it makes me nauseated. ‘What am I supposed to... to do with him?’
‘He’s company for you,’ he says uncertainly. ‘You can... play together, that sort of thing.’ He rubs my arm. ‘Take off the hood and show him around would you?’
He’s younger than me, my ‘company’, at most he’s late twenties. He adjusts his glasses, bows to me, and says something in a language I don’t understand.
‘Um, hello.’ I try to return his bow but I’m not sure I do it right. ‘I don’t... I don’t know... do you know any English?’
‘Hiro Nakamura,’ he says brightly, pressing a hand to his chest.
‘Oh, uh, Matt Parkman,’ I say, holding out my hand.
He rattles out more in... uh... the same language and shakes my hand.
Great.
I show him into the kitchen, try to make it clear he shouldn’t cook, show him the bathroom and try to swear him off the bath, but when I show him the playroom he dives right in.
Fantastic. At least he seems good-natured.
He stays up there all day. He seems happy enough when I take up some juice and a chicken sandwich. He’s not in my face at least.
I meet the Doctor at the door when he comes home but he’s in a foul mood and barks at me.
‘Where’s Hiro?’
‘He’s upstairs.’
‘Has he been up there all fucking day?’ he demands, shoving past me. ‘And you’ve been vegetating on the couch watching television!’
‘Don’t swear at me.’ It slips out before I can stop it.
He scowls at me and then stomps past and goes upstairs. After a few minutes, he drags poor Hiro down by his ear and throws him to the floor.
‘Stay there!’ he snarls, yanking up the telephone and punching numbers. ‘This is Doctor Suresh, I want Nakamura taking back to the facility. Yes, right now!’
Nakamura asks something. At least it sounds like a question from the tone.
‘Are you okay?’
He rubs his ear and says something I don’t understand at all.
‘Go upstairs!’ the Doctor barks at me.
‘What’s the matter?’
‘I didn’t bring him here to play in the playroom while you ignore him and watch television!’ he snarls. ‘If you’re not suited then he’s going back to the facility. Now go and play!’
‘What did you bring him here for?’
‘To keep you company!’ he growls. ‘Which he can hardly do with you downstairs and him upstairs.’
‘He can hardly keep me company when he doesn’t speak two words of English!’ I wave my arm at Hiro, still nursing his ear. ‘It’s not his fault and it’s not mine.’
‘Perhaps I should send you back to the facility!’ he roars.
‘Alright.’
‘What?’ he asks.
I cross my arms. ‘Alright, send me back. Keep him.’
The Doctor shakes his head seeming small suddenly. ‘I didn’t... I don’t want to... there’s no need for that.’
‘He’s what you want,’ I say. ‘Placid, likes the playroom, that’s what you want.’
The Doctor keeps shaking his head as he moves closer. ‘No I... I only... the playroom is just to help amuse you. I’m sorry.’ I back up but he follows me, puts a hand on my arm. ‘I’ll find someone else who’ll suit you better.’
‘You don’t have to do that.’
‘No I... I’m sorry,’ he says quietly. His hand rubs my arm as he stares into my face. ‘I just want to make you happy.’
‘Not yelling and threatening me would be a start,’ I say.
He nods and kisses my cheek. ‘I’m sorry. I’ll try.’ He turns away at a knock on the door. ‘They’ll be here for Hiro. You... watch television or whatever you want.’
What just happened then?
Part 2
Pairing: Matt/Mohinder (in this part)
Rating: 18
Warnings: Adult language, dubcon/noncon sex
Note: For
boudecia7, sorry it took so long! Summary: AU in which people of ability are considered as subhuman, and the ‘dangerous’ have been locked up under Mohinder’s tender care.
(One day I’m going to do a story where the Specials are all in charge. Oh yes.)
The pictures on the walls are of landscapes, sunsets, and other places and things I’ll never see again. In the morning, or what they tell us is morning, the door to the corridor opens the shadows fall across the walls and floor. Fall like bars on prison cells, or cages, or the blade of a guillotine. Bars would be better I think. Bars would be more honest. Better than this, better than the unyielding, impervious walls around me, around my habitat. They’re not brick or concrete, there’s no illusion of being able to scrape and scratch a dint, a gouge, a hole. No, they’re clear solid plastic that doesn’t scratch or dint no matter what I do. The pictures are bolted to the thick plastic walls, too high to reach and too solidly to knock them down with a thrown book or DVD. The furniture won’t move, even the bed is bolted down. The bed, the chair, the table, the entertainment unit, all of it trapped where someone else decided it should be.
I see the shadows slice brutally across the floor; someone must’ve opened the door in the corridor. In the habitat opposite, the young male is just staring listlessly at the opposite wall. I used to feel bad when I didn’t know their names but I don’t get a chance to find out any more. I used to bang on the wall and shout but most of the time I couldn’t even attract their attention, let alone communicate.
The Doctor. I back away from the door quickly. His lips are pursed as if he’s whistling and there is a smear of blood on his sleeve. The boy in the other habitat notices him and shudders, but he’s lucky today. The Doctor isn’t here for him, he’s here for me, and he smiles at me through the thick, unbreakable plastic and gives me a jaunty wave.
The door slides open slowly and he walks in, eyes raking over the unmade bed.
‘Rough night’s sleep?’
I shrug and a muscle jumps angrily in his cheek.
‘Not this nonsense again, hmm? Aren’t we a little old for sending someone to Coventry?’
I don’t know if that’s English slang or normal slang. They keep us cut off from them, from the normals, we can’t even watch the same programmes, read the same papers. Not that ‘our’ programmes or newspapers are worth bothering with, they’re all written by the Ministry anyway. The programmes acted out by Others pretending badly that it’s glamorous and exciting to be a role model for obedience and submission.
‘Matt?’ he prompts, his hands tucked in his pockets. ‘Come on, don’t be childish.’
The seconds stretch into a long, unpleasant minute and his face reddens.
‘I don’t know why I bother with you,’ he says eventually. ‘I really don’t. I try so hard with you, Matt and you just treat me like the enemy. All I ask is some civility, I’m not even... I’m not even asking you to... just to be treated as someone who is doing his best to look after you.’
He keeps looking at me, keeps waiting, hands clenching and unclenching. After a few seconds, he starts to blink rapidly and then rubs his eyes with the back of his hand.
‘Alright,’ he says quietly. ‘I have some baseline tests to run before you have some breakfast. Come along.’
Two guards are waiting in the corridor tooled up like SWAT or something. Just shapes buried in armour and weapons. Can’t even tell if they’re men or women, white or black or something else. We troop out with the Doctor at the front, then a guard, then me, and the second guard at the back. No control collar today, no shackles, and no sedative. He’s feeling sorry for himself, feeling hard done by, and making a big show of being gracious.
Before they take me into the lab, they make me shower in disinfectant. Like I’ve got dirty just walking down the corridor, like I’ll contaminate the lab just by walking into it. I squeeze my eyes closed against the burn of the disinfectant and force myself not to flinch at the bitterly cold water that rinses it off.
The guards barely pay attention as I dry and dress in a fresh paper suit but the Doctor watches closely. Watches, talks constantly, touches me.
‘Is it too cold, Matt? A little cold is good for your system but not too much.’ His hand in my hair, on the back of my neck, on my shoulder.
The lab is stark and bare. In one corner, there are three cages with the current unlucky denizens curled up and shivering on the floor.
‘Over there please Matt,’ the Doctor says gesturing at The Chair.
It’s all black and chrome, harsh and ugly against the painfully white tile. Straps along the arms, along the legs, over the waist, and chest. The padding is worn on the seat and the headrest and there are scratches on the hand rests. Some of those are probably mine.
A guard shoves me forward and I nearly trip over the thing.
‘That’s not necessary,’ the Doctor says sharply. ‘Matt, sit down please.’
I fought the first few times. Kicked, shouted, even landed a few punches. It never helped. Beat down, sedated, dragged out of my habitat in restraints. Anger only got me so far and then I was just... tired, too tired to keep kicking and punching.
So I sit down, look away as he fastens the straps, and don’t listen as he hums to himself.
Heart, blood pressure, lung function, brain activity. Day in, day out, I could do it in my sleep. On the other side of the lab, the three test subjects are starting to wake. Criminals, normals condemned to death. They probably thought this was better and there they are. One of them is a mass of scales and bleeding wounds, one has eyes growing shut, and the other just moans and twitches.
That could be me. One day it might be. Is he like this with his other test subjects? Does he stand stroking their hair?
‘Are you going to say something for me?’ he asks softly. ‘Please?’
The lights flash as the door to the lab opens. It’s too much to hope for someone who’ll treat me like a human being. The only people I see are staff, guards, and her.
It’s her now; making an expensive suit look like something from a thrift store as she wanders across the lab.
He steps half in front of me, shielding me with his body, and rests his hand on the back of my neck.
‘Hey Suresh,’ she drawls. I can’t see her but I can hear the smirk in her voice. ‘How’s our boy, chatty?’
‘Director Hanson. Matt’s still refusing to comply,’ he says, and his thumb caresses the nape of my neck. ‘He’s stubborn but in time...’
‘I thought you were going to paralyze his vocal cords so he’d have to?’
‘I did.’ He moves back and to the side so he’s standing next to me. ‘He’s obviously not feeling very communicative.’ He tips my head to the side so it’s resting against his side.
Hanson leans down to talk to me directly. ‘Well I’m sure that can be resolved one way or another.’
‘If that’s everything then?’ he prompts, stroking the side of my face. ‘Matt hasn’t eaten yet.’
Hanson smirks at me. ‘You hate that don’t you? We could take you back to the internment centre if you like. No more being pampered and cosseted. No nice cosy habitat...’
‘That’s enough,’ Suresh says harshly. ‘This is a research facility not a bloody playground. Go and pick on one of the unfortunates in your centre.’
‘Diddums,’ she sneers. ‘Maybe if you were a little harder on him he’d be a little more motivated.’ She stands up and strolls away. ‘You boys enjoy your breakfast.’
Suresh sighs and starts undoing the straps on the chair. ‘That woman, it frightens me to think of her having authority over anyone.’
In the cages, the scaled and bleeding young woman stares sobbing softly.
He lets me out of the chair to use the bathroom, or to ‘do your business’ as he puts it. He opens the door when I’m washing my hands and gives me a disposable toothbrush already loaded with toothpaste.
‘Don’t take too long now,’ he says, leaning against the wall. ‘I’ve let the cafeteria know what your nutritional requirements.’
Just like every day, I don’t know if it’s my blood, my urine, or something else, but he tests something and tells the cafeteria what to let me eat. That’s on top of the ‘food restriction’. Apparently ‘diet’ is a dirty word around here, or maybe too human to be applied to me. He doesn’t say how much weight I’m supposed to lose and there’s never any suggestion of how long it’s going to last. Others are too much of a drain on society as it is without us getting unhealthy. Once a year we have a compulsory physical and failure to pass lands us in fitness camp. Long-term medical problems are categorised by severity and cost; being diagnosed with an A1 medical condition means immediate termination.
But if I’m good then I’m allowed a ‘treat’, although there haven’t been many of those. The Doctor pleased and wanting to reward is even more unpleasant than when he’s feeling sorry for himself.
‘Matt,’ he prompts. ‘Don’t brush your teeth for too long, you’ll damage the enamel.’
I certainly don’t another visit with the dentist. He doesn’t think we’re capable of feeling pain.
There are other subjects here but they come and go. I don’t see them every day so it’s easy to notice them get thin, get sick, twist with pain and misery. The Doctor is in charge overall but there are other researchers as well. The other researchers don’t bring the subjects in themselves, they have the nurses, or orderlies do it.
They all tense when he brings me into the cafeteria, because of him, not me. The guards stay by the doorway and watch as he leads me over to an empty table.
‘Take a seat Matt and I’ll get your breakfast.’ He ruffles my hair and scratches gently at my scalp. ‘Any special requests?’
He blinks his eyes rapidly as I push his hand away and I hear the rattle of the guard’s armour as they start towards us.
‘Don’t be like that,’ he says sounding hurt and waving the guards back. He waits for a couple of seconds as if he thinks I’m going to reply. ‘You’ll feel happier when you’ve had something to eat.’
He says that a lot but I can’t say I’ve noticed.
Over on the table opposite this one a youngish male, early thirties, blond haired, blue-eyed, and beautiful meets my eyes and gives me a wry smile. He looks surprisingly good and healthy for one of us in here. He’s chained at the wrists and neck, and from the hang of the chains down his body probably at the ankles. Scary guy apparently.
Hello over there.
I’m not reading. I’m not listening. It just turns up in my head clear as day and with an English accent even. And he gives me a little wave. Is this a trick?
The Doctor stamps back and slams a tray on the table in front of me. Brown mush that threatens to slop over the side of the bowl and a tall glass of creamy green goo.
‘So you can’t be courteous to me but you can flirt with some random Other you’ve never seen before?”
People turn around at the sound of his raised voice. Nurses and staff smother giggles and the blond rolls his eyes.
He’s waiting again, completely ignoring everyone around us. I pick up the spoon; it’s a rare metal piece of cutlery. They’re usually so careful about keeping us away from anything that we could use for a weapon.
The moment drags on unpleasantly.
He’s a touchy sort, isn’t he? But you’ve rather backed him into a corner. You best let him have his little moment of triumph.
I’m not giving him what he wants. My curse is the only thing I have control over. This is the only ‘no’ I have.
I look up at him and mouth ‘sorry’.
He deflates and looks away, pushing the hair back off his face. ‘All right, Matt,’ he says finally, and sits down next to me. ‘You should eat your bran, you need the fibre.’ He puts the glass in front of me. ‘This too, it’s got the added vitamins that you need.’
Oh joy, vitamins and fibre. Be still my heart.
‘I’m not sure that it’s doing you any good to be here.’
Right, because all this is for my benefit.
He looks over his shoulder at the blond. ‘I think from now on you might be best eating in your room.’
I don’t know if it’s supposed to be a punishment. It’s not as if I ever get to have a conversation or anything when I’m in here. I haven’t had an actual conversation, with someone treating me like a person, since they brought me in here.
The brown mush is tasteless and that is a punishment. When I was first here, they made all the food tasteless as punishment for fighting and refusing to cooperate in every way I could. Cardboard would’ve tasted better. I try to take a sip of the green goo and almost vomit at the smell. Never, never smelt anything like... I shove the glass away and try to suck in enough air to clear the smell.
‘Don’t be childish,’ he says sharply. ‘It’s for your own good. Drink it all now and I’ll take you off for your exercise.’
If I don’t drink it do I get no exercise?
‘I’m not going to tell you again,’ he says, and we both know it’s not true. He pushes the glass back towards me. ‘The food restriction leaves you short of vitamins. I don’t want you to become ill.’
I pick up the glass and offer it to him. He wrinkles up his nose but shakes his head.
‘It’s for your own good. Drink it fast and it won’t be so bad.’
I shove it away and sit back.
That’s a spectacularly poor idea, old boy. I have no doubt he will force you.
Shut up blondey. You’ve already got me into trouble today.
The Doctor changes tack, stroking the back of my hand. ‘Please Matt, drink it for me. Please?’
He flutters his eyelashes at me. Actually bats his eyes at me. In another life I might find him attractive, might be flattered by the attention.
But I know too well how quickly it passes and how furiously his temper blooms.
The blond is right, he’ll force me and then punish me again. Worse than drinking that?
I hold my breath as I gulp down the first.. urggh, I’m going to puke... I’m going to... Choke it down, choke it down. Finish the mouthful, the glass, lunge for the jug of water.
Laughing, cheering, clapping, wash away the taste, wash away the taste. The Doctor ranting and screaming at them to shut up. Just makes them laugh all the more.
I stand up and take a bow, if you can’t laugh at yourself then you’re lost, right? When I straighten up the Doctor’s face has this waxy, sheen and he’s not blinking, at all.
He doesn’t say anything just stares as I straighten myself up. He grabs me by the upper arm hard enough to hurt and tugs me out of the room.
I could easily stop him. He’s shorter than me, and even with the diet he’s still a hell of a lot lighter than me too. The guards are lagging behind, struggling to keep up as he charges along. I could do him some real damage before they caught up and stopped me. Yeah right, keep dreaming. That’s not me I’ve never been violent. Even if I was violent what good would it do? God, I don’t want to end up in one of the cages in his lab.
‘Get in there,’ he spits, shoving me towards my habitat. ‘Someone else will come and take you to the exercise yard.’
I think he’s probably disappointed that he can’t slam the door shut behind him.
The male in the habitat opposite shudders as the Doctor stamps past him.
It’s the pretty African-American girl that comes to fetch me for exercise. She has big brown eyes and moves like a dancer. She smiles automatically but it doesn’t reach her eyes. There are four guards with her and she’s holding manacles and the control collar.
She’s probably a perfectly nice woman really. She doesn’t try and get me to do anything other than go here or there.
‘Turn around for me.’
She chains me at the wrists, waist, and ankles and puts the control collar around my neck. It’s a stiff leather collar that connects to the chains and also has a long handle so she doesn’t have to get close. I’m still paying for previous misbehaviour although I never injured anyone.
Oh great. The blond is in the exercise room. There are guards everywhere here because of all the weights and other equipment. Most of the other subjects are walking drearily in a circle although a couple are on the weights. The blond is on one of the treadmills going at a hell of a lick.
They take the manacles and the control collar off and I start for the circle.
Bennet walks over and my stomach churns. He smiles coldly and nods at the woman.
‘Simone, nice to see you.’
‘He just needs twenty minutes or so...’
‘Parkman, get on the treadmill,’ he says not looking at me.
‘Oh come on!’ she protests. ‘He’s not up to that.’
‘Basic interval training,’ he says smoothly. ‘We’ll start with a cycle at sixty seconds moderate speed followed by sixty seconds high speed for twenty minutes.’
‘No, no way,’ she says sharply. ‘He’s not up to that. Some basic cardio every day and build up to it, maybe.’
‘I’m not asking your permission Simone,’ he says, mildly. ‘Parkman, I won’t tell you again.’
When he says it, he means it. He’s not the Doctor; he won’t flatter and cajole, I don’t want to know what he’ll do if I’m not a good obedient little Other. I get onto the treadmill next to the blond and wait for Bennet to programme it.
She clatters away on high heels, stamping her feet as she goes.
The blond is bright red and panting painfully as he runs. Sweat is running down his face, dripping in his eyes and off his chin. Why doesn’t he wipe... his wrists are chained to the guide rails, he can run, but he can’t raise his hands to wipe the sweat from his face.
I reach over and wipe his forehead and eyes just as Bennet finishes the programme.
Thank... you.
He’s even panting in his thoughts.
‘Simmer down lovebirds,’ Bennet sneers and starts up the treadmill.
It builds up slowly a walk, a trot, a run. Sixty seconds at a run and then it gets faster. That was the moderate speed? Shit, shit. Hurts... hurts... my chest splitting and ripping, burns to breathe...
Purple spots are popping in front of my eyes as Bennet brings me off the treadmill and has me doing the worst kind of push-ups. My feet on a chair as I lower myself down and push back up, my back screaming, and my lungs cramping. My arms and legs are shaking, my chest is burning, and purple and white light fuzzing my vision.
‘What the hell...’
Voice fades out everything goes dark.
Comfy bed. Warm. Everything aches, pounds with aching. Something cool on my face.
‘It’s all right, it’s alright, don’t move.’
His voice. Soft and cooing.
‘You’re going to be sore tomorrow but I’ll look after you, Matt.’ Wistful, pensive.
It’s a cloth. He’s wiping my face over with a cold cloth.
Daylight. I’m on a bed lying in a patch of daylight. Where am I?
‘There you are sleepyhead.” The Doctor says smiling at me but it’s tight, and unreal. He puts the cloth aside and pats my face dry with a towel. ‘How do you feel?’
I’m in a large room, airy and light, with windows, actual floor to ceiling windows. I haven’t seen outside in such a long time. The bed is big, a double, and so comfortable. Where am I?
‘Matt?’ he prompts, snapping his fingers to drag my attention back to him. ‘How do you feel?’
I pull a pained face and he laughs. ‘As bad as that?’ He strokes the back of his fingers over my cheek and his eyes glisten oddly. ‘You’re so handsome. You’re not quite broken in but I’m sure it won’t be long now. I wanted to leave you in the facility until you were fully domesticated but it’s obviously not the right environment. I’m going to take such good care of you.’
I’m in a house? His... house? His... fuck... fuck...
‘Whoa, relax,’ he says softly. ‘You’re safe, you’re safe here Matt. Nobody’s going to hurt you again. Let’s sit you up shall we?’
Locks on the windows, sensors on the floor, and cameras on the ceiling; this is another cell. I’m supposed to be grateful to swap one prison for another.
‘You’re going to be happy here, Matt,’ he says softly. ‘I promise.’
He drags me into another room by the hand and bounces up and down in excitement.
‘This is the playroom,’ he burbles. ‘See, I got you lots of toys. Crayons, paper, so you can draw, a little rubber ball, it’s squeaky! There’s a football, a soccer ball I mean, some soft toys, and if you’re good I’m going to get you some Plasticine and Lego.’
Toys. Children’s toys. This is what he thinks of me? Not only does he think I’m subhuman he also thinks I’m a child? He hasn’t even given me good children’s toys like a science set or... I don’t know, a telescope or something.
‘What’s wrong?’ he asks, his face falling.
Shit, shit, I’m a bad, bad liar always have been.
I shake my head and kneel down to pick up a toy bear, anything not to look him in the face.
‘You like it?’ he asks, voice strange. I jump as he touches my face and he smiles slightly. ‘I’m sorry, Matt, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.’ He strokes my hair and then steps back. ‘I’ll let you look around, you can go anywhere in the house, and settle yourself, establish your territory.’
Right, I’ll just pee on the floor.
I don’t remember too much about getting to the facility but I think that’s it outside. I guess he lives in the grounds? No guards in here but guards, road blocks, and guard towers out there. Not that getting out of here would do me any good anyway. I can’t get the ID transmitter out from under my skin so I’d be caught in minutes and punished, punished badly. Maybe put in the cage in the lab, bad.
Playroom, bedroom, bathroom. Am I supposed to sleep on the floor? In the playroom? Typical for him to build a playroom full of cheap rubbish and forget to give me somewhere to sleep. Maybe downstairs? I don’t want to go down there. He’s down there. Maybe I can have the upstairs as my territory huh?
‘Matt?’
He steps out onto the stairs. Shit! I back away quickly and listen, but there’s no footsteps.
‘Matt?’ he calls again, loudly enough that it’s obvious he doesn’t know where I am. ‘I’m making you something to eat. Come downstairs, please.’
I step out onto the stairs and his face lights up. ‘I didn’t realise you were just there,’ he says, taking a step back as I tramp downstairs. ‘What do you think? I just had it redecorated for you, do you like it?’
I force a nod and a smile before following him into the living room. More neutral colours and huge windows as well as bookcases full of thick textbooks. It’s like a show house; no personal touches, nothing messy or misplaced. Nobody else lives here from the look of it, he barely lives here from the look of it.
The kitchen is a little better. It’s warmer in here though, and smells of chicken and pastry.
‘I made chicken pie,’ he says happily. ‘It’s been a while since you’ve had cooked food isn’t it?’
I can’t remember the last time.
‘I’ll still be monitoring your health but I don’t think it’s necessary to be quite as stringent regarding your diet.’ He winks at me. ‘You’re towards the upper end of the ideal scale but you are still within the ideal range.’ He rubs my chest with his hand. ‘I don’t think I’d like you too much slimmer. You’re just nice right now.’
He just used to touch my hair, then my hair and face, now my chest. Where the fuck is this going?
He’s waiting for some sort of response and I don’t know... I don’t know what he wants.
After a few seconds, he sighs and pats my shoulder. ‘Okay, sit down and I’ll get the food out.’
Forgot, forgot how good cooked food can be. Eat it slow, really taste every mouthful, make it last as long as possible. Don’t look, don’t think about him watching me eat.
‘Have some wine,’ he says, filling a glass and pushing it towards me.
We’re not allowed intoxicants, we might get violent or anything. Is it drugged? I don’t care if the food is drugged, I don’t care, I’m enjoying it too much, and besides if he wants me drugged he’ll just do it some other way. In the food, in the water, or just have me put in restraints and inject me.
‘It’ll help you relax,’ he urges, smiling too warmly. So it is drugged. If I refuse, he’ll just get angry and force me. All I’d do is piss him off and now more than ever I can’t risk it. He rubs a hand over my back and I sit up straighter. ‘You’re so tense. I understand why, this is a new place, a new situation, and that’s stressful and perhaps a little frightening.’ He kisses my forehead and moves slightly away.
I take a sip of the wine. It’s cold, sharp and tastes of windfall apples.
‘Is it nice? Not too much of a bite for you?’
He blushes when he says ‘bite’, like he said a dirty word. I shake my head and concentrate on my food, try to block him out. I drink some more wine and he strokes my hair.
Little dizzy now. Too long since I’ve had a drink. God, I miss beers at Barney’s, watching the game and shooting the shit. The Doctor’s in the living room doing... something, so at least I don’t have to worry about him flapping right now. I just have to get my breath, get my balance, and I’ll be okay.
He’s the television on. It’s huge but the way he’s futzing about it looks as though he hardly ever uses it. He spins around when I trip over my feet and beams at me. He’s got a big cushion, one of those one for dogs, on the floor in front of the sofa. Oh great.
‘Come and sit down, Matt,’ he says, sitting down on the opulent sofa and leaning down to pat the cushion. ‘Right here, by me.’
He’s back to being excited. About what? How crap does your life have to be for you to be so thrilled at me being here.
While he’s distracted with the Tivo I move the cushion a few inches away. Such a rebel.
‘Here we are. Passion’s Point,’ he burbles.
A soap? He wants to watch a soap where makeup passes for physical attractiveness and a combination of soft focus and musical stings for acting talent? I’m not even allowed to watch this crap. I’m not allowed to drink alcohol either so what... was that a last meal or something?
‘Matt?’ he asks softly, hand resting on my head. ‘Scootch a little closer.’
No, he set up that playroom, bought all that stuff. No. He’s planning on me being here a while.
‘Matt,’ he says again. ‘Come on, just a little bit. There’s a good boy.’
I can’t see his face from here. His hand is in my hair, tipping my face against his knee, but at least I can’t see his face.
Of all the insulting, cack handed, obscene, manipulative... This is why he wanted me to watch this... drivel. A Very Special Episode which is all about dealing with the poor, stupid, weak-minded token Other character. I guess calling us all terrorists and murderers started falling apart when people realised how many of us they knew. People probably find it easier to believe that we’re brain dead morons, somewhere between animals and mentally damaged children, than evil geniuses.
‘Are you paying attention, Matt?’ Mohinder asks. ‘Do you understand?’
More than you do.
Sleepy now, that’s the wine too; the wine and the fact that he’s stroking my hair and the back of my neck. Something is burbling on the television, I don’t know what. Nothing good I’m sure. Don’t look, eyes closed, just ignore it.
‘Matt, Matt, wake up sweetheart.’
Tired.
‘Come on sleepyhead.’ Laughing, soft voice.
Sore. Stand up and I’m sore, stiff. The Doctor brushes the hair off my face and puts a hand around my waist.
‘Let’s get you up to bed.’
Not that tired. Stop touching, stop touching.
‘Stop squirming,’ he says. ‘Stop squirming or you’re going to fall down the stairs.’
I’m awake now. I don’t need help.
He takes my hand and pulls me towards the bedroom. Am I supposed to sleep on the fucking bed like a dog?
‘The paralysing agent will be wearing off soon,’ he says leading me inside and rubbing my chest.
Standing too close to the bed to back away. Try not to move, maybe it’ll be over soon. In the facility, after Christmas parties and that kind of thing, he sometimes came to my cell, tipsy and too busy with his hands. Never more than touching and trying to kiss. Always called me names when I fought him off, and then sulked for days afterwards.
‘That means you’ll be able to speak, with your voice,’ he says helpfully, like I didn’t get it. ‘I don’t want to paralyse your vocal cords again if I can avoid it. I fear it might have long-term effects. If you’re a good boy and use your affliction then I won’t have to.’
I have nothing to say. Not to you.
Hand slips down and I grab it before he cups my crotch. He glances back at the bed and... no, no, no.
‘Matt, it’s alright, relax.’ He tries to kiss me. No, no. Try to move away and fall back on the bed.
Away, away, got to... out of the room, shit, shit, where to go. Nowhere to hide downstairs. Hear him getting up. Run for the playroom, slam the door, sit down, brace my feet on the floor.
‘Matt?’ Tapping on the door. ‘I’m sorry that I gave you a fright, open the door please.’
He wants... he wants... why? I never thought he’d really... not really. Why would he? He thinks I’m stupid, an animal. Why would anyone want to... to do that with someone they think is barely human?
‘Matt, are you alright in there?’ he asks. ‘I’m sorry. I’m really so sorry. Please open the door.’
Think. Come on Matt. He’ll get the orderlies to break down the door. They’ll drag you out. They’ll drag you out and... and...rape you. That’s why you’re here. He brought you here to...
‘Matt, please?’
He’s crying. He’s crying.
Quick, open the door before he gets angry. Open the door and get low and small, so I look unthreatening.
He pushes the door all the way open and walks in, all snot, fat tears, and red eyes. He blows his nose on a cotton handkerchief and tucks it back in his pocket, yuck, yuck.
‘I’m sorry Matt,’ he says, hunkering down in front of me. ‘I didn’t mean to frighten you. I won’t hurt you. I promise.’ He smiles, a little wavering smile. ‘You’re my baby doll.’
He really means it. Doesn’t think there’s anything odd at all about calling me his ‘baby doll’.
‘Come to bed?’ he asks hopefully. ‘It’ll be fun, you’ll enjoy it.’
My head shakes by itself.
He purses his lips. ‘If you do, I’ll let you have a treat. You’d like that wouldn’t you?’
I jump at the touch of his hand on mine. He strokes the back of my hand too gently, tickling and itching. He’s going to start getting angry soon.
Deep breath. It’s going to happen, he doesn’t care what I think. He doesn’t believe that I do think.
I slide up the wall and he stands up, smiling uncertainly.
‘Okay?’ he takes my hand and then wraps his arm around mine.
Maybe he’ll let me go when he’s done. Maybe he’ll lose interest. Back in the lab. Lab I can live with. The cages... maybe if I behave well he’ll just let me live in the lab, maybe he won’t put me into the cages.
Don’t fight, don’t fight. In the bedroom he’s like a kid on a sugar high; babbling, shaking, eyes wide, hands everywhere.
‘Sorry, sorry, nervous...’ he stammers, tugging at my t-shirt.
Has he ever done this before? He’s never done this before.
Cover his hands, pat them, and pull them away. I pull the t-shirt over my head and take off the rest of my clothes.
He just stands there; staring at me like Christmas came early. Do I have to do everything? I undo a couple of his buttons and he launches at me. Mouth all over me, hands everywhere, cock straining his pants. Get his shirt off, get his pants and shorts down, push him towards the bed. Humping my leg like a dog on heat.
He pants in my ear and against my neck. His hands scrabble at my, my chest, and he comes against my leg.
Lie quiet and still for a few minutes. Maybe he’ll fall asleep and I can grab some blankets and go sleep on the floor.
Shit, he’s crying again.
‘Sorry,’ he snuffles. ‘That’s so embarrassing.’
Happens to me whenever I’ve had a long dry spell. I think maybe my body figures it might not get another chance so better pump out that DNA.
Pat his back, pat his shoulder, nothing to... nothing to lead him on.
‘Thank you.’ Still snuffling, still sniffling. Horrible. He sits up and takes a tissue from the box on the bedside table. Probably not what they’re usually for. He smiles sheepishly and blows his nose. ‘You won’t tell anyone will you?’
Again, he’s totally serious.
Shake my head and he leans down to kiss me. Flip him over before he can and he’s excited again, eyes widening. He wriggles on the bed and rubs a leg against mine.
Shit. Shit. Now what?
‘Matt?’
He reaches up toward my face and I can’t catch myself from jerking back.
‘Sorry, I’m sorry,’ he cringes. ‘I’ll be good. What should I do?’
Go to sleep! Doesn’t help. He just lies there watching me. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Roll him onto his front. For some reason he shifts onto his knees so he’s on all fours, legs spread out wide.
‘There’s lube in the drawer.’ He looks over his shoulder at me. ‘Condoms if you want. Bare if you want. Do you... want?’
No! No, I don’t want! God, on no level do I want this, him. Not even as release. I’m not hard; not even semi hard. I can’t just... it doesn’t work that way. What does he think I am, some kind of animal?
‘Do... you want me on the floor instead? I can do that.’
What happens if I don’t; can he make me? Give me something to make me hard, he could do that. Tell me to do it or else... what, the cages? Does he know to threaten me with that?
Make the best of it. Grab the lube and the condoms. Feel it as little as possible. Still not hard. Prep him, try to prep him but he’s so tense, so... just a finger makes him whimper. He’s not looking, can he tell? Keep using a finger and with the other hand stroke his balls.
More whimpering but softer, better, and he’s pushing back against my hand. A glisten of sweat across his back and he’s squirming, like he’s going to come again. His balls tighten in my hand and he shudders as he comes, spattering semen across the sheets. He falls forward onto the bed bonelessly, just twitching, and his eyes closed.
Leave him in the bed, in his mess, and wash my hands in the bathroom. Maybe he’s got a duvet or something in the bedroom. I go back into the bedroom and he’s snoring, the breath whistling out. Nothing in the cupboards and wardrobes but cheerfully coloured, painfully patterned clothes. There’s a chest at the bottom of the bed though with some unpleasant smelling, threadbare blankets. When I pull them out, dead moths flutter down onto the floor.
I could kill him.
I’m shivering. Not cold but shivering. Where did that come from? I never... I’m not that guy. I never even punched anyone and now, what, I’m fantasising about murdering someone? I’m not even capable.
He’d wake up at the first touch of the pillow over his face. Wake, struggle, fight. Couldn’t do it. Horrible.
Never used to think this way. Before this happened, before I was an animal to be traded, I would’ve never dreamt...
Don’t think about it anymore. Go downstairs. Make a nest on the couch like the animal I am.
Cold, cold touching... who’s touching... long time since anyone...where am I?
‘Good morning baby doll,’ the Doctor whispers. Touching, touching, stroking my arms and hand. Got me trapped against the back of the sofa. ‘Would you like some breakfast?’
I shake my head but my stomach growls loudly. He just laughs though and ruffles my hair.
‘You mustn’t skip meals; it’s not good for you.’ He kisses my forehead, leaning forward as I shrink back. ‘I’m sorry I took up all the room in the bed. Next time wake me up, alright?’
I pull the duvet tightly around myself as he goes off into the kitchen. He can’t stay here all day. He has to... to do whatever he does all day. Whatever he does with the poor bastards in the cages. No me, dear god, not me.
‘Matt, come and get your breakfast,’ he sings.
Last night I was lucky. My luck never holds.
Oatmeal for breakfast and a mug of coffee, decaf of course. He sits me down next to him, hooks his leg over mine, and beams at me.
‘This is nice isn’t it?’
Desperation. His and mine. The air is thick with it. Makes people edgy, uncertain, hysterical.
Smile, smile, try to smile.
He puts his hand over mine; it’s shaking.
‘Um, there’s CCTV so... so I’ll be able to keep an eye on things.’
He’s going to be out all day, all day!
He bites his lower lip. ‘Will you be lonely do you think?’
Shake my head quickly, too quickly.
‘You don’t have to be brave,’ he says softly. ‘At the facility there were Others around; in the canteen and the exercise room. I wouldn’t like you to get bored or frustrated while you’re here by yourself.’
Just go, just leave, just let me be. Please, please, please.
He pats my hand, pats and stokes it like he can’t quite let go. ‘I’ll see how today goes and then decide what to do.’
Don’t look lonely today. Do whatever needs doing but don’t look lonely.
‘I’ll keep an eye on the CCTV,’ he says for the third time. ‘There shouldn’t be any problems. There are some sandwiches under the cover on the table and a jug full of juice so... so you shouldn’t go hungry and thirsty.’
He kisses my forehead and strokes my hair again before finally leaving.
It’s finally quiet. I haven’t been able to suit myself in so long that I have no idea what to do first. TV? A bath maybe. Fuck it, I’m having something decent to eat and find where he’s got the booze.
Pizza, Chinese takeout, Thai food... he must live on junk food. Pizza in the microwave for a couple of minutes, just a couple of minutes, and crack open a beer.
Oh boy, that is... that is such a rush. I haven’t a beer in years, beer and cheese, pepperoni and grease. So good. So good. Chinese food... come here and be eaten little food...
Urgh, I’m going to barf... going to... urgh...
A bath. Not a disinfectant shower, not a scrub down with cold water, a hot bath. Close my eyes and drift.
‘Matt?’
No, no, no!
Feet on the stairs, heavy, clattering urgent steps. Knock at the door.
‘Matt? Matt are you...’ Rattles the doorknob. ‘Matt, oh god, are you alright?’
Panic in his voice. What does think has happened? Crying now, crying and banging the door.
‘Matt, please, please...’
Unlock the door. Half out of the bath to unlock the door and he nearly falls in the room. Weeping, panicking, covered in tears and snot. He wonders why I’m not all over him.
‘I thought you’d drowned!’ He shoves me and I fall back in the bath, water slopping everywhere. My head just misses slamming into the tiled wall and I catch my elbow sharply.
‘Shit!’ It’s a rasp but it sounds loud.
The Doctor grabs for me but I shove him off, getting my balance back.
‘You... you spoke?’ he says, flapping to mop up the water with a towel. ‘Good, I was... I was worrying that... will you please get out of the bath!’
Push him away and cross my arms over my chest.
‘Get out of the bath!’
‘I’m not going to drown.’ It hurts to talk, the words scratch and scrape at my throat.
He stares at me, his chest heaving as he breathes noisily. ‘Matt,’ he says in a tight, shaking voice. ‘Please get out of the bath.’
I reach over to grab the towel and wrap it around me as I stand up.
‘I was worried,’ he says, blocking the door. ‘You shouldn’t take those kinds of risks.’
It’s all I can do to say nothing, to do nothing. I can’t even bathe, can’t relax in any way, without his hysterical attention.
‘What were you trying to do?’ he asks, scrubbing his face with his hand. ‘I saw you eating all that junk food... why have a bath after you’ve eaten, and what if you’d got cramp?’
That’s swimming you ass, and it’s not even true. Some doctor.
‘It wasn’t that deep.’
He folds his arms tightly. ‘That isn’t your choice to make.’
‘I’m cold.’
He wilts and steps aside. ‘Go and get dressed. I have to go back to work.’
I know I’m going to pay for it, but what else am I going to do?
It’s stupidly childish to stay in the living room and just watch television but I feel stupidly childish. I avoid the soaps and the daytime movies but watch sitcoms, the news, and quiz shows. It just keeps going. So many of us in camps, in labs, and it just gets absorbed into everyday life.
Don’t think about that, don’t think, just watch, and vegetate.
Woken up by the door being unlocked. I sit up and pull a cushion into my lap, anything to put a barrier between us.
He comes in, putting his coat up on a hook, and dropping his bag by the door. He stands on the threshold of the living room and looks at me. He looks exhausted and stressed out.
‘I have a treat for you if you’ll meet me at the door,’ he says quietly. He waves a packet of candy vaguely in my direction. ‘I don’t think you should be on the furniture.’
I’ve pushed him already today. I shouldn’t push my luck, or what passes for it. I get up and walk over to him, still holding the cushion.
His expression changes so quick it’s scary. So pleased it’s worrying. ‘I really missed you.’ He rubs his hand over my chest, sliding it up to the back of my head and pulling me down into a kiss.
My jaw’s tense. I can’t help it, can’t relax it. His tongue flicks at my lips but I can’t open my mouth, even if I wanted to, I couldn’t.
‘You’re tense,’ he says, standing back. ‘Well, I guess the changes are a little stressful.’ He tips some candy into his palm and holds it up to my mouth. ‘Don’t tell the nutritionist!’
I’m not eating out of his fucking hand. I’d rather go into the damn cages.
‘It’s good,’ he says, popping one into his mouth.
I take them from his hand and walk back to the couch.
‘You haven’t... you haven’t been there all afternoon have you?’ he asks, locking the door and trailing after me.
‘Was I supposed to do something else?’ I ask, lying down with my back pressed against the back of the sofa.
The Doctor switches off the television and folds his arms. ‘I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to watch so much television. You’re impressionable and television is really not realistic or a good guide to morality or appropriate behaviour.’
I pull a cushion over my face and hope he’ll leave.
‘Wouldn’t you like to play upstairs?’ he asks hopefully. I feel the couch dip as he sits down. ‘I think you’ll better for it.’
Don’t look at him, don’t look as I get up and go upstairs. If he wants me to go up into the damn playroom, I will. I might at least get some peace.
I want to break the crayons, rip the paper, tear apart the stuffed toys. Scream, shout, and stamp my feet. He’s making me into a child, an animal, and I’m letting him. I get up and look out of the window. Somewhere in the distance is the real world, where the ‘real’ people have jobs and lives.
Dinner is chicken salad. He presses wine on me again but I’m not risking it.
‘It’ll help you relax,’ he insists.
‘I don’t want it. I’m not an alcoholic.’
‘I wasn’t saying... I don’t think... it’s just a drink, Matt.’ His hand is shaking and the bottle chimes against the glass.
‘I’d rather not,’ I say more carefully. I don’t know what he’ll do if he’s pushed. ‘Thank you.’
He picks at his food, watching me too closely as he eats. ‘I’ve been thinking... maybe you being here all day on your own isn’t the best idea. You were obviously...’
‘I wasn’t lonely!’
‘Perhaps not,’ he says slowly, dropping his eyes. FUCK! FUCK! ‘But I think maybe you were bored.’
‘I wasn’t, I’m fine, I like being on my own!’ Too quick, too loud, too desperate.
‘You don’t have to be brave, Matt,’ he says, blinking. ‘I should’ve considered getting you some company earlier. I’ll find you someone.’
Wait, what? He’s not going to drag me around the facility after him? That’s something, right?
‘Find me someone?’ Someone else to treat me like a child or worse? ‘I don’t need... I don’t need company.’
He tries to take my hand but it twitches at his touch. ‘There’s nothing wrong with admitting you need something Matt. It’s normal to need contact with your own kind. I should have thought before.’ He kisses my cheek. ‘Why don’t we have any early night, hmm?’
He pants and paws at me as he pushes me down onto the bed. He climbs onto my lap and bucks against me; his hands slick with sweat as he grabs at my clothes. He comes in his pants this time and bursts into tears.
Is he going to do this every time? The crying is... I wish he wouldn’t.
‘What must you... what must you think of me?’ he snuffles.
Nothing based on him going off still in his pants. Rather that than... that than what he wants.
Pat his back, nothing encouraging, nothing to lead him on.
‘I’m not doing a very good job of keeping you sated am I?’ he pants against the side of my face. ‘I’m sorry.’ His hand works into groin.
‘Not... Don’t want...’ I try to push his hand away. ‘Not tonight, Doctor.’
He sits back and scrubs at his face with his hand. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I don’t need to. I’m tired.’ He’s just staring and staring at me. ‘Can I go to sleep?’
‘But I want to make you happy,’ he says softly. He stands up and starts undressing. ‘We don’t have to... we can do it a different way. Would you like to do something else, you can do... you do anything you want to me.’ He finishes undressing and waves his arms idly. ‘Please?’
‘I’m tired.’ It sounds small even to me.
‘I’ve been looking forward to it all day,’ he says, wet-eyed. ‘Please? It doesn’t... it doesn’t have to take long. You don’t even have to do anything if you don’t want. I can... I can suck you off? Or use my hand? Please?’
Maybe if I think about something else it’ll... it’ll happen automatically. Put down my jeans, push down my shorts, lie down with my legs wide, and hope he doesn’t bite.
‘You’re not even going to look?’ he says plaintively.
Look at the ceiling. Little flaws up there in the plaster. Little holes and scrapes from the thing they use to do it. He’s got his hands on my knees. He’s kneeling between my legs. If you look at with your eyes half-closed it could be clouds maybe. He’s licking my thighs and moaning softly. I haven’t been outside in... must be years now. Not to see anyway. He drugged me to bring me here. He’s tonguing my balls. They knocked me out to get me into the facility. That was before they broke me. When I still had enough hope that things would change for the better. He’s stroking the flat of his tongue along the underside of my cock and I’m not hard, not even a little. I miss the sun. When I was a cop, I used to bitch about being outside all the time. Be careful what you wish for. He’s sucking like a pump but I’m not hard.
Finally stops.
‘This isn’t working is he?’ he sniffles. ‘I haven’t really... I’m sorry.’
‘It’s okay. I’m... I’m tired.’
Hear him moving. Puts his hand on my cock.
‘Let’s try it this way, eh?’
I miss being with someone. Really being with someone, I mean. Not treated like a thing, like a toy or an animal. Such a long time since anyone talked to me like a person. His thumb strokes my cock. The blond, maybe. He talked to me like a person. The Doctor’s hand is rough. The blond was cute in his way. Nice eyes, nice body. I’m getting a little... a little hard. The Doctor sighs and shifts position. The blond panting and sweating on the treadmill. Like to see him panting and sweating in bed. I’m hard. I’m hard and he’s too rough, too excited. Hear him panting. Hear him moaning my name.
He makes me wait where I am. Comes with a cloth to wash me off. I curl up on my side as he cleans himself.
‘That wasn’t so bad, was it?’ he asks, coming back from the bathroom. ‘We got there didn’t we?’
I feel him climb onto the bed and then he gets close. Puts an arm around my waist, kisses my neck, and rests his forehead on my shoulder.
He goes to sleep quickly, does everything quickly seems like. Push back my elbow and he falls onto the bed. The more I see him, the more he touches me, the uglier he is. When he begs, when he cries, when his face is covered in tears and snot, he’s like some kind of creature. Some alien, insectoid thing that buzzes and twitches when it means to speak. Jerky stick arms and legs that pinwheel out of control. Cold touch of clammy hands like some slimy thing, like a slug.
Breathing wet and heavy. Only have to put my hand there... only a few minutes. A few minutes of spluttering, a few minutes of struggling, and then it’d be over. Would they know? Would they care?
I never used to think like this.
Get up, get up, get a duvet and a pillow, go downstairs. Curl up on the couch. Even with the duvet I’m still so cold.
Wake up with the sunshine coming through a gap in the curtains. It’s early; the birds are screaming blue murder outside. The dawn chorus: I always used to love that on a night shift.
I’m really hungry. Really, really hungry.
He crashes into the kitchen while I’m eating oatmeal sweetened with honey. Tempting to eat something worse but I’ll get weighed soon enough. Don’t want to be put back on starvation rations. He’s wide-eyed but half-asleep, hair everywhere.
‘What’re you doing?’
‘Eating. I’m hungry.’
‘Stop doing that!’ he yanks the bowl away and oatmeal slops out of the bowl, splattering across his legs. ‘Shit!’ He hurls the bowl into the sink where it smashes. He snatches up the cloth off the side, soaks it in cold water, and scrubs at his scalds as if he thinks he can rub them off. ‘Why can’t you just let me take care of you!’ He throws the cloth into the sink and glares at me. ‘Answer me!’
I stand up and push away my coffee cup, before he can throw that too. ‘Why’re you yelling at me?’
He lunges forward, is he going to hit me? No, he stops just short and then backs away. ‘It’s early,’ he says. ‘I’ve not woken up properly.’ He rubs his eyes with the heel of his hand. ‘I’m sorry I shouted but you shouldn’t be cooking... it’s not safe.’ He steps forward and takes my hand. ‘You don’t have to do that kind of thing. I’ll look after you, feed you, you don’t need to worry.’
‘I’m not worried,’ I say quietly. ‘I was just hungry.’
‘I don’t want you feeding yourself,’ he says, rubbing his thumb over my fingers. ‘Alright? Can you do that for me, let me feed you?’
It’s small piece of freedom. One of the few pieces I have, but if I don’t give it then he’ll take it, and punish me for not giving it freely.
‘If it’s important to you then I will.’
His face fills with smiles. I never knew anyone to have his moods turn so quickly. ‘Thank you. I know it’s difficult, and strange maybe, but that’ll pass.’ He lifts up my hand and kisses it. ‘We’ll get used to each other. You’ll see.’
He comes back mid-morning when I’m watching ‘Wizards of Waverley Place’ and wondering if it’s wrong to lust after an actor in a Disney show.
I meet him at the door and he kisses me, but quickly. ‘I’ve brought you a present. Someone to keep you company.’
Orderlies bundle in someone chained and hooded. Looks male, smaller than me, doesn’t move like he’s drugged.
‘What... what am I supposed to...’
‘His name’s Hiro,’ the Doctor says undoing the chains. ‘His English isn’t good but he’s a fairly placid type. If you use your affliction you can probably make yourself understood.’
I see.
‘I don’t want to displease,’ I say carefully and he looks so pleased it makes me nauseated. ‘What am I supposed to... to do with him?’
‘He’s company for you,’ he says uncertainly. ‘You can... play together, that sort of thing.’ He rubs my arm. ‘Take off the hood and show him around would you?’
He’s younger than me, my ‘company’, at most he’s late twenties. He adjusts his glasses, bows to me, and says something in a language I don’t understand.
‘Um, hello.’ I try to return his bow but I’m not sure I do it right. ‘I don’t... I don’t know... do you know any English?’
‘Hiro Nakamura,’ he says brightly, pressing a hand to his chest.
‘Oh, uh, Matt Parkman,’ I say, holding out my hand.
He rattles out more in... uh... the same language and shakes my hand.
Great.
I show him into the kitchen, try to make it clear he shouldn’t cook, show him the bathroom and try to swear him off the bath, but when I show him the playroom he dives right in.
Fantastic. At least he seems good-natured.
He stays up there all day. He seems happy enough when I take up some juice and a chicken sandwich. He’s not in my face at least.
I meet the Doctor at the door when he comes home but he’s in a foul mood and barks at me.
‘Where’s Hiro?’
‘He’s upstairs.’
‘Has he been up there all fucking day?’ he demands, shoving past me. ‘And you’ve been vegetating on the couch watching television!’
‘Don’t swear at me.’ It slips out before I can stop it.
He scowls at me and then stomps past and goes upstairs. After a few minutes, he drags poor Hiro down by his ear and throws him to the floor.
‘Stay there!’ he snarls, yanking up the telephone and punching numbers. ‘This is Doctor Suresh, I want Nakamura taking back to the facility. Yes, right now!’
Nakamura asks something. At least it sounds like a question from the tone.
‘Are you okay?’
He rubs his ear and says something I don’t understand at all.
‘Go upstairs!’ the Doctor barks at me.
‘What’s the matter?’
‘I didn’t bring him here to play in the playroom while you ignore him and watch television!’ he snarls. ‘If you’re not suited then he’s going back to the facility. Now go and play!’
‘What did you bring him here for?’
‘To keep you company!’ he growls. ‘Which he can hardly do with you downstairs and him upstairs.’
‘He can hardly keep me company when he doesn’t speak two words of English!’ I wave my arm at Hiro, still nursing his ear. ‘It’s not his fault and it’s not mine.’
‘Perhaps I should send you back to the facility!’ he roars.
‘Alright.’
‘What?’ he asks.
I cross my arms. ‘Alright, send me back. Keep him.’
The Doctor shakes his head seeming small suddenly. ‘I didn’t... I don’t want to... there’s no need for that.’
‘He’s what you want,’ I say. ‘Placid, likes the playroom, that’s what you want.’
The Doctor keeps shaking his head as he moves closer. ‘No I... I only... the playroom is just to help amuse you. I’m sorry.’ I back up but he follows me, puts a hand on my arm. ‘I’ll find someone else who’ll suit you better.’
‘You don’t have to do that.’
‘No I... I’m sorry,’ he says quietly. His hand rubs my arm as he stares into my face. ‘I just want to make you happy.’
‘Not yelling and threatening me would be a start,’ I say.
He nods and kisses my cheek. ‘I’m sorry. I’ll try.’ He turns away at a knock on the door. ‘They’ll be here for Hiro. You... watch television or whatever you want.’
What just happened then?
Part 2
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Date: 2010-01-03 07:03 am (UTC)You know how much I've loved reading this story, Captive!Matt is always a big favorite for me. :D I love the introduction of Adam and the gradual beginning of the shift of power between Matt and Mohinder. You do a great job wtih making Mo both scary and pathetic; he's just *so* willing to throw off every bit of dignity that it's impossible to feel sorry for him. Hiro, though, I do feel sorry for! Poor love, enjoying the playroom the way he did and then getting shipped off for it. :P Horrid Mohinder!
Loved it!<3333
no subject
Date: 2010-01-03 09:10 am (UTC)Power and power shifting is always an interesting one :) I read a thing about Shelley's Prometheus*, how Prometheus was only enslaved because he gave Zeus power over him, and it got me thinking. Most power is about perspective.
(*I didn't read the poem because I find Shelley hard to stomach, euw.)
Hiro, though, I do feel sorry for! Poor love, enjoying the playroom the way he did and then getting shipped off for it. :P Horrid Mohinder!
I suspect Matt will eventually influence Mohinder to be nicer to his subjects. Maybe get some decent rec facilities!
<333