Wings

by Fearadhach MecRaudri

  They sat on that precipice, unwilling to go forward, unable to go back, their eyes locked together and their joined breathing the only movement either could allow themselves. Her breathing changed rhythm again, but this time he saw how difficult it was for her to do so. He struggled himself, forced his breathing to a rhythm other than what she had changed to, but this time the hypnotic rise and fall of her breasts moved to match him.

  His legs started to twitch as they tried to raise him out of his chair, and the corner of his eye caught her legs doing the same thing. He made one last, desperate attempt to change his breathing, taking slow stuttering breaths. The effort on her face was obvious as she pushed her breathing faster, faster, faster still. They fought their bodies as their chests tried to override the signals of the brain and match back up, but they finally won out over themselves and the spell broke.

  ***

  Sharon let herself fall, limp, back into her chair, feeling like a marionette with cut strings. Lucas responded by leaning on one armrest, probably to make sure they did not find themselves locked together again. Her body trembled upon the chair as she considered what she had almost done, what he had almost done. In some ways she felt as if they had. Her gaze turned to him, tracing the line of his chin, down to his shoulders, down the bat-wings draped over the chair. Back up the wings to that broad chest…

  NO! She forced herself to focus on his nose, and finally brought out her voice, though now the tremor could not be kept out of it. “This thing between the two of us… you are entirely right, we can’t act on it now. Neither of us is ready for it emotionally, not with the ghosts that still hold our hearts, and not with the passion we pour into our cause every day.

  In time, when this is over…” She waved her hand, then shrugged, unwilling to risk thinking about the matter further. Their eyes met, and she felt a slight disquiet at the fact that she had told him more of her history than had been her intent, and shame at the way her body pushed her... Had pushed them.

  The secrets which she had held for so long, the things she’d done, the monster she’d been… She felt both hugely relieved and horribly embarrassed. A strange sensation came across her shoulders as if a burden had fallen from them, and the she felt the heat rise again, this time starting in the cradle of her lap.

  Her eyes fell to her cup as she fought to accept the way she had poured herself out, to accept her losses of control. She could hardly believe that anyone could have such an effect on her. He had said nothing the entire time, simply allowed her to pour herself forth, his only encouragement a receptive silence.

  Still he sat silent, unmoving. Her eyes gaze flew from her glass to him as her heart began, again, to pound in her chest. If he were to reject her now, to push her out because of all she had revealed, because of all she had held back, or because of what they had almost… She couldn’t say she would blame him in if he did. She had done a lot in her time, and should have told him all of this far sooner. All she felt when she met his eyes, however, was warmth and acceptance.

  He raised his glass to her, and waited till she did the same before moving. They shared a last drink. Neither tried to break the air, which still smelled of sweat and the effort of their restraint, with words. There was too much to be said. Yes, too much to be said, and too much of that which must remain unspoken. For now.

  At length they finally stood together as if on cue, and began to walk to the door. He opened it, and she passed by him to leave. The heat came back in a crashing wave as they came close enough to touch, and she missed a step as the smell of musk and leather filled her mind. She bolted through the doorway, turned, tried to speak, but could not to trust her voice. He tried to speak, held out his hand, then dropped it.

  He closed the door slowly, moving with it. Finally, their faces were framed by the door way, and they moved closer together. He leaned in, and her head tilted slightly up. Both of their lips parted as they moved together, then….they stopped.

  They looked longingly into the other’s eyes, then their eyes closed and their heads tilted slowly back. Together they slowly drew a deep shuddering breath, straightening as they did so. They let the breath out as slowly as they had taken it in, and the tension between them faded with the breath. They looked at one another for some few moments, faces full of understanding and mouths quirked slightly in wry amusement. They finally looked away, and she began her walk home as he closed the door. Each shed a single tear, but found that their hearts felt lighter all the same.

  Chapter 16

  Santiner threw the envelope at the wall. It's refusal to do more than flutter about added to his fury. He yanked it out of the air and crumpled it, tore it, tore it again, wadded it together, stalked to the trash can, shoved it in, then kicked the can a few times for good measure. He began to beat on the wall, but then he heard the door click and stopped dead. His position among his fellow candidates the last several weeks, ever since the showdown with the upperclassman, had been odd. Many, those not from wealthy backgrounds, looked at him with something bordering on hero worship. It made him uncomfortable, particularly from upperclassmen. A winged student... winged!... had even held a door for him.

  Of course, he still couldn't decide if their reactions or the reactions of the wealthy students grated on him more. Those kept after him as if he had shot their dogs, or something. A thousand little provocations a day, attempts to start fights, on and on. Several upperclassmen had made clear attempts to get him washed out. One, he still didn't understand how he got out of.

  It had been tough, but tolerable, until two weeks ago, when he got moved to a new bunk room. One filled with the worst of the spoiled rich. He had taken to sleeping anywhere except his bunk. He visited it only once a day to check for paper mail.... and wash the urine out of the sheets.

  He had no intention of giving one of those silver spoons the satisfaction of seeing him upset, or catching him alone. He checked his watch and nodded to himself. Time to hit the mats anyway. He turned and hurried through the other door of the bunk room. It meant he'd have to take the long way around, but he should probably get the head off this steam before he got to the mats anyway.

  He knew his fury showed in his face, and he didn't care. His mother... his own mother! He did not think, really, that she would make good on her threat to cut him off. He knew she had left without saying good-bye, but he didn't really think she'd go and not leave a forwarding address.

  This left him alone in the world. He would bear the weight of their vengeance alone, and, by the Captain's Chair, The Column would pay. Tears stung the corners of his eyes, and he quickened his pace. He blinked them away and pushed the pain deep inside, used it to stoke the fire of anger. If he had to bear the burden alone, so be it.

  By the time he made it to the practice hall he'd already worked up a slight sweat, and the heat of rage had been focused to a cold fury. He smiled a slight, hard smile when he saw Laura there. At least he had one person in the world he could be himself around, and she had the benefit of being a great sparring partner... precisely what he needed at the moment.

  She stopped her katas, took one look at him and her mouth set in a hard line. She nodded slightly and settled into a defensive stance. He promised himself he'd thank her later, then let his fury break forth as he exploded across the hall and attacked.

  He lashed out with his full fury, put every ounce of strength he had against the blows. A small part of his mind tried to force him to follow the combat rules, worried that he could hurt a girl much smaller than him, but she met his every move without any apparent concern and his fury ratcheted higher. At his best, she usually took him for four falls out of five. In his current state he had no chance of laying a hand on her, and they both knew it. He turned his mind over to the fire and pressed on.

  His swings and kicks became wilder, sweat poured from his body, and his breathing came in grasps. Laura's bland expression never faltered. He fought with his rage for several minutes, but even a young man in his prime had limits on ho
w long he could keep that sort of fire. Her expression changed, and he met a still-wild swing with a punch block. His hand stung, then tingled in response. The pain brought focus, and he wrestled himself under control just in time to see Laura move to an offensive posture.

  Through the entire exchange she had stayed in full-defensive mode, but now she attacked. A flurry of fists and feet came at him, and he had to push everything aside to keep them away. He finally got ahead of the rhythm of her limbs, ducked under a hand, stepped into a leg, pivoted, then found her foot inside his ankle and her hand under his opposite arm.

  He felt himself go off balance. Every instinct screamed for him to try to stay upright, but he knew the folly of that plan. He went with the motion, pushed off his opponent, managed to hit the ground smoothly and roll. He came up facing Laura, with several feet between them. Both panted and looked at each other. She had assumed a neutral posture, ready to come on guard if needed, but something in her eyes told him he had better stand down.

  Something in his shaking legs agreed, and he chose to sit, rather than stand, down. He rubbed sweat from his eyes then looked at her, "Thank you. I'm... I'm sorry. I would never have asked that of you, but thank you."

  She nodded to him, and gracefully lowered herself to the floor. "You are welcome. I don't know what got into you, but you are one of the most level-headed guys I know. I figured there was a good reason for you to have that much steam, and that it wouldn't hurt me to be in a match I couldn't just yell and stop for once."

  She smiled slightly to take the sting out of her words. He started to respond, when a male voice echoed across the empty hall. "Well, isn't this a pretty picture. The peon crying to the hyped-up little tart. You gonna cry for your momma little peasant? Huh?"

  They turned to see three upperclassmen and two of Santiner's bunk mates walking toward them. One of his bunk mates spoke, "He can cry for momma all he wants, but it won't do any good."

  "Yea, who would answer such a measly wretch anyway?"

  "No one, that's who."

  The five boys had begun to fan out. Santiner shared a brief look with Laura, and they stood together.

  The boys sniggered, "Oh, big bad peons, gonna take us all on, huh? Get this straight you two little bottom-cave dwelling maggots. No one wants you."

  "No one will protect you."

  "You best just wash out now, and save yourselves the trouble."

  "You have no family."

  "No friends."

  "You have nothing. You are nothing."

  One of his bunk-mates held up the discarded envelope, "Not even your mother wants you, she moved away to get away from you. Poor little baby. You gonna curl up and cry now? Whaaa... WHAAAAA...."

  Santiner saw red, his eyes on the envelope. He forced his mind to focus. The boys had spread out, but stayed close enough to protect each other. They obviously intended to provoke him to action, and to come at him from all sides when he went after the letter. He let himself scream to make them think that they had succeeded. He glanced briefly at Laura, and hoped she understood. His foot slapped the mat as he took one bounding step toward the letter, and two boys began to close in on the sides of where they expected him to be.

  He darted to the side with his second step, and lashed out with his foot. It made contact with the knee of the boy to the left. The knee gave a sickening crack and bent sideways. The boy started to go down, so he grabbed his head and threw him into the one who had hoped to hit his right side.

  A crack to his left and a male scream let him know that Laura had taken his cue. Broken knee crashed into right ambusher, and they went down in a screaming pile of limbs. He now had a clean shot at envelope boy, who stood with a horrified look on his face. He obviously had not expected to have to fight. Pity.

  This left one boy on his left unaccounted for, but he had to trust Laura to deal with that. He took another step, did a full spin to gain momentum, and brought his elbow into envelope's teeth. He felt several of them break loose and another scream echoed through the hall. He swept envelope's legs, put his hand on the boy's chest, and drove him into the mat. His head bounced and the boy's eyes rolled back in his head.

  A wet splat sounded on his right and he saw stars. The foot which had connected to his head rebounded, but he rolled with the blow. He caught a blur of a fist sailing through the space he had just occupied while he rolled across the mat, and saw a male foot. He lashed out with his own foot, but the other foot jumped out of the way. He heard another scream come from above that foot. A head came at the mat, face down, propelled by a female hand. It connected nose-first and blood seemed to fountain everywhere.

  Santiner rose to his feet, ready to put more hurt on the older boys, but he found himself bereft of targets. Laura had separated the shoulder of right ambusher, broken the nose of foot-ankle, and the elbow of the fifth boy.

  Separated shoulder slammed his shoulder into the mat and screamed when it went back into his place. He rolled away to from them, to his feet, ran for the weapons rack. Laura tore off after him, but he got to the rack, grabbed a nightstick, shoved it in the corner of the rack, broke it, and turned to face her with two jagged-edged sticks in his hand and murder in his eyes.

  Santiner ran forward, slipping to the side so that they could come at the armed boy from both sides. He did not need to. Laura moved like a demon. She moved inside the boy's reach and planted her shoulder just below the sternum. A woof of breath came out of the larger boy. He came off his feet and into the rack behind him, his head bouncing off the wall. Laura used the momentum of the boys rebound to pull him to the ground, then brought one knee down, hard, on the boy's injured shoulder, and brought the other to rest -feather light- on his throat. She locked eyes with the older boy, the steel in her gaze promising a crushed windpipe if he tried to move.

  Four more upper classmen pounded into the room. Santiner vaguely recognized them... silver spoons all. They took one look at their damaged friends and snarled, then began to advance. Laura looked at them, the same promise in her eyes, and shifted her weight slightly. Shoulder boy began to wheeze, and the four stopped.

  Santiner moved to stand near her, so they could present a coordinated attack if needed. He began to reach for one of the broken sticks, but a glance from her stopped him. They all stood like that for several moments, then the standing boys ran out, shouting for MPs, medics, and teachers, screaming how two students had gone crazy and threatened to kill someone.

  Laura stood and took two light steps back from Shoulder. He stood, clutching his shoulder, looked at them, and a wicked grin spread across his face. Santiner saw the boy about to speak, but he locked eyes him and the boy settled for a smirk instead. It only took a few moments before he heard the sounds of several running feet cut through the silence. He saw Laura go to parade rest, so he followed suit, head high and eyes straight ahead.

  He saw Shoulder consider, for a moment, attacking them while they had their hands behind their backs, but several student MP's, trailed by Ventur. Shoulder began to scream, and bent half over for effect, "They attacked us! These two attacked us, broke every rule of engagement, and threatened to kill me when others tried to stop them! Look, you can still see the spot on my neck where that tart's knee was!"

  Shoulder's words became more shrill as Ventur advanced on him, "And him! He broke a nightstick and nearly attacked the ones who tried to stop them! See, there is the..." The boy's words died in his throat as an obviously furious Ventur advanced right up to him, till their noses came less than an inch from touching.

  Venture held the boy's gaze for a moment, then spoke in a calm, even voice wrapped in steel and barbed wire, "The cameras were set to record whenever the room was occupied. Whatever happened here, it is on disc. I am going to walk those discs to the Commandant, personally. And sit with him to review them. I believe you just lied to me, and accused fellow students of attempted murder in the process.

  Further, you made those accusations on tape. I suggest you shut your pie hole before
you give me something I can throw you in jail over, rather than just boot you from the Legion."

  The boy's face went red with rage, but his gaze flickered to another teacher, and his face went white. Santiner followed the gaze, and saw one of the teachers he disliked the most. One who rode him endlessly, yet seemed to give the worst silver spoons a free pass. The teacher's face made it clear that the free ride had come to an end, at least for one recruit.

  The other teacher spoke in a hard voice to the student MPs who had gathered, "Two of you apiece, take everyone standing to the brig. The rest of you get stretchers and take these others to the medics."

  The teacher walked toward Ventur, and looked about to pick up the broken nightstick when Ventur pointed to one of the youngest MPs, "You! Grab some paper out of the printer in my office, or something better if you can find it, and collect the pieces of this nightstick. Handle it only by the broken parts, and secure it in an evidence locker."

  Two of the MP's moved toward him, and Santiner felt his anger rise again, "Why am I being placed under arrest? We wer..." Ventur refused to look at him, but Laura came down, hard, on his instep. He didn't even know she had moved to him. He glanced at her, saw his own anger reflected in her eyes, but he saw fear there, too. The fear brought him back a step, mentally, and he looked at the ones who had attacked them. All of them, except broken nose, had serious injuries. Most would need serious therapy.

  Selfdefense or not, they had taken these guys apart. The administration couldn't let that slide. He shut up, and went quietly.

  ***

  The Dean stared at the 'call' button on his vid with anticipation both gleeful and dreadful. Gleeful, because the call he had to make gave him a rare opportunity to put Sar Cohen down a peg. Dreadful, because Sar did not tend to take such things well. He had to make sure he kept his features carefully schooled, and did not betray the private satisfaction he felt, or the relief.