Scan 3

And then Trey had messed up, and it had been six months before things had settled again.
      The American still felt guilty, even now, years later, Greg realised. After that first night, and the Russian's more relaxed demeanour the following day, Trey had thought things would be easier, and made the mistake of pushing matters.
      Not immediately, of course, and not with any deliberate intent. They spent their two days downtime in bed, Alexei exploring his lover's body, making love to him, tentatively at first but growing more confident all the time, and Trey lapped up the attention like a starved dog. It had been blissful, and a rare pleasure for Trey, handing over control for a while: he'd spent much of his adult life as the aggressor in his relationships with lovers. This - this was wonderful. Restful, yet exciting. The expression of awe on his lover's face as Alexei thrust into his willing body, the fine tremors that ran through the Russian's slim frame as he climaxed... Trey was proud, both of being able to arouse his partner, and that Alexei was such a quick student.
      The rapport they shared made them an even more effective working partnership. Stone had commented on it to Trey in his usual blunt fashion, calling the American into his office a month later and staring at him with a frown.
      "Are you two fucking each other?"
      Trey froze: they'd simply not considered this aspect of the relationship. He'd promised Alexei he'd keep the secret - but lying to the boss was not recommended... He suddenly realised he had no idea how the IATF viewed same-sex relationships - serious ones, at that. As he dithered, Stone smiled grimly.
      "I'll take that as a yes."
      Trey coloured, and the older man snorted.
      "You think we're unaware of what's happening with our agents?"
      "No, of course not sir..." Trey shook his head. Stone eyed him narrowly.
      "But you hoped we wouldn't notice. Well, I understand your reluctance to make the fact obvious. From our point of view, we don't actively encourage fraternisation, but we recognise it can be a source of strength in a partnership. As long as neither of you let it interfere with your work, we'll condone it."
      Trey saluted.
      "Thank you, sir."
      "Dismissed, McNabb."
      Trey had staggered to the bar and downed several large bourbons in a short space of time, then bought a six-pack of expensive German lager and a bottle of champagne and made his way back to their quarters. By the time Alexei had arrived back from a training session Trey was more than half-drunk and bubbling with a mixture of elation and relief - and feeling decidedly amorous. He pulled his lover into his arms, kissing him deeply, then made short work of stripping them both. Manoeuvring Alexei backwards to the bed and pushing him down onto the duvet, Trey had straddled his hips and slicked lubrication onto his fingers, fastening his lips on his lover's neck as he probed between long legs...
      Alexei froze, suddenly terrified, the old horror flooding back, filling his mind with images of Radinski, the cell... He struggled to free himself, but Trey was achingly aroused, euphoric with relief and yearning to bury himself in the slim body below him...
      The pain of Alexei's nails clawing at his shoulders, drawing blood, brought him sharply back to reality - to find himself half in the Russian's struggling body. Tears tracked silently down Alexei's pale face, his eyes huge and dark with betrayal: gasping, immediately sobered, Trey pulled out as gently as he could and pushed himself backwards, watching with sick dismay as Alexei shoved himself as far away as possible on the bed and curled into a foetal ball.
      "... oh God... Did I hurt you? Alexei? I'm so sorry..."
      He risked placing a hand on the shaking body, biting his lip as Alexei violently flinched away. It took a supreme effort of will not to pull his lover into his arms, regardless of the likely reaction, but he managed it, dragging himself upright, pulling on his discarded jeans then easing the duvet over his partner. He knelt on the floor at Alexei's side, hands on the bed in plain view.
      "Alexei... I'm sorry... I'm not going to hurt you. Look, I won't touch. If you want, I'll go away..."
       A muffled sob. Trey thought his heart would break.
      "Alexei? What do you want me to do? God, love, I'd give anything to undo what just happened... It was... I... Stone said we're OK as we are... I was scared he was going to split us up, but he said we're OK... I couldn't bear it if we were separated..."
      His voice trailed off into silence as he gazed despairingly at the huddled weeping figure.
      "... I'm sorry... I love you..."
      No response.
      "'lexi?"
      Still nothing. Trey brushed tears from his own face and stood unsteadily.
      "OK love... I'm going to go sit in the other room... give you some space... Is that OK?"
      No answer. Biting his lip, Trey walked through to the main room, sat on the floor, his back against the cold wall, and buried his head in his hands.
      How could he have been so fucking stupid?! After everything Alexei had suffered, after his own promises to take everything at his lover's pace, to do something so... He may well have just wrecked all the trust they'd built up, ruined any chance of 'lexi ever wanting sex again... The thought of losing his lover was a solid freezing pain in his gut...
      He didn't know how long he sat there, his thoughts circling, cursing himself to hell and back for being so thoughtless, but it was dark when he felt the light touch on his arm. He flinched - then very very slowly raised his head, to find Alexei gazing down at him, pale, wary, tears still shimmering on his face. Trey bit his lip, kept his voice very low.
      "Alexei? Are you... did I hurt you, lover?" The Russian was shivering despite the robe he'd put on - Trey's robe, his partner noted, a tiny bubble of hope rising through his misery. He swallowed and tried to smile. "I'm sorry..."
      Alexei wrapped his arms around himself. He looked incongruously young and small in the robe, Trey thought, feeling tears start again.
      "Love... can I get up? I'm not going to do anything, I promise."
      Alexei eyed him for a moment, then moved to sit on their sofa. On the very edge of the sofa, scrunched against the arm, pulling the robe to cover as much of himself as possible. Trey stood slowly and seated himself on the adjacent armchair, leaning forwards, elbows on his knees, watching the pale face.
      "What do you want me to do, love? Want me to go? I wouldn't blame you."
      The Russian shook his head. His voice was hoarse and choked with tears.
      "No, of course I do not want you to go."
      Trey drew a shuddering breath. Alexei rubbed at his forehead.
      "But I think... I think it would be better if you returned to your own room. For a while." They'd taken to sleeping in his room - it was larger and had a slightly better view. Not that the view had ever particularly concerned them, they had more interesting things to do than admire it... Alexei shoved a hand through his hair then glanced at his partner.
      "I... understand, I think... But you must understand my point of view... you are too strong and heavy for me to fight you off without hurting you. I don't want to hurt you. I don't want to fight you. I should never need to fight you. But..." He closed his eyes, shivering: Trey ached to hold him, comfort him. "The... helplessness... the feeling of... of being used, being of no worth except as... a... victim... I cannot bear it, Trey. Death would be easier."
      Stricken, the American slowly extended a hand. Alexei stared at it for a moment or two, as though he'd never seen such a thing before, then very hesitantly took it. Trey curled his fingers lightly over the narrow palm, wincing at the coldness of the pale skin.
      "Please don't say that. I love you. I don't ever want to be without you."
      "And I would prefer not to be without you..."
      "I promise I'll never do anything like that again... I'm sorry, Alexei. Will you forgive me?"
      "Of course. But... please... don't... I need time... to... forget. Find myself again."
      Well, that made sense. He'd just put their relationship right back at stage one: he'd just have to grin and bear it and wait until - God forbid it was if - 'lexi felt up to trying again... He slowly raised the cold hand to his lips, kissing the long fingers.
      "Of course. Anything you want, love."
      Alexei forced a small smile.
      "Anything? Then might I have a coffee?"
      Trey nodded, his heart lightening fractionally.
      "You go get into bed, warm up a bit. I'll bring it through. Are you hungry?"
      The Russian shook his head.
      "But I do not mind if you bring something for yourself..."

Reluctantly, but without objecting, Trey moved back into his own bedroom, grateful that Alexei hadn't ordered him out of their quarters. Or reported him: sexual assault of any kind between agents was a criminal offence and at the very least led to instant dismissal and a jail sentence. He kept a respectful, attentive distance, and after a while Alexei began to relax in his presence again. They worked together as well as ever - Trey thanked God that he hadn't wrecked that rapport, at least - and all the signs were that they would soon become the IATF's top team. And two months later it was time for them to leave HQ: Trey requested that they be based in New York, his home town, and since Alexei had no objections two apartments were placed at their disposal.

"Two?"
      Trey gazed at his partner, dismayed. Alexei nodded.
      "It is standard procedure, I understand." He eyed the American appraisingly. "It may be for the best, Trey."
      "But I thought..." He'd assumed they'd be sharing an apartment. And just recently Alexei had stopped flinching when Trey touched him: the American had hoped moving into a new place, in a city Alexei didn't know, would allow them to resume the intimacy he yearned for. His shoulders slumped. "Whatever you want, Alexei."
       "The apartments are not far apart, Trey. We will still see each other every day."
      The American nodded resignedly.
      "I know. I'm sure I'll get used to it."

But he hadn't. And when Alexei had been injured on their second case after leaving HQ, he had used it as an excuse to move in with his partner.
      But, Greg thought grimly, Alexei had needed him there...

I knew Trey had not meant to hurt me. Knew it with my head, at any rate. But my body... My body remembered everything that had been done to it, the torture, the degradation. Trey's face had flickered, become Radinski's...
      I had lain for hours after he'd left the bedroom, afraid to move, afraid I might shatter if I so much as twitched, my mind filled with a terrifying melange of images, feelings... I trusted - had trusted - Trey... He had raped me... yes, it was rape, I made myself face the fact... That it had not been meant, that he had stopped himself as soon as he realised what he was doing, made no difference... He had promised he'd never hurt me... he'd broken that promise... broken our trust... broken the fragile confidence I had been building...
      I should loathe him for it. Hate him. I couldn't.
      I loved him.
      ... loved him... I finally admitted it to myself.
      The thought of life without him was bleak, miserable...
      But my body cringed at even the thought of him touching it.
      I could feel him next door, filled with self-loathing, with a desperate fear that I'd want nothing to do with him ever again. His pain overlapped my own, left me dizzy and breathless.
      It was probably that that finally forced me to move. I cared too much to leave him in that state. And if I set his mind at rest, I might be able to force my own into some sort of order...
      He was pathetically grateful for my forgiveness, and accepted that I didn't want him in my bed. For now, anyway. The thought was both repulsive and exciting and until I could deal with the conflicting emotions it would be far safer for both of us if he kept his distance.
      I missed him, though. Missed his warmth, his tenderness, when the nightmares woke me, night after night in the ensuing months, missed his touch, the smell of him, his presence in my bed.
      But the very fact that I felt so proved that I had become too reliant on another in my personal life - and that could not be tolerated. So while a part of me was dismayed that we would have separate places to live in New York, the rational part welcomed the news.

Then came the Johanssen case.
      By then I'd found out a little more about 'talents', and come to the conclusion that I must be included in their number, though of course I had no idea of the strength of my own ability, not until much later. I had found it useful though, on many occasions, though I felt that its use left me vulnerable, open to external influences, so was careful to use it sparingly.
      Trey and I had visited the Johanssen offices to try to establish exactly what was their role in the supply of illegal arms to the Southern States, and I had opened, just a little, to see if I could gain any insight into what they weren't telling us.
      And suddenly a veritable avalanche of emotion drowned me, filled me, swamped me until I couldn't tell what was me and what were other... The complete loss of self, of identity, was traumatic. Trey later told me he'd thought I was having some sort of seizure: I'd bitten my tongue halfway through, and was clawing at my face as though trying to tear it from the underlying bone before he'd gathered his wits enough to yank my hands away from my head and shout at the shocked CEO to ring for help. He'd held me until the paramedics arrived and sedated me, then sat with me in the hospital until I resurfaced five days later - weak, in pain and horrified at my loss of control.
      When I was finally allowed out of the hospital, it was to find he had moved into my apartment. I did not object. I needed someone to help care for me for a while: I was hurting, and kept having strange 'flashbacks' to some of the emotions, the feelings, I'd experienced which overrode what I was doing at the time and made me a danger to myself. (I still have the scars from the damage I inflicted with the knife when such an episode overtook me in the middle of preparing our lunch...)
      The realisation that there are far worse things in the world than physical abuse had much to do with it too.
      He was so gentle, so affectionate, so loving. The first night I welcomed him back into my bed he held me close, trembling... It felt like coming home, truly being back where I belonged.
      Two weeks later I made love to him. And two weeks after that - the process eased by several shots of good quality vodka and a shared bottle of fine wine - I allowed him to penetrate me.
      My chief memory of the event is overwhelming relief that it hadn't hurt. But that was enough to persuade me to try again, and again, and slowly I learned to enjoy it, to take pleasure in intimacy, in sex. That Trey was gentle and slow in those first days, and infinitely considerate, had much to do with it...

Trey rubbed a hand over stinging eyes and took a slurp of his coffee, then half-smiled at Greg.
      "It's seven. Wanna finish there for today?"
      The telepath considered the question for a moment, then nodded. He was tired, and they still had to cover the recent assignment - which none of them was going to find easy - and then he had to take Alexei back, force him to explore what had happened in Butyrka, get him to face the memories and come to terms with them. And for that it might be best if he got Razor involved, given the Russian's reaction last time...

Trey closed the door behind Greg and turned back to the bed, to find Alexei awake and watching him warily. He moved slowly to kneel at the bedside, uncertain of his lover's state of mind. That shameful episode had been three years ago, and mostly forgotten in all the happy times that had followed it - but now that Greg had stirred it up again... God, it was like trying to gauge a frightened animal's reactions! He'd be very glad when this whole thing was over.
      "OK, lover?"
      Alexei shivered, then nodded. Trey risked stroking his hair: he flinched but then pushed into the strong hand, and the American relaxed a little.
      "Can I get you anything?"
      The dark eyes filled with tears again, and Trey slid onto the bed, pulling Alexei into his arms.
      "It's OK, love."
      "... sorry..."
      "Nothin' to be sorry for."
      "... weak..."
      "No love. Not weak. You're the strongest person I know."
      He cradled Alexei against him as the Russian wept silently, wondering if this really was worth the grief.

Greg looked tired the following morning. Alexei had spent another disturbed night, although at least he now woke from nightmares with a whimper, not a scream, which Trey thought had to be a good thing...
      "You look like shit. Gonna be OK?"
      Greg smiled wearily.
      "I have been monitoring Alexei's dreams. It has not been pleasant. But yes, I will be fine. We will finish this today. Then he can start to heal." He glanced over his shoulder at the sharp rap on the door: before anyone could speak Razor had entered.
      "Are we ready?"
      Trey glowered at the woman: she ignored him and eyed the trembling Alexei for a moment. Then smiled.
      "Don't worry. I won't hurt you. Deliberately."
      Alexei gazed up at Greg, his eyes pleading.
      *I don't want Trey to be here today.*
      Greg frowned.
      *You need someone to anchor you.*
      *But you and Razor are here. Won't that be sufficient?*
      Greg pursed his lips pensively.
      *Well yes... why don't you want him here?*
      Alexei swallowed, his eyes brimming again.
      *He needs to rest...*
      *And the real reason?*
      *I... I don't want him to see what happened... Not in my mind... Please, Greg...*
      There was a frightened desperation to his voice, his state of mind, and that would certainly hamper the scan. Greg nodded reluctantly, and Alexei turned to his lover.
      "I need to do this alone."
      The American stared, then glowered.
      "I'm not leaving you to face that by yourself!"
      Alexei raised a bandaged hand.
      "Please, Trey."
      Greg nodded.
      "It is what Alexei wants. And he will need you afterwards, and you are exhausted and in no fit state to tend to him..."
      "But..."
      "Out." Razor pointed at the door. "We'll *call* you when you can come back."
      Faced with leaving voluntarily or having the telepath force him to go, Trey took the easier option - reluctantly, but telling himself Greg was right, and in any case it would be less stressful for Alexei if he didn't fight it.
      As the door closed behind him, Greg stripped and slid into the bed, holding the shaking Russian close, gently brushing the tears from his face.
      *I will keep you safe, Alexei.* He glanced at Razor, who had seated herself at the end of the bed and was focussing tightly on the task at hand. *Ready?*
      *... yes...*

... pain... humiliation... fear...
      ... I'm here, Alexei...
      ... G... Greg?...
      ... yes... relive the memories. I will hold you safe.

And this time it was Alexei who lived through the events at the clinic, not the shadow character they had made of him. He screamed as he was tortured, branded, 'broken', the sting of the needle that had injected him with something to enhance sensation almost unnoticed in the agony, the despair, flooding his body.
      Then the trackers pushed him past endurance - and Greg and Razor watched as something deeper clawed its way to the surface, something animalistic, strong, untameable took over, ripped him free then tore his tormentors to pieces...
      ... and the memory linked to a darker one, from years ago, when he was on his hands and knees in a small and stinking cell, choking as two laughing men tried to force themselves into his mouth, two others shoving into his bleeding anus as the other four watched, eagerly awaiting their turn...
      ... pain. Pain was the impetus, physical and emotional pain. It... transformed him into something other, something that pulled in the negative emotions of others, shaping them to its own purposes. And the other savaged Radinski and his companions, oblivious to pain, to resistance, clawing and rending, ripping out the throats of three of them with its teeth...
      ... and enjoying it, relishing the taste of blood, of the flesh it tore from them and swallowed, aroused, erect, coming again and again, semen splattering over the bleeding, dying bodies...
      Alexei wailed, writhing against Greg, fighting against the memory, raw self-hatred threatening to shatter his psyche.
      Cannibal.
      Necrophiliac.
      Filthy pervert...
      *I can understand why he didn't want his lover to see this.* Razor's voice was a curious mixture of disgust and compassion. Greg shook his head.
      *No wonder he buried it - unwise as it was to do so. How do we deal with it?*
      *We don't. He has to.*
      *Of course. But not by himself.*
      *You'll have to take responsibility for that, Mahican. This is out of my remit.*
      *Of course...*
      But Alexei's panic was increasing, mingled with the fear that he couldn't control the monster within, the fear that if Trey ever found out he'd be so appalled he'd want nothing more to do with his lover. And it was affecting his body: he was hyperventilating, his heart racing, blood pressure rising. Greg pushed into his mind and hovered, a calm centre in the maelstrom.
      *Alexei... listen to me... it saved your life. It is not a monster. It is part of you. Without it you would not have survived. You would not have been here to save the innocent, to bring to justice those whose deeds, whose lives, brought so much pain and misery to others. Without it you would not have met Trey... It acts only to defend you, and only as a last resort.*
      The rigid body in his arms relaxed a little: Alexei was listening, something in him desperate to find a way to deal with the horror within. Greg took a deep breath.
      *You can learn to control it, to deal with it, but first you must accept that it is part of you. It means you no harm. It means no harm to those around you, to Trey. It would never hurt those you trust, those who mean something to you - it didn't hurt Trey, it hasn't hurt me. It only hurts those who deserve to be hurt.*
      *... but... who am I to choose?*
      Greg sighed with relief: if Alexei was responding, he was reasserting control over himself. And as he focussed on what was being said, his breathing and heartrate began to return to normal.
      *Your innate sense of justice controls you - and your other.*
      *... no one should have that much power...*
      *But you have. And we can help you learn how to control it.*
      *... such a thing is possible?...*
      *Yes.*
      Silence while Alexei considered the matter - silence, and a small but growing kernel of hope. There was a long way to go, still, but the telepath was confident that Alexei would make it...

Trey glanced uncertainly from his exhausted, sleeping lover to Greg and back again.
      "You're saying he really does have some sort of... alter-ego? Some sort of Jekyll and Hyde type thing going on?"
      Greg smiled.
      "Well, it's perhaps more like a werewolf type thing, if you want to put it in those terms. At the moment he can't control it, but we can teach him how to do that."
      Trey eyed him narrowly.
      "Werewolf?"
      "I speak metaphorically. It is not dependent on the moon, nor does he actually physically transform. Intense pain - of any kind - sparks it into action."
      Trey nodded absently.
      "What's so terrible about that? Why didn't he want me to be here?"
      Greg hesitated, then sighed.
      "There's an accompanying emotional aspect that Alexei is most uneasy with, a kind of primal exultation in the destruction caused."
      The American blinked.
      "This is 'lexi we're talking about?"
      The 'path nodded.
      "He finds it offensive, shocking. He's spent most of his life fighting it, though he wasn't aware of it until now."
      "So he needs to find a sort of balance?"
      "He needs to learn to accept his... other."
      "I see..." Trey gazed at his partner. "How can I help?"

Wilma beamed at the agents assembled in her office; Greg, Razor, Lenore, John, Stephan and Devon.
      "So, what d'you think? We offer them a place?"
      Greg nodded sombrely.
      "Alexei needs to be with us. We can train him, teach him how to actively control his abilities. And he would make a fine addition to the Agency."
      John chuckled.
      "You want a Russian to defect from America to England. There's a turn up for the books!"
      Stephan laughed.
      "Well, if they do not know 'ow to value 'im, that is their problem!"
      Greg smiled tightly.
      "And he does need to learn control. So far his other has been submerged, only surfacing when he is threatened. But now he is aware of its presence, is beginning to accept its existence. Make no mistake, it is dangerous."
      Wilma nodded.
      "I'll speak to the bosses - but I don't think we really have a choice. We don't want to lose him. Or Trey."
      "Nope. They come as a pair." Devon grinned.
      "We need to test Trey." Greg was thoughtful. "He doesn't register as a psi, but there must be something or he wouldn't be able to act as Alexei's filter. Something we haven't come across before, I suspect."
      Wilma glanced at John.
      "Can you set that up?"
      John nodded, then quirked an eyebrow.
      "Should we not invite them to join us, first?"
      "Probably. But Alexei will need training anyway, whether he opts to stay with us or not. So set up the appraisal programme. Leave the inviting to me."

Unaware of the Agency's agenda, Trey lay beside Alexei, stroking the fine black hair. His lover was sleeping peacefully for the first time in weeks, and while Trey was cynical about how long it would last, the relief from nightmares, even if only for a short while, was bliss.
      Smiling, he slid under the duvet and curled up against the smooth pale back, overjoyed when 'lexi sighed and nestled closer. Tomorrow they'd talk about what had happened - and what they planned to do next.

© 2004 August 8^th Joules

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Darkside

© 2004 WaveWrights