Mine. They are mine.
Alma walked through the deserted hallways, treading through pools of liquefied human flesh and the slowly rotting corpses of the Armacham psychic soldiers. At the very edges of her mind, she imagined burning this place to the ground, leaving it to ash and wind. When she moved by the Vault, her mind nearly reached out a series of live wires that hung precariously over several barrels of accelerants. But she took a deep breath, something her body could not do for so very long, and relaxed herself.
Moving into the surveillance room, she blinked and the computers gladly hummed to life. All screens showed him, moving through the corridors, up the stairs, chasing her invisible presence through the wreckage that Project Origin collapsed into. His footsteps landed with an assurance and security that faltered with the others. Did he know? Long before she showed him, did he know? Did that insipid Aristide tell him just how much he meant? Joy tugged at her and her now healthy and perfectly normal lips drew up into a smile that, if she were a normal woman, would drive men wild. If they knew the mechanisms behind however, they would probably run in fear. Much like they do now.
Turning to the stairwell, she stood at the landing and stared up. Long salt-and-pepper strands of hair allowed the few remaining drops of partially coagulated blood to dribble down onto the lower steps, Aristide having been dead many hours already.
Alma remembered; she loved to remember.
When the initial blast went through the building, Alma felt a very real shiver of fear. Of course she could get out in a second, but he, strapped down and locked in the Amplifier, would have been lost to her. But the structure stood strong and when the machine opened, she found the older scientist struggling under rubble that fell loose from the ceiling. Alma blinked and sent it flying to the ground below.
A smile, a first smile in some years, lit up her face as the woman realized what happened and, more importantly, how it happened. Aristide's fear and panic filled her with glee as the woman stared at her naked form. Her mouth worked mutely as her hands tried to push her broken body away from her. Alma flashed to her side and knelt down to her, grabbing her face with both hands. Opening her eyes wide, she reached into Aristide's mind, rifling through her memories until she found the one's she wanted.
"No! NO! She's my daughter!" Aristide turned around and stared at the woman who laid restrained on the operating table, her feet still up in the stirrups, testimony to how quickly the decision was made. Sweaty hair clung to her face, tears streaming down her cheeks, both hands trying desperately to reach out…off to the side, a newborn's cries began to fill the room. The woman gathered an unknown strength and tore the restraint on her left arm loose, clawing at the nurses and doctors to get to her screaming child.
Aristide turned to see Harlan Wade frozen with shock and fear. To his left, his wife nearly stabbing out the eye of her delivering doctor with her fingernails; to his right, his newborn daughter screeching, most likely sensing her mother's emotions. She'd had enough. "Harlan." He snapped to and looked at her. "Take care of your wife," she commanded coldly before nodding to the team. She walked out of the room, the sound of the infant now echoing in the halls as they took her to the transport. As she reached the doorway to the chopper pad, an inhuman scream filled the entire ward.
Alma came back and realized that Aristide was screaming as well, her terrified voice almost causing a ring in her ears. She put one finger over the woman's mouth and shushed her. Aristide trembled.
"Mother," she whispered.
"I didn't know. I didn't know anything! Harlan was there! He was there when she died! I did not kill her!" Aristide whispered back, tripping over her words from their speed. "I swear I did not know!"
"Mother," she whispered again. Aristide struggled to beg, so petrified with fear she lost coherency. Alma shook her head slowly bringing the woman to a stop. As she stood up, the scientist looked her over and nearly dislocated her jaw with the sudden shock. Then Alma watched as her mind flew with new possibilities, new experiments…new tortures. That's when her mask slipped. That's when she got mad.
It was the only clean room in the building. She paid extra attention to keeping it so, going so far as to use the adjacent shower to wash away the filth before entering. Her slightly damp feet padded across the carpeted floor as she came to the bedside. She stood for only a few seconds before a relaxed sigh emanated and a pair of sleepy green eyes met her own darkened orbs. Michael Becket blinked up at her before soft smile came across his face. Alma felt her once dying heart flutter and almost dove into the bed when he spread his arms in welcome.
He pulled her into him, her smooth, unmarred back to his rock-hard chest. He buried his face in her shoulder, kissing the sensitive flesh along her neck before nuzzling at it affectionately. One arm came across her chest, his calloused hand gently cradling her cheek. The other hand gently stroked her belly, causing her to giggle childishly into the darkness as she settled into his hold.
Aristide called Armacham when she sealed them into the chamber. She threatened them, told them she would go public with their crimes if they did not back her fully and continue the research. The board members almost laughed at her. They'd witnessed Alma's powers, her abilities; too many lay out to rot because of this botched experiment. It was far easier to create smart bombs and nuclear missiles than to house, feed and worry about a psychic army. They told her, with no shortness of glee among them, that they declared the project a total loss and would be cutting all communication capabilities to the compound after this transmission. And due to the risks, there would be no further rescue teams out to the site. The apologized and wished her luck.
No one was going to come. No one would try to lock her away again, to take away what belonged to her. No one to tell her no, drug her, rape her, and steal pieces of her for science. No one would try; no one even wanted to. Alma closed her eyes and visions from the future came to her.
Pain, so much pain, groaning and sweat. Crying, soft crying. Michael's shaky laugh. Bright green eyes glowing from pale face, dark curls framing a smile. "She's perfect," Michael smiles at Alma, cradling the bundle so close. A child in a brown dress, laughing as Michael pushes her on the swing. Small fingers moving as steel rods clear out of the way. An angelic face whispering sweetly, so sweetly. "Mommy."
Alma linked her fingers with Michael's soothing hand, pressing them both into her gloriously rounded belly. Inside, a powerfully dangerous life form slept, growing fast and soon to greet the outside world. Small vibrations rumbled across her taut skin as the baby changed positions and curled up, safe and warm inside her mother's womb. Michael told her it was a girl before even she found out, his abilities growing as steadily as the child they created.
One day, someone would try to take her away. Her father taught her that; man cannot accept failure for long. One day they would come to take her Michael and her daughter away. She would fight them, give them nightmares, tear their skin from their bodies and melt their very bones. Flesh never failed to taste so good; fear made the meat taste sweeter.
No one could have them. She lost two sons, a father, a sister and a mother to the world. But they would try; that kind of power drew even the sanest to stupidity and ruin. Their greed might cause their deaths, the same way they took Paxton from her.
The child shifted again, disturbed by her mother's thoughts. At the same time, Michael pulled them both even closer, his happiness infusing through her skin to reach her and their baby. She sighed at his emotions and their child returned to her blissful sleep. Alma pillowed her head on his arm and let her eyes drift shut, safe in his embrace. As she drifted away into slumber, she felt his lips glide over her ears, his warm breath spreading as he whispered, "They will never take us away. We are family."
Alma smiled as she finally found sleep.
I am theirs. And they are mine.
A/N: I know, I know. I've done a ton of one-shots and not updated my UW fic. It is a slow process as I try to refine the storyline and make it perfect. For now, I hope that you enjoy these small pieces that are, in fact, helping me to deal with a lot of my issues with the UW piece. Remember, reviews are 3.
-Bella aka nottragedi aka Anthestria