AN: hiiiiiiiiiiii... happy reading!
I am gently shaken awake. I flinch into the hard dirt I am lying on and open my eyes to see Paris leaning over me. His eyes are very blue and serious. "Get up," he says.
I do, just slow enough to edge an annoyed set into the lines of his mouth. "What are we doing?" I ask, trying not to show how nervous I really am to be alone in the desert with him.
His face is expressionless. "We're going to have to walk. Our ride is on the way," he says before turning and starting off. Judging by the shadow of the rising sun, he's headed west, toward the Colonies.
I follow, none too closely, behind Paris, studying him as he walks. He has a lean body, muscled and toned. No matter how sick he may be, you wouldn't know it about him. I study the way the muscles in his back move as he swings his arms behind his head and stretches. The dark shirt his is wearing folds and I see more of his pale skin, blushing.
As if sensing my stare, he turns to look at me. "Will you keep up?" he asks. "I don't want to have to crane my neck to keep an eye on you."
"Not like I'd run," I say, but quicken my pace until I fall into place beside him.
We lapse into a not so comfortable silence. Paris doesn't seem to mind it; he seems deep in thought. I wasn't against it either; it let me clear my head. I began to go through the plans that the Republic would be devising to get me back. Maybe they'll send a fleet, maybe just one spokesman.
Maybe, I think, you will be forgotten. After that incident with the Glorious Elector, he might not want to get you back.
To take my mind off of that thought, I turn and look at Paris. The sun is behind his head, lighting his hair to make a sort of haloed effect. "What does your tattoo mean?" I ask, curious.
"Sic semper tyrannis," he says instantly. "It means—"
"I know what it means," I say quickly, not wanting to seem stupid in front of him, " I speak Latin."
"Thus always to Tyrants," Paris says anyway. "And if you knew what it meant, why'd you ask?"
"I was wondering," I say quietly, "what it means to you."
Paris was quiet for a moment, staring at the red dirt of the desert in front of him. Then, "Brutus wasn't evil. It's a very old story, mind you—"
"I know the story," I say, though I doubt he cares whether or not I know.
He merely levels a look at me before turnining back. "As I was saying," he continues, "When I was told the story, no matter how old, I could understand where Brutus was coming from."
"Even so," I say, thinking it over, "just feeling bad for someone in a story doesn't have that much of an impact on you."
"I can associate with him," is all he says. I can tell by the look on his face that he doesn't wish to elaborate.
I drop the subject and bite my lip, trying to think of some way to contact the Republic. Maybe if I commandeered that earpiece of his and rewired it…
"Is your Elector always that cozy with you?" Paris asks suddenly.
I stop short, giving a little squeak of surprise and looking at him. "What?" I ask.
He looks sidelong at me. "You heard me," he says. "Is he always that hands-on?"
I blanch. "No," I snap immediately. But I can still feel his fingers digging into my skin, leaving a tracery of bruises that my dress cannot hide. "At least, not with me," I say, more quiet.
Paris seems to consider for a moment. "You're welcome," he says.
I give another start. "I never thanked you," I say, incredulous.
"While I do have to say that ungratefulness is a very unattractive trait, I never really thought the Republic had exactly broken the mold with you."
Without thinking twice, I slap him across the face, hard.
The next instant, I am on the ground. My hands are pinned above my head and I am staring into the eyes of Paris. The blue is hard and cold when he says, "Don't hit me again. There's a reason you're in a dress and not a uniform."
I simply stare back, unapologetic.
It is then that I hear a distant rumbling. I crane my neck to look past Paris and see a rising plume of dust in the distance. I raise an eyebrow and look at Paris. "Your ride?" I ask.
He says nothing, simply hauls me to my feet.
I watch as the cloud of dust gets larger- they're close. Not even a klick away. I turn back to face Paris. "What will they do with me?" I ask.
Paris simply shakes his head. "I don't know."
"Why did you take me if you don't know?"
His brow furrows. He looks like a sorrowful angel. "I don't know," he says once more.
I can now see the car coming toward us in the distance. It will be here any moment. I rip my wrist free from Paris' grip and shove him away from me. Momentarily stunned, he falls back, caught off guard. I turn and run away from him, run back toward the Republic. I know in the back of my head that I will not make it far, but I have to try.
I hear footsteps behind me, coming up fast. When I am tackled to the ground, I am surprised at the light weight of the one on top of me. Very feminine build. I am pinned face down to the ground, but as I turn my head and cough, I see that there is a spill of black hair blending with mine on the ground. I shove throw an elbow back into the girl's unguarded abdomen and hear her exhale in pain. I shove with all of my might and she falls over, but not for long. Regaining her strength, she has pounced on me in an instant, once again on top of me.
I cry out as she grabs a fistful of my hair and knocks my head back into the dirt. "What have you done, Eden?"
Paris ignores what the girl has just said. "Nice to see you, too, June. I'm fine, don't worry about me."
"No one was," came a third voice. I can just barely make out another blond-headed male standing behind the girl that Paris called-
"June!" I exclaim, looking at the girl pinning me to the ground.
The girl snaps her focus onto me. She is long and lean, with wide dark eyes and dark hair. Her look is calculating. "Do I know you?" she asks.
I merely shake my head. She has no idea who I am, but I know a lot about her.
The male behind June lets out a low whistle. "She looks just like you, June," he says.
June narrows her eyes. "Her eyes," she says. "They're blue."
The blond man swims into my focus now. He looks so much like Paris that I give a small start. But that's not why I furrow my brow at him. "You look familiar," I say.
"I should," he merely says. "But I figure your Republic has probably tried to wipe the memory of Day clear for everyone."
"You're Day?" I ask. I try sitting up. I have to tell the Republic about this.
I am stuck with a long needle before I can move another inch. I see June pull a syringe out of the vein in my throat and sit back on her heels.
"Guess we should get her in the van," Paris says.
Day glares at the boy. "Don't forget it's your fault we have to deal with her at all."
Paris doesn't seem phased at all. "She's June," is all he says.
June's head snaps up at that. "What?" she asks, surprised.
"She's taken your place in the Republic. You know how important you were," Paris explains.
"Not very," is all June says, grabbing me by the arm and hauling me to my feet.
"Don't be humble," Day says wryly.
June shoots him a withering look as she lets go of my arm. "She won't run now; she can't."
It takes me a moment for that to set in- my mind feels foggy and slow. Whatever she injected me with-
I collapse and fall sideways. Paris catches at me with ease and hauls me up into his arms, like I'm some sort of delicate package, or a large baby. I want to shove away from him, but can't move my limbs. "What..." I start slowly. "What is this?"
June's smile glitters like poison. "Oh, honey, we're just getting started."
I black out.
AN: OMJ GUYS! I was just thinking about the book Legend in general and got this really crazy idea for my fanfic! So review so I can get on with the story(;