Not sure if any of you have read Ocean's Echo, but this is fanfic for it! Surit is a cinnamon roll and I wouldn't have him any other way, but this is an 'assholes-slowly-learning-not-to-be-assholes' blog, so.
I wouldn't get attached to these guys in their current incarnation because this is likely to become original fiction and then all of this will become noncanon, but it might as well go here in the meantime.
“It will feel like a key in a lock,” the pilot in the instructional video had said. “Or like one of those telescoping rods - I don’t know, it could feel like something totally different to you. But you’ll feel it click. Might be difficult if the reader has strong walls - sometimes it’s hard for them to drop them, but they have drugs for if that happens.”
“All right,” the medical technician said, pushing the scanner wand on its articulated arm aside. She managed to look bored; how many of these did she oversee? “When you’re ready, sir.”
Davi moved in as if he was going to write the person in front of him, but - all of him? He tried to encompass too much of the mind at once, was pushed back by slippery walls and lost his grip.
“Could you try to drop your defences, please?” he asked, distantly, all of his attention focused internally. Anxiety and insecurity gnawed at him. He wasn’t doing it properly. It should be done by now. It hadn’t sounded like a difficult procedure in the instructional vid.
The reader - Davi’s reader, as soon as he managed to actually do the procedure - took a deep breath that hitched in the middle. He looked small, even now that the guard had left; shorter than Davi, hair cropped close, the featureless prison scrubs loose and faded in stark contrast to Davi’s smart uniform. The ID cuff on his left wrist had a wooden gender token on it, plainer and somehow even less like jewellery than Davi’s button.
“I don’t…. Do I have defences up?”
Davi gave him a suspicious look, but the reader looked honestly bewildered behind his neat little glasses. No formal training, huh.
“Yes, you do,” Davi told him. They wouldn’t have stopped a determined probe, but this wasn’t a normal probe and they made things just slippery enough that he couldn’t get purchase. “If you can relax and be open, this will be a lot easier.”
“I’ll - I’ll try.”
And he did, Davi could feel it, the walls softening and thinning and the mind turning its face up to him and -
It wasn’t a click, but he could see why you’d describe it like that. Like the threads of a screw-top jar engaging. Like one of those intricately carved puzzle boxes that needed to be moved in a very specific way before they opened up. More than anything, the sense that two things that were supposed to fit together in a whole had finally found the orientation in which they did. Davi reached out and pushed those pieces together firmly.
And suddenly there was a presence, filling the tiny interview room, warm and alive and close enough that Davi felt like he was crammed up against the walls moving with its breathing. Breathing with it.
The reader’s knees buckled. Davi was somehow there as soon as it happened, to catch the slight frame in his arms and stop him tumbling to the hard metal floor. He’d known that was going to happen because the body was his, in some weird way. Part of him.
The technician spun in her chair, pressed a few buttons. “Successful sync,” she said. “All vitals looking good.”
No, Davi wanted to say. Wait. They can’t all be good. If they’re good why does this feel…
What did it feel like?
He still felt like Davi. He was just Davi with… something else stapled into the middle of his senses. It was difficult to talk around it, difficult to think around it.
The reader’s fingers moved against the chest of his uniform shirt. Stiff coarse fabric, the line of piping hard underneath his thumb - wait, what?
The fingers closed up as if to grasp him, but then flattened to push him away. Sensation, emotion, something poured out of the unfamiliar presence in Davi’s head. He struggled to name it but it was… bad. Like fighting against a torrent of dark water.
You’re in control of this, he told himself. You’re the architect. This is under your control. Get a grip.
He set his mental shoulders against the deluge, tried to rise above it. He made himself push the reader’s body away from his - not you, that is not you, keep all of that to yourself - prop the reader back up, set him on his feet. The reader was looking around the room, blinking, looking as stunned as Davi probably was.
What have you done? What have you DONE?
The thought arrived in his head, not so much in words but more the impression, but still crystal clear and foreign. Blank horror.
“You should probably head back to your quarters and rest,” the technician told him. “It’ll take a while for you both to settle into it.” She retrieved something from one of the cupboards in the med-bay - a rectangular packet of cloth. She slapped a packet of medication tabs on top of it and held it out to Davi. “Standard issue equipment for Agent Thirty-two; you shouldn’t need these, but just in case. Come back here tomorrow, or sooner if there are any issues. Do you need help getting him to your quarters?”
Davi didn’t question why she was giving the pack of uniforms to him and not to the reader, swaying and wavering in the middle of the room. Even if the other man hadn’t been on the brink of falling over or throwing up, he was Davi’s responsibility now.
He would always be Davi’s responsibility.
Oh Guidance lights what have I done…
Davi shook off the thought, exerted what he hoped was firm but gentle pressure on the alien presence in his head until it receded a little. He stepped forward and took the packet.
“No, that will be fine,” he said. “Our quarters aren’t far, and we can walk without assistance. Thank you.”
The technician gave him an odd look as he tucked it under his arm.
“Need a tissue, sir?”
“What?” Davi put a hand up to his face. To his complete surprise, his eyes were streaming with tears. He hadn’t even noticed.
The reader - Agent Thirty-two - Saelin Cor - made another small noise from behind Davi, a pained inhale. He was lifting one hand up to his temple, fingers pushing through his hair, and Davi was suddenly convinced that it was supposed to be much longer than it was, that having it short and prickly was strange and unfamiliar still.
Davi hadn’t needed to see him to know any of that.
“I’m fine,” he said roughly. Panic fluttered at the edges of his mind - what have I done what have we done what is this - and if not all of it receded when he shoved it away, well, it would improve. Nobody was expecting them to be out there at the bridge tomorrow. There was time to figure this out.
He blotted one side of his face with the heel of his hand, and turned away. “We’re fine. Come on - Agent Thirty-two. Let’s go home.”
Continued here.
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