From SEVENTY-TWO:
"I'm sure he doesn't mean it like-"
"Please stop," I said, louder this time, pressing my hands to my ears.
"She's in there somewhere, but I'm afraid of what will happen if we force her to fight. If they use us like that-"
"Stooop!" I screamed, effectively cutting off all heated discussions in the room.
I don't know how they reacted. Don't know if they were looking at each other or even if they exchanged any words. I heard nothing behind the hands pressed to my ears.
But not many seconds passed until I felt the bed dip next to me and his hands grab my upper arms, gently pulling me onto his lap. I deflated against him, my knees sliding to the sides of his hips and my face buried into his chest.
His hands were moving soothingly up and down my spine, threading through my hair, and back to my back again. In a slow pattern of regret.
"I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I'm so sorry."
I wished for a time when he wouldn't have to be sorry anymore. When he wouldn't have to apologize to me.
____________________________________
I was back in the white bathroom. But there was no door. No way out. My voice bounced off the walls as I called for help, pounding my fists against the unrelenting white tiles.
No one came to my rescue. I was all alone.
Something warm and wet dripped on my shoulder. I flinched and looked up.
I screamed. And screamed. And screamed.
His arms were around my body, first enhancing my panic with its confinement, until I heard his voice, felt his breath against my ear, and opened my eyes to the darkness of the room.
No whiteness. No underdeveloped bleeding fetuses hanging from the ceiling.
I inhaled sharply, whimpering, as the image refused to leave my mind. The ceiling of blood, filled with my mother's unborn babies.
I let him rock me, let him kiss my neck and tell me that it was only a nightmare. Over and over again. But it took a long time before I could fall asleep again.
I must have just closed my eyes as Max bolted up next to me, a terrorized scream of "Liiiiz!!" ripping from the depths of his chest.
My pulse was pounding so loudly through my body that it took me a second to get my body to move, to get over the fear that we were threatened, that someone was here to take us.
The fear that it was not only the two of us here. Two frightened teenagers with night terrors.
"Max," I said, grabbing a hold of his arm. "I'm here. You're here with me."
His breathing slowed down and my fingers were trembling with adrenaline around his bicep as I watched the rise and fall of his shoulders become more even. Then his head dropped forward into his hands and his harsh sobs ripped through the night.
I sat paralyzed, my hand frozen on his arm. I had never heard him cry like that before. Uncertainly, I moved closer to him on my knees and wrapped my arms around his back, pressing my cheek to the back of his neck. He grabbed my hands as they touched his elbows and pressed them to his chest.
I felt helpless. Lost. I had no idea what had happened to Max in captivity. What they had exposed him to. If he had been physically tortured, if they had played mind games with him.
His sobs gradually softened, quieted and then disappeared. Without a sound, he turned in the circle of my arms, positioning us face to face. His eyes were haunted, his expression frightened. He looked pale in the darkness.
Cautiously, he moved his hands over my face, let his fingers slide down my forehead, over my eyelids, down my lips, and trailing along the lines of my jaw. His eyes followed the movements of his hands while my eyes traced the expressions on his face.
His palms brushed down my neck and his eyes flickered to mine as I tensed at the proximity, the phantom fingers of Sean's strangle around my neck still fresh in my memory. Max quickly, although gently, moved away from the area, most likely remembering what he had seen Sean doing to me through my memories. His fingers dragged along my collarbone, dipping under the hem of my T-shirt.
I could see the request in his eyes even before he voiced it, the touch of his fingers blazing against my skin. "Can I...?"
He was uncomfortable. Afraid of my answer? His distress was coming off him in waves. He was looking for something and if I could help him find it, I would.
I nodded my consent and he searched out the bottom of my T-shirt and pulled it over my head. I was naked underneath.
I thought of how calm he had appeared in the shower with me earlier. Of the changes to his body while his mind had appeared strong.
I thought about how much his current state contradicted that impression of control and strength. Now, his eyes were wet and his hands trembled as he barely touched me.
And it hit me.
This was Max. The real Max. Max out of control. Vulnerable Max. Afraid to do wrong, to unintentionally cause harm. The Max I had always met in the daylight had put up a facade of fearlessness. To keep me up. To support me.
But something had frightened him. Something in his mind, a memory, had made him forget how to plug into that strength.
Now I needed to support him. Wanted to support him.
So when he hesitated to touch me, I reached out to pull his shirt over his head, remembering how he had once confessed to needing the feel of skin against skin to connect. Hoping that was what he needed right now.
Hoping that he didn't need the actual connection because I wasn't sure I could give him that yet.
He sat quietly, his arms dropped to his sides, as I lifted his hand and pressed it against the top of my breast, over my heart.
"I'm okay," I whispered, struggling to keep my voice stable. I was deeply affected by the tremors in his hand against my skin. I was struggling to not let anger fuel me. Anger at what they had done to him. How they had, obviously, destroyed something inside of him. But anger had no room here. Anger was not welcomed here.
"I'm whole." I moved his hand slowly down over my breast - my nipple reacting instinctively to his touch - down over the ridges of my ribs and my abdomen. I didn't know if I had been injured in his nightmare, but his reaction had made me suspect it. His need to 'look at me'.
I continued to move his hand down to my hipbone before changing direction and moving along the upper border of my panties, the heel of his palm rubbing against my belly before we reached the opposite hip.
"You don't have to-" Max started, but my lips on his interrupted him.
A burst of heat moved through my body and I whimpered. I hadn't expected that feeling. I hadn't kissed him in so long. Not since just waking up after we had been 'rescued'. Which in my world was an eternity.
I pressed my breasts against his chest, my fingers grabbing at the hair at the nape of his neck as I deepened the kiss.
At that point I could feel the shift in my mind. The connection wanting to break free.
I quickly pulled back, avoiding his eyes. "Maybe we should lie down." I was looking down at my chest, suddenly aware of the chill of the night air. "Try and get some sleep."
He placed his hand in the curve of my neck before sliding it up to cradle my cheek.
I still couldn't meet his eyes.
"I love you," he whispered. "You know that, right?"
My heart twisted, my chest tightened. I clenched my fists, grabbing bed linen in my grip before I looked up at him.
He looked devastated. Lonely. And I felt my heart breaking. I mimicked his movement and brought my hand up to cradle his cheek. Leaning in I placed a slow light kiss on his lips. He had his eyes closed as I pulled back and whispered, "I love you. So much that it hurts."
His eyes opened and his golden irises looked black in the night.
"I'm sorry for shutting you out," I whispered, wanting to ease the pain in his eyes. Wanting desperately to comfort him. As much as I could. As much as my heart would allow.
He searched my eyes as I continued, "I don't think I can handle it right now. I'm just...there's so many things to work through. I don't know where I'm at, what I'm feeling." I caught the fear in his eyes and hurried to add, "But not about you. I'm not confused about you." My hand tightened in its hold against his cheek. "Okay?"
He didn't look like he believed me, but he nodded.
"And I'm sorry that it might jeopardize this whole rebellion thingy," I rushed on, needing to get it out. "Because we should be strengthening our connection right now, not blocking it. But I just can't-"
"Fuck the rebellion," Max said darkly. "We've done enough for that fucking rebellion."
"But we have to-" I had heard Mr. Evans' words. I knew what he had said. The activists were not strong enough to stand up against Command on their own. If we didn't-
"We don't have to do anything," Max interrupted both my thinking and my audible protest. "We have to get healthy. Okay? We can't help them right now."
I sighed. "I know you're trying to protect me, but-"
He closed his eyes, his mouth tight. "Let's not talk about it, okay? Not tonight. Not now."
I would love if we could just screw it all. If we could just ignore the problem and try and pick up the pieces of our lives. Focus on us and on getting well. Or at least, getting better.
But I knew that Max was very well aware of the fact that we weren't free yet. We had been thrown into a false security, hidden away at a secret location while members of the rebellion were trying to track down Command and attempting to buy us time.
So that we would get ready. Ready to save the Antarians.
"Okay," I relented. I didn't really want to talk about something like that in the middle of the night anyway. Maybe I shouldn't bring up that I was once again reconsidering our previous option of running away and going underground.
Maybe I should save that topic until...tomorrow night.
"Let's try and get some sleep," Max said, pulling me down next to him, our shirts forgotten on the floor.
That phrase scared me more than anything. Sleeping had become the thing I feared the most.
Hours and hours of reliving my monsters.
*****
"What do you feel like eating?" dad asked me that following morning.Max and I had managed to get some sleep after our nightly talk. I had a feeling it had something to do with our unclothed proximity, making us feel connected physically even if not mentally. My dreams had continued, being uncomfortable and chilling the emptiness in my chest, but they hadn't been straight-out night terrors. Not like the first one.
"I don't know," I mumbled, looking over the expanse of the breakfast table.
I guess Max had gotten his wish through. I hadn't seen this many food options in a long time. Certainly not for breakfast. There was probably only one dish missing: soup. Which is what Mr. Evans would have wanted me to eat every single meal of the day if he had gotten his wish through.
Max had left me alone with my dad, claiming that he needed to talk about something with his own dad. So it was just me and my dad right now, seated across from each other with a sea of food in between us. Excluding the breakfast buffet, it might have looked like any other day. Me getting ready for school, dad getting ready for work.
But it would take a lot more than this to fool me.
"I could make you some french toast," dad suggested. His eyes were glittering in a overly happy smile; trying to get me motivated, excited.
It was a bit strange, I had to admit. My body had been screaming for food when I'd had no access to it in captivity, but now, when I was released and seated in front of so much mouth-watering food that it should make me want to stuff myself silly with it, I had no appetite.
I slowly shook my head, while on one level wishing that I could please him. Wanting to make him happy. So I was trying to figure out what type of food I would have the mildest aversion to. Which food I would be most likely to keep down.
"Pancakes?" dad proposed hopefully.
My mind flashed to Max's pancakes and my lip trembled. Dad caught the instant sheen of tears in my eyes and hurried to come up with another suggestion, "Or maybe just some hot chocolate?"
Hot chocolate. That didn't sound all that bad. I nodded slowly, one side of my mouth pulling north ever so slightly, "Yes, thank you."
Dad sighed in relief and left the table to make me a cup of hot chocolate.
I fingered the edge of the plate in front of me, hesitating, before going with it and asking, "Dad?"
"Hm," dad replied.
He was putting a skillet on the stove and pouring milk into it as I asked, "How long have you known?"
His answer was innocent and unknowing. "Known what, honey?"
"About the existence of aliens," I stated quietly.
He paused for a second, before clearing his throat, finding the package of Swiss Miss on the counter and placing it next to the saucepan. "Since I met mom."
I paled, my gasp a croak, "Wh-what?"
But not even my mom had known. Her mind had been erased. Repeatedly.
"As mom and I got more serious and it started to become obvious that we were being serious about each other, I was contacted by James Dresden."
Dresden. I had heard that name before. Mr. Evans had mentioned it yesterday, at our meeting. Where I had been partly tuned out. He had been the black-haired man on the council, the man at the meeting I hadn't been able to place.
"My memories have been unlocked by now, which is why I can tell you this."
"Okay..." I whispered. Maybe nothing should no longer surprise me, but it was amazing that it still did.
"He told me this most amazing thing about aliens and Nancy's role in their society. He told me the importance of her having a child and that there were concerns about her fertility, considering that she had failed to conceive by her bonded, Steven Carter." Dad laughed, stirring the milk slowly. "He must have anticipated my reaction, but it was still funny how offended he seemed to be when I basically laughed him in the face."
Dad's glittering eyes looked over at me and he shrugged. "What was I supposed to believe? That he was a green little man in a human suit, talking about powers and secret societies?"
Heat vapor was billowing up from the milk, indicating that it was close to simmering, so dad poured in the Swiss Miss, stirred and turned to retrieve a cup.
"Anyway, I naturally asked why he was telling me all of that, considering that they were so secretive. It was not like it directly concerned me. In the off-hand chance that it actually held some truth, I was mostly concerned of what it meant for my girlfriend, but I really couldn't figure out my role in the whole thing. Except fathering Nancy's child, apparently."
I watched the light brown fluid being poured from the pan into the cup.
"Was mom with you? When he told you?" I asked.
Dad shook his head, turned off the stove and returned to the table, placing the hot cup in front of me. "No. I thought I was going to a business meeting."
"Did they hurt you?" I whispered.
He gave me a caring smile and put his hand on top of mine, squeezing my fingers gently. "No, honey."
"So then... You've known this whole time? Even when mom didn't?"
"Not really," Dad said, grabbing a piece of toast. "Mr. Dresden told me that in case of the birth of a child, me and Nance's child, I would need to protect our child if Nancy died. He told me that there were already protective measures in place to ensure the child's safety, but in the case of a premature death, while the child was still too young to make it on her own, I would have to step in and protect the child."
"But..." I grimaced incredulously. "Isn't that your 'job' anyway, as a father?"
He chuckled, spreading butter on top of his toast. "My thought exactly." He looked up at me and added seriously, "But I might have needed to protect you against alien things, in a world that I was not familiar with. Hence, I needed to have the information to help you, to not be freaked out."
"And how did that go?" I asked bitterly, thinking of the circumstances surrounding my mother's death, of me being assaulted by some guy at school, of me disappearing on him for days. When was that information supposed to have helped him step in?
"Well, I was a guinea pig. They had never tried this before. So I guess it didn't really work out the way they had planned. I was supposed to have realized what was going on the second your mother died in that fire. But the information was not available to me."
I frowned. "Why didn't they just tell you that piece of information when mom died? Call you in for another business meeting?"
His face matched my frown and I got the feeling that he wasn't really sure about that himself. "I guess there were too many things going on at the time. They probably forgot about me."
"Or maybe they didn't want you to know any longer," I whispered, almost to myself. "Maybe you had served your purpose and it would be better for them if you remained ignorant. Especially considering that they were preparing to take me in at the time, they didn't want to explain that whole thing to you."
"You were no longer a child that needed protecting," dad said slowly, realization crossing his face. "My protection would only hinder them."
I nodded slowly, but still felt a bit lost about the technical aspects of my father's 'hidden information'. "So wait... They told you all of this information about their society and then erased your mind? What's the point of that?"
Dad shook his head. "No..." His voice trailed off with a frown and he hitched his chin towards the cup in front of me. "Don't forget your cocoa."
"Right," I agreed and took an experimental sip of the hot fluid just to make him happy. It actually tasted really good. I took another sip before putting it back on the table.
"The method that was used on me was different. They 'locked' the information away. It was supposed to come forward in response to certain stressors. The stress of losing your wife, for instance. But since a lot of things in life can be stressful, they added a safe-word. Something that would let them know that I was close to accessing the information. And if it wasn't the right time, they would step in and repeat the process. Lock it away more firmly, reset the system, so to speak."
He smiled at me sheepishly, but my head was too rumbled with thoughts for me to take him up on that smile. "What was the safe-word?"
"At first it was 'evanescent'," dad informed. "It had to be an unusual word, something that I wouldn't accidentally use particularly often." He finished adding slices of sausage to his toast and took a bite, adding around his mouthful, "But when you were born, and we named you Elizabeth, they changed it to 'Ella'. They thought it would be easier if the safe-word was actually directly connected to you."
I stilled. My voice was barely there as I breathed, "You called me that a lot when I was little, but then you stopped."
He paled, but tried to hide it between his bites of toast. "It was due to a combination of things. A lot of things were happening to mom while you were growing up, a lot of alien things. I noticed that things weren't adding up, so the confusion and the frustration threatened to remove the 'lock' on that information about aliens. Also, they hadn't really perfected the method yet." He shook his head slowly, reaching for his cup of coffee. "Let's just say that I went to a lot of business meetings when you were growing up."
"Dad..." I whispered, worried about his health. Worried what that process might have done to him, over and over again.
He saw my concern, heard my fear, and grabbed my hand again. "It's not the same as the mind wipes, trust me. This is a much gentler process. It's like a package of information, hidden away in my memory. They never had to search through my mind and remove things, they just had to..." he paused as he concentrated on finding the most descriptive terms, "...improve the lock from time to time." He looked guilty for a second before adding, "Of course, they had to erase some memories from me from time to time as well. When their wipe of Nancy's memories wasn't the best and she would leak things."
"Leak things...?" I whispered.
"She would say odd things, that would sound very out of place for someone without the knowledge of aliens."
"Did you know..." I took a deep breath and swallowed, feeling incredibly uncomfortable but needing to know. "Did you know what mom's role was? How they 'utilized' her?"
Dad dropped his eyes, his shoulders slumping forward, suddenly looking very tired and adding years to his real age. "I do now. I didn't when she was alive, when she was being...used."
"Do you know what my role is? To them?" my voice was empty.
He looked up and met my eyes, tears running down his cheeks. "I do now."
I nodded slowly, chewing on the inside of my cheek. My voice sounded cold, too cold, even to my own ears. "Do you want me to tell you what they did? What kind of monsters they are?"
The tears were rolling quicker down his cheeks now, a waterfall of tears. Silently, he shook his head.
"Do you want me to tell you what they did to mom? What he did?"
He shook his head quicker, tightening his hand over mine. "Baby, no..."
My voice broke with my own tears. "They're sick, Dad. The things they did to mom..."
"Sometimes she flinched when I touched her," dad said quietly, his voice distorted by his grief, by the traces of anger I could see in his eyes. "And I never could explain why."
I swallowed back the nausea. "I can." In my mind, the Sergeant was making her nose bleed with his beatings as he forced himself inside of her. Her screams echoed in my head, her sobs cleaved through my heart.
"If I had known before..." dad mumbled, frustratedly brushing at the tears on his face.
"It's better that you didn't," I said quietly, pulling my hand out from underneath his and wiping my face dry of the tears with both of my hands. "They would have killed you for it."
I got to my feet and looked down at the half-empty cup of hot chocolate, knowing that I wouldn't enjoy that taste for a long time, and added, "Because you're human. Your life means nothing to them."
His sobs echoed off the walls as I left the room, walking as fast as my still weak legs would allow, pressing my hands to my ears to offer me silence. But I couldn't silence the voices inside my head; the memories. I pulled the door open to the bathroom, shut it behind me, locked it with shaking hands and slid the floor.
There were no more tears in me. Instead I sat staring at the room I hated because of the associated memories. Still, it was the only room I felt safe in nowadays. Because it was similar to the bathroom that had given me the false sensation of a safe place during my days of torture.
TBC...
You're going to have to fix that, Jo! 
