My, How You've Changed

Posted on Fri Aug 31st, 2012 @ 12:29pm by Ensign Ian Bren & Jackson Banning V

Mission: Sections of the Delta Quadrant

Ian’s Shared Quarters

Pacing back and forth along the longest clear walking path in his quarters, which happened to be the path from the front door to the interior bulkhead where a viewing screen hung, Ian was doing several things at once. He was talking to himself, only it wasn’t himself who was answering. The fingers of one hand worried at the fabric of the other hand’s sleeve; once every few minutes, that same hand traveled to his chest to pluck at the topmost button of his henley t-shirt. His teeth chewed at the inside edge of his bottom lip.

Only one of those mannerisms was actually his: the worrying at the sleeve’s edge. The others, though he didn’t know it yet, belonged to past hosts. All were ways of calming themselves. Right now, they all needed calming.

Stopping in the middle of the room, Ian threw his hands up and scolded the worm in his belly: “Shut up! Just. shut. up! All these memories, I don’t get them all. Could we have some semblance of order to them? A timeline, maybe?” With a growl of frustration, he went back to pacing, even as a memory of a long dead wife floated through his head. Then a memory of another lover floated up: Jackson. And a feeling of jealousy, anger, and, somewhere in there, gloating. She’d finally gotten him; she’d have the last laugh at his expense.... and then terror and pain and blonde hair.

While Ian paced in his quarters, Jackson paced in the turbolift that carried him down to the Ensign’s deck. When the lift stopped and he was forced to exit, he made his way down the hall, his steps slowing as he finally reached Eric standing guard. Eric nodded and reached for the chime but Jackson stopped him.

“Gimme a sec, would ya?” He took a deep breath and forced himself to relax. How bad could it be? He gave Eric a nod, then reached for the chime.

Eric merely nodded back. The man was bedding down with his boss; he wasn’t about to search him.

Ian flung himself down on the couch, breathing hard. That was a memory he didn’t want to relive. Ever. He shrieked when the door chime sounded. Finding his normal voice wasn’t easy, but he managed to call out, “Enter!”

The doors opened and Jackson stepped in with a thanks to Eric. The doors closed behind him and he stood, a little uncertain what to do or say next. Something simple was best, he supposed.

“Hi Ian.”

“You!” Ian jabbed a finger towards Jackson then looked at the offending finger like it wasn’t his own and put it back down by his side. “Hi, Mr. Banning,” he ran his other hand through his hair, leaving it sticking up in random spots. He moved towards the replicator and asked, “Something to seat? Have a drink?”

Jackson smiled at the young man’s twisted words. “Ian, how about you have a seat and I’ll get the drinks? I know this is strange for ya. Trust me, it’s kinda weird for me too.”

“Really?” Ian nodded, rubbing one hand along his jaw. The other gestured towards Jackson’s crotch. “So you know what another man’s,” his fingers twirled in the air, “looks like, feels like,” he stretched his neck on one side, “...tastes like, even though you’ve never met him before last night? You get that, too?”

“Not exactly, no. But I’m faced with a man who knows what my dick looks an’ feels like, even though I only met him last night. An’ knowin’ that what’s in that man knows even more than that about me.” Jackson sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I was tied to Bren for a long time.”

“Point taken, Mr. Banning.” Ian conceded they were both in awkward positions, the idea of which brought up a memory from... Etan?... about his wife... oh, that was a good memory. Creative positioning, Etan. Smiling slightly now, Ian shook a finger at Jackson, “I really shouldn’t complain, nor should you, you have a very... erm... healthy...,” he pointed pointedly and circled his fingers in the air again.

“Thanks for that, I think. Sit.” Jackson moved over to the replicator and ordered two bourbons, the real stuff. He carried it back over and sat down beside Ian, then passed a glass over. “Nat and I used to do this at the end of a long day.”

“Mmm, cozy,” Ian smiled and wrapped both hands around the glass. “Wouldn’t she have wine, though? White wine? Or perhaps that was more recent?”

“It was.” Jackson took a sip and then turned to face Ian. “How much do you remember, Ian?”

“Snippets. Some, I can place, timewise, based on what Norval, Eric, Doctor Harding and Commander Zeferino have told me. Like one... I’m over you,” Ian glanced at Jackson then added, “This one isn’t sexual. I’m over you and gloating. Gosh, there was this... happiness, but also jealousy and anger. And then some blonde demon - oh, the girl in the Club last night! - and lots of pain and fear and... oo....” He paused, looking stricken, then said, “Bren really doesn’t like that one.”

“She had no choice, Ian. If she hadn’t fought back, she and I would both be dead and this station’s ties with Archadia would be in serious danger.” Jackson drained his glass and set it on the coffee table. “Over me. Have you recalled the part where she really did care? Years ago? And the part now where she was plannin’ ta use me? There was a time when I trusted her with my life, where I woulda done anything for her.”

Ian’s normally bright, open face donned a shifty-eyed appearance. “Years ago? Hang on,” he murmured and seemed to engage in an internal conversation. “Oh!” His brows shot up and he turned a surprised look on Jackson, “You don’t age! And you were... you were... oh, a secret agent man! How exciting!” On the last exclamation, his right hand touched his chest in a very feminine move.

He looked down at the hand and commented, absently, “That was a Natalia move.”

“Yeah.” Jackson’s smile was rueful. “I saw it often.”

His countenance turned further downward, his brows drawing together, and he whispered, “It wasn’t an accident. I didn’t care; it could have killed them all.” Ian was horrified by whatever he was being fed in his head.

“Easy there, Ian.” Jackson took hold of his shoulders, holding him steady. “She....” His words suddenly sunk in and his mouth dropped open. “It...wasn’t?”

Blinking, Ian stared at Jackson then smiled and cooed, “Oh, Jackson.” A Natalia memory, a good one had floated to the surface for just a moment. Then he grimaced, “Oh, dear.... Natalia had choice words for ...Oz? and Cassidy? Woo... did not like those two.” He paused. “Who is Oz?”

“She is the Chief Of Security.” Jackson blinked at the change in Ian’s tone. The disbelief was still running strong. “So she blew that lab on purpose? Why?”

“Commander Zeferino? You’re involved with her? Lucky you,” Ian grinned then his grin grew slightly larger, “Lucky her.” He laughed then took a drink of his bourbon and tried to get serious. “Right... the lab. Let’s see if maybe I can find the relevant memory.” His eyes turned upward and he looked like he was having another internal conversation. “Ah... huh... yeah... more... Wait,” he looked confused then clarity hit. “She was going to live forever. And you were the test animals.”

Jackson fell back into the sofa with a groan and rubbed his eyes. “So she never gave a damn at all.” His tone was hollow as he gave voice to the realization.

“Well, there were some things she gave a damn about. Why do you think I can recall,” he waved a hand at Jackson’s crotch again, “...all that and the performance you put on with it? Also, she coveted you.” Ian fell silent a moment then leaned in a little and said, “The blonde, I think she was courageous. Poor thing was involved with the wrong guy, though, and Natalia was jealous.”

“Cass? Involved with who? Me? Nothing happened there.”

“Appearances matter, young padawan,” Ian muttered, even though he had no idea what a ‘padawan’ was.

“No. Would you expect someone you cared about to lose it when you went out with a friend of yours?” Jackson stood, suddenly unable to sit still. Twelve years of what he’d believed had been washed down the tubes with one sentence uttered by Ian.

Before answering, Ian seemingly rubbed every available bit of skin and hair and looked like he was about to put his fists into his eye sockets, he rubbed so hard. “Ugh. Look, Mr. Banning, I wouldn’t, but then I tend to think I’m rather stable.” He kept rubbing his temples. “Bren has had some awful hosts. Did you know one was a drunk? Felt Bren wriggle in his pouch one night and nearly stabbed it. Killed himself that way,” Ian shook his head. “Natalia wasn’t exactly what I’d call stable.”

“As I am findin’ out. And please, I’ve slept with you, more or less, I think you can use my first name.” He stopped before the portal and stood looking out at nothing while he tried to make some sense of all this. He wasn’t having much success as he leaned his forehead against the transparent aluminum of the portal.

Ian’s head was hurting from all the memories and not-his-but-his emotions. “I swing both ways, Mr. Banning, but let’s keep that door closed. I’ll try not to comment on your...,” he waggled his fingers in Jackson’s direction, “... anymore. I’m sure Commander Zeferino likes your... bits... very much and wouldn’t appreciate me talking about them.”

He squinted towards Jackson. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I need a nap, Mr. Banning. And though Natalia would have enjoyed a goodnight kiss, I’m good without one.”

“It’s been enlightenin’, Ian. I suspect in time, this will get easier for you. Tell me one thing. Was what she said about Harding a lie?”

“She called him a patsy as she was dying,” Ian answered then nodded more definitively. “Yeah, it was.”

“Thanks for that.” He turned back to face Ian. “I’m glad they found you. Bren needs a good, stable person after Natalia. So do I.”

“Thanks, Mr. Banning. This was good for me, as well. Perhaps not as good as sex...,” he held up a hand while his other hand cradled his head, “Sorry, sorry.” He was hoping he was a stable host, though his earlier pacing and some of his turns in moods during this conversation worried him. He’d have to ask Norval about this. He dropped his hand and looked at Jackson, “If you need more, just call. I’m getting a little better at accessing the information in here.” He pointed at his belly.

“I could say the same to you, but then you know more than I do it seems.” He moved across the small room, stopping before Ian. “Even so, the offer’s open. And what you’ve recalled about my past and my condition? Is classified. I suppose this will mean an adjustment in your clearance level. I’ll mention it to Oz.”

“Okay. You’ll tell her the rest, too?” Ian looked hopeful. “I mean... maybe not the part about your great... um,” Ian dropped his gaze. Jackson was standing right in front of him, while he was seated.... He pursed his lips and looked up again.

“Yeah, and I need to talk to Harding too. You gonna be okay?” Jackson looked down at him, concerned for this young man and suddenly feeling every one of his forty-two years.

“Yeah,” Ian nodded. “I’ll nap till Norval comes, then, if this ache isn’t gone, I’ll see Doctor Harding.”

“Good, and you call us if there’s anything we can do.” Jackson turned and opened the doors, stepping out to the corridor. He paused to speak to Eric for a moment, then the doors closed behind him. Out in the hall, he leaned back against the bulkhead, trying to get hold of this whirling thoughts. It didn’t work and he sighed, moving on to the turbolift.

Back in the quiet quarters, Ian asked himself and his symbiont, “Did he say ‘us’? Who is his ‘us’?” Looking down at his belly, he nodded, even as he gathered himself and moved to his bedroom, “Yes, we have an ‘us’. Let’s take a nap.”

________________________
Ian Bren
Definitely Part of an ‘Us’

Jackson Banning V
Definitely Parted With ‘Us’