| Subject: Chapter 267 - Part 1 (16 and above) |
Author:
KatherineG.
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Date Posted: Monday, November 27, 06:49:02am
In reply to:
KatherineG.
's message, "Dreams in the Dark (258>?) continued" on Monday, October 23, 07:10:30am
Extra warning: There's some bad language and violence here. I'm rating it 16 and above.
Dreams in the Dark (267/?)
by Katherine Gilbert
It was, in many ways, fortunate that Michael had such courage, that he had just renewed all his determination to survive; he would need it. While his walk back to the barracks had been uninterrupted--a fact he had learned, with the surreptitious arrival of Adrian's letter a few weeks ago, not to expect--he found upon entering that his peace would be short-lived. Still, this was only to be expected. He was a military man now, would soon be at war. It was only natural that there would be many battles he would have to fight.
He faced down only one of these--coming in to find Ackerman glaring at him, waiting for a confrontation. Michael only sighed silently, letting the other man begin. Wherever this would go--whether it could be settled peaceably or not, which was looking unlikely--would depend on the other recruit's decisions. Still, the actor wouldn't mourn entirely--as little as he looked forward to such a scene. This had been building from the moment of their first meeting; his stance seemed relaxed, gaze blank and calm. It was only for the best that they settle this at last.
The actor's sang-froid only goaded his self-made enemy, however; even the term, the use of the French, would have enraged him, had he known it. Although he had been waiting for weeks for this day, planning for his attack against Samuelle to the newsreel crew, the moment hadn't been everything he had wanted. He might have stirred up a few rumors, but not nearly enough. Even his own comrades seemed less than impressed at some of his revelations; he nearly growled. And that was a failure he simply couldn't forgive.
Such acceptance of the actor's family background--such an unCanadian attitude--was entirely unacceptable to the recruit. And yet he had hoped for so much more out of the moment--had planned on it. Even if he knew that his insinuations were unlikely to make the official newsreel, he had hoped to make more of an impression on the crew themselves, had wanted to see some sign that they would return to the little fairy town they all inhabited with a few good stories to tell. That they had left by shaking hands with the actor in the friendliest of manners, ignoring Bill completely, had only enraged him further. He was sick to death of this idiot's incomprehensible ability to cloud over the minds of otherwise decent people--Ackerman's glare intense. Why the world hadn't burned his enemy alive by now was a mystery he couldn't hope to comprehend.
He didn't care to now, either, only stood by his bunk, nearly shaking with rage--daring the actor to do something, to retaliate. A real man would have, would have gone for his throat from the second he had said anything about his woman--even if it had all been true; he could have taken the humiliation out of her hide later. He had been waiting for the man to do something, to give the camera some *real* footage to take home; he nearly growled. That he had only stood by calmly and watched . . .
This had been the final insult to Ackerman's sense of manhood, the last one he could take. The prissy little actor had been waiting for this; his fists were clenched, as he stomped toward his enemy--ignoring the many stares of his comrades. They were going to settle this now. And it would only end when Michael was either in the hospital or dead.
Ackerman was bristling by the time he got to Samuelle, his glare intense. Just the fact that the actor seemed so calm and unafraid infuriated him. He should either be shaking and apologizing or taking the first swing. That he didn't know at least this simple fact of manhood just showed again what an utter fairy that he was.
He wanted to punch the older man immediately, but the desire to make the actor swing first was too great--would give Bill too good a way out of any punishment, as well, should anyone be dumb enough to suggest any for him; his voice was low and menacing. "You should be ready to kill me by now." The glare only intensified, as Michael said nothing. "I've attacked you at every turn, even insulted your woman to the world a little while ago." There was a goading sort of grin, when the actor didn't answer, Ackerman's mind turning. "True, I made you sound better than you are for those newsreel guys. You're too much of a wimp to actually go fucking other women." He shrugged, still grinning, waiting for the man to break. "Assuming you could get any, anyway."
Michael's enemy had been convinced that this attack would be the last straw, that the man would finally do something to end this torment--but, to his scalding hate, the actor only looked rather bored; he started to seethe at the older man, fists clenching hard--trying another tack, smiling almost conspiratorially. "Tell me the truth. Who really knocked up your woman? Was it some longtime boyfriend of hers? Did she marry you just to hide what a fairy you are?" The grin deepened, waiting. "Or is she just such a slut that it's impossible to tell who she's spread her legs for this time?"
With many tormentors, this might well have convinced Michael to throw the first punch; it was certainly coded somewhere in his deeper instincts--the need to protect becoming all the less logical with his distance from her, with the growing dangers she faced. That Nikita would have loathed discovering such brutal desires within him barely mattered. Any insult to the bright, beautiful woman he loved--the one who had never even thought of sharing her treasures with any man except himself--was almost more than his immense fortitude could withstand.
Still, Michael hadn't gotten this far, lived so long in Hollywood, without becoming quite intelligent; it was necessary, the rule of survival. It was always either cunning or luck which protected you there. Brute instinct alone wasn't enough to get him through.
It was this he remembered, rather pleased that there were at least a few witnesses here; they might make his case easier, once the punishment came. Still, with them around, he needed to be certain not to throw the first punch. As it was, if he didn't get himself dishonorably discharged for the fight which would follow--whoever was actually at fault--he would be damn lucky; his gaze never left his opponent's. All he had to do was wait. His calm response would break his enemy eventually.
The actor's technique, his utter lack of rancor, only made the man more furious--as Michael had expected, his earlier thoughts proved right. As little as the recruit realized it himself, Ackerman's projection of those he saw on the screen--the "great Samuelle" particularly--was to imagine them all as incredible he-men, ready to slap around and then fuck any woman they wanted, whatever the woman's screaming objections. Of course, they would all be just slightly less manly--in these demented visions--than Bill himself, would slap him on the back in praise for whatever brutal actions he might take; he began to seethe all the more. That the man had fallen in "love," had allowed himself to be lowered to the part of a soppy male in some weeper that stupid little girls would swoon over, was unbearable to him. And anything which was unbearable to the recruit needed to be taken out with his fists.
This--Michael understood--included much of the rest of the world, Ackerman's joining of the armed forces about anything but a need to protect. Still, all of this was merely background, not entirely important, at the moment. What Bill wanted was a fight--and Michael had to wait, until it was the recruit himself who started it.
This intention became even more difficult in the next few moments, the younger man's many insults to the actor's beloved continuing--the recruit's eyes cruel. "Why did you marry her, anyway? Is she really that good in bed?" Bill's smile became crueler. "I bet you tried her out more than a few times, before she tricked some ring onto her finger." He leaned closer, getting in his enemy's face--finally coming to the explanation for his contradictory insults. "Or you would have, if you were any sort of man at all."
The fact that a little of this attack was actually true only infuriated the actor further--almost hating himself for giving into his early needs, for making Nikita his lover so long ago. True, he had always intended to marry her, was just waiting until the world would let him; a little of his mind turned, as he watched this man, wondering. But, if he had waited until their marriage, would Jones have been so angry? Would he even be here to be facing this monster? Something in him fell. Perhaps not. He had to take a deep, surreptitious breath--reminding himself of the truth. But this bit of depravity said much more about the inherent flaws of Nikita's father than it did about his own love for his wife.
These insights went by his current tormentor unnoticed. Even as Michael half-wished that he *had* waited until their marriage, if only to save the woman he loved from the machinations of her father, Ackerman's ruthless words went on; Michael barely heard them, as he tried to find forgiveness for himself--but they were a little hard to ignore. "It's not her you want--is it, Sem-mule?" His enemy's purposeful mangling of the name tended to differ every time. "If you could fuck every one of us, you would." The recruit leaned in even further--making the actor wonder whether Ackerman were going to try to kiss him; it would make complete sense of his taunts. "You couldn't stand to be away from men long enough to stay at home."
The younger man was smiling, certain that his last taunt had hit his mark; his look changed to utter confusion and rage, then, with his target's calm response. "You're here as well, Bill. Is it because no woman will have you?" His gaze moved in, probing the man's cancerous soul. "Or do you simply want other men so much that you need to live with several dozen of them?"
As predicted, this was the final taunt that Ackerman could take. Even if he had started the battle on his own, Samuelle's insinuations about his sexuality hit *far* too close to home. Like most men with an innate fear of women and a desire to spend time solely with their buddies--like all men who grew fearful at the slightest deviation from the accepted norms of "manhood," attacking such differences as symptomatic of a lust for other men, one they shared all too deeply--his vitriol came solely from the fact that he feared his own, inner truths. For so long, he had defended all that was manly--quieting with his fists anyone who might question. If he were ever to see the inner desires his actions masked in the naked light of day, they would have driven him instantly mad.
His first punch was driven by all the rage of a lifetime of fear, therefore--was targeted at the man he had made a living symbol of all his own inner terrors. If he couldn't face his truer needs, he would destroy anyone who could. Even if the actor had never truly needed anyone but his wife, that alone was cause for his utter demolition now.
Michael had been preparing for this shift, knew that--whatever the man's intentions--he wouldn't be able to hold out much longer. He had predicted accurately, too, that it would be a basic punch with his right fist that his enemy would start with--having already watched for the man's dominant side. While Bill was far more canny than he sometimes seemed, his current rage demolished all cunning--working in the actor's favor. Angry men were instinctive, stupid; Michael dodged the punch in an instant, starting his counterattack--only wishing that he weren't wearing his cumbersome coat. Now, maybe they could settle this matter once and for all.
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