would anyone be interested in a peter ballard fic from peter’s perspective? it would be super dark and there would be a LOT of internal villain monologues. kind of a “you” type book. let me know!
Summary: I can't stop watching Peter through the two-way mirror. Thank God he will never know the dirty thoughts running through my mind.
Peter showed no signs of consciousness for hours. The deepest amount of sleep I could find myself in was a light dissociation. Not once did I find myself calm enough to do anything other than close my eyes and lay on the carpet. Even closing my eyes was a feat, as my eyes kept opening every few minutes just to make sure that Peter was still showing signs of life.
It was really absurd of me to even consider his death in the realm of possibility. There was no seizing, no external wounds. But I couldn’t get my rational brain to work at all. It felt as though I was running off of primal instinct, in a way. Stay close to the one you care for, keep a close eye. Any brain function beyond that seemed to slip right through my mind.
When I finally stopped trying to force myself to sleep, the watch on my wrist read an ungodly hour. I couldn’t help but stare at Peter now. It’s not like he was awake to find out, so I didn’t have to take caution in my gawking.
Of course, there was nothing new about his face. Except, the friendly look on his face was gone. I had never seen him without the signature welcoming, inviting look about him. He looked peaceful, the paleness and sweat leaving his face hours ago.
After a long time of looking as tense as a board, his body relaxed a little bit. All of the shaking had ceased, which eased my mind for the first time that night. He was breathing perfectly normal, the rise and fall of his chest deep and even.
I could do this “Medical Examiner” schtick all night, but I would be lying to myself if I didn’t admit that there were other reasons for my ogling. Disgust was a definite part of my emotional composition in that moment, nearly all of it being pointed towards myself. Do I seriously lack the self control to not be turned on in this situation? Every day I spend with Peter I feel as though I lose a little bit more of my dignity.
When Peter’s eyelids start to flutter, the thought doesn’t even occur to me to avert my gaze. I sit up immediately, invading the man’s personal space more than I had been all night. His eyes are actually opening, not just spasming as they had been all night. When his eyes open in tiny slits, he lets out a pitiful groan. It sounded closer to a sob than anything.
“Peter?” I whisper, wanting to test his awareness but not disturb him too badly. His neck shifts only a quarter of an inch in my direction before he lets out a pained sob. The previously relaxed position of his body immediately tenses, leading him into more painful disarray.
We sat there for 10 silent minutes, Peter in terrible pain and I in soul-crushing uselessness. His eyes finally open most of the way, still having a heavy droop to them. The lighting in the room is as dim as possible, hopefully not causing him more anguish. His gaze settles dazedly in my general direction, but it is too unfocused to tell what he is seeing.
Time feels as though it is moving hours on the second as I watch Peter try to come back to his mind. I feel so lost in hopelessness that I can’t help my own mind from slipping into a daze. It’s hard to stay present when I know nothing of the truth even though it is sitting right beside me. It’s especially hard when I think I know the story, but can’t bring myself to admit it.
The pieces fit together perfectly. Peter came in unconscious, spasming and pale as a phantom. His neck was red and chafed from a physical object. The guards had dragged him across the floor to leave him stranded in his bedroom. They abused him.
Peter attempted to sit up, his movements feeble and his face read immense pain. My arms shot out to steady him, one holding his forearm and the other sliding across the expanse of his back. His eyes closed in pain as another long groan escaped his mouth, but eventually he was in the sitting position. A majority of his weight was pushed against the side of my own body, and my arm was reluctant to leave his back. It would have been a dream come true if I wasn’t so scared of him keeling over.
“They used the ECT on me,” Peter’s croaking voice said from beside me. That was what we used when there were no other possible options for controlling a child. They would have to scream and kick for days on end for anyone to warrant that sort of punishment, and even then a majority of the staff was opposed. It electrocuted their brains, forcing them into complacency because their minds were turned into mush.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, finally finding my voice. My voice is watery, but I refuse to cry over something that didn’t even happen to me. The words sound like nothing more than a weak attempt to console the man by my side, such a diluted statement. But there isn’t a string of words that can convey the way that my heart aches for Peter. The desolate look on his face becomes a convicted stare as he looks from nowhere to the deepest part of my soul.
“This is what they do. You might never see it because Brenner loves you but this is what they do to people who don’t conform to their rules. They’re evil,” Peter says, grabbing my shoulders as his words become frantic. His eyes glisten with furious tears as he tells me the truth about everyone around me. The truth that, even though I spend every single day watching, slipped right past me. “ Nobody cares about life here, everybody is so lost in science that they aren’t even human. They… they’re murderers. The people here are killers.”
Peter’s eyes were rapid as he fell silent. His face was twisted in pain that I am fully sure was both physical and mental. His eyes dazed out again, and I couldn’t stop myself from wrapping my arms around him in an embrace. The balance of his body had already been off kilter, so he collapsed against me with his face resting on my shoulder. The sound of his harsh breath matched the heavy movements of his chest against my own.
The arms previously gripping my shoulders were now wrapped snugly around my neck. His whole body trembled against mine, and the ache in my chest tripled. The man was suffering, and I couldn’t for the life of me think of the right thing to say.
“Everyone is evil,” Peter whispered, his voice a tearful accusation. I couldn’t find it in me to disagree. “You aren’t, though. I can tell. You aren’t like everyone else.”
My heart fluttered at his weak voice. I brushed my hand up and down his back, hoping to sooth him as much as I could. Words still escaped me, so I could only pray that the touches would suffice.
We sat there embraced on the floor for what could have been seconds or hours. Peter was dead weight on me, and I considered the fact that he might have fallen unconscious again.
“Do you want to get in bed?” I asked quietly. Peter nodded against me, and it took both of our full efforts to get him standing from the floor. It only took about five steps to get over the bed, but those steps were the slowest I’ve taken in my entire life. Peter kept his weight leaned against me right up until we got to his bed.
I pulled back the covers, allowing for Peter to sit on the fitted sheet. I knelt down on the floor to slide off his black oxfords. Neither of us wanted to exert the energy to take off his day clothes, though.
As soon as he was settled in bed, the comforter covering his body, I felt myself sigh in relief. Peter was safe and comfortable, and I can physically feel the pit in my stomach shrinking. His eyes were closed the second that his head touched the pillow, the exhaustion prominent on his face.
I lingered around a few more seconds before turning to take my exit. My footsteps were quiet, the absolute last thing I wanted to do was bother Peter in his sleep. I turned the handle of the door, and got it open a couple inches before there was a quiet squeak.
“Wait,” I heard Peter call from bed. My entire body froze, waiting for whatever he had to say. There was a long silence before I heard his weak voice again. “Stay.”
For a moment, I considered the thought that I might be hearing things. It would make sense, I have been under a lot of stress lately. But as I turned around, I had to keep my jaw from falling open as I saw Peter's arm holding out the blanket in invitation.
Although there were a million questions I wanted to ask, most of them pertaining to Peter’s soundness of mind, I walked over to the bedside and took off my shoes.
“Of course,” I say under my breath. I slid under the covers, making sure that our bodies weren’t touching. If Peter wanted my presence, I should refrain from abusing the opportunity to be a creep. But as I got settled, I felt a warm hand snake into mine. Peter moves our interlaced hands so that they are pressed gently against his chest, and his breathing immediately calms.
“Thank you,” He breathes. Everything falls silent after that, and I finally feel myself fall asleep.
hi! love your writing :) i was wondering if Transparency was an AU or in line with the canon plot of ST? or is that too much of a spoiler rn?
hey! this is a great question, transparency is set in the same timeline that the flashbacks in st4 happen. the plot lines differ from the show later on though
Summary: I can't stop watching Peter through the two-way mirror. Thank God he will never know the dirty thoughts running through my mind.
As quickly as the dark look appeared on Dr. Brenner’s face, it was replaced by the ever-present confident smile. The one that reads a clear message that everything is in perfect order. The sentiment of the smile was always true. When I looked around anywhere in the building, everything was meticulous. Every wall was spotless, the floor was always clean. Even in the maintenance rooms, the machinery had no rust. Dr. Brenner smiled that way when everything was okay.
I tried to let that thought ease me, but something in the back of my mind still gnawed at my conscience. These meetings had never been spent discussing other adults. That would be a waste of both of our time. This is what put a small pit in my stomach.
But really, even if Peter had been talking to 011, it still wouldn’t warrant any sort of punishment. At the very worst, someone would scold him in a tone slightly above the normal talking volume.
It wouldn’t even be Brenner doling out the words, because he allowed people to make mistakes up to a certain degree. He followed the doctrine that as long as an action did not harm one’s self or others, it did not warrant punishment. Giving someone encouraging words could hardly achieve either of those things.
I’m pulled out of my thoughts when Dr. Brenner moves on to the next note. The moment of mutual reflective silence passed, and we picked up discussion on the toddlers.
“Speaking of little ones, how is our newest student acclimating?” Dr. Brenner asked, his tone inquisitive and conversational. His face read excitement, the same look he had when we were all introduced to the baby. Nobody could be cold to that precious face, the older ladies had even moved to squeeze her hand. Everyone loved a cute baby, especially when it was a super human.
“She’s doing great. She wasn’t irritated, overall she is outstandingly calm,” I observed. “I apologize, it escaped my mind that I should have been taking notes.”
“Nothing to apologize for. I put you on the task because I wanted 016 to feel welcomed, not supervised,” Dr. Brenner states. His face takes on a sympathetic frown for a second before he opens his mouth to speak again. “You’ve been lonely, haven’t you?”
It was a rhetorical question. Of course I missed my days as an orderly. Who wouldn’t feel lonely when they only got to spend an hour a day with the children they used to spend a majority of the time with? Yes, I am lonely.
“Sometimes, but I’m very happy with the jobs I have now,” I say, collected.
The Doctor sits and considers me for a moment. I felt uncomfortable under his scrutinizing gaze, but there was no malice at all in the look. Only a friendly concern.
“I really want you to bond with 016. Not only can I not afford for her to develop improperly, but I also want you to be happier,” He says sympathetically. Leaning back in his chair, apparently not waiting for my response, he finishes the discussion abruptly. “I won’t keep you any longer. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”
Dinner in the laboratory is very similar to breakfast. All of the children congregate in the Dining Hall while a few staff members supervise the meal. I have only ever been put on this duty a few times, as I typically supervise during breakfast time.
When six o’clock rolls around, I only spend about fifteen minutes in the dining hall. Eating dinner alone every night makes for a very quick experience, so I am retired to my room before the clock is half past six almost always. I sometimes wish that I would find myself on dinner duty, just to break up the critical boredom of evening time in the lab. Unless Dr. Brenner devises an evening activity, everyone is left to their own devices for the rest of the night. One lucky staff member is made to check that all of the children are in bed at night, but that is really the only job.
Another person watches 016 tonight. A small part of me misses her, but a larger part chastises myself for it. Dr. Brenner was right, I am terribly lonely. For the first time in a long while, I had gotten to spend one-on-one time with one of the children that I am only allowed to watch from afar. This is the part where I give myself grace. So damn it, I miss that cute little baby.
The trek back to the employee dorming is a lonely one. My mind wanders back to my walk with Peter, and the space next to me begins to feel a little more empty than usual.
He always worked in the evening. Out of all the orderlies, he was most likely to be surveilling during dinner time. The guy making the schedule can say that it is randomized all he wants to, but it’s obvious that he just repeats the same task list every day. He has always been known to be a perfectionist, so maybe it was just too much to shuffle the names every day. When someone’s entire job is to plan, it’s highly unlikely that they make a habit to leave things to chance.
Normally after dinner, I just laze around in my bedroom. This has been routine for me ever since I started my job. Read, relax, maybe call my mother. That was a strong maybe, though. Everyone in the facility lived on Dr. Brenner’s schedule, so I typically went to bed at the geriatric time of nine o’clock.
My fingers instinctively dialed the code to open the door that led to the staff common area. The irony has never been lost on me that the only measure of security on the door in a building full of super humans was a measly passcode. The numbers making up the passcode were so weathered, an average person could still probably figure it out. If nothing else, the key pad was a meta joke.
I open the door and make my way through the neatly furnished living space to go down the hallway of bedrooms. When I turn to make my way down, my body lurches at the sight nearing the end of the hallway.
Two security guards, I can’t recollect ever hearing their names, are dragging a limp body down the hallway. They only have the body by the wrist, the body hanging so low that even the shoulders were dragging across the carpet. Although the body was entirely unresponsive to being tracked across the floor, violent tremors shook through the form.
It wasn’t until they turned left into one of the rooms that I saw him. The body that looked like a shaking corpse was Peter. The wave of shock I was under quickly tainted with sheer horror. His face was pale and translucent, and his hair was drenched with sweat. My feet began to move on their own accord towards the people.
“What happened?” I asked, my voice coming out in a mixture of shock from the sight and pleading to know what happened.
The guards dragged Peter’s body right inside of the door before dropping him completely. He laid there completely unresponsive, and the guards didn’t seem to care at all.
“Nothing that concerns you,” The shorter guard said aggressively, a sneer marking his already ugly face. Neither of them cared to look at me or Peter as they coolly exited the room.
I was tempted to try to catch them and get some answers on why my friend appeared to be dying on the floor. But it would have been fruitless, neither of those guards would even say a word to me if I did. They didn’t care if he lived or died, apparently.
My mind immediately went to the students, before it turned around to guilt at suspecting them. It would make no sense for them to hurt Peter. And, the lab had been silent for the entire evening. The alarm would have certainly gone off if there was some sort of super human uprising. Why wasn’t Peter in the infirmary being seen by a doctor right now? Surely if he was harmed by one of the kids, he would have been taken away. Not dragged on the floor like a sack of garbage. No, something else happened.
I walked over to his bed, grabbing one of the thin, white pillows off of the bed. Tucking it under his head, I try to will away the recognition of the soft feeling of his hair on the palm of my hand. Now is seriously not the time to be acting like a freak, thank you very much.
Drawing my hand away, I place two fingers in the hollow point of his neck to try to count his pulse. Despite the terrible tremors wracking his body, I can feel that his heartbeat is going intensely fast. But unfortunately, there’s nothing I can do except wait for him to calm down. The anger of the guards made it very clear that Peter would not be seeking medical attention tonight.
The helpless feeling hangs like a dark cloud over my head. There is not a single thing that I can do to make this better. He is breathing perfectly fine, so there is no sort of compressions that need to be done. His heart is beating, thankfully. All that I can do is wait for him to regain consciousness.
So I sat and waited on the microfiber carpet for what felt like hours, searching for some sign of his wake. The shaking made it incredibly hard to tell anything that was happening with him. As time passed, the tremors shrank until the only noticeable movement was in his fingers.
I couldn’t pull my eyes away from him for even a second. The imaginary picture of him seizing and bleeding from the mouth crept into my mind every time I thought of going to bed, which kept me firmly rooted to my spot on the ground.
When my eyes grew too heavy to stay awake, I decided to sleep on the floor next to him. I was too scared of what would happen if I went away to return to my own bedroom. I rested my head on the crook of my elbow, sifted to the side facing Peter. Emotion was a looming threat, waiting for its moment to strike me right through the chest. For the first time in forever, I had to force myself to fall asleep.
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would anyone be interested in a peter ballard fic from peter’s perspective? it would be super dark and there would be a LOT of internal villain monologues. kind of a “you” type book. let me know!
