Summary: Space AU with Malex for Roswell New Mexico Week 2021 for the fic prompt: “Who’s better, him/her/them or me?” @roswellnewmexicoweek
NOTES: I’ve had some serious writers block and I have lots of other things I should be writing, but here, have 1300 words that dropped into my head this morning. for @haloud for reasons.
***
Michael found Alex just where he expected to, leaning on the railing of the eastern promenade watching the famine moon, the largest in the Oasis system, slowly envelop the mother moon in its nightly orbit. He knew from whispered conversations in bed that the mother moon, with its sparkling blue orb in the sky, most resembled Alex’s home planet of Earth. It was a source of comfort to Alex, to see something familiar in an utterly alien surrounding of Michael’s fire-scarred and barren planet.
In the early days of their acquaintance, before Michael’s father had been deposed and executed, Alex would spend hours in the evening watching the blue-green moon track against the protective bio dome, Michael had huddled against his side to share his warmer body temperature to bolster Alex’s human sensitivity while they planned for the future, using the likeness to Earth as a source of hope and promise of a better life on Oasis. Michael drew comfort from Alex’s touch, while Alex drew it from the sky.
Those days were thankfully long over, their wedding was on the horizon, which begged the question why Alex needed that old comfort tonight?
If Alex were an Oasian, it would have been a simple task for Michael to reach forward with his mind and brush against his thoughts to glean the source of the drawn look and the pinch of pain around Alex’s mouth, but he was completely human, psychically null, and closed off to Michael’s mind unless the tether of a handprint was involved. For a variety of reasons and most of them connected to his father, Michael shied away from wanting to use the handprint with Alex. It would be an unavoidable part of the traditional Oasian wedding ceremony, but that was a future problem for Michael to dread, the ultimate sharing of their minds and emotions.
Tonight he took comfort in the fact that he had to use his words, the way he always had to with Alex.
“What’s wrong?”
“You broke off your betrothal for me.”
Michael blinked slowly, studying Alex’s handsome profile and the way he held his body, for clues behind that seeming non sequitur.
Instead of wearing the plain gauzy white robes favored by the court of the Dictator, Alex chose the more form-fitting clothing of the guard caste, in shades of dark gray and deepening charcoal. One foot was a glossy silver, a nanotech prosthetic, that had led to their initial meeting, and the other foot was encased in a black boot with gravity weighted soles. He could see no sign of the vacuum seal of the prosthesis failing nor any upheaval in the shimmering nanobot surface that made up his artificial leg, as he watched Alex flexed his “ankle” upward with ease while he gripped the railing with both hands.
It wasn’t physical pain that had sent Alex to this place.
“Yes, I know, I was there,” Michael drawled, “and more importantly, you were there. Upon my father’s death, all contracts were considered void, including marriage contracts.”
“I’m told there is a period of renegotiation that is allowed after burial.” Alex didn’t turn as Michael drew closer, his eyes remained on the horizon and now Michael knew why. “A contract can be honored if both parties wish it, as long as thirty turns of the famine moon haven’t passed.” Finally he tilted his gaze toward Michael, his eyes liquid dark with sorrow. “That was the twenty-ninth by my count.”
“Well I don’t wish it and Tadeo is well aware of that.”
“Yes, but-”
“Alex, you are my choice. Always.” Michael cut him off, bringing his hands up to cup gently around his jaw to pull Alex closer to him. He rested his forehead against Alex’s, delighting in the press of skin against his and the rough grain of Alex’s stubble under his palms. When they touched, it was pure physical pleasure for Michael and the ultimate feeling of safety for him in those beloved human arms. There was no psychic backlash of another Oasian and no worry of a forced tether when Alex placed his hands on him. Michael could feel his entropy calm under Alex’s touch and he was always greedy for more of it.
The soft light of the observatory solar glass kept most of Alex’s feelings a mystery to Michael, the slight hitch of his breath when Michael rubbed his thumb over Alex’s lower lip was the only clue to his state of mind. “Why?” Alex breathed against the touch.
“Why what?” Michael echoed dumbly, his grip tightening on him.
“I’m not the better choice, I’m human. I can’t share your mind the way Tadeo can, like a real spouse, and maybe if you don’t like Tadeo, there could be another Oasian out there-”
Suddenly it became clear to him what had happened. Michael closed the small distance between them to kiss away Alex’s doubts, while rage sparked in his veins. He didn’t know who would have said such a thing in Alex’s hearing, but he could guess at a number of members of the government who might have embraced a new leader over the deceased Dictator, even if it was his sexually disreputable son. The Western shore was brimming with green again, after 30 years of firestorms thanks to Michael’s work, and yet, that wasn’t apparently enough to buy him widespread acceptance of choosing Alex. What would Michael have to do in order for grace to be extended to his new human consort?
Words spoken aloud on Oasis were meant to be weapons, and this bit of poison about Alex’s human differences was no exception.
Alex made a soft, hungry sound under Michael’s lips before deepening the kiss with desperation. He quickly shifted to press Michael back against the railing of the promenade, taking charge as he always did and Michael, the rebel son, the undoing of the Dictator of Oasis, went willingly. Only the knowledge that there were civilians milling around the bio dome, that the shielded observatory corridor was hardly private, kept Michael from sinking to his knees before Alex.
He had after all promised Isobel to save the shocking behavior for after the coronation and wedding, but perhaps that was a promise made in haste, perhaps the people he had fought for and championed should know who truly held Michael’s allegiance. A human mercenary turned royal guard, turned friend, turned lover, and soon to be, husband.
Reluctantly he broke the kiss but stayed wrapped around Alex, with his pulse beating in his ears. “You are the best choice. When we marry and I place the handprint on you, the tether between our minds will allow you to see it…” Michael swallowed, feeling the lump of alarm grow in his throat at the thought, before powering through the tightness. It wouldn’t be like when his father did it to him to command allegiance, or to steal secrets from Michael. It wouldn’t be at all like that. It was Alex. “You will see why you’re better than Tadeo, or any other Oasian, okay?”
“Okay.” Alex bit his lower lip, flushed from the kiss but already he looked calmer to Michael. “I guess I freaked out thinking that you were giving something up to be with someone like me because I’m not like you or your people.”
Michael glanced down at the sparkling silver of Alex’s right leg. An accident with an airlock on his family’s warship, Alex had said with skittering nervous eyes that first day they met when Alex had sought out the renowned Engineer for help with malfunctioning nanobots. Nora had been fascinated with the technology, while Michael had been fascinated with Alex. It was the start of everything. It was only after he had shared his bed with Alex long enough for the nightmares to intrude that Michael had realized it hadn’t been an accident, but an attempt at murder by Alex’s father.
In answer, he placed his burn-scarred left hand on Alex’s chest, over where a human’s heart beat in a strangely opposite pattern to his own. Scars were unheard of on Oasis but Michael had kept his hand unchanged from childhood as a reminder. It was the first and only time he had felt the pain of flames on his body, that moment when his father’s cursed touch had awakened the immunity to fire contained in Michael’s genes through pain.
The physical marks were only the most obvious legacy of his upbringing. There were other invisible wounds on Michael from his father’s successful attempts in bringing forth the ability of telekinesis. He had used physical beatings that stopped when Michael had been able to psychically propel his father away from him. Michael’s mind was finally a vault after suffering under the loss of his autonomy over and over again, with his father jumping into his mind to take over his body, leaving Michael a silent passenger to untold cruelty while the Dictator tortured accused spies wearing Michael’s face. That set of horrors ended only when Michael could finally push him out. The more casual mental violations had stopped once Michael had demonstrated his own mastery of the skill, holding a guard with his mind and before making him turn a weapon on himself under his father’s approving smile.
He had become a man in the eyes of the Dictator after that, only a handprint tether forced between them could rip away Michael’s secrets, and only when his father had thought to look for sedition.
Michael had spent a long time building a reputation in the palace with sex and drugs to discourage his father from seeing him as a threat, at least until it was too late to stop his demise.
“We’re alike in more ways than you realize. You’ll see.”
Now, like it or not, I’ve been your one-eyed Miyagi for most of your life, which is why I try so hard to keep you grounded, not to give you too many compliments. What part of that was a compliment? I’m getting there!
Summary: More of the Malex space AU. This takes place before yesterday’s part. 2500 words, unbeta’d.
Fic prompt for @roswellnewmexicoweek “When I said I wanted family time, this isn’t what I meant” - I got close to the prompt.
CW: Child abuse, Drug Use
Michael pressed the controls to the bedroom door with a slightly shaking hand, holding his shoes in his arms, and slipped silently out of the quarters assigned to the Oasis’s newest trading partners. The text on the agreement was still in flux but thanks to his efforts with the chief negotiator he knew that was only temporary. The smell of sex and the salt of sweat clung to his skin under his finely made robes but he had little time to waste in returning to his suite to wash up when he could better spend it in the Underground. Between the ambassador sleeping off the athleticism of Michael's body and his father’s expectation in finalizing the language between the two sides, there was only a narrow space of freedom.
Swiftly, he descended the raised walkways of the protected bio dome sphere, exchanging protective glass windows for the roughly carved walls of the mountain. Disused vents from the old nitrogen and carbon air scrubbers made up most of his access ways until he reached the refuse furnace that burned continuously under his father’s power.
Michael glanced down at his left hand out of habit as the warmth of the flames registered on his face. He still remembered being a child standing in front of the Dictator, not really understanding that the man was also his father. The bruises from his lessons had almost healed on his small frame, hidden under his clothes after he had pushed and he had made it stop with his mind and now he was being asked to hold out his hand.
“So you have enough telekinesis to shove away an attacker, that’s good. Let’s see if you’re really special or if you’ve fallen far from the tree, child,” And then a spark had lit from the man’s fingertips, Michael’s mind had latched onto the sight with wonder before his hand had lit up with pain. Only the firm command ringing in his ears of “you can make it stop” had kept the fire from spreading past his hand.
The brand of the Dictator’s touch remained on Michael’s hand, leaving thick shiny scars in its wake, but what had lingered longer, with more impact on Michael’s life, was the acknowledgment of pride from the man. “So perhaps you are my child after all and not another one of your mother’s creations.”
Life had changed for Michael after that; hearing the first acknowledgment that his faint memory of a loving blonde woman was real, he had a mother, he wasn’t a discarded clone being raised by the state. There had been a higher purpose in his conception, if two Oasians were involved. Michael had been whisked from the foundlings home and installed permanently in the palace as the Heir, growing and learning next to the daughter of the greatest warrior on Oasis, calling her his sister, Isobel. A year later, a serious-faced boy named Dallas had joined them after a fire had claimed the lives of his family, completing their triad.
The Seneschal of Oasis. The Sword of the Dictator. The Scholar to spread the Dictator’s creeds.
Michael took a deep breath, feeling the ache in his body from his earlier exertions and stepped into the inferno that protected the access point to the Dictator’s residence. The flames licked at his body but left him unscathed with only the scent of smoke on his clothes as he emerged safely on the other side. From there, his footsteps were light as he followed the earthen path worn down in the crust of the planet by the apostles and beggars of the Oasis, seeking shelter from the firestorms outside of the bio dome paradise.
The Underground thrived under the main ship port of Oasis, deep below the scorching heat of the endless fire seasons and the blasts of the freighters’ quantum thrusters that moved on and off world with the needed supplies to feed the planet’s population. Michael knew exactly where he was headed, his mind projecting purpose and calm as he brushed against other Oasians thoughts, blending into the crowds that bargained for outrageously priced fresh food in the market.
Three stalls down in one of the darker corners of the market, he purchased a new bottle of Chaos with averted eyes and sleight of hand from a dealer before continuing on his way. Time was so limited he couldn’t linger over the displays of weapons or off world technology the way he wanted.
On the threshold of where the market faded away and the warren of caves where the rebels lived began, Michael downed the sweet tasting swig from his bottle and sighed in relief as the drug took immediate effect.
His thoughts now crackled with energy of Chaos, clouding any attempts for a passerby to piece through them to see his true intentions and more importantly, his recent actions. Michael tucked the sleeves of his robe down over the back of his scarred hand and took an exploratory sniff of his clothes to confirm the refuse furnace had blunted the evidence of the trade liaison, even if he still could feel the other man's hands on him. He was ready to see Nora now.
His mother.
She wasn’t alone. Fuck. He wasn’t prepared for this to be a wasted trip.
Michael stepped further into her workshop and let the door close behind him. His telepathy buzzed with Chaos, brushing against Nora’s companionably in greeting, before he turned his attention to the walls of her workshop, lined with constructed crystals and empty programming glass. His mother was still the Engineer, even in exile, even when presumed dead by most of the planet. Those who knew who she was, and how she could help were generally individuals carrying bigger secrets than Michael did, and it was far better for all involved if he ignored them, instead of drawing attention to himself.
Still he couldn’t help listening to the low-voiced conversation.
… “-wouldn’t have brought him here, Miss Nora, if he wasn’t desperate and could pay-” The gravel rough voice and mental void where there should be a mind present told Michael that one of his mother’s visitors was a human familiar to him. Sanders.
He didn’t know the old man’s story, about how he had come to Oasis from Earth, all Michael knew was that he was fiercely loyal to Nora and being human meant he could keep secrets for the Resistance. Sanders wore an eye patch as a matter of pride, a souvenir he had from a run in with the Dictator’s men back when Michael was a child.
“There’s a price to everything these days. I look forward to the day when my talents can be offered freely, Walt,” Nora observed seriously, before she dropped down to her knees before the third man and reached for the fastenings of the stranger’s clothing. “But today is not that day, so let’s see what we have and how much my attention will cost your friend here-”
Michael reached into his robes again to blunt the direction of his thoughts with another swig of the drug. His mother looked up, catching the spike of his emotions through the cloak of the drug, before returning to her task with sharp-eyed interest. Sanders followed her gaze to where he was loitering, continuing with his story with a concerned frown, “He ain’t my friend, even if he is human, but he’s got currency and he could be helpful to you and to the Cause.”
“He can also speak for himself,” the stranger broke in with a weak but annoyed voice that sent a shiver down Michael’s spine with its richness.
“And that is a miracle, considering the state of nanobot poisoning you have.” Nora peeled back the stranger’s clothes to reveal a dull grey prosthesis and a ruptured vacuum seal on the man’s right leg. “Not sure how you’re even walking.”
“I was raised by a man who did not tolerate any weakness, even if we are humans. Only the dead are allowed to fall.”
Michael turned away from his faked study of his mother’s workshop to face the newcomer with even more interest now. That was a voice that echoed the pain of Michael’s own childhood, so much so, that Michael was thankful the drug was in full effect now, keeping the details of his mind completely clouded from Nora’s.
“Then that will serve you well. I can help you but it won’t be pleasant, especially not when it comes to removing your leg to repair that seal.” The nanobytes had spread past the contact points to operate the prosthesis and were currently ravaging the man’s entire nervous system; there was no way to blunt the pain involved in severing the connection between organic and inorganic flesh. Nora stood up slowly, brushing off Sanders's attempt to help her with a kind smile and then gestured toward the back of her lab area to where her quarters were. “My son will help you to the bed while I find my programming tablet.”
She met Michael’s startled gaze with a narrowed eye at the flask of Chaos still in his hand. His increased intake of the drug had not gone unnoticed by his mother. There was a mix of concern and fear in her gaze, they both knew the long term use of Chaos would leave an Oasian’s mind permanently damaged for a triad or a bondmate. Then her gaze hardened, remembering their most recent argument over his increased usage Michael had guessed, and her voice was icily polite, “You’re not too addled to help this man, are you my son?”
“I only have a little time before I’m missed-”
“Then that is enough time to help.”
Michael closed lips around any other protest, watching his mother leave in search of the right equipment. He moved to the listing right side of the ailing man, letting Sanders brace the left. The stranger, now that Michael was closer, was strikingly handsome with sharp cheekbones and a full mouth lurking under the grime of space travel and the sweat from the nanobot poisoning. Although weak under Michael’s hold, he could feel that there was nothing but muscle under those clothes, with a hard bulge of a concealed gun nudging Michael’s hip.
The human was some sort of a mercenary fighter by his dress and weaponry. He could see why Sanders thought the man would be useful to the Cause, projectile weapons were strictly controlled on Oasis and only a clever man or a crazy one would try to carry such a thing outside of the ship port. After they half-carried, half-dragged the man toward the pallet, Michael fished the gun out from the man’s waistband to lay on a nearby table.
“Usually gotta buy me a drink to do that,” the stranger rasped with a hint of a tease. He nodded toward Michael’s flask, “And I wouldn’t say no to something that cuts through this pain.”
Sanders gave a snort of amusement and answered for Michael, “the kid drinks that mind-buzz juice, it’s no help for pain and especially no help to our kind. I’ll get you something else that will work.” He cuffed Michael on the shoulder affectionately despite his words, “You know the drill, though, strip of ‘im of any metal so your mom’s programming scanner won't break again.”
“It’s your turn to fix it if it does.”
“Nope, I fixed it the last two times, while you were busy with-” Sanders stopped, glancing down at the man on the bed who was watching them both with interest and then gracelessly changed the subject, “I’ll be back in a bit with painkillers for um-.”
“Alex,” the man offered. His dark eyes were nearly black with pain but there was still a curl of humor around his mouth. Michael felt another pulse of familiarity seeing it, Alex was a kindred spirit who cracked jokes while suffering in agony like Michael did. “If you’re going to undress me, you should definitely know my name.”
Michael swallowed, hearing the invitation to share his own name in return. He glanced around the now empty room, Sanders knew his identity of course, but most members of the Resistance only knew him as Guerin, a friend of Nora’s. Perhaps it was the late hour, or the disappointment in losing his brief time with his mother to this stranger’s plight, but something in him urged him to answer in truth. “I’m Michael.”
Alex’s eyes widened, even as a human newly on-world, he clearly knew who Michael was. “Fuck me,” he swore softly in response. “Nora’s son is the Heir? Fuck. Me.”
“Maybe when you’re not sweating nanites out of your pores.”
The joke caught Alex by surprise, he seized upwards in laughter, and almost smacked his head into Michael’s. He shook again in weak giggles as he helped Michael with his uncoordinated fingers to unbuckle and unbutton his clothes. “Shit, your mom is both a genius and a badass.”
“She is.”
“And your father is-”
“Is just bad.” Michael answered, but this time with a short snap to close the subject.
Alex, instead of looking offended by the tone, smiled sadly. “And here I thought I had a difficult childhood.”
He avoided the sympathy in the other man’s eyes even if he sensed that it was genuine from Alex. Michael was long past the age where he wanted to punish his mother for leaving him in the care of the Dictator and he knew that she had no real choice when she left. The child Heir had been too closely guarded, even in the faked obscurity of the foundlings home to risk an abduction after she had broken with the Dictator for the Resistance.
As an adult, Michael told himself that he was past the rage and past the hurt of finding his mother again, this time as a grown man. His father had raised him with stories about how she was a dead whore with a talented mouth, her lips had flapped with secrets to their enemies, she was a traitor who cared only for herself. Under his father’s unfeeling and often torturous regard, Michael had never garnered loyalty to him and understood the desire his mother had to betray the Dictator. Learning that she wasn’t dead was the best day of his life but the joy of that knowledge was tempered when he had met Max.
Alex nodded again, and then followed Michael’s fixed gaze to a view display in the corner of the room. The projection against the wall was that of Nora and a child, but one with straight dark hair and was obviously not Michael.
He didn’t know for certain if Max had an easier childhood than he did in the Palace. Growing up in secrecy with the Resistance was probably its own challenge, not that different from growing up as the Heir. Except Max had been loved for years, even if he had been sequestered from most. Michael swallowed his jealousy down out of habit; he had his mother now at least, which was more than Max had. When Max had reached adulthood, it became too obvious that he was a clone and who he was a clone of, forcing him to flee off world for safety until the Alighting was ready to act.
“You interrupted my very scarce family time with this,” Michael finally answered, placing his hand gently on Alex, curling his fingers on the angry red skin just above the prosthesis.
“Sorry about that,” Alex replied between pained inhalations and then covered Michael’s hand with his own to squeeze. “I will make it up to you. When I’m not sweating nanites out.”
“You don’t have to-”
“No, I want to. You look like a man who sacrifices too much already, so let me take you out, Michael.”
Sometimes Michael drank the Chaos before seeing Nora to protect her from knowing what he was doing with various dignitaries to help her plans succeed, and sometimes he drank it so he could protect her from his remembrance of her raising Max as her son. Leaving her flesh and blood behind, but fleeing with that clone of his father to nurture and love, even if it was for the greater good of Oasis, so that one day they could replace the Dictator with a good man. It was at times hard for Michael to accept her choice graciously.
The Chaos gave his thoughts enough noise to keep everyone happily ignorant of his deep-seeded unhappiness, everyone that was Oasian, at least. Alex with his mind-blind humanity wasn’t used to relying on the ability to read Michael’s thoughts, he was too focused on reading Michael’s face and seeing the truth there.
