thecapitol | I won't let the terror in, I'm stealing time

Entry tags:

I won't let the terror in, I'm stealing time

Who| Clara and Alex, Clara and Justine
What| Clara gets a shiny, new eye replacement ~~despite the fact that she doesn't want it~~.
Where| D10, Justine's office
When| Backdated to the night of the Cornucopia
WARNINGS| Kidnapping(ish), Medical procedure done without consent

Starters in comments

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

To say that today's been rough is an understatement. Between watching some of her Tributes leave, knowing that this is probably the last time she'll see some of them, and then watching her friends be hurt (or worse) at the Cornucopia while attending a viewing party that she didn't even want to attend. She could feel all those eyes on her when Rose died, wanting to see how the woman's supposed-girlfriend reacted (which would up being Clara fake sobbing and fleeing to a bathroom so she finally could have an excuse not to watch anymore).

There's an eerie silence that's settled in the District 10 suite. Not even Holly's around since she's off doing something with Oceana, so Clara has the floor completely to herself. She isn't sure who is or isn't coming back from their deaths at the Cornucopia, and she isn't excited for tomorrow to find out. After a hot bubble bath and maybe too much wine, she settles on the couch in the common room, trying to find anything something to watch that isn't related to the Arena. A romcom, a makeover show, hell, she'd take a police procedural at this point.

The fact that she's alone makes it much more obvious that someone's coming when she hears the elevator door open and turns around to look, the fact that she isn't wearing a glass eye or an eyepatch painfully obvious. Some of the tension ebbs out of her shoulders at the sound of Alex walking. "Hey, baby," she says softly, giving him a half-hearted smile. "What brings you up here?"

A spike of terror shoots through Clara when she wakes up. She can feel the restraints on her before she even opens her eye. Or eyes, really, which is more than a little jarring after months of being without a right eye. She tries to sit up as much as she can and looks around the room, readjusting to having peripheral vision on her right side again and depth perception.

She doesn't remember much from whatever was given to her, though she isn't sure if that's because of whatever she was drugged with or the adrenaline pumping through her system mixed with the terror scratching at her throat. After a moment she finally really sees that Justine is in the room stares at her with laser-like focus as she tries to mentally sort through the muddle that is her brain. "What did you do to me?"

Alex only briefly registers the gaping hole where his wife's eye should be. The tissue there is smooth, scarred over with a shiny texture to it, and he merely notes that she hasn't bothered with the glass eye. It isn't that she doesn't have any - she has many different kinds, gifted to her by sponsors and her devoted fan base.

"Good evening," he starts off with the basics, as distantly polite as ever. "I've been requested to assist you. You have an appointment with Dr. Florbelle. This way, please."

He doesn't go for a hug, his graphene arm instead sweeping out to indicate that Clara is to get her things - a sweater or coat appropriate for the weather, maybe, or something for her eye socket - before coming with him. The truth is that while Clara was hardly the most popular Tribute, she has attracted enough attention to earn something of a late, post-Crowning gift (from what he understands, listening to the other Peacekeepers gossip on their lunch break). He's certain she'll like it.

It doesn't occur to him to explain or warn her that this gift could come attached with strings.

Clara isn't sure she'll ever be able to fully adjust to his distant politeness. She knows she should be happy that he isn't being completely cold towards her since he'd have every right to. Of course, she isn't even sure how much anger and betrayal he's capable of feeling with the neurosuppression.

She doesn't move from her place on the couch. Instead she just stares at him with her solitary eye, her brows furrowing together as she tries to think this through. "No I don't," she says bluntly, refusing to dance around the issue. "And it's too late for her normal office hours."

There's a slight shift of weight, less like she's preparing to get up and go with him and more like she's preparing to dart away like a scared rabbit if he says the wrong thing or makes a sudden move. "Alex, what's going on?" There's a splash of fear in her voice, along with something a little harder that usually isn't there, especially when speaking to him.

[ ALERT - AGITATION RISING; 30.1% chance of resistance ]

Alex doesn't go on edge like a cop who's aware he has a suspect who might run or pull a weapon on him. His eyes don't leave Clara's face, returning the stare with a patient one of his own.

"She's chosen to make an exception for you," Alex sees no issue with expanding on her special case today. "You're scheduled to receive attention to your eye. You'll be able to see again."

While he aims for a General Soothing Tone, Alex manages to only achieve sounding like he's reciting from the phone book. He steps forward toward Clara, deciding she must need physical contact. As her husband, he's the one most suited to giving her that considering their history. As Rose isn't here to offer emotional support, Alex can at least offer his physical one. His graphene hand reaches out toward her, his wrist swiveling impossibly on a joint that can't possibly have bone anymore.

Clara tries to keep herself calm and cool and not fold under his gaze. Which, really, is so much harder than it sounds. Logically, she knows that there's no difference between the way he looks at her right now and way he stared at her through his visor when she cornered him at him, but none the less, this time she can see his eyes and how detached he seems. While the confrontation in Detroit hurt and scared her a little bit, it's nothing like the way she feels right now, which is intimidated.

She can't remember a time when she was truly intimidated by him. It's new and it's wrong and she hates it. She hates herself a little bit for feeling like this.

Clara tries to evade his grasp as she skooches away on the couch a little bit, flinching at the sound of metal touching metal. She feels a little queasy at the entire situation before her and just wants to run away and hide. "What if I don't want to?" Which isn't totally true. She'd love nothing more than to be able to have her full vision back, but not at whatever cost it'll come with since it's provided by the Capitol. "I don't want..." She isn't sure how to finish that sentence. To be controlled the same way they're controlling him? To possibly be used as a spy camera for the Capitol? "...to be in their debt. I'm not some charity case." That sounds less traitorous than anything else she could say. Maybe a little more prideful than she'd prefer, but maybe that's the right thing to say to get him to leave.

Alex presses forward. "It's not a debt. They're trying to help and I think you should accept it."

This time he leans forward and grabs her arm in an unforgiving grip, graphene clinking against her own prosthesis with cold certainty. It takes no effort at all for Alex to lift Clara to her feet as if she weighs nothing. The truth is she doesn't, not when his chassis is capable of far more than one ex-house wife. His fingers tighten enough to prevent her from slipping out before they lock into position and it's exactly like suddenly being chained up to a bike rack bolted into the ground. He turns, stopping short of dragging her after him, and gestures to the door.

"You're allowed to have nice things, Clara. Please don't make me repeat myself," Alex says, finality underscoring his flatlined voice.

He means it, too. In the event that Clara again refuses, he's prepared to carry her. If she resists, he's been authorized to incapacitate her in a non-crippling fashion. Delivering her with minimal stress and minimal damage is preferred, of course.

There are things Clara wants to say in response. Questioning him if he really thinks she should accept or if he's just been told that she should accept is the first one that comes to mind. A derisive snort is the second. The third is pointing out that he probably doesn't even care about her well being and just wants her to bend to the Capitol's will.

Instead her response is steely silence as she tries to figure out if there's a way out of his grasp without trying to fight him and potentially breaking her hand before she's dragged to her feet. This isn't what she wants in the slightest.

"What if I refuse?" Clara doesn't want him to see how unnerved she is as she tries to stick to her guns, staring him in the eyes.

Alex's grip around her arm doesn't relax or tighten as a warning. It merely exists. "Then I'm afraid I'll have to forcibly escort you. This isn't up to negotiation, Clara."

He stares back with the slow, unhurried blink of someone who isn't worried about how this could turn out.

Clara should know that no matter what, this isn't one of those arguments with Alex that she's going to win. That the aftermath isn't going involve them apologizing to each other for being too stubborn and simply kissing and making up in the morning. And it's her own pigheaded stubbornness that keeps her from accepting that.

"Alex, you know this isn't right. On some level, deep down, you have to know that this is wrong." She can't help that there's a small wobble in her voice as tears pricked her eyes. "Baby, please, if you still care about me, let me go."

Alex's hesitation is one of the few outwardly visible signs that what Clara says? Might be right. Might be starting to dig into the core of him that's wrapped tight in the neurosuppression like titanium and graphene bands. It's not enough to get the attention of his handler, whatever blips on his feed so small they could be mistaken for the little ups and downs of his daily routine. Something faint softens in his face, his lips starting to part before they flatten into a hard, unforgiving line that says she's lost him.

"No," Alex ignores the wobble, how Clara's eyes mist over and start to brim with liquid that his HUD helpfully informs him are tears. "I'm doing this because it's the right thing for you. This is me caring."

He starts to drag Clara to the door with enough force that, ideally, he shouldn't dislocate anything.

For the briefest of moments Clara has real hope that she somehow managed to get through to him. That she might finally get her husband back, even if just for a few minutes. She shouldn't be surprised at how quickly that hope is dashed, or how much it hurts.

Clara can't help but be a little angry at herself for crying when she's trying to stand her ground. "No it isn't, Alex," she says as she tries to drive her heels into the ground in an attempt to put up an honest fight even though she knows full well that he can overpower her in a heartbeat.

As a final attempt to force him to let her go, if only so he cause her harm, she tries to wrench her arm out of grasp. Clara wants to accept that it won't work, but it's a last ditch effort more than anything else. "If you cared you'd let me make my own choice and respect that I don't want this."

Digging in her heels proves that he's much stronger than he was when he was a normal human - even if he outweighed her back then, if she fought him, he would've had trouble, would've budged. The chassis compensates for all shifts, asserts force when needed. His arm barely jiggles with Clara struggling to jerk her arm out. If she keeps it up, she runs the risk of dislocating that arm. It's...not a desired outcome.

"No," Alex doesn't bother trying to argue, his tone shifting to somehow become even more flat. She ceases to be his wife to a possible suspect. "I will be forced to temporarily incapacitate you if you don't correct yourself."

His standing orders said nothing about dragging Clara kicking and crying, the mascara starting to smear as her eyes water up. Alex can see why. It sends a poor message to the public. If he has to carry her out semi-conscious, then so be it. It's much more acceptable as she will be causing less of a disturbance with the unnecessary resistance.

Clara obviously isn't surprised that her efforts are in vain. She knows he's stronger than her and this is a losing battle. At this point, she's hanging everything on a desperate hope that her struggling in his grasp will make the sliver of the man she married resurface enough that he'll let go and she can bolt for her room.

Even then, she knows that probably won't succeed earlier. All the same, she refuses to go down without a fight.

"You wouldn't," she says, the words walking the line between a tease and a plea. "Alex, I know you. This isn't you, you need to wake up and realize that. The man I married wouldn't force me into something like this."

Ale hesitates. Something in his feed spikes, noticeable to his handler but invisible to Clara.

"I'm sorry. That was your verbal warning."

He's still looking right at Clara and her gaping eyesocket as his thigh plates slide open and eject his taser pistol. It takes less than a second to cycle the voltage setting to as low as he can get it: it should knock the resistance out of Clara but ideally she wouldn't suffer any long term problems. If she does, then he will take responsibility for any medical assistance she may require to get back on her feet. The pistol comes up, matte-black and bulky. It almost looks like a toy as it unfolds into its full position.

Alex doesn't blink as he targets Clara, dead center in her chest, and fires.

For a moment, Clara almost feels like someone hit a slow-mo button on her life. The only other time she can even really remember feeling like this was the moments after the bombing and how long it seemed to take her to finally get to their front door.

And in a horrible, selfish way she can't help but wonder if this is worse.

Everyone in Detroit has seen the footage going around of Alex making arrests since the press conference, Clara included. It's one thing to watch it happen to someone else and another thing to be facing him and knowing he's pulling the taser on her.

"Alex, please, you don-" Her attempt at pleading with him is cut off by the taser hitting its target, making her go stiff as the pulses of electricity run through her before she falls to the ground as she lets out a pained sound that's close to a whimper before passing out.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

I won't let the terror in, I'm stealing time

For Alex

For Justine

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject