Bad Apple Remix [nephero] [M!!!] [TW]

[GoblinFae]

Trigger Warnings for mentions of past potentially graphic abuse and suicide.

He was back.

Joan Archer was a burning ball of anxiety and bullheaded determination. She had just finished a round of sims when checking her com revealed a name that filled her throat with bile and made her shoulders tense in anger. Jonah Cole was back on active duty and in his office. And it was about stars-damned time she and he and a very long discussion. Her foot bounced like a jackhammer as she worked up the courage to do the right thing, to make the move to initiate all the things that needed saying. Joan was no coward. She knew she needed to do this and she wasn't going to let herself be the victim once more.

Cole, she had called him in the public chatroom. She had never even called him by his last name to his face. It was always Jonesy, Jonah, The Jonesman, or her particular favorite, GhostBoss. It had always been him who had addressed her by her surname and never her first. Now though how the tables were turned as she marched up with purposeful strides to his office.

Once at his door, Joan paced up and down the hall waiting for Ellis to be freed from the conversation going on behind closed doors. Even when she came out she did nothing more than bob a greeting of her head to him before storming up to the open door and rapping sharply on it.

"Permission to enter, Pilot Cole?"

Her eyes bored into him as she addressed him in an uncharacteristicall y formal manner with her back straight and hands clasped behind her back. Only once she had been granted the right to enter did she quietly shut the door and move to stand in front one of the "guest" chairs although she did not take a seat. Instead she gripped the back of it with a tight, white-knuckled grip of both hands. "I believe we have a very serious matter to discuss, starting with an explanation on your part," she bite out between clenched teeth that made the muscle of her jaw bulge.

[nephero]

   He’d known it was only a matter of time.

   Not even because of what had happened, either— somewhere, deep in his soul, there had always lingered the shivering fear that one day, and one day very soon, everything he’d tried so hard to bury six feet under the dirt would just get dug right up again. In his worst and wildest nightmares, it involved a terribly public appeal, or because his psychological case file had been opened and through some feat of cruelty, it got everywhere. Entirely baseless exercises in paranoia, of course, but still the fear lingered.

   He’d known it would be something. After the debacle in the equipment hangar, after what he’d seen and felt, and what he’d bombarded his subordinates with…

   “Cole,” is what Joan had called him. A mirror-echo of his own inability to call her by her given name, Joan had never used his rank or his surname before without duress involved, and never to his face. To have it used like that, right then, was jarring to say the least. It was enough to set him on edge even more than he already was; something that Ellis, thankfully, remained blissfully immune to.

   The few Borises that had taken up shop in the quiet corners of his desk, however, curled up defensively and huddled in the shadows, sensing danger, foreboding, a sense of impending doom that felt too much like a boot at the back of his neck.

   Jonesy let out a deep breath through his nose, and watched as Amaryllis left and his doom entered, barely containing her own fury as she snapped through all the military etiquette that had been drilled into her skull over Candidacy.

   He’d known this was bound to happen, and yet it didn’t stop the rolling sensation of nausea and terror that wormed its way into his guts, coiling tight with every word the younger Pilot spoke. What ended up breaking the spell, however, was the idea that he had to explain anything to her at all— this was, after all, top secret intel. Sealed away. Locked up and the key thrown into the deepest thermal vents in Travica.

   But she’d seen, hadn’t she? She’d seen him lose his mind. He knew what she was capable of— there was no getting around what she had to already know. Or, at the least, had to have already begun to guess. Somehow, that felt worse— what had she guessed? All the worst case scenarios seemed to pile up, one after the other, each one more nauseating than the last, with the crowning thought of—

   Had she guessed he’d…?

   Swallowing thickly around the sudden, desperate urge to throw up, Jonesy took another breath through his nose and fixed his most pointed glare at Joan Archer from his seated position at his desk.

   “And what matter is that? Last I checked, I didn’t have to do a goddamn thing.”

[GoblinFae]

She had eyes only for him as tendrils of discomfiture settled in around him. Joan paid no mind to the spiders about the room, she was more than used to their presence wherever Jonesy was. It made sense that his home and office would both be littered with them. Instead she waited for him to speak, giving him the time to collect his thoughts and maybe, just maybe prove her wrong about her assumptions concerning him.

But, of course, nothing was ever easy with Jonah Cole. She grit her teeth at his answer. Unwilling to back down now though, Joan gripped the chair back tighter and tilted her head. "No?" she asked far more pleasantly and gently than she actually felt, her eyebrows raising in surprise. "Because you see sir, where I stand I am fully within my rights to be the responsible party here and march my ass down to Inquisition to report you immediately. The only reason I haven't already is because out of respect for you, I wanted to give you the chance to explain on the off-chance that I am completely mistake about the things I heard.

"Unless that is you truly feel that thinking of me as 'Moaning Joan' is an acceptable form of address to a subordinate who you continuously refuse to even address by first name to her fucking face! Do not play fucking games with me here. I have given you way more space than you're probably due but I am not and I mean NOT about to let you sit there all superior-like and high and mighty just because outrank me and I am required to show you respect," she spat out, her mouth barely moving the more angry she got.

Joan was practically shaking with her fury and her already pale skin was practically ashen. Her heart pounded within her chest but inside she was resolved to stay as calm as she could. She would not let him beat her. She would not let him win. She had faced bigger monsters than him before and won. She would go to war with him if she had to defeat him too. It didn't matter to her right then if this meant the end of her career. As long as the truth came out, that was all that mattered, because if she was right and he was a vile and filthy creature, then she would commit career suicide just to take him down with her.

[nephero]

   At first, Jonesy wasn’t sure exactly how pissed he should be. Should he be mildly annoyed? Mildly annoyed seemed a bit underseasoned, honestly. Like if you made instant noodles and never added the flavor packet. Which, on a particularly bad day— set of days— Jonesy absolutely had done. He didn’t even remember what it had tasted like, unless nothing and mush was what it had tasted like. Mostly he just remembered how he felt: sluggish and annoyed that three minutes in the microwave took that long.

   Angry also seemed to be not quite up to the task. Sure, it fit well enough when Archer, Joan, threw his dismissal right out the window and instead of leaving, focused on seeing how great her finger strength was at. Angry might have covered whatever damage she seemed intent upon doing to the upholstery, but it didn’t even come close to making a dent in the large bill that was the next words that came out of the Cardinal’s mouth.

   For a moment, all sound just… ceased to be. Even Archer’s mouth moved without any actual words escaping. Jonesy knew she was talking though. She was talking and talking, and even though Jonesy could hear none of it, it felt like she was screaming right inside of his head. He took in a deep, sharp breath.

   Moaning Joan.

   Jonesy took another breath, wanting desperately to just shout at her to shut up, to get the hell out of his office, to get the fuck out of his sight and to never come back again. But no matter how many breaths he took, no matter how many times he tried to fill his lungs, it never took. The more he tried, the less air he got, his pulse picking up into a rapid drumroll the longer he spent clutching onto his desk, white knuckled and nails dug into the wood.

   Moaning Joan.

   “You…” he hissed between gritted teeth with air he didn’t have. He looked from where her fingers dug into the chair, and up to her face, as ashen and grey and lifeless as the rest of the office space between them.

   Jonesy had never been… fair… to Joan Archer. He knew that. He knew he treated her differently, but no matter what he tried, every time he heard her name he—

   He hated her. He hated her, just like he hated her now, and oh, did he hate her now. His breathing picked up, but this time he had something to anchor him to the moment rather than drifting through an ocean just barely underwater. He focused, and he pushed, and he broke the surface with a deep, snarling growl.

   “Don’t you ever—”

   So, it seemed like ‘absolute seething, blistering rage’ was the appropriate level of angry. Everything melted away, even the walls, until all that was left was him, Archer, and a hazy white tunnel.

   “Don’t you ever fucking call me that, you fucking piece of shit!”

[GoblinFae]

Her head recoiled back and to the side some as if struck with a physical blow. Joan could only stand there and breathe shakily as she was assaulted not only with his verbal and emotional rage but also her own mind-boggling confusion. She did not release her grip on the chair for an instant as she stared down at him quizzically from the corner of her eye.

Joan slowly lowered her head then, her brows knit together fiercely as her eyes darted side to side in sightless thought. Hadn't he been the one to think it about her first? How did he get off saying she called him that? She hadn't! She wouldn't! No matter how much she disliked his treatment of her or how much he seemed to absolutely despise her, she never would have resorted to something so low. So where did he get off making her out to be the monster here?

The young Pilot tore through the emotions he bombarded her with, analysing and searching for something, anything that would justify a further course of action for her. The guilt and fear she had felt during lockdown were not present here. It was all just layers upon layers upon layers of unadulterated loathing and rage. It burned and ached down to her bones, making her body feel burdened and weighted down as it settled in around her person. Her own anger and nerves could not even begin to compare to this although his did well to fuel hers to a new level.

Maybe that was why she did not act nearly as rationally as she would have intended. Perhaps his loss of control and thereby her own is what allowed her to harness that fury into such razor-sharp focus and to unleash floodgates of bitterness that could very much cost her everything she had to call her own. Joan snapped to attention, her head whipping back to focus on him and stare him right back down.

"Fuck you!" She shouted emphatically while lifting and slamming the chair down harshly. In her head it was his head against a wall instead of the chair against the floor she was slamming about though.

"You don't get to play the fucking victim here, Cole! I didn't call you that. You thought it about me! I heard you! Did you fucking forget I'm clairaudient you vile piece of shit? I heard you! I felt you!" Her voice cracked as angry tears flood her eyes but Joan wasn't letting that stop her now. If anything it only made her more furious. How dare he bring her to tears the disgusting pervert that he was.

"I have done nothing to you and yet you have always treated me like shit. Maybe it would be fine if you treated the entire rest of the squad with the same fucking contempt but no, I'm just the dumbshit who got the short fucking straw in life, aren't I? Yeah, let's all have a laugh at Joan because surely she hasn't had enough shit happen to her already! HA HA HA! Fuck you!

"Fuck you for treating me like crap," she shouted pointing her finger at him in sharp jabbing motions that could have poked an eye out had she been closer. "Fuck you for trying to gaslight me now and make me think I'm the problem. And fucking fuck YOU for thinking that for just one second I would let you get away with thinking of me in such a vile and disgusting sexual manner and get away with it. You want to jack off to thoughts of me, be my fucking guest I don't give shit! But get off your star-damned high horse Pilot I'm-going-to-be-the-squad-sex-police when you're the worst one of us all!"

She was gasping for air by the time she had finished but her mind was already racing onto the next thing. Joan only had enough time to gulp down a few puffs of air before continuing her horrified tirade. "Is that why we don't have any women on this squad besides me and crazy? Does the Commander know you're such a fucked up predator that he's covered everything up and made it so you can't get your filthy paws all over the fresh meat? I mean for fuck's sake I thought you were gay! What the hell is wrong with you?!"

The pressure in her chest was unbearable now as her lungs screeched for the air she had forgotten to take. Both hands clasped the chair once more as she half hunched over it like an angry bird guarding its newly acquired prey. Not once did her eyes stop glaring heated daggers that bore into Jonah with all her might. Hot tears broke the surface finally splashing down her cheeks and soaking into the fabric of the chair. It took everything Joan possessed in sheer willpower and pride to not breakdown into the fit of hysteria she could feel rising up from her core. That could come later in the privacy of her own room. But Jonah Cole who got the chance to see her crack and cry would never, ever see her shatter. She would not give him the satisfaction.

[nephero]

   There were certain places where some modicum of decorum and respectability was required at all times. Persons of a certain rank, naturally, of a certain standing or publicity, of course, were expected to keep their cool, to face problems rationally and with absolute calculation.

   Jonesy did not do any of those things. But then again, he was still an Echo, wasn’t he? And for good reason, none more apparent than at that very moment when rather than launching himself at his subordinate, he snarled and shoved across his desk in a wide sweep, sending the entire contents of the surface crashing to the floor. Only a pen holder remained unmoved, and as if infuriated by its insolence, he grabbed a hold of it and sent it crashing against the wall to his left— Archer’s right.

   He wanted to scream and cuss and rage, he wanted to destroy everything between them, anything that would help him hold back from doing any real damage— though, being who she was, he was sure Archer could feel it. Even if she weren’t an empath herself, he was a projective.

   “Fuck you! Fuck you! I had that talk with you and Melledy for a FUCKING reason— you think for a goddamn minute I wanted—”

   He wasn’t making any sense and he knew it. She was still talking, neither of them were really listening at that point, Jonesy yelling in between each new accusation until the final one left him dead cold. He took in a breath, sucked it in hard and fast like the sound a dead man makes as he’s stabbed in the back. His grip on his desk was so tight his knuckles had turned an awful waxen sort of white.

   Jack? Covering up for him? Jack? Tolerating another predator? Jack?

   His eyes snapped up from the bare surface of his desk— one that he’d kept so fastidiously clean, had ordered a completely different style and color, had tried so hard to make it different and yet it all looked the same robbed of any standard office decor. Bare and empty and plenty of room.

   Some knotted, ugly emotion welled up in him then, and all Jonesy cared about was getting revenge. He fixed her with a glare, one that he poured every last bit of emotion he had into it— she thought she knew so damn much? He’d let her see just how wrong she was, he’d have her drowning in this filth right along with him, he’d have her regretting ever dragging Jack Ladner’s name into the mud after everything that man had ever done for all of them.

   “We don’t have any women on this fucking squad,” he hissed, teeth bared and voice barely audible even in the sudden silence between them, “because our former Commander had a fucking type, and pussy wasn’t part of it. Young. Pretty. Nothing too exotic. And we don’t have any women because none of us want to hear our little “pet” names ever again.”

   At the mere thought of the old bastard, Jonesy was overwhelmed by a rolling excess of nausea, which rather than stamping down he let crash over both of them, pushed outwards in blow after blow, the feeling that had hit every time he was summoned close with a low croon of “Joan, Joan, Joan”. The raw disgust that flooded every time hands had fallen on his shoulders to steer him into the office.

   “Judy. Laura. And lucky fucking you, Joan,” he snarled, piling in everything he ever felt whenever he heard that name— her name. His name. “You got mine.”

   He pushed away from his desk, kicking his chair out of the way as he circled around it, giving the strange-yet-familiar surface a wide berth as if it would suddenly sprout hands from the glossy finish and drag him down. His hands were shaking all the way to where his coat hung on the rack by the door, and it took several attempts to quell both his fury and his nightmares long enough to light a joint and take a deep, steadying hit.

   “’Our very own moaning Joan,’” he said in a plume of smoke after a moment, eyes too glassy too quick for it to be the result of the drug just yet, but still full of bitter hatred as he stared at her. “Is me. And thanks to you, Archer, I get to hear it every day for the first time in eight goddamn years. It’s only by Jack’s good fucking graces that you’re even still here, so show a little fucking respect where it’s due and stop talking about shit you don’t know FUCK about.”

[GoblinFae]

Joan's stomach roiled as she once more withstood a fullblown empathic assault to the senses. She wanted to scream, to tear the walls of the room down, to smash Jonah's face into the nearest hard surface until it became unrecognisable, to vomit until even dry heaving hurt but she couldn't stop. His rage was incomprehensible. She had had no idea just how deeply he had been suffering inside and yet she was divided on his pain.

On the one hand she felt grief and compassion for him. Joan knew better than any other outsider the demons he likely had to fight on a daily basis because of his trauma. She had her own after all. His presence also equally forced the nightmares to return with a vengeance after the canister incident a few days ago. But, on the other hand her own rage rose up within her like hot tar, coating and sticking to her insides until everything burned and hurt.

He knew. Jonah Cole knew that she was also a survivor; it was written all over her star-damned file after all. And yet he still tortured her and flung his shit around at her without accepting responsibilities for his actions. Sure, the daily migraines and nausea she was cursed with thanks to his constant aura of disgust and distance absolutely sucked but it was nothing compared to now. It was only thanks to the countless hours spent strapped in a chair and forced to relive not only her own traumas but the emotions of others over and over and over again until she either broke or was capable of surviving it.

Candidacy didn't break her. She was going to die before she let him bring her down now. His words though, so quiet and so full of hate in the still room, stung sharper than an openhanded slap to the face. Her anger wasn't quelled either, if anything it was only more inflamed as she slowly shifted to stare at him. Joan took a deep, load inhale and let it back out forcefully. Then, she gave him a mighty empathic yank, ripping at his negative emotions and pulling them into herself. Tears continued to prickle at her eyes and her brows were knit in concentration. She would never be able to take it all away from him but if he wanted to hurl this at her then fine, she'd claim it for her own. Maybe then they could actually have a fucking civil conversation.

Her knees felt weak by the time she had coiled some of his dark miasma about her person. It was a tiny dent but it would do for now. Her first attempts to speak came out as harsh croaks that turned into a gagging cough for a moment. Joan shook her blonde head sharply and tried again once the waves of nausea were more bearable again.

"You couldn't fucking tell me, Cole?" she replied tiredly. "You've read my fucking file. You know who I am and you still couldn't be a fucking adult about this situation and just tell me 'hey I don't think you're a cunt you're just a constant reminder of past trauma so fuck off and carry on.' You think I want to be here Cole? No, no I really don't. I wanted to be a healer. I wanted to take away people's pain. I wanted to make them happy. I wanted to help them. Instead I got my ass sat on the fear squad with a bunch of emotionally stunted assholes like you and forced to take away happiness instead. I may fucking hate my job but at least I'm doing it!"

Her voice cracked and a single tear finally flooded over the brim of her eye and splashed down her cheek. "Shall I remind you the shit I've gone through before and because of you? My name is Joan Archer. I was raised by my grandmother who loved me dearly. She named me after a star and told me it was the name of a warrior, of a woman who never let a man stand in her way. She died when I was just a kid and I was adopted in by a circus master. He starved us, tortured us, raped us, broke us in every way possible while making us believe it was love, it was affection, it was what we deserved and that he was helping us, that we should be grateful to him and fulfill his needs. I was ten the first time he laid his hands on me although we were groomed for other things much younger than that.

"And when I finally had the courage to run, to get help, I was punished for that too. Fucking Pilot Candidacy stole me from my loved ones, tried to break me, wouldn't let me fucking die when I tried," she shouted, ripping up her sleeves to show her old scars. "And then I'm ordered here. You know how I ended up in hospital during my celebration week? Spent the whole time having my stomach pumped and new blood filtered in my system because I 'partied a little too hard.' Mark my words, outside of this room I will vehemently deny it was anything but an accident. But, I knew exactly what I was taking and I wanted to die.

"I lived." She swallowed thickly. "I fucking lived to be tortured by you on a daily basis, to be made physically sick all because you as a grown-ass adult refuse to control yourself. All because you can't consider anyone else but your fucking self and the effect of your actions! Thanks to you I get to relieve memories I had forgotten at night now. Instead of being my superior, my support, and my fucking teammate you've done nothing but tear me down and scorn me for the better part of a year! You're supposed to have my star-damned back Jonah Cole and instead you're the one killing me the most!

"You listen to me!" Joan rounded on him, the wrath shaking within her as she moved to stand toe to toe with him. She invaded his space, forced him to face her with nowhere to run. It was also probably the dumbest move she had ever made. You did not cage in a wounded animal. You did slap the snarling tiger and expect to not be bit. But, she was hurting and ruled purely by emotion now. Logic had left long ago and tears were falling harder now so that he swam in her vision and yet she latched onto his forearms all the same.

"Listen to me! This can't continue! If you want me gone, then fucking get rid of me. I won't fight a transfer. I'll be out of your fucking way and you can go back to rotting in your own misery because you're too fucking childish to stop being a victim long enough to become a survivor. But I am NOT going to let you drag me down with you. You're not the only one who's been hurt here and every time you put me through hell you let them win." Her hands squeezed him tighter as she pushed in further against him. Joan wasn't sure if she held him now to keep him in place or to keep herself still standing. The tears just would not stop. Her knees felt like jelly and all she wanted to do was find a little corner to hide in and curl up as small as possible. Maybe if she hid the nightmares wouldn't find her. Maybe she would be passed over and some other unfortunate soul would suffer in her place.

"I can't change my name. I can't turn back the clock and stop what happened to you anymore than I can stop it happening to me. I would if I could. No one deserves the shit I endured, the crap I'm sure you did too. But, I am not going to let you hurt me anymore. I have come too far and survived too much to let another man do this to me. Even you! Maybe even especially you. Cut the crap Jonesy and be a fucking adult here. I'm sorry for accusing you of being a predator but I am NOT sorry for calling you out on being a monster. I don't deserve this shit from anyone, least of all you.

"I did everything to try to win your approval. I slaved to be a good empath, to be a good squadmate, to be kind to you, or to stay out of your way and nothing was ever good enough for you! I'm SORRY I am a constant reminder of your past but I am NOT the one who hurt you! I am not your monster here but you, you are mine!

"You're mine," she repeatedly weakly, her hands finally shakily leaving him as she swayed slightly under the sudden exhaustion of popping off both verbally and emotionally at him. This could very well be the end of her career but at least Joan could say she had no regrets. He needed to know. He needed to face the horror he wrought upon her and if Jack wasn't going to put him in her place then she damn well would. Maybe the next empath they found to replace her would have more of a fighting chance. Then again, maybe they'd be a male and not unfortunately named Joan.