Untouchable

6: Wounds

"Is he sleeping better?" Wechsler asks her on the twentieth day. "I think he's doing better."

She doesn't mean the sex, doesn't mean compared to the past couple of months either. Holly's forte is in combat, not social interactions, but even she can see the change in Jarvis. Understands it. Her condition makes people uncomfortable; they sense the inherent wrongness of her very existence. He senses it too, but he has gotten used to her presence, knows what the sensation means. The feeling of something being fundamentally wrong no longer makes him anxious, wakes him. It has become a source of comfort, a feeling of safety.

When he sleeps in her bed, with his arms wrapped around her, she turns his words over in her head, again and again. I would have given anything to have had one of you there then. She is here now. The damage is done, she cannot undo it. Perhaps she can keep the memories at bay, dull the fear. Still. It is not love. It is not personal. It is just her condition that appeals to him, comforts him, whether he knows it or not.

And yet she loves that he treats her like she is normal. Acts like he can't tell when she forgets to move her face for him. She loves that he is gentle with her, asks nicely, gives room for her to consider, explain. Gives a shit about what she wants. She loves his smell, his taste, his touch. She loves that he laughs when she tells a joke, that he can tell even when her voice doesn't carry it the entire way.

She doesn't feel lonely anymore.

On an intellectual level she knows what she feels is not love. She has enough common sense to mentally step back and look critically at the situation, at her life, at her circumstances. She has been starving for years and has finally been offered something edible, that is all. Of course she will consider it delicious when she has next to nothing to compare it to. And yet.

And yet her heart seems to skip a beat in the evening when the guards inform them that the usual guest has arrived, tones tinged with a bit of judgement.

And yet she delights in the nights they just lie next to each other in the dark and talk in hushed voices, no pressure to perform. Only voices, touch. Touch is easy.

And yet seeing him smile makes her want to smile. Not because it is the thing to do, but because he makes her happy. It feels right. It still takes effort, but it feels different. It feels genuine.

And yet. And yet. And yet.

It can't last.

Her position with Lynch is temporary. The inquisitor will send word, orders, instructions as to what her actual mission is eventually. Once that happens, she will be expected to act on them, complete the mission and return as quickly as possible. When she leaves Eden 39, this waste of mud and rock and ice, they will part ways. She will be alone again. Slowly the loneliness will begin to gnaw at her. Force her to turn all of her attention to duty. To purpose. Forget about wants and desires. About being happy. Smother warm memories until they are nothing but ashes.

Wants and desires and a taste of fleeting happiness is how Slaanesh finds a way into your soul. So she has been told. She has no soul. Not even a Chaos God can corrupt what is not there. And yet she wants, desires to stay here for as long as possible. Hopes that nothing will change.

Weeks go by and things continue. Become routine. The only interruptions are when Jarvis is sent on scouting missions, her presence not required.

Lynch warns her ahead of time that he is going to disturb that routine. She is grateful for the warning, though she doesn't appreciate having Jarvis taken from her, however temporarily. A raid in a ravine, two of the other commissars are going into the field with their men, need more ground support.