Desire's Prisoners (Captain Syverson/Henry Cavill Fancast Fic

Part 5: Roles

"We need to talk."

You shake your head as you work on the garden. He gave it to you as a project to do. You liked it instantly because it was something you did for fun before your life changed. There were certain things your father liked to do with you at home when he wasn't on a mission, and this was one of them. You like the feel of earth in your hands, and how you could pound it and shift it, and make something grow from it. You had great talks in the garden while planting it, watering it, and finally walking it or harvesting it. It was becoming your little world away from the one you got dropped in.

You must stay away from him, no matter how much you want him, you tell yourself everyday while you're there. The plan is to get away from him, not curl into his arms, not to succumb to his kisses, even if he is compassionate, even if he feels good, even if his voice lulls you in the night when you wake up. It had happened again last night, and you fight the memory:

You awaken with a cry, shaking with tears streaming down your face. The dream-the flashback-had happened again:

Marette was coming at you in your own home, telling you that you were his. You tell him you're not. He tells you it's the law. You tell him fuck the law, and your father left you your fortune. He laughs and comes at you, telling you that he is going teach you a lesson that your father didn't. The fight ensues, and he underestimates your abilities, all your father taught you. The room becomes a war zone, and everything is a weapon as far as you're concerned. You throw things at him to keep him at bay, and he laughs. He lunges for you and you get out of the way. You pick up a chair and he grabs the other end, but your struggle gets you closer the weapons cabinet. He wrenches it away from you and takes your body to the floor. You feel your clothes rip and you clap his ears. You back away, scrambling for the cabinet. He catches your leg, and you fight, but he's strong, pulling you to him. You feel him on your back and he squeezes your breast so hard you scream in pain. You roll him over and head butt him, using the moment his grip on you loosens to roll and scramble to your feet. You dive over the couch, away from the weapons cabinet to your father's desk. You jump over it, and open the drawer. He always had a weapon there. You grab it just as you feel Marette's body take you to the ground again. You struggle as he tries to disarm you, your fingers fumbling between you for the gun. BANG!

His body is heavy on yours. You push him off, see his expressionless face. You back away from him as if he may spring back to life any moment. You bump into the wall and one of your father's military jackets fall over you. Your life is over and you know it. You curl yourself in it, still holding the gun, and cry.

In the darkness you awaken from the memory, weeping and trembling. Then you feel a warm embrace, you feel a hand at your back rubbing you. You curl into these arms, and then freeze, realizing this could be no one you know. You look up and see Syverson's face. He says nothing, but holds you, stroking your back and caressing your cheek with his bearded one. He even looks sad...

Your mind's eye closes and you see Syverson standing over you with that same look on his face.

"What?"

"Whatever happened to you, I'm sorry," Sy ground out. "I feel as if there is so much more to your story—"

Your eyes fly to his. "There is more to everyone's story, here."

"There is?"

"Yes, like Gabrielle," you say her name. "She's here because she stole food, because she was hungry."

"I got that feeling when I saw her," Sy says softly. "I swear to you she is in gentle hands."

"Oh, I can imagine," you hiss angrily, and go back to turning the soil with your hands.