Chapter Text
Aaron's never had a father.
When he was old enough to know what one was his mum had shook her head at him, eyes sad in the firelight, and gathered him on to her lap right there in the middle of camp.
“You're all mine,” she'd told him, mouth pressed tight to the top of his head.
Aaron can still remember how close she'd held him, the grip of her fingers in his thick coat. A little moment of safety in a life that turned out to not be very safe at all.
Moments like that were already a thing of the past when his dad had turned up. It's a shame really, that even at that age, Aaron had already been old enough to think he knew what terror was. His dad had proven him well wrong. Over and over again.
When it all came out, exactly all the different ways his dad had hurt him, Aaron had begged for his life. Too young, and too wrapped up in the guilt and shame of it all to get blood on his hands as well. Cain had had him exiled instead, turned loose on the other side of the fence.
“He wont last an hour,” he'd said. A wet, angry voice Aaron had never heard from him before.
Aaron's mum had tried to wrap him up again then, held him tight even while he fought it, not wanting to let his insides soften enough to accept it in case they gave way completely.
He'd put his chin on her shoulder, finally tall enough to do that, and stared over it until the horizon blurred, arms like lead at his sides.
She'd been bitten a year later.
Caught out on a basic patrol with Aaron and Sammy at her twelve and six. Aaron had watched her go down.
Sammy had been good about it really, the way Aaron had frozen, like he'd frozen all those times before. Almost grown now but still too much of a boy to put them all out of their misery.
Sammy had put a bullet in her head for him in the end, well after it was already too late. Had cried for him, while Aaron couldn't do anything at all.
He'd give anything now, to have returned that last hug. Still knows exactly how she'd have smelled up against him, how tightly she'd have held on, fingers in his coat, mouth pressed to his shoulder.
He lets it ache inside him, like an echo in his ribcage, because he finally knows how strong he is now, and she gave him that. Her and Cain taught him that.
“Aaron?” Chrissie's saying, because he's been quiet for too long. Looking into the eyes of the only monster he's ever known who was never anything else.
Aaron thinks of Robert, back in that warehouse, holding him steady. Being his gravity.
“Kill that one,” he tells her.
Chrissie startles. “What?”
Aaron points casually. “The program's finished, kill them all for all I care, but I want that one dead. Put it down like a dog or you can kiss goodbye to your sister.”
She blinks at him, peering past him into the cell. Aaron can hear the Shell shuffling about, moving closer. He doesn't need to look. He doesn't have anything left to prove.
“You're serious,” she says, bewildered. Maybe Chrissie really did think he was a good man.
Aaron nods once to shatter that illusion. “Kill it.”
Her eyes tick across his face, forehead creased. “Alright,” she agrees. “Done.”
Aaron catches her arm on the way out, before she can step into the lift.
“You made Liv with that one, right?” he asks, because he knows, but he needs to hear it.
Chrissie shrugs. “I'd have to speak with Dr Pollard if you want to know all the particulars. It was a donor Shell, yes. I can tell you that much.”
Yes. Aaron thinks he's probably well overdue a chat with the good doctor himself.
He stops her again when they're back above ground.
“I need to sleep,” he tells her. “And I really need a shower. So you're going to sort a few things out for me and we'll see about your sister in the morning, yeah?”
The glare is back. Aaron's sort of enjoying it now. It's probably a good thing he's never had enough power to let it go to his head before now.
Chrissie smiles at him tightly, speaks through the white of her teeth. “I want you to know, it would give me great pleasure to let that security guard down there shoot you right in your other arm.”
Aaron glances at the bloke over his shoulder. He could take him.
He also likes Chrissie White a lot more when she lets herself slip like that.
“Would you like me to tell you what I want now?” he asks, smiling back.
He really hopes the guard over there doesn't think they're flirting.
She inhales deeply, exhales just as slowly. “You're really trying my patience here Aaron. What now?”
He puts his hands in his pockets. “I want a meeting with Pollard. Alone.”
She pulls a face, like she hears what he's not saying. “Alright.”
“Tomorrow morning.”
“And then you'll get him to do it?”
Aaron nods. “Sure.” He waits until she's half way down the corridor to call after her, “And give Robert his girls back. He wont to touch your sister if you've still got his in solitary.”
He doesn't wait around to for a response to that.
:::
Aaron doesn't crumble until he makes it into the shower. Lets the hot water stream into his eyes until he doesn't know if he's crying or not. No one will ever know.
Seeing that man again after all these years makes him feel three inches tall, cowering under his standard issue blanket like it might provide any sort of protection. Like there was ever any protection at all.
His mum had lapped it up, Gordon being back. Aaron thinks now it was probably just a distraction from everything else she had going on at the time. When you've buried that many friends, maybe your sense of people withers away.
She kept saying she should have known, that last year, angry and bitter about it.
Aaron could never give her the peace she so obviously needed.
She was his mum. She should have known.
He gets ready for bed in the dark, slides under another standard issue sheet surrounded by every demon that's ever haunted him.
He can give himself tonight, he thinks, to let it swallow him whole.
Tomorrow's a new day.
:::
Pollard doesn't look very happy to see Aaron the next morning. But he waves him into the chair on the other side of his desk just like he had that first time.
For all that it's only been a few months, it feels like a lifetime ago. Pollard looks older, Aaron thinks.
“Ms. White said you wanted to meet with me. I've been given strict instructions to tell you anything you want to know,” he says, arms folded on the desk. He looks fairly ill about the prospect.
Aaron takes a second, so he doesn't start shouting, leans forward to snag a pen out of the cup on Pollard's desk instead and clicks at it. It gives hands craving a rifle something to do and also has the added benefit of making Pollard's face crease with annoyance.
Then he cuts right to the chase.
“When did you find out Robert could cure the virus?” he asks.
Pollard doesn't flinch, he pales even further, but he doesn't flinch. Aaron can respect that. “When did you?”
Aaron stares him down. He's not playing that game today.
A sigh. “Five years ago.”
Five years ago.
Five years ago Aaron was stationed down south, eighteen years old and half way through an eighteen month tour of the New Forest. Sleeping in an unsecured base camp and living off scraps. Cain had buried Charity early that summer, under a tree down there. They'd all left pieces of themselves on that tour. The whole year had had a dark cloud hanging over it, even more so than usual.
And Pollard had been here, trying to break Robert, and leaving the rest of them out there to rot.
“And you didn't think to mention it?”
Pollard looks vaguely uncomfortable. “Mr White was informed during the next progress report, once we were sure. These aren't simple tests to undertake, especially given that we couldn't risk a Shell murdering any of our prototypes. Virus samples are not easy to come by.”
“Right. And what did Mr. White say?”
Pollard shifts in his seat, looks away. “Not a lot. I was instructed to continue with my work here. We were asked not to deviate from the program.”
Aaron hears what he's not saying. “So he told you to bury it,” he fills in.
“He told me not to continue with any further testing on the prototypes,” Pollard allows. “All scientific research was reallocated to the Shell population itself. That's when the military were first drafted in to,” he gives Aaron a wry look. “Take over training.”
Aaron clicks his pen, letting that sink in.
So that's why they never got any further with it. That's why Vic and the others never suffered the way Robert had suffered.
“Where is that research?”
“Mr. White's security took hold of it I believe. I'd assume it's been destroyed.”
Aaron blinks. He knows people like White better than that. He's sitting on it.
“You could have leaked it anyway,” Aaron points out. “You had Robert here, much smaller than he is now, basically a child from what I've heard. You could have used him to put an end to all this.”
The words taste like ash in Aaron's mouth, but they're the truth and he's so sick of being lied to.
Pollard rubs at his chin. And he does look ashamed now, for all the good that'll do any of them.
“I had orders,” he says. “You understand what that's like, surely?”
“My orders never got anyone infected,” Aaron spits.
“Well, we both know that's not true,” Pollard retorts, eyes cutting to him.
He really thinks wanting to keep his cushy little job in his locked down lab is comparable to Aaron fighting for his fucking life. Aaron wants to scream. Tightens his fingers around the pen instead, watches his knuckles bleed white.
“Chrissie had a Shell put down over night,” Aaron says, changing tack. “I'm sure you've been informed. You made Liv with that one?”
If the abrupt change of subject throws him, Pollard doesn't show it. “Your father? Yes.”
“You knew?” Aaron can't keep the surprise out of his voice. Out of his face either, he can feel his mouth hanging open without his permission.
Pollard smiles, something boarding on sympathy. “It was flagged when you were brought in.”
“And you didn't think to mention that either?”
“That data is classified," Pollard give him a frank look. "And you didn't need to know.”
Aaron slams his hand down on the desk, relishing the way Pollard flinches back. “You have no idea who that man was.”
“No,” Pollard agrees, but his hands are shaking, Aaron can see it. “But his DNA was viable. I can't tell you how rare that turned out to be.”
Aaron stands up, can't keep sitting here like they're having a normal meeting. His whole body is raging at him.
“You really don't see anything wrong with what you've done, do you?”
“Wrong is subjective,” Pollard says. “I deal in facts. What we've been able to do here is remarkable-”
Aaron winds a fist into the front of his stupid lab coat and has Pollard up against the filing cabinet before he can finish the thought. If he has to hear another word about how fascinating the research is he's going to put his fist through a wall.
Pollard is gasping at him and Aaron slaps a hand over his mouth before he can shout for security, pins him right there where he wants him.
“You call anyone in here and I'll kill you,” Aaron hisses. He knows exactly what he looks like. He knows Pollard will believe him.
Pollard's eyes are wide, sweat beading across his forehead, but he nods, and Aaron lets him go, gets right in his face instead.
“You hurt Robert,” he tells him. “You tortured him, for your research, so I don't want to hear about how valuable your work is. Not when you haven't done the one thing with it that could have actually helped people.”
A thick swallow, pulse in Pollard's jugular thumping. “Robert is not a person,” he says. “He is a genetically engineered solider who would not have the ability to feel pain at all if it weren't for me.”
Aaron's impressed really, that the bloke can be half a breath away from pissing himself and still saying shit like that.
He steps away, wanting to put as much distance between the pair of them as he can. “You don't know anything about him, do you? You made him and you don't even know who he is. You don't even care.”
“This loyalty of yours is misguided, Aaron,” Pollard says, sagging back into his seat. “The prototypes are weapons at best. They will take your throat out as soon as it suits them.”
“You tortured him” Aaron says.
“I did what was necessary.”
Aaron nods, anger draining out of him. He gets it now, calm stealing over him like nightfall.
He moves around again to rest beside Pollard, arse on his desk, Pollard's eyes wary on him the whole time.
“And you'd do it again?” he asks. “If those were your orders?”
Aaron watches him weight it for a moment, but eventually he nods. “If those were my orders,” Pollard agrees.
It's a simple thing, in the end, to sink the pen in his hand right into the side of the doctor's neck, yank it back out. He gets a face full of arterial spray for his trouble and Pollard's hands scrambling to his throat.
Aaron pulls himself up on to the desk and watches him gasp for breath, eyes glassy, blood on both their hands.
He sits there for a long time.
:::
He gets wrestled in front of Chrissie by security as soon as he opens the door.
She's using one of the control rooms as some sort of makeshift office, fingers tapping at a computer, and her face goes blank with shock when he's thrown on the floor in front of her, hands already cuffed behind his back.
“Dr Pollard is dead,” one of the men tells her.
She recovers remarkably quickly, spinning in her chair to take him in. “You did not.”
Aaron would shrug if he could move his arms. As it is, he's probably bust a few stitches and he's covered in blood, so.
“You knew I was going to.”
Aaron had known he was going to before he'd even stepped through the door. She's not stupid.
Her lips purse in distaste. “He's usually quite good at talking people round,” she says. Her eyes flick up to the security guards still standing watch. “Uncuff him,” she tells them. “And take care of the doctor. This information is classified, you do not report to headquarters until I say so.”
No one moves for a second.
Then one of the guards finds his balls, stepping forward. Aaron can only see the blokes shoes from here.“But he-”
“Now.”
Once he's got his arms back and the two of them are alone, Aaron rolls to sitting. He could probably black out if he wanted to from the pain in his shoulder.
He hangs his head. “Thank you,” he says.
She snorts a laugh, disbelieving. “Thank you? You just murdered by father's top researcher. He's going to have you strung up.”
“I don't give a fuck about your father,” Aaron reminds her. “He'll be dead if I don't help you.”
“Which is the only reason you're still breathing,” she points out.
Aaron shakes his head slowly, looking up at her through his eyelashes, to gently remind her, “Not the only reason.”
Chrissie sighs, back rigid, face like stone. He's got her there.
Aaron shows her his teeth. “Do you want to take me to see Robert now?
:::
Stepping into the cage room feels like stepping back in time. Robert and the three girls are all in there, barefoot and pacing the perimeter. This time, Liv is with them, face pressed to the glass watching Dan read an old book in the corner. Aaron's always wondered where he gets them from.
“Aaron,” Liv shouts, face lighting up when she sees him.
Robert's eyes are already on him, flitting over him from head to toe. Aaron wonders what he sees.
Robert winds his way over to the glass. “What have they done to you?” he asks, that quiet, deadly voice he uses when he's about to do something stupid.
Aaron puts a hand on the glass to calm him. It's mostly clean now, all but the blood caked into his knuckles washed away. “It's more about what I did to them,” he tells Robert, meeting his eyes. He doesn't smile because he doesn't need to, Robert will get it.
Robert's head cocks, eyes searching. Sometimes Aaron gets this feeling like Robert can see right inside him. He wonders if murdering someone in cold blood has rearranged anything important.
Robert seems satisfied regardless, chest pushing against the glass, close enough that it's fogging with his breath. His voice, when he speaks, is as tender as Aaron's ever heard it. “You're perfect, aren't you?”
Aaron could die happy wrapped up in that voice.
Chrissie huffs impatiently. “This is all very charming,” she says. “But can we get this over with?”
Robert's eyes snap to her and Aaron sees her freeze.
“Girls,” Aaron calls. “I need you to go to your rooms. I'm sorry,” he adds, when three sets of accusing eyes swing his way. “It's really important.”
They don't move until Robert nods, eyes not leaving Chrissie for a second. That predator's gaze.
Aaron waits until the room clears out, Dan fluttering around over the control panel.
Robert snarls when Chrissie finally shifts again, a warning, and Aaron makes a snap decision.
“I need to be in there,” he tells Chrissie.
She balks. “Absolutely not. We're about to put a Shell in there with him, if she goes for you he could kill her.”
“Do you want your sister back or not?” he asks. “You let me in there or he'll kill her regardless.”
“And then where will that leave you?” Chrissie points out, patience snapping. She actually thinks they're coming at this from the same place.
“About as dead as your dad, I'd guess,” Aaron says blithely. “And your sister.”
She folds like paper.
:::
Robert grabs him the second the door slides open, fits himself up against Aaron, blood splattered clothes and all.
It feels like the first clean breath Aaron has taken in days, he's almost overwhelmed by it.
Robert's face pushes into his neck, long huffing inhales through his nose and his cheek scrubbing across Aaron's skin. Aaron gets his arms around him, holds him close.
“I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm here,” he says. A litany of nonsense while he waits for Robert to settle.
Robert takes Aaron's face in his hands, cheeks flushed red. “You killed him,” he says, wonderingly, like Aaron has given him a gift.
Aaron holds his gaze. “He hurt you.”
Robert kisses him, right there in the cage, in front of both the onlookers. The one place they could never let themselves have this. Aaron lets them have it now. Drinks from Robert's mouth, hands in his hair, while the rest of the world dissolves.
He feels whole again when they part, Robert poured into every crack the last 24 hours has opened up inside him. He feels fearless.
Chrissie's face, warped through the glass, is priceless.
Aaron ignores it. He's got Robert winding around him, restless hands pushing at his injured shoulder and his smarting ribs. He's got his family back.
“Let her in,” Aaron tells Dan, stroking over Robert's chest.
He gives Robert another kiss while Dan gets to work, wraps a hand around the back of his neck to hold him still, digs his fingers in as hard as he can, forehead to forehead, sharing air.
“Bite her,” he tells Robert. “Do not kill her,” he adds loudly, for Chrissie's benefit.
Robert's eyes are cold but is grin is wide.
Aaron doesn't need to say yet, because Robert always knows.
He hears the snarl before the door opens and backs up against the glass when Robert pushes him away.
It doesn't take very long for Robert to get her pressed down into the floor, hair puddled beneath her and tangled in his fingers, to take a chunk out of her bare shoulder, right where Aaron's is still burning, and then sink his teeth into her throat.
He can hear Chrissie sobbing behind him, probably praying to a god she doesn't believe in. Aaron remembers being like that. No one's coming to help her either.
It's quiet when it's over, Aaron's heartbeat loud in his ears.
Robert looks at him, still couched over her, feral. There's blood in his teeth, poison dripping from his chin to the floor. It's staining the girl's hair pink like wild flowers blooming.
Last time, it took a full night for Tracy to change back.
Aaron remembers last time.
This time, he's going nowhere.