#jsdefensesquad

She nearly choked on the apple – on the desire to spit it back in his face – as the thought filled her mind, and all her senses, so loudly that for a second it almost felt like her hearing had returned:

People are starving.  

People down below were starving to the point where they had clawed at grain poured onto the ground before them. To the point where they had leapt at each other’s throats. Had killed a man. Or would have, were it not for her – and for Kasius, who had finished what they’d started not for bread, but for perfection.

Kasius sighed loudly, smiling paternalistically.

“I know, my dear,” he assured her. “It can be quite overwhelming. I forgive you.”

Before she could flinch away, Kasius brushed her cheek. His fingers came away with a droplet of water. A smudge of gold. Jemma gaped in horror but fortunately, he merely called another servant to bring him a cloth to wipe the smudge away, and another with a pot of paint to reapply the gold where she had marred it. Feigning chagrin - but also, hiding the terror in her eyes and on her face – Jemma ducked her head and let Kasius led on again. As they walked, he waxed lyrical about his garden and its many beauties, and how it was such a shame that a beauty like herself had been held separate from them for so long. It faded into a meaningless blur of sound. To him she was merely another one of his flowers; he only admired her hardiness because it had allowed her to emerge from below unscathed, for his admiration.

Little did he know, of course, that she had a littering of scars on her torso and legs. She had been through too much not to. Yet, as he had said of his former… concubine? She was safe with them hidden beneath her tunic, where he could not notice them.

(She hoped that would not change any time soon.)

He also did not know, though, many other things about her – or, apparently, about his flowers. Things like the fact that she was a highly trained biologist with paramilitary experience. Things like the fact that apples, peaches, apricots - let alone the plants that they walked past now; daffodils, oleander, Angel’s Trumpet – could kill.

He was walking her through a field of weapons, and he didn’t even know it.

Now, there was something worth smiling about.

--

Standing outside his door that evening - or at least, her best estimate thereof - Jemma took a deep breath. The crockery shuddered on its tray and she hoped it was not too loud; she did not know how many others had been given the silence bug, or drug, or whatever it was. But she drew herself strong. It was now or never – not least because she just couldn’t take this much longer. Her behaviour was unusual, but Kasius still hadn’t cottoned onto the fact that she wasn’t who he thought she was, so she was willing to risk it. If all else failed, she hoped, it was a demure enough act of service that he might think it merely unusual – perhaps even a gesture of goodwill – and simply dismiss her.

Strong, she thought to herself, and knocked on the door.

“Enter,” he called, and so she did, and the smug thrill that ran through her at his expression of surprise was more satisfying than she could have imagined. Careful not to let on, however, she smiled meekly and curtseyed a little before bringing the tray forward. Kasius shuffled in his seat, and gestured for her to sit beside him. How quickly would she be dead, she thought, as she lowered herself into the seat. How close was his assassin? Around the corner? Just outside the door? Heart pounding, she poured the tea.

“Hmm, sweet,” Kasius mused, wafting it past his nose as if it were wine. All of a sudden, Jemma thought, perhaps she should have worked with wine. Perhaps it would have hidden the scent more easily. But then Kasius asked; “What is it?”

Jemma tilted her head. Was he expecting her to answer?

“Speak,” he said, and nodded insistently – excitedly, as if watching her open a present. Jemma’s lips twitched, trying to contort into a smile as her heart filled with the sense of freedom, and a desire to tell this slimey maggot everything she thought about him.

“Wellness tea,” she said instead. “Good for the skin.”

This seemed to amuse Kasius, and Jemma almost laughed. Instead, she simply let that smile slip loose, as if she were pleased to have amused him, and poured the tea. He waited until she picked up her own cup, which she had been hoping against, but prepared for. She took a sip, and so did he.

(They’d have to drink much more than that, though.)

“And what have you been doing with your day, my dear?” Kasius asked.

“Listening,” Jemma replied, and she could see it. And hear it. The smugness. That’s my girl, his expression said. I knew you’d come around. She wondered if he could see the same smugness in her eyes – but no, she thought, he probably assumed she was simply overcome with desire, or gladness for having pleased him, or any number of things that required minimal brainpower on her behalf. Instead, what she meant was learning. And now that she could speak, oh, what she had learned was going to earn her so much more satisfaction.

“Oh, this is simply wonderful,” Kasius praised, taking another mouthful of her tea. “You must share the recipe with the kitchens. Where did you learn such a thing?”

“My mother taught me.”

“Hm.” Kasius nodded thoughtfully. “Interesting woman, your mother. I should have her brought here. Where did you say she worked? Processing?”

“Yes.”

Part of Jemma hoped that he would find May. She would certainly have something to say about this whole situation. Or to punch, at least. But most of Jemma’s attention was focused on trying not to cackle like a bloody murderer as Kasius refilled his own cup to the brim with more tea. How long had it been since he’d poured his own cup? Was it because he was used to taking as much as he wanted of something he liked? Or was it the drug she’d put in there, that even now, was niggling at her own throat to take more?

“Processing, you say?” Kasius repeated. “Yet she knows something about herbs. Curious.”

He paused, and Jemma had to take another sip before he got suspicious.

“Yes, ah,” she offered faux-nonchalantly. “I suppose she got creative. Working with what we have, everyone playing their part and all that.”

“Naturally, naturally.” Kasius nodded. “That’s what I like to hear, my dear. Beautiful stock, your family. You know what? I will have your mother found.”

Perhaps this would have scared her, any moment other than now, but Jemma’s blood was already pumping. Kasius’ words were growing uncontrolled; speaking his mind rather than the measured, perfect words of a philosopher. He drank more. Jemma’s throat itched too, but she quashed it down with the thought of what it would take to expel the poison later. Meanwhile, Kasius’ pupils were growing wider. The drug. Was the poison taking effect yet? How fast was stage two going to go? How was she going to get out of this room once it had?

“Have you got somewhere to be, my dear?”

All of a sudden she felt watched. More than that. Seen. One of the side effects of the drug was paranoia and she should have known, she should have predicted this – but how lucid was he, still?

“You’re all fidgety,” he said. “You’re fidgeting. I don’t like it.”

She grinned, and drummed her fingernails against her teacup. Never had she wished for a clicky pen more in her life, but this would have to do.

“Sorry,” she said, unabashedly not sorry at all as she felt the tides rapidly turning in her favour. “I’m simply excited about having executed my plan to perfection.”

“Perfection?” he repeated, bewildered, and she blinked coquettishly.

“Aren’t you proud of me?”

Something, she saw, started to dawn in Kasius’ eyes. Something, perhaps, about what he had said to her upon their first meeting. About her wrist, smooth as if untouched by a metric. About her tears. Her mysterious knowledge - ‘creativity’- with plants that had not been seen by humans like her in nigh on a century.

Something about the old stories.

Kasius leapt to his feet, and swayed.

“GUARDS!” he roared, and Jemma scrabbled away. This was a rollercoaster of a plan but she wasn’t out of ideas yet. She snatched up the teacup, brandishing it like a weapon, and put the table between her and Kasius so that he could not attack. She only had a few seconds. She’d have to pick a door soon. But she couldn’t help spending a little longer watching the fury in Kasius’ eyes burn out into desperation, pain, fear.

She held her chin high. No mercy.

“Why did you do this?” Kasius choked; still surprised, it seemed, that a woman he had been willing to gift with perfection would turn on him so.

And Jemma had thousands of answers to that question, but one came quick and burning to her tongue.

“Acacius,” she said. “Who?”

“The man I saved. The one you killed,” she explained. “You owe me a life. That is how it works, right?”

Recognition clicked in for a moment, and then the fury returned. Kasius lunged at her, but fell onto the table; convulsing, frothing at the mouth. Not long now.

“GUARDS!!” he cried again, with as much strength as he could muster, though Jemma could hear even that was rapidly fading. “Guards! … They’re here.”

They.  

The heroes. The stories. The legends. The ultimate threats to this regime.

They.  

Her.

Heart in her throat, teapot still in hand, Jemma retreated, launched herself at the door, and fled through Kasius’ compound with the desperation of a crazed racehorse. She was almost out by the time they finally turned on her, and she struggled, and it felt like she was drowning, but she fought on. She smashed the teapot over somebody’s head, ducked a swipe, overturned a potplant and ran. The roses caught at her tunic and flicked at her face and she ran. She stumbled down the stairs, lost her footing for a moment, felt herself falling and thought it’s all over but it was not. The shouting and jostling all around her was muted but she could hear herself. Her footfalls. Her heartbeat. Her breath.

Something slowed within her, and steadied, and somehow she caught herself and staggered on toward the door. She slammed it shut behind her, only taking half a second to catch her breath before looking for the next one. How far had the battlecry gone? Would she be safe anywhere? Which direction should she go?

She settled for ducking into a crevice for a second, as more guards poured into the passageway from elsewhere. Armed ones; not Kasius’ dainty personal staff.

Jemma stiffened, holding her breath as one of them stalked past her – and was shortly blown back, off his feet and into the ground, hard, by a new arrival. Daisy. She seemed amused by all the panic and the alarms – and if Jemma was not mistaken, mouthed, aw shux, for me? – at the contingent of guards between them. Jemma curled even deeper into the crevice, out of the way while Daisy attacked, and only when the coast was clear did she creep out again. Upon seeing her, Daisy baulked - horrified, sympathetic – and touched Jemma’s arm.

Are you alright?

Jemma touched her ear, symbolising deafness, and Daisy frowned in confusion.