I do not have to explain myself

///

He wanted to smack that damn grin from his face. His foot was almost stomping against the metal surface of his private office, giving away how nervous and outraged he was. Typhon’s hands were holding your almost skeletal shoulders, your smell… an improvement from what he had heard.

You were among more women in what was supposed to be a facility, a structure created by those xenos for their reproduction. Genetical similarity it was called, Mortarion called it slavery. Many were found already full of those xenos offspring, his apothecaries tried to remove those cancers yet many of those women died before the treatment could even begin. Too weak, too fragile.

You were found in the process, the alien that was trying to impregnate you killed on the spot, his vile eggs didn’t have the chance to burrow in you. Mere luck.

You were the last of those women, and now… this.

“This is absurd.”

“Afraid of this little thing?”

“I’m not afraid!”

“You said how incompetent your sons are, correct? Then show them how much better you are on taking care of her!”

As much as they were friends, sometime Mortarion wondered if Typhon enjoyed putting him in uncomfortable situations.

Mortarion stared at the small creature in front of him and the only words that could come out from him was ‘pathetic’. Your frame was emaciated from the lack of proper movement, your arms were covered in holes and ports to connect the feeding tubes, wrist and ankles scarred by shackles and chains. You also were in need of a bath, you reeked of a foul smell.

What made him really unnerved by your persona were those eyes. They weren’t empty, broken, hollow like they should be, but strangely… there.

Observing, watching him.

Typhon ruffled your hair, laughing to his old friend.

“Come on! Don’t tell me you’re scared!”

Mortarion’s fingers twitched.

///

This was a mistake, a big one, and he regretted it every step of the way!

Why did Typhon have to make that stupid remark?! Why did he have to phrase it that way?! And why had he fallen for that?!

He grunted again, checking you with the corner of his eye, making sure that you stayed exactly where he had placed you.

It was a corner of his lab, the only angle empty of tables, machinery or chemicals that he needed. The first time he made you enter the place you stood in the center like a statue, unable to decide wich place was better for you to stay. His room was better, empty, larger, less dangerous for someone that could die even by inhaling some gas present in that lab, yet he had strange hitchy feeling by imagining you alone there. At least you were in close range there.

You sat there, your eyes literally digging holes in his head. You didn’t look angry, dangerous, disappointed or scared, you just… stared.

… well how to blame you? He wasn’t exactly the expected savior that people imagined.

Even during the night you just observed him to the point he started to wonder if you were even able to sleep at all. Not like he had an easy sleep, but your constant gaze did not help him at all.

He sighed, more frustrated now. In that frustration, he realized, that he had not even asked you the basic information about yourself.

“You…. whatever name do you go by?”

A small shift, foot scratching between eachother.

“…. number 4870.”

“…”

He moved only his head, slightly, looking at you with a perplexed glare. “That’s not a name.”

“…”, you shaked your shoulders, not sure of what he wanted from you. You just went by those numbers, you never questioned them, they were what they were so why complain or ask questions to your masters?

… they never liked answering questions either.

For an instant, something, a thought, made Mortarion's mind stop on his current activity. His finger flinched, as if something was scratching at the back of his mind and giving him a tickle that he sure did not like. He shook his head, again.

“That’s not important. Make yourself useful, I can’t stand your constant presence at my shoulders.”

“… useful?”

“Yes, useful… whatever you can do just do it.”

It was like dealing with a child! What had those xeno scum done? Undeveloped the human brain? Well, who was to say they didn’t? It seemed quite an easy way to control a race instead of using shackles and chains. Maybe it was the most reasonable option, after all they just needed to work on the first generations of man they had in their hands, after that it was mostly inbreeding- Yet, as much as he noticed, you showed no trace of malformations or anything that could show a slowment into your cognitive ability. Maybe a neurological malfunction? Maybe a-

Two slim hands caressed his ribs, testing him, searching space.

He could feel a body heat meeting his own, attaching on him like a leach and making his skin crawl like crazy.

His hands stopped, like his breathing, his lips trembling under his mask, his fingers twitching while feeling those smaller ones searching for the lacing of his tunic.

His arm moved almost by instict, slamming against you, throwing you away like a rugged doll. The slam on the wall and the sound of broken glass was preceded his immediate turning against whatever thing had assaulted him and-

Those eyes kept on watching him, now only a thin red line crossed between them.

///

“…”

He did not want to speak, not because he had nothing to say but because, for the first time in his life, he was too afraid to ask and to say something that may be wrong.

He cleaned your head, beside the fresh wound he had caused you had a pletora of scars that stated the abuse in that facility. He had to cut and shave the area, just enough to give him space to put the stitches, and he also noticed the presence of bruises, some old infection now gone.

He knew the reason of why those were there and he was far too familiar with them.

He checked your eyes, this time actually paying attention to them, checking any anomaly or some abnormal reflex.

“… no concussion for now, time will tell.”

He removed the light and looked at you. You sat on that bed, observing him with that hint of curiosity that had always put him on edge, your legs kicked up and front, reminded him of a child in certain ways, your arms glues to your side.

He knew what you were doing, he knew that if he hadn’t stopped you you would have continued and this knowledge was far more upsetting to him than he could bear. He also knew what they were doing in that facility and still he couldn’t completely grasp what had happened. He just felt that strange knot in his throat, like if something wasn’t quite like he wanted and couldn’t do nothing to change it.

“Are you angry with me?”

His eyes met yours. Were you asking because you knew he was upset? Or because you genuinely felt sorry?

“I’m not… angry. ”

“You look angry… You always look angry.”

Ah… so you are able to talk then uh?

“I’m just.. why did you do that?”

“You told me to.”

“I asked you to be usefull.”

“But I tried…”

… oh…

He coughed, that awkward kind of cough you do when you have nothing to say. Even if he had far too many things to say and ask.

“… I’m sorry… will you give me to someone else?”

“Why should I?”

“The masters do that when one of us is not helpful or able to hold the eggs…”

Ah… so that answered his question. Facility was maybe a better way to explain to others, maybe a lie they told themselves so they could not bare the weight of morality. That place was where they used their power, the ownership of those smaller creature that came from afar and their so called rights to hurt, use as they see fit and impregnate.

Just like the-

“I’m sorry…”

Your voice was… meeker, more fragile than it used to be. It wasn’t flat, it wasn’t cold, it wasn’t hurt either. It was just weak, fragile, like if someone knew what’s gonna happen and is too afraid to face it again.

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry I’ll do it better I’m-”

“Stop… Just… Just stop.”

He needed to breathe, to get away. Instead he decided to stay, fighting the urge of touch you.

///

Your wound healed, no concussion showed up in the next days, yet Mortarion now found difficulty in looking at you.

In a certain way you had forgotten what had happened, the accident and the way he had reacted, yet there was more conciousness on your part. Your spot changed, if you were a few meters from him now you were in the opposite part of the room, you didn't even dare to breathe, or look, just stare at the ground and at whatever thing caught your attention.

You were creating space.

He could feel that sensation in his bones, like looking through a broken and dusty mirror, but still he refused to aknoweldge it. That day, however, a different thought came to his mind, an idea that made him shiver.

“Come closer.”

He finally spoke, breaking the silence he had despised since this cohabitation started. You looked at him, scared?… he wasn’t sure, surely you were nervous.

“… Please?”

You pondered, then moved. It was strange hearing someone asking please, it was quite a surprise especially from him.

When you were finally a few steps from him, you noticed a rectangular object leaning against his side.

“… what’s that?”

“A data plate.” He responded, trying to sound less dry and aggressive as he did. “We share information in these.”

He gestured you to take a seat to the bench close to him, awfully high for someone small like you but it wasn’t easy to accommodate every need of yours. Once you were seated the rectangular plate started to radiate a low and blueish light, Mortarion’s fingers clicked things you couldn’t track the shape of, to the point you almost feared he had lost it.

“Here.” He showed you a long list full of words that you had long forgotten how to read. You squinted your eyes, tried to understand what those signs were, all while he made the list move with one touch of his finger.

“These are names.”

“Names?”

“Yes. Humans do not use numbers like cattle. We use names, each one of us has one.”

“… but I don’t have one.”

“I’m aware of it.”, he responded again, fighting every inch of his being to avoid being aggressive. “That’s why you must chose one for yourself.”

“Can’t you do that for me?”

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

Because it would sound like I own you like an animal, because it would make little different from the ones that holded you caprive, because it feels wrong.

“… just choose one.” He bit his tongue again.

“… I can’t… read…”

You sounded small, not afraid or embarassed to state this. Just little, like when an adventurer faces a mountain that has never been explored before. Mortarion felt a wave of something, maybe shame from not expecting this, probably awkwardness. Instead he just cleared his throat and the data plate was now facing the table in front of him.

“I’ll teach you how to read. After that you’ll choose a name.”

///

He has been many things in his life. The son of an High Overlord, of the Emperor, a foggter. A liberator, a conqueror, bur a caretaker ?

That was new.

He had kept his promise, he did give the few hours he had away from his duties to you, to helping you finally understan the language that had been kept secret by your masters since forever. He realized that you were just one of the many, almost every each one of the humans saved from that planet had no idea of their native language.

They called him the liberator, revered the Emperor yes but it was Mortarion the one that had found them and freed them. Yet, those praises were just murmurs to his ears.

You were quite the student, attentive, careful, interested. He taught you the basics and you came out with thousands of questions that he couldn’t keep it up. He had never hoped for Magnus' presence in his life more than now.

You were like a small animal that was learning how to take its first step, you knew you could make errors and yet you kept on trying because now it was a matter of success. And for every step you made, a new life started to blossom in front of his eyes.

He saw colors, you had them. You had a fire that had always been there, and he was able to see its ambers sparkling.

“Ummm…”

“You can’t understand this word?”

“It’s hard…”

“Let me see…” he took the old tome from your hands. Magnus didn't ask him why he needed so many books, he just asked him to be nice.

To you or to his books he did not dare to ask.

“It’s Mesopotamia.”

“What does it mean?”

He started to move the pages, not sure if it was written somewhere between the lines. He observed your patient face, waiting for his answer, your face cupped in your hands, your growing cheeks squished together. You were getting some fat on your bones… you were almost cute.

“… something like land between the rivers.”

“Which rivers?”

“I preferred it when you were not so talkative.” He finally exhaled, his fingers pinching his nose. Only then he noticed that face, the one you made when you want to retract into a safe world of your own, the one you do when you’re sure you have done too much. Something you shouldn’t have. Except, in this case, the only one here that needed to retract was the Primarch, not you.

“I’m sorry.”, you said with that meek tone.

“No, I… it’s me. I'm the one that has to apoligize. I’m not…. easy to get along with.”

You tilted your head, trying to measure his words. He looked nervous in admitting it even if he tried to make it look like it didn’t hold any weight over him, which was a lie on your own view.

Mortarion knew he wasn’t a pleasant look neither a good company. If he had been raised in a less toxic enviroment, had different outcomes, maybe he would have been more like his far more appreciated brothers. He knew all of this, as he knew that he wasn’t exactly the right person that should have helped you there.

He wasn’t even sure why he had to go so low to apologize, or explain why things were a certain way. He just found the idea of you resenting him one he did not have the stomach to face.

“You’re quite nice to get along.”

He looked at you, with that confident look and sure voice. He raised an eyebrow, searching for anything that could make him understand where the lie was.

He found none.

“You’re teaching me things. You’re nice! … so, let’s go back to the book.”

You didn’t notice him blushing…

///

The worst thing that can happen when something shifts is not the change per se. It's not understanding that thing will never be the same again, that is morphing and there’s no way to stop it. No, the worst is seeing the change and not doing anything to avoid it.

When fear sometime re-emerged like a bubble he had opened his arms, accepting your weights and grievances as if they were his own, allowing you to finally be the human being you were.

Fragile, weak, alive.

He held you, savoring those moments like they were important. Because they were, to him at least.

When those moments together, those hours, started to became important, something to look forward to. Allowing the clock to go on, enjoying the minutes and seconds he could have close to you, seeing your little you finally emerging.

He loved when you fell asleep upon old books, when the pages were more comfortable even than that bed he had been able to make for you. He had dared many times to touch those wild strands of hair from your head, moving them away to see your calm and relaxed expression.

He had just noticed how beatiful you were. He could feel it sometimes, your warmth just a few inches from him, caressing him like a soft wind. Even if apart, your smile haunted him like a drug, he wanted it for himself and nobody else.

Because it was meant to be… because one day you were suppose to be integrated in this society, to be a functional member of it, to bring something, to be under his father's light, to love no one but the Emperor. And what about him? What about Mortarion?

He had gifted you what he could not give to anybody else. He had given you his thoughts, his fears, his everything…

“I am not as appreciated as you think, little one.”

“Is this another joke?”

“No… No, this is…. a truth that I tend to ignore or put aside. Yet it’s a truth, nonetherless.”

You put down your book, a sign for him that your attention was not on the pages, but on him. You had that power that had scared him more than once, the power to lead his defences down and allow him to be what he had never dared to be. A man, a child, just a particle in this universe.

“ A liberator… my sons called me this but I’m not. I did what I had to do, I had the drive, I had the flame to go where others couldn’t and yet…” he stopped, remembering the bet with his Father, the weakness he felt in front of the one that had raised him.

“But… you did freed your people.”

“No… In the end I couldn’t finish what I started… I’m nothing but a Liberator in name and others know that.”

“But I saw people hold their heads down on you…”

“They do that because I’m like my brothers, even when I’m completely different from them. A few I do appreciate but others….” he emitted a disgusted sound. “What do they know of the struggle? Of the suffering?! Even that so adored Sanguinius, a self-righteous walking banner for the Emperor. And don’t get me started with Guilliman, he and his perfect son act.”

You looked at his fingers, tapping relentlessy the table, trying to relieve his frustration.

“You don’t like any one of your brothers?”

“… Horus I do respect… Konrad and I do share some views but likeness is… quite the word.”

There was this look in his eyes, that cold stare that he had always tried to hold to make sure no one could see the storm behind them.

“… but even if they want to see me as a liberator, I can see how people look at me… how everyone perceives me… a failure, someone that couldn’t truly free his people, a petty little man that can only harbor resentment against psykers and the brother that so much loves them…”

The fingers stop, his eyes only staring down with that sorrowful gleam you had seen just a few times. His strong shoulders slumped down like finally giving up to the weight of something he had to carry on his own. A sad old man, someone that has been made to stay on a pedestal but cannot seems to fit in the alcove, that has been raised to be something like a weapon and never had the chance to be something else.

You saw an object when once you were one as well.

“I never… ask to be but… sometime I wonder…”, his voice feeble like a whisper. “Is it so hard to love me?”

He doesn’t want to cry. He doesn’t want you to see something he doesn’t want to be. He hated it, he hated himself to be this weak, he hated you because you made him this way. Why did he have to open up so much? Why did you have to take so much of him when he had tried with all himself tonot stay close?

Why did you-

“I love so many things about you.”

He looked down, to your little frame compared to him close. Your hands close against his own, allowing it to feel the warmth of your cheek against him. A blissfull smile while ignoring the thousands cuts and scars against his skin, caressing every details, every imperfection, everything that made him himself.

“I love your voice, your warmth… I love how you look nervous… I love so many thing about you… It may be not enough…”

You kissed that hand, his heart stopped in his chest.

“But mine is one I can give to you…”

///

No one needed to have you…

No one needed to take you away from him.

Those were his thoughts while he burned the new requests and the new questions about the whereabouts of the last of the women found in that facility. No one had to know, they didn’t need you.

He needed you.

He needed that love you could give, that warmth only you allowed him to take. He needed you close to him, to have something that wasn’t going to be taken away.

You were happy with him, he knew that, so he was just making you a favor.

@misted-dreams ankaagi waxplay for your viewing pleasure!

Uncensored HERE!