Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

David is on watch when he feels it.

He can't say what exactly he thinks is happening, only that there's a prickle on the back of his neck, the sensation of being watched.

They're not as far away from a city as David would like — they're only a few hours south from Multnomah, where they'd stopped to vet and organize another group of runaways. Most of the Smokies are a few days ahead of David's group, taking Fausto with them to Diego.

Part of him is surprised that Tally — that any of the Specials — hasn't found them yet. They're way too close to civilization. Part of David wonders — maybe hopes — that this is a sign from Tally that she doesn't really hate him, that she wants him to be safe...

He shakes his head. He knows some of the things Tally has said to him were only the result of the city's brainwashing. The sting has almost gone out of the memory of her pretty, full lips saying, Get your ugly face out of here.

But some things were real. He saw it in her eyes, when she told him that she'd fallen in love with Zane, that she and Zane had gone through things together that David would never understand. That was real. David hates that he knows, but he does, and he can't forget it. Even in his daydreams, when he finally has to the chance to say everything he wants to say, the dream always seems to grind to a halt before he can say I love you.

Dream Tally never says it first, either.

He slips into the tent and wakes up Astrix, who's next on watch. "I think I hear something. Can you watch the camp for a minute?"

Astrix's brow creases in concern. "Should one of us go with you?"

"It's probably nothing. I just want to check the perimeter."

"Whatever you say, boss."

David leaves the camp, wandering deeper into the trees, only half of his attention on the heat vision in his goggles. He tells the city kids all the time not to rely too much on tech, that they can fool your senses and instincts more often than not — but they rarely listen to him.

David knows better, though. He moves slowly, the prickle of suspicion growing stronger. Maybe it's not probably nothing. He pauses, listening, not sure if he's imagining the rustle of the leaves, the steps that are slower and heavier than a small forest creature. He turns off the heat vision, leaving just the black of the forest around him.

His eyes adjust to the moonlight, the darkness taking on shapes and textures. And then — he can see — but not quite see — a strange almost-movement, a place that doesn't seem quite right. David pulls off his goggles. "Hello?" he calls quietly.

The shadow sways and flickers, and then, as though she's surfacing from below water, a girl ripples into view. Her face glows in the night, but her eyes are dark and bottomless, as though her face is merely a mask over a black hole. Her features balance perfectly on the knife's edge between beautiful and cruel — arched eyebrows, high cheekbones, full lips pulled just slightly into a smirk. Instinctively, David wants to please her, to obey her, because every haughty line of her face seems to say You're beneath me. I could hurt you if I wanted to.

"Shay," he breathes.

"Very observant, David-la," she says.

That's a pretty thing, David knows; he's heard the Crims tack on -la and -wa to each other's names when they talk (what the difference is between the two, he has no idea). Zane told him that it shows affection, but somehow, David doesn't think Shay is using it that way.

"What are you doing here?"

She giggles and the sound is chilling, it's wrong coming out from between her pointed teeth. "What do you think I'm doing?"

"Looking for me?"

She scoffs. "It's good to see you haven't changed one bit, David-la. Your ego is still the size of the moon."

He blinks at the familiarity of the remark — egomaniac had been one of her favorite insults for him back when they were friends, said with an smirk every time he'd teased her for struggling with a powerjack or clumsily catching fish. He wonders if she genuinely remembers, or if it's just some awful, painful coincidence.

"Looking for Fausto, then? Since we captured him," he adds, unable to resist the reminder that the Smokies had outrun Special Circumstances.

"Oh, I remember. Thanks for throwing me in the river, by the way," Shay hisses. "Couldn't fight me, David-la? You always did take the coward's way out."

"That — " Against all logic, he feels defensive, wants to talk back to her as though they're just arguing over hoverboarding techniques or which trees to cut down at the Smoke. He shakes his head. He can't let her distract him or make him feel guilty. "You're a Special now. You survived."

"How unlucky for you."

"I didn't want to actually hurt you, Shay."

"You never do, and yet, here we are."

David hesitates, not sure what she means. Does she hate him because of what he represents, because he's from the Smoke? Is this simply the way Specials are, their brains rewired to view other people as nothing but enemies?

Or does she still remember what had happened between them, nearly a year ago? He'd been so sure that she would forget about it, that it wouldn't matter to her, even before the operation.

Then again, there were a lot of things he used to be sure about.

"Don't worry," Shay says. "We can make it even now."

Before he can move, she lunges for him. Her body hits his with surprising force, knocking the breath from him. She pushes him to the forest floor and before David can even react, she has him pinned — his knees trapped between hers, his wrists in her hands. Shay is strong, he can feel it in the frame of her body around him. She's not holding him hard enough to bruise, but he can tell that he can't break free from her.

David turns away, waiting for the final blow. He imagines her tearing into him with those sharp teeth, and he can't help but flinch.

But nothing happens. He looks up to see Shay staring down at him with those pitch-black irises. She is still pressed against him, weighing him to the ground. He can feel her ribcage move with her harsh breathing.

His gaze drifts over her face, trying to comprehend that this is Shay, that this is the girl who used to be his friend. It hurts to see her this way, so different from the face he remembers, her real face. She could be stubborn, could roll her eyes whenever he tried to tell her what to do, but there was always something open, something kind, in her eyes. It used to bother him, how she never seemed to take anything seriously — but he'd give anything to go back to merely being irritated with her sloppy campfires, to seeing her smile when she finished a job at the Smoke, to sharing dinner with her and Croy and Astrix.

It's been nearly a year, he can't even remember the last time they spoke, if it had been a fight or an apology or if they had just been talking about whether to have chicken or rabbit for that week's dinner. So much has changed, inside and out — neither of them are the same person they were before.

The moment stretches on, and slowly, David becomes conscious of other things: the unnatural heat of her hands, burning like she has a fever. The strands of hair that have escaped her ponytail and are brushing his face, tickling his temple. The strange roughness of her wrists, raised skin pressing into his own.

He inhales a shaky breath. Does she feel as lightheaded as he does right now? Is that why she hasn't hurt him yet?

"Shay?"

She opens her mouth to respond, but then there is a crackling electric sound, and Shay's eyes roll back. For the second time in as many days, she loses consciousness, sliding off of David and slumping to his side.

Astrix is standing over him, flanked by Ryde and Croy, a shock stick in her hand. "Did I get her?"

David lets out a harsh, short laugh. "Yeah. Not bad."

"I try," Astrix says dryly.

Ryde and Croy move to grab Shay while David scrambles to his feet. He shudders, trying to clear the fuzziness from his head, the strange languor from his body. For a moment there, feeling Shay's breathing, looking into her eyes, he'd felt…well, fear, obviously. But something else, too. Something brain-addling that he doesn't want to think about.

   ~

They fly all night, and the sun is coming up by the time they land and make camp.

"Looks like cat vomit," Croy says, nodding at the pale pink sky, streaked with the orange rays of the sun.

"Gross," Ryde says. "Why are you trying to ruin a perfectly nice sunrise?"

David smiles and shakes his head. This is what he should be focusing on: his friends, their mission. They'll bring Shay to Diego and cure her — Fausto is already cured, he'll help them — and the rest of the Specials will probably come after her, and they can cure them, too. And then Tally…

As always, he can't quite muster up a clear image of what exactly Tally might do. David pushes the thought away.

They tie Shay to a tree, because they're pretty sure she's strong enough to pull up any part of the tents that they could tie her to. Her body slumps against the trunk, looking strangely small now that she's unconscious. Underneath the sneak suit that they confiscated, she's wearing a plain silvery uniform with the sleeves cut off.

It is strange to see Shay in the official garb of her city's enforcers, when David knows she was barely a tricky blip on their radar less than a year ago. But that isn't what he's staring at.

Her arms are covered in scars, red and bold, twisting around and criss-crossing each other haphazardly. He remembers the raised feel of her skin and realizes that he must have been feeling the scars on her wrists — they all stop abruptly at the heel of her hand, as though there's an invisible boundary there.

She has tattoos now, too, a snake curling over one of her dark eyebrows, and more black tendrils wrapping around her upper arms — but those don't shock him, not after all the bizarre surges he's seen in Diego. Not like the scars do.

Where — when — has she gotten all of these? David has lived in the wild his entire life, and he has never sustained so many injuries. It's not as though the city has a single sharp corner for its inhabitants to cut themselves on. Has she been fighting with — who? Runaways from other cities? He doubts any of the soft, clueless city kids — pretties or uglies — could ever hurt someone like that.

No matter how long he stares, he can't come up with any explanation for what has happened to her. Maybe her Special bosses did it to her, like some kind of twisted pre-Rusty initiation ritual.

Shay's eyelids flutter. Instinctively, David touches his belt, where he keeps a knife, though he knows it wouldn't do much good.

Confusion flits across her face just for a moment, but Specials are built to adapt quickly. The confusion turns to rage in a matter of seconds, and she thrashes furiously against the cables tying her. David is relieved to see that it's no use; their knots hold well and actually tighten the more she pulls at them — pre-Rusty knowledge is surprisingly clever, built to withstand a harsher and more primitive world. She tries to scream, then, but they've injected her with a drug to relax her vocal cords, so the only sound that comes out is a hoarse sigh.

Shay slams back against the tree and glares at them, her chest heaving. David swallows. Even though he survived his encounter with her last night, the pure fury on her face frightens him.

Croy crouches down in front of Shay. "Hey. How are you feeling?"

Shay ignores his question. "Where the hell is Fausto?" she whispers.

"Long gone," Croy says.

Shay goes back to pulling against her bonds. "Damn you," she hisses, as harshly as she can manage. "You're going to hurt him."

Through her rage, it almost seems like she's worried about Fausto. David hates that his heart latches onto it, the slight possibility that she's still human enough to care about another person.

"No, we're not," Croy says. "We're going to help him — "

"Let me guess," Shay says. "You're going to give him nanos and eat up his brain until he's all shaky and useless, just like Zane. So typical of you Smokies. Cutting down trees, killing animals, and saying it's for the greater good. Do you ever get tired of destroying things?"

"Hey," Croy snaps. "I'd never hurt Fausto. He and Zane were my friends too, remember? It was the seven of us, the original Crims."

Shay stops struggling, and that's somehow more unnerving than her building anger was. She tosses her head back, her attention suddenly laser-focused on Croy. Croy takes a step back.

Her lips curve in one of those smirking, satisfied smiles. "And do you know why we're not friends anymore, Croy-la?"

Croy's Adam's apple bobs nervously, but his voice comes out steady. "Because you went back to the city."

"No." Shay's face twists furiously. "We stopped being friends the day you left me at Special Circumstances so they could make me into a bubblehead."

"We didn't mean to leave you. Dr. Cable — " Croy darts a look at David, as if to reassure himself that he hasn't been left alone with Shay. "Dr. Cable wanted to take you first. She didn't even put you in a cell like the rest of us. The second we got there, they took you to get the operation. I swear, Shay."

"And did you ever think about me after that?" Shay asks, her voice soft and deadly. "When you were sneaking into the city to meet with all those little uglies? Or when you left Tally those pills? She told me about that," she hisses when Croy's jaw drops. "You were always right nearby, but did you ever come looking for me — or Ho, or Fausto, or Zane? Don't pretend you ever gave a damn about us."

"It wasn't like that," Croy says, but his voice breaks. A smirk plays on Shay's lips — pleasure at cracking his composure, David knows. He grabs the other boy by the elbow, tugging him away.

"Come on," David says. "This isn't helping."

On the other side of the camp, Astrix and Ryde are pitching the tents and setting up their workstation. Astrix raises an eyebrow when she sees them approach.

"That bad, huh?"

"You try it," Croy mutters. "She hates us. She's not — " He swallows convulsively. "She's not our friend anymore."

Astrix and Ryde exchange a glance and David suddenly feels like an intruder in their midst. "I'm going to take a walk," he says.

"I'll come with you," Croy says.

"Thanks," Astrix mutters, but she and Ryde go over to watch Shay without further complaint.

Croy and David leave them to it, and they amble to a low cliff hanging over the river. The rushing white water below them is soothing; its noise like the constant buzz of the portable fan in his parents' home. Their old home, he corrects himself. The fan — and everything else in his parents' house — is gone, the house itself destroyed by Special Circumstances.

"Fuck," Croy groans, sitting down and dropping his head onto his knees.

That about sums it up, David thinks.

"Maybe she's right," Croy says. "We should've…maybe all this is because we didn't…" He waves a hand in the air. "Maybe it's our fault."

"You said it yourself," David says. "They never even gave her a chance. That's not your fault — or Ryde's, or Astrix's."

"I know." Croy looks out at the churning river. "I still think about it sometimes, though. It was just…it was awful. She was screaming the entire way down the hall. And then the doors closed and we couldn't hear her anymore." He shuts his eyes. "And then she came back, after they'd made her pretty. Dr. Cable would send her down there to talk to us, try to convince us to give up where we thought you and Tally were hiding. I think she — Dr. Cable — was trying to taunt us. Show us what she'd done to Shay."

Goosebumps have broken out over David's skin, even though his jacket is keeping him perfectly warm.

"I thought about finding her, when I went into the city to give Tally the cure. But there was just never time," Croy says miserably. "And she…I mean, she was so different. I couldn't…"

David nods. "Couldn't face her?"

Croy hangs his head. "Yeah."

It's not like Croy to be a coward, David thinks, and he almost says so. Then he bites back the words, because it's not as though the rest of them had been trying very hard, either. Not that it's their fault, he tells himself. Shay is one person. They couldn't afford to think about her, but —

Don't pretend you ever gave a damn about us, she said. She blames them, maybe even hates them, for letting the city take her.

They had never bothered to try to keep kids at the Smoke who didn't want to stay — his parents said that it went against everything they stood for; the freedom to make their own choices. Privately, David always thought some people were just meant to be bubbleheads. So many city kids loved the idea of rebellion, but couldn't cope with the reality of cooking their own food or cleaning their own clothes. If they wanted to run back to their coddled existence — who cared? After the operation, it's not as though they would even remember why freedom mattered to them anyway.

But Shay did. She must have known what the pretty operation had done to her, if she'd wanted them to cure her. David shudders at the thought. Having the operation — operations, plural — would be bad enough. He can't imagine being conscious of the lesions in his brain, knowing that his sense of self had been stripped away.

Against all logic, he feels a pang of sympathy. As cruel as these new Specials are, as much as they want to bring the Smoke down, they're just city kids. Just like Croy and Ryde and Astrix, if they hadn't run fast enough.

   ~

Mom is not happy when David calls her with the news.

"Shay isn't one of the kids who consented to the testing last month, is she?" she asks critically.

"No, she just kind of found us. She and Tally have been…" He wonders how self-centered it would sound to say chasing me. "…working together."

"Ah. Tally."

David looks down. Mom has a way of making him feel stupid whenever she brings up Tally.

"Shay was the one who brought Tally to the Smoke," he says. "They were friends back in their city."

Mom's face softens into understanding. "She was the one who we offered the first cure to." She glances somewhere off of the camera, looking thoughtful. "You know, Tally managed to stimulate her brain around the lesions. Maybe Shay can do the same thing. I'm not sure the Special brain wiring works in the same way as the pretty lesions, but it's likely a similar concept. If we can get her to work around at least some of the modifications, she might consent to the cure before we finish testing it."

"Maybe," David allows. "But Shay's not…"

He pauses, not sure exactly what Shay isn't. Not like Tally? That would probably only endear her to his mother, actually. But no, that's not quite what he wants to say. He knows that Tally's newfound hatred of the Smoke is only a result of what the city has done to her, that if he can only reach her, she'll remember that she cares about them — about him.

He is less certain if Shay's feelings would be so easy to untangle, if there is anything he can say that could make her trust him again. Unlike his daydreams of Tally, he can envision a conversation with Shay all too clearly: every time he tries to explain, Shay simply doesn't believe him.

He shakes his head and turns his attention back to the handscreen. "Why can't we just give her the cure? It works, doesn't it? You said Fausto's doing okay."

Mom shakes her head. "I'm still monitoring him. I want to make sure there are no adverse effects, that he isn't developing a problem that we can't see yet."

Like Zane, neither of them say aloud.

"Besides," Mom says, "I don't want you wasting your backup."

David sighs. "Okay. You're right. How much longer do you think it'll take?"

Mom makes a motion that's too fast for the weak connection to show — a shrug, maybe, or a wave of her hand. "Clinical trials can take years, David. But I at least want to keep monitoring Fausto for another two weeks. A month, ideally."

David exhales slowly. The long way to Diego — the trip they take the runaways on — is ten days, for inexperienced city kids. Maybe seven for David and Shay.

"Try to reach her," Mom says. "We can hold her in Diego, but that would make things…complicated. Getting her to consent to the cure is our best chance."

   ~

Shay's Special hearing is good enough to pick up their conversations, so they settle for sending messages over their handscreens.

We can cure her, can't we? Croy writes.

Astrix: Like Fausto.

David writes back slowly, still not used to the rapidfire finger twitches that the city kids use to communicate with their devices. My mom is still workingo n thr cure. We can give it to shay once we lnow it works, but until then, we cab'f do anything until wd have inflrmed consent.

Astrix and Croy grin when they see his spelling mistakes, and David scowls at them. It takes so long for him to write out a message that there's no point in deleting and retyping every time he makes a mistake.

Croy: So what? We wait?

David: We cna't wait forever, but we shpuld stall. If we can make sure the cure works, we. can take her to diego and cure her wothout her needing to agree

Astrix: Can we last that long out here?

David: A couple more days maybe. Then we have to move out. He pauses, thinking. It would be safer to travel with all of them together, but seeing how she reacted to Croy — the Smokies only seem to make her angrier, and her former friends aren't exactly handling her presence well, either.

Besides, as much as Astrix and Ryde and Croy care about the New Smoke, as much as they think the cities' manipulations are wrong — this isn't their fight, not really. David's parents were the ones who started this mission. David's father was the one who died for it. He is the one that has to carry it on.

He adds, You three can fo ahead. I'll stay with shay and take her the long way to the smoke. It might give us dome more time.

Astrix and Croy both look up at their screens and nod at him. From across the camp, Ryde calls that dinner's ready.

   ~

Croy is snoring.

Croy always snores, but usually David only has to listen to it for a few minutes before he drops off to sleep. Tonight, though, he's awake. He's been awake for the past few hours, even though it's not his turn on watch — not that "watch" is the right word for it, not when Ryde and Astrix and Croy have been avoiding looking at Shay as much as possible. David wonders if she's awake, too. Do Specials even have to sleep?

It's funny that he hasn't thought of Shay in months — guiltily, David has to admit this — but now every waking thought is occupied with her — what she's doing, what she's thinking. If she's planning to kill them all in their sleep at this very moment.

Okay, maybe that's a little dramatic. But David can't stop seeing the sheer hatred on her face whenever he shuts his eyes. Even when they were fighting, back in the Smoke, she'd never looked at him like that.

And you kissed her once, a small part of his mind whispers, and yes, he still remembers the way she'd looked at him then, too — a little dazed, a little startled, then her eyes had curved at the corners as she smiled, and she'd leaned in to kiss him again.

He doesn't regret falling for Tally — he doesn't think — but something is twisting in him at the memory of Shay sitting next to him, firelight catching the dark strands of her hair and turning them orange and red, her soft sigh in his mouth.

And that only makes him think of her weight on him a few nights ago, her warm breath on his skin, the way her eyes had bored into his…

David groans and pulls himself out of his sleeping bag. Slipping out of the tent, he taps Ryde's shoulder and says, "I'll take over the watch."

"You sure?" Ryde asks.

"I can't sleep anyway."

Ryde's eyes drift over to Shay's tree, but he stops himself before he actually looks over at her. David wills himself not to roll his eyes.

Shay is awake, he can tell, even though he can't see her face in the dark. The shape of her is too still, waiting and watchful. David sits down across from her, crossing his legs.

"Hey, Shay," he says softly.

"David-la. What do you want?"

He winces. "Why do you keep calling me that?"

"I thought you'd like it," she says, her voice sweet like artificial city fruit. He can't see her, but he imagines her batting her eyelashes. "Since you're so eager for us to be friends again. Just like before, right, David-la? Are you going to actually break up with me properly this time?"

"I'm sorry, Shay." There's nothing else he can say to that. "For just — for — " He doesn't even know what he's sorry for. For not saving her in time? For not looking for her when they came back to the city? For choosing Tally over her? None of those things could be helped, they had all just happened, like some awful landslide, just another hundred ways that everything fell apart in that one summer.

"For…how everything turned out," he says finally. "For everything that happened to you."

The dark shadow of her writhes against the tree. "I don't want you to be sorry for me, David."

"Then what do you want?"

Her breathing grows harsher. "All I want is for you Smokies to stop running around cities — and messing with people's heads — and stealing uglies — and ruining everything. And I want to get Fausto back before you randoms break him."

"You really care about him." David has wondered — more than once, if he is being honest with himself — if Specials can love, if Tally might still have real feelings for him — or even for Zane, for anyone.

Now, though, he's just thinking of what could possibly make Shay care about Fausto somuch, which is making him think of Shay and Fausto together, and that — he doesn't know why, but the thought has sharp edges that he doesn't like.

"Of course I care." Shay goes still. "He's my responsibility. All of my Cutters are."

David is silent for a moment. "Your Cutters?"

Above them, the clouds drift apart, throwing a shaft of moonlight into the clearing. In the sudden light, David sees that Shay is turned away, only the outline of her profile visible.

"I made them like me," she says, her voice low. "Tachs, Ho, Fausto…they were following me the night we were caught. They're my responsibility."

David has never heard about this before. "You were caught?"

"We were going to run away. The four of us and some other pretties, the ones that Tally and Zane didn't think were good enough to join the Crims. We were going to come out to the ruins and look for you." She giggles. "Isn't that funny, David-la?"

A fist closes itself around David's heart. "Shay…"

"I think the Specials were already out there, chasing Tally." Shay's laugh is short and harsh this time. "Well, of course they were. We were such pathetic bubbleheads — they caught us right away. Did us a favor, really."

She can't really believe that, but for once, David holds himself back from arguing with her. She was so close. The realization shocks him, it burrows into his chest and makes it hard to breathe. He hates these cities, he thinks with a sudden vehemence. All his knowledge of the wild, all the ways the Smokies have tried to rebel, and still, the city takes everything he cares about.

Because he does still care about Shay, even if she doesn't believe it anymore. She could be such a city girl, sometimes, arrogant and naive in the same breath, but still — she had been his friend. They'd talked and laughed and worked together, Shay bumping his shoulder with hers.

It all seems so long ago, but — he remembers looking at her, thinking that maybe city kids weren't so bad. That it wasn't impossible for them to understand, that he could let himself want…

Shay had made him question things, once. He wonders if he can do the same for her now.