Celastrus - Chapter 1: Fire and Ice

By J. Rolande, aka Moonlight Sonata 2004

Alec Tannian felt the woman's presence even before he actually saw her. Rounding the corner, the atmosphere grew chillier and more hostile. Sure enough, seated in a chair outside the Colonel's office, was Ice Queen Aran. Alec, like most of the members of the brigade, was fascinated and yet scared to death by her at the same time. She had a cutting intensity and an aura that preceded her, hinting not so subtlety at her volatile and unpredictable nature.

She never talked to anyone, unless she was uttering some type of threat, and many times she just let her fists speak for her. Her impersonal manner and hardened exterior had quickly earned her the nickname "Ice Queen." Alec wasn't sure who exactly had coined the title, but it had circulated quickly and stuck firmly. Everyone called her that, both behind her back and to her face, but she never made any effort to correct them. She only flashed her signature smoldering glare and, from time to time, physically reminded people to stay out of her way. She didn't hesitate to beat the crap out of just about anyone in the brigade when she felt the need, and made sure everyone knew it, too.

Alec had seen a few of the guys Ice Queen had done in. Some had actually gotten a few bones broken, while others were merely covered in an array of violet and green bruises. Rumors were this one guy, Ward, was practically crippled because of her. She was quick, methodical, and effective, and saw no problem in reminding people of just how dangerous she could be. Alec wasn't necessarily on her bad side, for which he was grateful, but then he wasn't on her good side either... assuming of course she had a good side. If so, no one in Lambda Brigade had seen it yet.

In fact, the only good quality that she had was that she was probably the most stunning woman any of them had ever seen. Curves in all the right places and a tight body that just begged to be shown off, not that anyone had ever gotten such a chance to see it, to Alec’s knowledge. Well, maybe Ward had, but he wasn't talking just yet. Aran had almost perfect proportions that most men would kill for to get their hands on. Too bad such a sweet piece of ass like that had to go to waste on-

"Just what the hell are you looking at, Tannian?" asked Aran's cold, disdainful voice, stopping Alec in his tracks. "Well?" she added, staring at him with icy expectation.

"Certainly not you, bitch," Alec muttered well under his breath. He jerked his head toward the door she sat next to. "In hot water with Malkovitch again?" He asked as casually as he was able, but in truth he knew he’d be quite the center of attention in the barracks tonight if he could get her to spill what she was in trouble for this time. He could imagine himself explaining how he’d actually talked to the Ice Queen herself, and how she'd told him what she'd done, or whose ass she’d kicked this time... and how he himself had skillfully avoided an ass-kicking in the process.

"Keep grinning like the idiot you are, she said distinctly, startling Alec from his delusions of grandeur. "If you have something to say to me, say it. If not get out of here or your grin may be missing a few teeth the next time you show it off."

"Wow, you're testy," Alec snapped, covering his nervousness with bravado he did not feel. Something told him he probably should have gotten out of there and left her alone, but the idea of chipping at the Ice Queen’s exterior was far more appealing than sensible thought.

"Is that all?" she asked, not at all interested in his response.

"I just want to know if you're in trouble again," he repeated, more bravely this time, though still unable to look her in the eye. He figured that if he ventured nothing, he'd gain nothing, and if Ice Queen Aran did indeed kick his ass later, at least he'd be in the company of those who had told her off, attempted flirting with her, merely annoyed her, or, in the case of Isaac Ward's rumors, seen her showering. He had to admit to himself that he'd be in pretty good company. The thought was slightly comforting.

"Why do you care?" she asked. "Can you name one way my status affects you? Why do you even bother pretending to concern yourself with my affairs?" she said, sounding bored and disinterested, though now a slight edge could be detected in her voice. Her defensive maneuvers were quickly becoming offensive.

Alec shrugged. "Well, you show up six months ago with a chip on your shoulder and a stick up your ass, and it never got any better," he said before he could stop himself. "Everyone just wants to know what your problem is."

"That's too bad," she said in a low, yet still even voice. Her eyes narrowed. Irritated, she checked her watch and shifted her hard glare off Alec to Malkovitch's office suite.

"Maybe he had another meeting that’s running late," Alec said. "I hear he's pissed cuz of what you did to Ward"

"Shut up, Tannian," came the voice so even and emotionless that it sounded threatening.

"No, really, word in the barracks is that Ward can't have kids now 'cause of you."

"I said shut the fuck up, before your face says anything else that your ass is going to regret when I kick it later,” she said, barely managing to check her fury.

Suddenly the door opened and Colonel Adam Malkovitch stepped out, alone. His shrewd gaze passed between Alec and Aran. Aran had jumped to her feet and now stood at attention, and Alec thought for just a moment that at these times, when she stood at strict attention, the stick up her ass probably came in handy. The thought made him snicker, even as he tried desperately to hold it in.

"Problem, Private Tannian?" Colonel Malkovitch asked smoothly, turning his eyes from Aran to Alec. "Wipe the smirk off your face, private," he commanded gruffly. "If you have somewhere to be, get there now. If you don't, I'll give you somewhere to be."

Alec gulped and saluted, suddenly afraid he'd crumble under the identically icy stares of Aran and Malkovitch. "Yes sir!" he said, hating how his voice squeaked a bit, and hating even more how his stomach turned when Aran mouthed the word "later" to him as he made ready to leave. He hurried down the hall to his barracks, wondering just how long he had until "later" made his facial features unrecognizable.

* * * * * * * * *

"Come in, Aran," Colonel Malkovitch said after Tannian had departed.

He stepped aside to allow her entrance to his office. "At ease, by the way," he said casually, though he was not surprised when she did not relax, her posture remaining fixed and rigid as she entered. He’d been trying for months to help her assimilate to the Brigade, and maybe even learn to relax a bit, but to no avail. Sometimes he wondered what lay beneath the wall of ice that served as her personality, but unlike many of the members of Lambda Brigade, he did not consider it his place to ask her outright. Her business was still her business.

He gestured to a leather chair positioned in front of his desk. "Take a seat." She did sit, but on the edge of the chair, with her back still in stiff attention posture. Malkovitch closed the door and took his seat at his desk, surveying the young woman in front of him. "Damn it, Aran. Relax already."

She continued to sit stiffly, gaze focused not on him, but on the wall behind him. She said, "Sir, if this is regarding Ward—“

"It's regarding a lot of things, Aran. Private Ward's situation is just the most recent of them. I'm guessing Tannian was about to get himself on that list of things, if I hadn't interrupted the two of you," he said knowingly.

This elicited a response from the icy Private. She appeared to be fighting a smirk. In any other officer or private, Malkovitch would have been irritated by the gesture and probably have told the individual to drop and give him at least fifty, if not more, pushups. On many occasions he had barked at Aran to drop. She’d given the required number of pushups effortlessly, stood, saluted, and taken her leave. At these times Malkovitch wasn’t quite sure what to make of her. It was as if she enjoyed any form of challenge, be it mental or physical. Sometimes he wondered if she thrived on conflict. But as the months wore on and she became more isolated (if that were possible), he began to look at her with different eyes.

Samus Aran was not the average recruit. He had no idea where she'd come from, and at the rate she was going, there was no telling where she'd end up. Malkovitch, known for building rapport and camaraderie between his brigade members, was at a loss initially as far as she was concerned. She had potential, he could not deny her that. She had a brilliant tactical mind, and had easily pointed out flaws in strategies designed for mission simulations, something which had gotten her in bad standing with some of the higher-ups. Physically, she had incredible strength and endurance, outperforming all of the other women and most of the men in every category. When it came to weapons exercises, she was a clean shot, accurate to within a half-inch at 1000 meters, even without computer guidance technology. She would have been an answer to any officer's prayers, if only she could use her prowess for the positive. The sad irony was seeing abilities so well-honed controlled by a mind so volatile, seeing such great potential wasted so badly. She'd wash out at the rate she was going now. On the other hand, if she could harness her rage, she would be an asset to any Brigade, and could quite possibly qualify for Special Services.

But that was unlikely. To keep one's rage in check, one had to be disciplined and want to harness it. He could see no such desire in Aran. While she was good at what she did, she’d never be a higher officer; she had no rapport with people. He heard the men called her “Ice Queen Aran”. While he did not necessarily approve of such name calling, he couldn’t deny that it suited her.

He eyed the woman seated before him, her deep green eyes frosted over with bitterness. As usual, she appeared angry; he had a feeling that for reasons she cared not to share, Samus Aran was angry with the known galaxy. Shortly after her first few fights he realized this, and also realized there was no beating change into her. Most cadets could be broken in by harsh physical training or labor, but Samus Aran barely batted the thick lashes of her hardened eyes as she completed her punishments and went off only to get into another fight. Malkovitch was nearing his wits’ end coming up with excuses as to why she’d not been placed on probation just yet, let alone discharged. Something about her kept him protecting her on every occasion.

Samus Aran squirmed a bit, her tense erect posture beginning to grow uncomfortable. Also uncomfortable was the way the Colonel had leveled his gaze at her, and now stared across his desk, eyes searching her. She’d always felt a curious combination of comfortable and uncomfortable around Colonel Malkovitch; she was never certain how he perceived her, and as a result she was never certain just how she should be feeling around him at any given time. Now, for example, he simply stared at her, and somehow she knew his eyes were seeing something others would not. She knew everyone called her the Ice Queen. She liked the nickname, when it came down to it. It fit her persona, and gave her yet another defense mechanism in her arsenal. Few wanted to see beneath the thick ice, and those that did wanted a glimpse out of sick curiosity. They didn’t care about the reality of what was there. They just wanted to see if there was anything there. Samus refused to give them the satisfaction of knowing either way, since frankly, they didn’t need to know, and even if they did, they didn’t deserve it.

But Colonel Malkovitch, he was a bit different. He searched her not out of curiosity, but a genuine concern. He wanted to know her, understand her, and of anyone she’d met in her short time with Lambda Brigade he was the only one she would even consider allowing to see the Samus below the surface. Thus she remained cool around him, though not nearly as distant as with the other Brigade members.

Even though Malkovitch strove to do what others were to lazy for, he was still a military man with a commitment to the Federation. She realized, perhaps a bit too late, that maybe reminding Private Ward that she preferred her privacy while showering had been a bit too hasty. Malkovitch had told her after she broke Crowe's nose last month that she was treading on thin ice. "There’s only so much I can do, only so long I can protect you," he'd told her, a gleam of urgent concern, flashing in his gray-blue eyes.

Yes, that was it. He wanted to protect her. Protect her from others... maybe even, on some level she could not yet fathom, protect her from herself. She prided herself on resourcefulness and self-sufficiency; it had been the basis of her decidedly nontraditional upbringing, and yet this man wanted to be certain she was given the opportunity to remain in this traditional setting. It was stable here. She needed stability. She knew this, and he knew it too, which was perhaps the motivation for his enabling behavior.

Samus suppressed a slightly confused sigh and reverted her thoughts to the present, where Malkovitch was still staring at her. At long last she relaxed the taut muscles of her back, neck, and shoulders, her attention posture dissolving into one that combined a feeling of defeat with a readiness to run. She eyed him warily.

"Look, Aran..." he began, but changed his mind. "Samus," he said. Enough with the formalities, he thought. She'd been alienated by so many people already the last thing he wanted was to do anything that would push her away from him. "Why are you on the defensive?" he began cautiously.

"Excuse me?" she asked, arching one eyebrow in suspicion.

"Why are you defensive right now, with me," he clarified. "You look like you’re about to bolt."

"Perhaps because I am, Colonel," she told him wryly, crossing her arms over her chest and flicking her eyes back at the door.

He grinned a bit ruefully. "Yes, indeed. That could be the case as well. But... just sit. Talk with me a bit."

"Talk, Colonel?" she asked, the bitter edge returning to her voice. She grinned disconcertingly, her eyes still icy, the shutters drawn so he could not read her soul. Those eyes were the bane of his dreams some nights; on occasion he'd dreamed that he was in an ocean of icy green water. Waves pummeled his body and currents attempted to pull him into the depths where he would drown. Then he’d wake, gasping and sweating, unable to believe he’d had such a dream. What concerned him was that he’d been having the dream more and more frequently. His fantasies about Samus Aran were exhilarating, but frightening; and not because she was younger, or one of his subordinates, but because of her sheer intensity.

"Talk's never gotten me anywhere," she said, unaware that she was interrupting his fantasizing. "It's much easier not to speak at all. They call me the Ice Queen, you know," she told him flatly, not at all surprised when he nodded. "No one else wants to talk; why are you any different?"

"Because I've put forth effort," he told her, staring at her nose rather than her eyes. "I want to understand you, Samus, and I think I do."

"You think you understand me," she stated. "Of all the arrogant, misinformed"

He held his hand up, cutting her off. "I said think. I’d be arrogant and misinformed if I said I actually did understand you. This is what I meant by you being so damned defensive all the time." He leaned across the desk, forcing himself to meet her eyes again. "You're not all that happy here, are you?" he said quietly.

"It doesn't matter," she said, but some of the edges in her voice had softened, and her eyes had become more liquid and less hard. There was a hint of confusion there, barely perceptible, but glimmering softly all the same.

"It's a life," she added after a moment, averting her gaze for the first time.

"It's not the life for everyone," he retorted sensibly. "I have medals. I have ribbons. I have accolades and whatever the hell else saying I'm an asset to the military, but you know what, I don't really give a damn about it, mostly because I don't do it for the medals. I do it because I can't do anything else with myself. We're bound by our experiences, Samus. We become who we are. You stick with this, you'll become a miserable person.”

"Thank you," she said dully. "I really needed to hear what I already knew."

"If you already knew then why have you stayed here?"

"There's nothing else," she said simply, with a shrug. How could she explain to him that a 21 year old woman with no traditional education and no discernible past did not have an opportunity for a ‘normal’ life? Then again, what was normal? She figured normal was anything and everything she was not. Most of the time she could accept this and go about her business, but times like these, when Colonel Malkovitch surveyed her so quietly and keenly, she became so very aware that there was something missing; Malkovitch reminded her, probably not intentionally, that she was not a complete person.

"What do you want, Samus Aran?" he asked her finally.

"What the hell kind of question is that?" she asked, growing flustered. In truth she knew what kind of question it was, but to try and find the answer within herself terrified her. She didn’t have an answer, was what it came down to. It was easier to be defensive than admit she had no bloody ideas whatsoever.

"It's an honest question," Malkovitch said calmly. "I don't think you really want to be the Ice Queen. And I don't think you really want to pound Tannian later on. So what do you want?" He challenged.

"Damn you," she hissed through clenched teeth. She stood quickly, green eyes smoldering, her cheeks red with fury. "I'm leaving. Hell, I'm transferring to another brigade, or better yet getting the fuck out of the military altogether. That's what I want, Colonel," she spat. But even as she dripped venom, she realized something. Malkovitch had forced her to face her emptiness and challenged her to find what it would take to fill it.

He had stood too, and now stared at her with a new expression on his face: pleading. He was pleading with her not to leave in anger and rage. Rather than pushing her away, or glad to be rid of her, he wanted her to stay. She felt her lower lip tremble a bit. No, she would not do anything of the sort here! Tears were not for hardened fighters, or Ice Queens, or women who were old enough to take care of themselves, and she was nothing if not all of the above. She turned her back toward him, but something kept her from leaving. She stood there, torn between Malkovitch and the door, scared to stay, yet scared to leave as well. If she stayed she would have to face the fact: she wanted something to fill her emptiness. If she exited she would be left with her emptiness, never knowing what could have filled it.

She took in a deep, shuddering breath. "I should go now, Colonel," she said, struggling to keep her voice even. "Thank you for your time."