THE PRISONERS IN THE PALACE

Part Six:

Sid did not need to see her tears to know they were there. "You cry for him."  It was statement, not question.

She looked up, briefly, angrily.

"When he cries for you.  Then we are done."  Explaining no more, he got up and walked toward one of the panel doors. "Stay with him. He may need...assistance."

"Wh...what do you mean?"

"Sleeping potion number 9," he grinned, patting his pocket. "Unpleasant side-effects upon waking."

The door hissed open and shut. He was gone. Blessedly gone. She rose, sitting on the edge of the wide bed, then reached out, tracing with a fingertip the upper curve of his beard along his cheek.  She could still hardly believe he was here, right here, here in this very room with her.  She had watched Gladiator so many times, then when she knew Mikol was sending her as part of his retrieval team to bring him out, she watched it many times more.  She knew every move he made, every tilt of his head, every slight quiver of his lip.  Never had she spoken of what he had come to mean to her. She had put on her professional retrieval duties like some thick mantle, her personal feelings tucked securely within, completely out of sight. It was how she'd learned, how she'd been forced to learn, to live her life. Cloaked.  Masked. Armored.

Here, for the first time since she was a young girl, she let the mantle fall.  She had cried in his arms not long ago.  She never cried. Not in many, many years. But the feel of him holding her had...changed that. In his presence she felt as though all her armor had been laid by. That was
new for her and the vulnerability concomitant with it kept her a bit off balance.

But not with Sid. With Sid she knew she needed armor to survive. Only the problem was that often she was with both the Nanotech and the General at the same time and the constant shifting in her level of covering left her with large cracks that Sid could walk right through. She knew he was aware of that, was out and out exploiting that.

Maximus' jaw was still slack, indicating a deep level of sleep. She frowned, worried, as she studied his face. He'd been drugged twice and yanked through a warp all in one day. "You are strong," she whispered. "You will make it through this."

It had been his strength, his command that originally attracted the warrior in her to him. But it was his contained vulnerability that had won her soul. And then she'd had to watch him die. Over and over she'd watched his final topple, the final closing of his eyes. She touched them now with her palm. They were closed again. But this time they would open, this time they would open and would see her.

When she was within his movie, she had held herself so firmly in check, had kept this need to let her fingers wander over his face, had kept it all locked firmly away. She was a soldier, a professional with a job to do. It was who she was. But it was not...all...of who she was. She would never see Mikol again. Not unless.... She darted a glance at the door. Sid wouldn't do that, would he? Not even Sid. Send her back to Grovensky?  Surely not. Yet her heart began to pound a bit.

Maximus lay on his back in the middle of the bed. There was plenty of room for her slender form beside him, so she stretched out along the length of him, facing him on her left side, her right arm curving over his chest so she could feel the rise and fall of his breathing. She did not sleep herself, but merely lay there, being with him, thinking, remembering. It had been quite early on in her life that she had found herself alone, had been faced with the need to find her own means of survival. She was athletic and with a will even stronger than her body. Pain had come to her, pain both of body and soul, and always she managed to stand straight in the midst. If she had been Roman, she would have been a Stoic. She was, she mused, a Stoic despite the deficit in her patrimony. Yet she had lain in his arms and cried until there was nothing left to cry with. It had
been the way he looked at her. She had never been looked at in just that way before. He had made her heart swell until her armor could no longer contain it. Would she ever manage to make it fit again?

She lifted her head, looking at his profile. Sid was forcing her to lie to him. She had determined she would do that as little as possible in what she said. That she could still control to a certain extent. It was the lies inherent in her silences that would be the unforgivable ones. The things she did not say. Placing her lips near his ear, she whispered, "Forgive me, Maximus. Forgive me for what I must do."

He stirred, moving his head slightly on the pillow, and for a brief second she thought he'd heard her. But he was still asleep, only beginning the long rise to consciousness. She could lie beside him a while longer and he would not know.

Another hour passed and he began to be restless, his head turning on the pillow, a slight frown on his face deepening into lines of great discomfort as the minutes passed. She sat now on the side of the bed, watching him carefully. What had Sid meant about the effects of the drug? Beads of sweat began forming on his face. She got a towel and gently wiped his forehead.

His color was changing to pasty grey and he began to moan as he kept up the constant turning of his head. Suddenly his eyes flew open and he half-sat, half-turned...and everything inside him came up...onto her lap.

He wasn't aware...at first...that she was even there. He'd closed his eyes as he sat and everything happened so rapidly that it was over before he could do anything about it. When he was done, he hung there, gasping, then slowly let his lids rise. He was simply horror-struck. He stared at her lap, the soft white material of her gown covered in the contents of his belly.

She was looking at him, her blue eyes large and round, an unreadable expression in their depths. Silently she handed him the small towel in her hand. Shaking still, he took it, wiped his mouth, then looked uncertainly at her lap. His face, no longer grey, was flaming bright red. Always he knew what to do. Within split seconds he made decisions that affected the lives of  thousands. Now he sat there at a complete, absolute loss, breathing heavily through his parted lips.

She felt it soaking through her dress, the dampness of it on her thighs. She had been entirely startled by his sudden movement, by its...aftermath. She kept perfectly still except for handing him the towel. She did glance once at her lap. That was inevitable. But it was his face that held her eyes. He was appalled at what had just happened, embarrassed beyond speaking.  It was written there in every line of his expression. The next move was hers, her choice how to respond to this unspeakable event. Perhaps her armor was off, yes, but her instincts were still fully intact. She had lived her life always on the edge of disaster, knew that her response now was important, would shape...things.  Searching herself,  she found only compassion for him,  for his embarrassment. She had the power in this moment to make it worse for him. Nothing in her
wanted to do that.

He was trying to form words, but his throat was simply too tight. "I...,"he began, almost choking with the attempt to force sound, "I...."

He didn't know what he expected from this woman. Whatever it was, it was not what he got. Her lips curved into a suggestion of a smile as she continued to sit where she was then took the towel and spread it over her lap.

"It is no great matter, my lord," she said softly, not at all sure just why she addressed him so, only that she wanted to offer him respect even now.

"I am so...I cannot...," he finally managed to blurt, but she stood, carefully gathering up her skirts and the towel together.

"I will attend to this," she said, her eyes soft, comfortable in her decision.

He looked at her, taking a while to comprehend that she was not disgusted. She stood there, not far from the bed, like some graceful statue in white, her skirts pulled rather high in front, revealing long and shapely legs. "Please," she added as she began to turn toward her chamber, "do not trouble yourself further over this. It was not your fault."

Indeed, she thought. It was entirely Sid's doing. Maximus had already been asleep when Sid had held the vial to his nose. He didn't even know he'd been drugged again, that he had been taken from here and had the microchips implanted. As far as he was aware, he was just now waking from that original sleep. He was completely blameless. She disappeared into her room, hurrying when she was out of his sight to a large basin of water, unfastening her shoulder clasps and
letting the gown fall to the tiles.

He leaned back onto his right elbow, watching after her as she left his room, blinking still in amazement at her words, her actions. She had been...gracious. In the face of his...his.... "Oh, gods," he moaned, covering his eyes with his left hand.

He couldn't believe he had done what he had just done. Lying back on his pillow, he replayed the horrible scene. He had shamed himself yet she had not added her disgust to shame him further. She had been quiet, composed. He could not think of another woman he'd ever known who would have responded as this one did. And he did not even know her name. At least, he did not remember it if she had ever told him. Had she? Who WAS she, this woman of such composure? Then he remembered her tears. She was a mystery, this one. Why...why was she here in what he knew had to be Commodus' palace. Why was she here, a prisoner...like he was.

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