Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Integration ❯ A Can Of Worms ( Chapter 2 )

Warnings and Disclaimers on page one. If you haven't read the first two parts, you're going to be lost.

Integration

By: Bane's Desire

Part 2 - A Can Of Worms

Waking brought with it a long yawn and an aching stretch, one which brought out the pain from bruises he'd gained the night before.

"Come on, Jason. You're going to be late for work if you don't hustle." Scott always managed to put a bit of warmth into his irritated voice in the mornings, he thought bitterly. The warmth he'd decided long ago was fake, the irritation was real enough. "Breakfast is in five minutes."

Knowing the Japanese man's eyes were fixed on him, he nodded as he moved towards the dresser and from out of the top drawer he removed his boxers, tee shirt and socks. Evidently satisfied at the progress he was making, his zookeeper left him to dress. Moving slowly to the closet, he picked out a dark blue oxford shirt and tan pleated pants for the day. He returned to the bed and put his selections on it, then began to dress, starting with his boxer briefs and t-shirt as sounds of cooking filtered into the bedroom from the kitchen.

Fully dressed, he made a quick trip to the bathroom where he washed his face and brushed his teeth. He ran the electric razor over the stubble on his face, a tool of convenience that never seemed to cut close enough. He sighed looking at the less effective shaver. It wasn't his favorite way of getting rid of his morning growth of beard, but after slashing his wrist a year and a half ago, razors were forbidden in the apartment.

His reflection in the mirror showed him last night's damage to his face. He shook his head, feeling ill at the sight of the dark bruise on his cheek where he'd been slammed into the shower wall and the ugly split lip where Scott had sucker punched him when he entered the apartment. He was going to have a very hard time explaining the visible bruises to his co-workers, many of whom gave him knowing looks of sympathy and pity when he offered them one lame excuse after another for the frequent bruises that appeared on his face.

Leaving the bathroom, he trudged to the kitchen and sat down at the table without looking at the other man who was busy at the stove.

"Quit sulking," the older man ordered a moment later as he turned to place a plate of food in front of him. A cup of coffee and a glass of juice followed and he picked up the steaming mug and sipped at its hot contents. If there was anything he could appreciate about the other, it was the fact that he made a great cup of coffee. Despite the pain from his wounded lip, a purr of contentment came from him as the hot, dark liquid pleased his taste buds.

Scott chuckled as he sat in his place on the opposite side of the small table. Blue-violet eyes rose to meet brown and the Japanese man frowned. "Don't forget your contacts," Scott reminded him. His frown deepened as he stared at the abused face. "What are you going to say at work to explain your face?"

Shrugging, he replied in the quiet voice his lover preferred. "I don't know. I'm running out of excuses. It's pretty clear they don't believe me any more, no matter what excuse I give."

"Maybe it's time to change jobs."

The suggestion troubled him more than he dared to let on. If Scott knew he'd grown attached to anyone, that he'd made a close friend at the office, he'd make him quit anyway. Looking over his mug of coffee, he churned up enough courage to say something. "I like my job and co-workers," he began. "You just need to stop smashing my face with your fist." He knew the moment the words passed his lips that he was treading a dangerous line, one that he precariously balanced on every day with the decade-older, volatile man sitting across from him.

The room went silent and the cinnamon-haired man tried to hide his nervousness at having been so bold by picking up his fork and cutting into his eggs. Surprisingly, no reprimand or physical retribution came as the two ignored each other as their meal continued in silence.

Finishing off his juice, the daily five dollar bill was slapped down onto the laminate table top. "Don't be late again," the Japanese man strongly admonished as he rose from his chair and took up the two empty plates.

"The office Christmas party is in two days," he reminded the other.

"You're not going."

Blinking his eyes in surprise of that statement, he looked up to his lover's stiff back. "But I've had it on the calendar for a month," he complained. "I have to go. The department head put me in charge of it and I need to be there to make sure it runs smoothly."

"I'm sure it will run fine without you."

Standing, he went to the other man and stood by his side at the sink and watched as Scott rinsed off the dishes. "Please, Scott, I have to be there. If I'm not, they'll wonder what happened to me. It starts an hour after work and goes until ten. I'll take a cab and be home by ten thirty. I promise, I'll come straight home."

The other man continued to put the dishes into the dishwasher, seeming oblivious to his plea. He had to try again to convince him of the importance of his going. "I've worked hard on this, Scott. I'm trying to prove myself at the office so I can get a promotion. I might even get a raise. It's important that I go and that the party goes off without a hitch."

The other man gave a weary sigh, as if he'd been heavily put upon by his pleading. "Alright. You can go. But I expect you to keep your word and be home by ten thirty." He turned to look into the face of the smaller man, his expression and hardened brown eyes telling him what he could expect if he didn't live up to his promise. Then a snide smile rose on the face he'd once thought was handsome. He felt a hand stroke the front of his pants suggestively. "I'll expect you to do something for me in exchange," Scott said in what was supposed to be a seductive tone of voice. He didn't think anything his tormentor said or did could ever turn him on again, not after the pain inflected on him by those same hands.

Knowing he had little choice in the matter, because Scott would take what he wanted from him whether he chose to give it or not, he nodded his head in agreement, bringing a lecherous grin to the other man's face. He knew without asking that Scott wanted some sexual favor from him, and if he was lucky, he'd get by with giving him a blow job. He hadn't been able to achieve an erection for his lover for the past year, though that fact didn't stop Scott from taking him on a regular basis.

"Give me a kiss and go to work," Scott said as he lowered his head, waiting for the demanded affection.

Leaning up, he placed a chaste kiss on the other man's mouth, not surprised to find himself grabbed and pulled close while a tongue was forced into his mouth and thoroughly explored it before he was let go. Without looking at his captor, he turned, grabbed the five dollars off the table and left the room without looking back.

"Don't forget your contacts and your lunch by the door. I'll see you at six thirty," Scott called after him.

After a quick trip to the bathroom for the contacts, he grabbed his heavy coat, his sack lunch Scott made for him every day and left the apartment as quickly as possible and ran to the elevator. Nine hours without his tormentor breathing down his neck was like a furlough from prison, he thought. Checking his watch, he saw that he had ten minutes to catch his bus. With luck, the traffic would be on his side for once and he could get to work before his co-workers, allowing him time to hide in his cubicle before anyone saw the damage to his face. How he was going to explain the bruise and cut lip was something he would have to come up during the thirty minute bus ride.

~~~~~

"Jason Phillips! What the hell is that on your face?"

He instantly recognized the voice of his friend and co-worker, Debra Davis. He'd been hoping to avoid her that day, but luck was rarely on his side in helping him stay out of trouble. "Hi Deb," he replied softly, his face still down, giving others the impression that he was studying his lunch.

"Jay?" He could hear her footsteps as well as the note of concern in her voice as she drew near the table located in the back of the lunch room where he'd gone to hide himself. Out of the corner of his lowered eyes he saw the bright yellow sneakers she had favored over the last two weeks as they came into view, then stopped as she stood next to him. He heard her gasp as she realized what the odd marks on his face were. "Oh god, not again." There was anger in her voice as she crouched down, putting her face into his line of vision and studied the full extent of the damage. Her dark-skinned hand came to his chin and tilted it upward. As she studied his damaged face, her eyes filled with unshed tears. The petite African American woman then let go of his face, pulled the adjacent chair closer to him and sat down in it, her eyes fixed on him the entire time. "Shit, Jay. What did you do this time? Forget to put the cap on the toothpaste?" The anger in her voice matched the pinched, unhappy expression on her face.

Noticing that the other employees in the break room had turned their attention towards them to see what the young woman was upset about, he turned and lowered his face away from their prying eyes. "Please, Deb, don't draw attention to me. Scott will make me quit my job if this gets reported."

"That son of a bitch deserves to rot in jail for what he does to you," she spat while managing to keep her voice low as he'd requested.

He didn't know what to say to that, he'd held his opinions to himself for so long that he was afraid to express out loud that he completely agreed with her.

"Tell me again why you put up with this shit?" she demanded.

"He takes care of me," he replied unconvincingly.

"Like hell he does."

"Listen, Deb. Like I told you before, I can't leave. I just can't," he answered her, his own frustration becoming evident. "I hate him," he hissed, careful to keep his voice down. "But I can't leave. I don't know why I'm incapable of getting out, running away or just killing him. Who's the more despicable of the two of us, Deb, the abuser or me, the masochistic weakling?" His self loathing was more than evident from his question to his only true friend.

"You're not that!" she declared and her dark hand came to rest on his pale one, the contrast of their skin symbolized the differences in their personality. She was small in stature but a fire ball of strength, something he seemed to lack. Her hand gave his a reassuring squeeze. "I'm sure there's something in your life, some traumatic event that's given you these panic attacks. That's the real reason you're still there, isn't it?" Her dark brown eyes, filled with compassion, were so different from the other brown eyes that tormented him daily. He could tell from her searching gaze that she was searching for the true reason why he couldn't leave the bastard he lived with.

He gave her a nod of his head, agreeing that her guess was as good as any that he'd come up with on his own. "That and my heart," he replied. "Who would ever want me knowing I have a bad heart. If nothing else, Scott takes care of me. He cooks my meals, has Dr. Clark come monthly, and keeps my medicine on hand for when I have my attacks."

"And you consider that an even trade for the abuse you suffer from him?" she asked, obviously hoping to help her friend out of the abusive relationship that tormented his life. He could see that she was frustrated with him and just about ready to knock some sense into him herself; but she just didn't understand.

"No," he whispered. "But if I even think of leaving, I panic. My heart nearly slams out of my chest."

"I think you need help, Jason. A psychiatrist could maybe unlock the reason for your inability to leave him. And maybe you should see another doctor about your heart condition, get a second opinion. There could be some new procedure or medication that's been developed that could help. We have great insurance benefits here. It probably wouldn't cost you much."

He shook his head, knowing better. "He'd never let me go to a shrink. You know how he controls every aspect of my life. He would never want a professional, let alone anyone else, knowing what goes on in our apartment." With a look of sad resignation on his face, he lowered his head to rest it on his arms, folded on top of the table. "If he ever found out I'd talked so openly and frankly to you about my situation, I'm afraid of what he'd do. You could be in danger, Deb, and that's the last thing I want to happen."

"What could he do to me, Jay? I've got a boyfriend that's a linebacker for the Bears and could break his pencil neck in a second if he looked at me cross eyed."

He sat up straight, his green-tinted eyes flashed with fear as he answered her. "He's strong, Deb, and vicious. Don't underestimate him. I know he's more than what he seems, that he isn't just an insurance agent. He's smart, shifty, and conniving, and I've realized that after all this time, I still don't know much about him. I don't really know where he works or how he gets enough money for our up-scale apartment or the designer clothing he wears. My paycheck isn't enough to make the rent much less pay for the other monthly expenses. He's home when I leave for work and there when I return. He controls almost every aspect of my life and I'm stuck with him because of my attacks."

"Did you ever love him?" Deb asked, a look of pity entering her brown eyes.

Closing his eyes, memories from when he'd first met the other man came rushing forward. "We had a wild attraction to one another at first," he replied, sadly wistful. "I'd just started college, a year after my parents were killed in a car crash. He was good to me then, kind and generous during a time when I was alone and lonely. It wasn't until I left school, at his suggestion, and moved in with him that things began to change." He opened his eyes and stared at the unfinished sandwich before him. "He moved us to another city and began to put me on a schedule, saying I needed structure. At first I thought he was just showing his love for me, but the first time I failed to report home after a job interview I learned first hand about the punishments that followed breaking the rules. That first time he just slapped me around, but as time went by the punishments became more progressively violent. I think he learned along the way that he liked hurting me."

Pushing his lunch aside, he folded his arms on the table and rested his head on them again, keeping his eyes focused on his friend. "We had been a couple in every sense of the word then, but the beatings became brutal and then, after several months, the bastard decided raping me was a better form of punishment." Moisture filled his eyes in recalling the vile turn of his once promising relationship. "I tried to fight back, but my heart reacted violently. It paralyzed me and I thought I was going to die. I remember curling up and begging Scott to help me." He made a sound of disgust. "It didn't faze him one bit, he continued until he was done, despite my condition and only gave me my pill when he'd finished." Pained eyes narrowed at the memory. "I think that was the day my love for him turned to hate, and it's been festering inside of me ever since."

He then closed his tormented eyes, trying desperately to gain control over his emotions and despising himself for being such a weakling.

"It's not your fault, Jas, that he's an abusive ass hole. And if I had my druthers, I'd chop off his hands and castrate him for what he's done to you."

"I've thought of ways to hurt him, even kill him," he admitted darkly, his voice just barely above a whisper. "But every time I do..." His chest began to hurt again as images that had entered his mind the night before of hurting the man he despised and hated came back to him. He moved one of his arms to let his hand clutch at his chest. "Don't think about it," Deb's concerned voice sounded in his ear and he felt her arm come around his shoulder to give him what support she could.

He turned his eyes to her, not able to hold back the feelings of pain and distress he was experiencing. "Oh God," he hissed, his eyes watering from both sensations.

"Think of something else," she suggested in a quiet voice. "How are the preparations for the party going? Did you get a hold of the hypnotist?"

Shifting his thoughts to the party seemed to help ease the pain, and though his voice came out shaky he felt somewhat better from the distraction. "I.. I called him last night just after work to remind him of the day and place. He'll arrive just after dinner and promises to 'wow' us."

Debra's smile seemed a bit forced as she replied somewhat enthusiastically. "He'll be great, Jas. Wait until you see his act. He performed at a party I went to and he had some high and mighty judge crowing like a chicken. I can't wait to see what he does with Mr. Harris or that jerk, Lile."

The last name she spoke of brought a shared look of disgust between the two friends. Kevin Lile was a co-worker that definitely had an attitude when it came to Jason Phillips. Whether he was a homophobe or begrudged good-looking short guys, it seemed he was determined to make life miserable for Jason Phillips. One of the other workers had witnessed Mr. Lile in action and reported his antagonistic behavior towards the timid Mr. Phillips to Mr. Krantz, head of the department. The result was a warning on his work record and the two avoided men each other as much as possible after that.

"I think we should suggest to Mr. Hannible that he try to find the thin person screaming to get out of the glutenous life form," Deb said with humor twinkling in her eyes. She'd shared her theory with him that Lile had one of those stereotypical, obese-person's attitude, one that she'd seen in her own rather large-bodied family. She declared that in her families case, the bigger the body the greater the belligerent attitude. He wasn't sure he wanted to pigeonhole a group of people like that because he'd met some people of large proportions who had been very nice and kind to him. But when it came to bull-dog face Lile, Deb seemed right on the mark.

"Do you really believe he can hypnotize people, or is it staged?" he asked her, changing the subject and feeling much better now that his chest had stopped aching.

"I used to think so," she replied. "But when I saw him hypnotize that judge, I became a believer. The man was as conservative as they come and would never have acted as foolishly as he did in front of a room of his peers and strangers."

"Well, I just hope he's as entertaining as you say because his fee is pretty steep," he said, slightly worried about the expense and hoping the fee for the evening's entertainment was justified.

"Don't worry, he'll be worth it. I promise you, it's going to be something we'll remember for a long time after the holidays are over, judging from the performance I saw."

"Good," he answered, feeling relieved that at least one of his recent decisions had been a good one. He gave his friend a grateful smile, realizing how much he depended on her to lift his spirits when things were so depressingly gray. He not only liked her, but he also admired her. Debra stood at a height of only five foot one and was slight of build. Her black hair was styled into seemingly hundreds of small, tight braids that fell like a beaded curtain from the top of her head to her shoulders. He always thought her hair was beautiful. Yet as small as she appeared, Debra Davis had the personality and drive of a car salesman working solely on commission. She was confident and assertive and more or less forced her friendship on him shortly after he'd started working at the frantic-paced department of motor vehicles. Little did he know at the time that her friendship was the best thing to happen to him in a very long time. She brought out the best of him and made him feel like more than the frightened mouse that Lile used to call him.

When his boss had asked for a volunteer to organize the staff Christmas party, he was more surprised than anyone to have raised his hand, encouraged to do so by his only friend who promised to help him in any way possible. He was certain a little bit of Deb's more outgoing personality had rubbed off on him as he made calls to the caterers and hotel where he made the room arrangements, and then pulled together the entertainment, having heard of the hypnotist from Deb herself.

Noticing the time on the clock set high upon the lunchroom wall, he was immediately distracted from his thoughts. His lunch break was over. Quickly gathering up the remains of his meal and the empty cup that had earlier held water, he suddenly stopped, remembering something. He reached into his pocket and brought out his five dollar bill and handed it to his friend.

"It's adding up," she said, taking the bill and putting it into her own pocket.

"That should be about twelve hundred now, right?" he asked.

"More like fifteen," she replied.

For over a year she'd taken his daily allowance given to him by Scott, plus any extra he'd come by and saved it for him. It was obvious that she detested the man he lived with and that she was determined to help him. She did so by matching each five dollar bill he'd given her, doubling his savings. He'd protested at first when he learned of it, but she insisted that it was what friends did for each other. They both called it his nest egg. Scott would have a fit if he even suspected he was saving his spending money. The Japanese man took his paycheck twice a month, purportedly paying the bills with it. He resented it but there was nothing he could do about it, so he saved on the side. Just knowing that he had a bit of money tucked away gave him a small sense of control and power that was otherwise missing from his life.

"I'll give you a ride home tonight, all right?" Debra said as he pushed the garbage into the trash can.

"That would be great. Thanks, Deb," he replied with a smile that was readily reciprocated.

The young woman shook her head and brought her hand up to rest against his pale skin. "You're amazingly attractive, Jason, despite your frequently battered face. With your looks and that disarming smile, you could have anyone. Dump that loser you're with, just walk away. You can do so much better."

He gave her a sad smile, appreciating her words but knowing his appearance didn't change his circumstance one bit. "I'll see you at break," he said, then turned and left the room, feeling the weight of her worried stare on his back.

~~~~~

The full buffet served at the annual Christmas party for the Illinois Department of Motor Vehicles, Chicago's North Office, seemed exceptional that year. There was plenty of good food to go around and everyone in attendance seemed pleased with the fare. Even the coffee that was served after the dessert trays had been passed around was delicious. After finishing his chocolate mousse, Jason Phillips stood from his chair located next to his friend and co-worker, looking uncertain after all eyes turned to him expectantly as he introduced the evening's entertainment. The wounds on his face were still healing and he was more than aware of the whispered speculation going on around him as to the reason for it.

Earlier, he had greeted and introduced himself to Duane Hannible immediately after dinner had concluded. He decided that the man's appearance was much different than what he'd expected. He found himself shaking hands with a tall, thin, dark-haired man with a narrow, sharp-angled face who looked to be around thirty years old. He was dressed in an expensive black suit but still looked more like a computer geek than an entertainer. Though the man seemed nice enough and conducted himself in a professional manner, he worried that maybe he wasn't going to prove as entertaining as Deb had promised.

He shyly introduced the hypnotist to his fellow co-workers, reading from an index card the information he gotten from him on the phone several days previous. The man received a warm, welcoming applause, and the show began.

Jason blinked in astonishment at the man who seemed to come alive and take on a whole different personality as he took center stage. He told jokes while explaining a little bit about the art of hypnotizing. He had a deep voice that seemed to pull everyone's attention to him and Jason found himself just as mesmerized as his co-workers by that voice as the man called for volunteers for the evening's entertainment.

After getting only three of the state workers to come up, he went out into the audience and chose several more people to assist him. Jason and Debra exchanged a humorous look as his office tormentor, Lile, was reluctantly urged to join the five sitting on the chairs set up in the center front of the dinner tables.

"You should go up there," Debra nudged her friend.

"And miss the fun? No way," he laughed softly, anticipating something taking place during the performance that would be embarrassing to the large-sized man who had made his life at work miserable for several months before someone reported his actions. He turned his attention to the hypnotist as he faced the six people now sitting in the chairs at the front of the room. He took a large, blue crystal, fixed on a chain, out of his pocket, and asked the participants to focus on the bauble and listen only to the sound of his voice. Everyone in the audience concentrated on the hypnotist's voice and on the sparkling blue glass that moved in a slow-arching swing like that of a pendulum.

Once the six were in a hypnotic state, the audience seemed enthralled by the man's manipulations of their fellow co-workers. They were more than entertained at seeing one of them, a middle aged woman who worked at window sixteen, sing an Italian aria, or her version of it. It was obvious from her performance that she didn't know anything about opera, foreign languages or singing. The words she spouted were made up and her voice tried to copy the high-range notes a soprano might try. It came out of any recognizable turn and warbled. To the audience who knew the woman, it was hysterical.

Then another worker was convinced that he was a door to door condom salesman with only one more sale to make before could go home to his famous model wife. His selling technique proved to be enthusiastic and unique. It would be a performance he would probably never live down.

One of the oldest men working at the high pressure job was told he was eight months pregnant, with twins. His antics of walking, sitting and moaning about his predicament had his co-workers almost falling off their chairs.

Another employee acted the part of an Arab sheik and another was the President of the United States giving the State of the Union Address.

Kevin Lile sat quietly in his chair in a state of rest with his head bowed. Mr. Hannible came to him last. He told his last subject that he was a five year old who wanted more than anything a shiny-red fire truck and that his mother didn't want to buy for him. The entire office staff watched as the overweight man pouted, begged with his unseen mother, then threw himself down on the floor and threw a temper tantrum. Mr. Hannible quickly told him he could have the truck and the bully sat up and smiled angelically at him.

"Shit, do you think that's how he really was as a child?" Deb turned to ask her friend sitting behind her, only to see Jason was sitting with his head down, just like those who had been hypnotized on the stage. Remembering the performer's warning, she called out to him. "Mr. Hannible?"

The man turned to find the African American girl waving her arm at him and, catching his attention, she pointed to her companion.

"Looks like we have another volunteer," the hypnotist said with a grin to the attentive crowd. "Some people are more susceptible than others to being hypnotized and it seems your friend here is one of them. I met Mr. Phillips upon my arrival here tonight. Do you think we should see what goes on in that handsome head of his?"

Some clapping and shouts of encouragement from the audience urged the performer to continue.

"Sometimes, while in the state of being hypnotized," Mr. Hannible continued, "it's possible to recall past lives, although between you and me," he gave them all a knowing look with a teasing smile, "it seems everyone who ever lived a past life wasn't just a peasant or mill worker, but sheiks, nobles or priestesses in an Egyptian temple. Let's see if your co-worker here could be the reincarnated William the Conqueror, Napoleon or Ronald Reagan." The audience laughed appropriately and Mr. Hannible turned his attention back to the young man sitting with his arms slack at his sides and his head bowed.

"Mr. Phillips," he said to the un-responsive young man. "Would you stand up please?"

Debra watched as her friend obeyed the man's command and stood, looking more like a drooping rag doll with his head and arms hanging slack than the quietly animated person she knew he could be.

"What's his first name again?" Mr. Hannible asked, looking in her direction.

"Jason," she replied, suddenly feeling nervous that the man might ask something that would reveal her friend's miserable living arrangements and would cause him more trouble than he was already dealing with.

"Jason," the dark hair man smiled warmly at the young man he would toy with next. "I want you to relax completely and drift into a deep, restful sleep." He waited a moment as the unmoving man stayed completely still. "I want you to go back in your mind, past all the worries of today, past your job and life here as you know it. I want you to search your memory to see if there is a part of yourself you didn't know about, another life that you've lived before this one. Can you see past being Jason Phillips? Were you ever someone else?"

Everyone in the room watched as the small, petite man nodded his dropped head. Mr. Hannible gave the audience an excited grin, looking like whatever was going to happen was going to be fun.

"I want you to remember that person, think of the time, the place and circumstances and become that person once again. Do it now," he ordered with confidence. "When I count to three, I want you to open your eyes as the other person and speak with me." He paused for a dramatic effect then began his count. "One... two... three!"

Debra watched as Jason's head began to lift and his eyelids opened revealing a cynical expression on the handsome face that took everyone in the room by surprise, Debra included.

Putting a hand on his hip with an unfamiliar sarcastic grin growing on his face, Jason asked snidely. "Hey, what's with all the stiffs?"

TBC

Thanks, Aphreal, for catching my slips. You're great!