Vanity

Summary: “I know everything about you, Kovacs. You have someone in your head long enough, they'll leave something behind. It's inevitable.”

Warning(s): Spanking; spoilers for the television series Altered Carbon; referenced violence; canonical hallucinations; AU; references to remembered torture

Author's Note: Got a few different ideas for the series Altered Carbon. This one is for the mini-spring challenge over on Spanking_World. A selection of colourful Easter eggs, each one numbered and each one containing a piece of dialogue to use as inspiration. The egg I chose? Number 4. The piece of dialogue? 'Looks like we'll be here for a while.'

Stay safe everyone, with this virus. Look after yourselves. Stay at home if you need to. Even if your symptoms are only mild, it's better to keep yourself safe and healthy first; plus, if you are sick, you'll avoid spreading the virus to as many people if you self-isolate.

###

He didn't have any regrets.

Well, that wasn't entirely true. He had many regrets. Many things he wished he'd done differently. But right here and now? Looking at how he'd left things with the 'pack' he'd formed, he couldn't call to mind any regrets. The only emotional wound came from the loss of the Poe; but Ava had promised to work on restoring the hotel, with Lizzie's help.

Kovacs didn't know why he was so reluctant to leave. He'd made sure Elias Ryker's sleeve had been returned; was fairly sure the man had his stack back and was with Ortega. How she was handling her partner's return, he had no idea. He just hoped that Ryker was giving her the support she needed after losing so much of her family.

The sleeve he wore now carried no scars. If he didn't know better, he would have thought it was brand new; grown in a lab. And he could have purchased a brand new sleeve. He had enough money now to rub elbows with the Meth.

If he wanted to. If he wanted to fall into that trap.

“You're worried Rei was right. That you won't be able to find me without her help.”

Quell's image stood in one corner of the room. Watching him. She was always watching him. It didn't matter that she wasn't real. She looked real. He wanted to reach out and touch her. Run his fingers through her hair. Drag her to him and kiss her until the pain of old wounds faded away.

But if he tried, she'd evaporate into nothing. And he selfishly wanted to keep seeing her as long as he could.

She wasn't really there; was just an image from his fractured psyche. And it was likely a bad sign he was seeing her still. But he couldn't regret it.

“And you're worried about the people you'll be leaving behind,” she continued. “Your friends.”

“My pack,” he corrected. “They're not my friends. They won't recognise me in this sleeve.” He was used to switching between sleeves and while his original body was long gone, his current sleeve was closer to it; the sleeve of a young man with longer black hair he hadn't bothered to get cut yet. “I don't care about them.” He looked into her eyes.

Quell's hallucination gave no response and a second later, there was a pounding on the door of his apartment.

Frowning, Kovacs glanced at the door. His apartment was clean and, while maybe not in the best part of town, he'd checked the area to make sure there were no gangs or high levels of crime activity. And he'd checked into the previous resident of the apartment and they hadn't been in any trouble as far as he could tell.

When the knock came a second time, Kovacs' frown deepened and he darted another glance towards Quell's image.

She was gone. Of course. And no matter what it made him, even if it was only his fractured psyche projecting the images of her, he still missed her.

Putting his hand on his gun, Kovacs walked towards the door. He angled his body to one side, so that the door would block his torso from an attack, and carefully pulled it open.

“I thought you were never going to answer.”

It was strange. He'd spent so long listening to that voice inside his head. It was vastly different hearing it from another person's mouth. The sound of the voice was the same, but the inflection...it wasn't his own. And when he peered round the side of the door and was met with the visage he'd been wearing since being resleeved on this planet, it felt like looking into a cracked, distorted mirror.

“Ryker.” That was all he could voice. That one word.

He stepped into the apartment. Took it in at a glance. Then looked at Kovacs. “She said you wouldn't have left yet.”

“Ortega?” Her name slipped out without conscious thought. He tensed, his fingers tightening on the cool metal of his gun. Was Ryker here to try to kick his ass for sleeping with her?

“Yeah.” Ryker closed the door and turned fully to face him. “I figured you'd have gone looking for Quell straight away.”

Kovacs' body went tense; prepared for anything. In a flat, emotionless tone, he asked, “She told you?”

“No.” Ryker looked casual. At ease. Like this was normal for him. “I know everything about you, Kovacs. You have someone in your head long enough, they'll leave something behind. It's inevitable.”

Kovacs shook his head. He was supposed to be able to prepare for anything, but this...the original occupant of a sleeve seeking out someone who'd been sleeved in them? “That's not possible,” he stated. “Everything is contained in my stack. You know that.”

“Not everything,” Ryker answered. “Like muscle memory. Only this is the subconscious. I'm getting hallucinations. Flashbacks.”

“Why are you here?”

“Seems kind of poor form to let you leave without saying thank you.” Ryker looked directly at him. “I got out because of you.”

“I didn't do it for you,” he replied.

Ryker nodded. “Still. I'm grateful.”

The silence was almost deafening. Kovacs relaxed a fraction, but still kept his hand on his gun. He didn't think Ryker was here with anyone else, but every sense was on alert. After all... “You're here because you won't accept your life back without acknowledging the person you see responsible. But you're not here with Ortega. If she knew you were coming to see me, she'd insist on coming with you. You wanted to see me alone.”

“The Envoy training.” Ryker took a step closer. “I'm guessing you can't turn it off.”

“You want a favour.” Kovacs held back a sigh, reflecting he should have expected this. He was technically a free man, but the connections he'd made after Bancroft had brought him out were never going to just go away. “I don't know you. You'd be better off telling Ortega to come and ask me for that favour. I don't know you. I have no reason to do anything for you.”

Ryker had been shaking his head throughout Kovacs' words. When he was finished speaking, he said quietly, “For someone so good at using his Envoy abilities, you're misreading this whole situation.”

“You're giving me nothing to go on.” Despite every attempt he made to keep his voice calm and level, Kovacs could still hear the note of frustration in it. He didn't really know why he'd chosen to stay still, only...part of him, a big part, was reluctant. He cared about them, plain and simple. Every bit of training had told him to treat them as expendable. But in the end, he'd chosen them over his sister. His own blood. And no matter what she'd become...he loved her. And he couldn't deny that, at least to himself. And deep inside, he grieved for the innocent child who'd ultimately crumbled under everything she'd gone through.

Ryker took another step closer to Kovacs. One more and he'd be in his personal space. “Then how about this? I took a leave of absence. Wasn't hard. They owe me. So I'm going with you.”

“No.” Kovacs stood his ground, even as the response sprang to his lips automatically. “I'm not taking anyone with me. I cleared your name for Ortega's sake. We're not friends. I don't know you.” A lie. He could only hope Ryker didn't read that in his tone.

“Look, you were sleeved in me long enough to know what I can do,” Ryker stated. “I'm going with you. And I'm not leaving until you're convinced.”

“Looks like we'll be here for a while, then.” Kovacs walked over to the small, dirty white fridge and opened it. He pulled out two bottles of beer and held one out to Ryker.

“Thanks.” The other man took the bottle and removed the cap. He drained about half of the bottle and then nodded. “Good stuff.”

“I can afford it.” Kovacs uncapped his own bottle, but didn't take a swig. Staring at the amber liquid, he asked, “Why are you hell bent on coming with me? You looking for excitement or shit like that?”

“Nah. I just figure you shouldn't be alone.” Ryker finished the rest of the bottle. He was silent for a few moments before suddenly saying, “No one believed in me. You know? They all figured me for a dirty cop.”

“Ortega didn't.”

Ryker gave a quiet snort. “She did. Maybe it wasn't for long, but she still believed I was capable of it.”

“We're all capable of terrible things under the right circumstances.” Try as he might, he couldn't keep his voice level and toneless. Not entirely.

“Yeah.” Ryker nodded. “I might not have been a dirty cop, but I've done a lot of messed-up things. Used to have someone to help me with that guilt, but....” He paused and took a deep breath, then made eye contact with Kovacs. “Well, if I'd been here, he wouldn't have died.” He raked a hand through his hair. “Okay, so that's a more roundabout way of saying what I mean.”

“You think I feel guilty.”

Ryker snorted and moved right into Kovacs' personal space. “I know you feel guilty.”

“Even if that's true.” He paused, as the thoughts of exactly what he did feel guilty for circled in his head. Everything he'd ever done. He stared into Ryker's eyes and stood his ground. “Even if you're right and I do feel guilty, what are you suggesting I do about it?”

“Not you. Me.” Ryker reached out to grasp his shoulder.

Kovacs darted back out of reach. “I shot the last guy who hit me in the head.”

“I know.” Ryker tapped the side of his own head. “But I'm not gonna hit you. I'm going to spank you. And you're going to let me.”

That startled a humourless laugh from him. “Spank me?” he echoed. “I had my legs cut off in virtual. And that was the least of what was done to me. And it didn't break me. I really don't know what you think you're going to achieve by doing this.”

“Yeah, you've been tortured. Hurt badly, physically and emotionally,” Ryker agreed. “But a spanking isn't about torture or pain. It's about knowing someone else cares enough to pull you back. To help you stop feeling guilty. And you can try lying to me, but I know you. It makes sense to take another person with you to watch your back, but you believe you should be alone. That you deserve to be alone.” While he was speaking, he reached out.

Kovacs saw it coming. He could have moved out of the way. Could have fought Ryker off and probably would have succeeded. But...Ryker's words indicated he cared. About him. Kovacs had no idea how or why, but after losing Quell and then his sister for the second time...the promise of being cared about was enough to make him hesitate.

If being cared about meant having to submit to a spanking...well, he'd experienced far worse pain.

So all Kovacs did was stand there and watch, his Envoy training allowing everything to slow down so that, although Ryker was moving at normal speed, it seemed to take several seconds for his hand to grasp Kovacs' shoulder.

There was strength in the grip. Kovacs could have broken it easily, but instead, he found himself leaning into the hold. Submitting to it. He allowed Ryker to lead him towards the couch. As the other man sat down, he took in a slow, deep breath and waited.

Ryker's hand shifted its grip to Kovacs' wrist and Kovacs found himself drawn forward over the other man's lap. He let out his breath slowly and settled in place, elbows resting on the cushions and feet on the floor.

The first smack was harder than he expected. He held in his reactions, but as Ryker's hand came down again and again on his ass, it wasn't long before his whole butt started stinging.

It wasn't really painful. He'd told Ryker that he'd felt worse. But something about the repetitive action of palm against butt felt more than being tortured. Even with his pants between Ryker's palm and his ass, it didn't take long for it to become uncomfortable. It hurt considerably more when Ryker's palm moved a bit lower and began to swat the tops of his thighs and he began to shift in an attempt to 'guide' the spanking to a less sensitive area.

In response, Ryker paused the spanking, but only to tug Kovacs' pants down.

It hurt more with only his underwear between bare skin and palm; stung more when Ryker targeted his thighs. Kovacs dug his fingers into the cushions, so he wouldn't reach back and claw at the other man's arm. He hissed out a breath and clenched his teeth together, refusing to let any sound escape.

“I know.” Ryker's voice was low. Sympathetic. “But it makes it harder if you fight it. Fight your reactions. I've been on the other end enough times to know that. This isn't about torture or torment. It's punishment to help you with your guilt. Given by someone who actually cares about how much you're hurting inside.”

His eyes were wet. He hadn't even realised he'd started crying. The tears were silent, but they still flowed down his cheeks.

The final barrier was pulled down: his underwear. The sensation of bare hand on bare backside made it more intense. More personal. The tears flowed faster; turned into quiet sobs as Ryker's hand returned to his thighs; began targeting his sit spots.

With the tears, his chest began to loosen, a tightness he'd never realised was there seeping away. With that weight gone, he felt lighter...freeer...than he had in a long time.

It took several minutes for him to realise that the spanking had stopped. His bottom stung, but not unbearably so. He lay there for a few moments as Ryker pulled his clothing back into place and then rubbed at his eyes before slowly pushing himself up.

Ryker waited a beat and then said, “I asked Ortega to wait for me to contact her. She wants to come with us as well. There's nothing left here for either of us and...well, we're both indebted to you. So what do you say?”

“Yeah.” Kovacs sat down, wincing as his backside stung to remind him of what had just happened. “You planning on telling her about this?”

“Me? No.” Ryker shrugged. “But if it ends up being something you need again, might not be so easy to hide it.”

“Did you hide your needs from her?”

“Couldn't have if I tried.” Ryker chuckled softly. “You try to hide anything from Ortega and she'll ferret it out. One of the many reasons I love her.” He paused. “Guessing it's one of the reasons you slept with her.”

“You planning on punching me for that?” Kovacs asked.

“I haven't been sleeved before, but I know the details,” Ryker answered. “And me and Ortega? We've been tight a long time. Guessing there were all sorts of emotions tied to being sleeved in me. I'm not mad at you or at her. And it's not gonna be awkward. After all, we'll be searching for the love of your life.”

“We.” Kovacs couldn't help but smile. A real one. “Yeah. I like the sound of that. Call her up.”

We are Envoys. And we take what is offered.

The End