Title: Earthquake

Author: BuffyAngel68

e-mail: buffyangel68@yahoo.com

Yahoo IM: buffyangel68

Fandom: Babylon 5

Pairing: Garibaldi/m

Rating: NC-17 at the least. You'll see...

Warnings: physical and sexual abuse, rape, mid-level bad language

Summary: True evil finds its way onto the station and our favorite grumpy warrior gets caught in the spider's web.

Notes: This one is VERY DARK, people.

WARNING: Garibaldi fans beware; this will squick you no end. I *really* have no idea where it came from. It's not my usual thing at all. (One of my beta-readers suggested I have a second muse that gets off on these types of ideas. Sort of an evil twin thing? God, I hope not.)

I wrote this a while ago and recently offered it for consideration in the Terror Unknown contest. Didn't win anything, but I was hoping they weren't as anime-centric as they turned out to be. I'm not sure I ever had a chance, but it was worth a shot. Let's see what you think.....


Earthquake
by BuffyAngel68

"Vir. Get out of my way."

"Sir, I really do apologize, but it is imperative that...."

"Look.... my dinner is behind that door. The door is behind you. If you don't step aside I will put my boot so far up your sorry ass that all of Medlab couldn't find it without a laser scalpel and a mining permit!"

"I understand your position, sir, but I must insist...."

"Okay. You were warned. Prepare to become one more big ugly spot on the wall." Michael Garibaldi growled, reaching down for the PPG hanging at his waist.

Vir Coto paled, shuffled sideways away from the door and ran back down the hall. "Wimps." The security chief chuckled. "You gotta love their predictability."

Carding open his door, Garibaldi stepped over the threshold and immediately felt a familiar sting high in his left shoulder. He'd been in too many Medlabs in too many places not to recognize the sensation, but his knowledge did him little good as the powerful sedative began to drag him down into darkness. The last he would know of the world for a long while was a smooth, distinctly accented voice whispering in his ear.

"Sleep well, my friend. When you wake we will have such a wonderful time together, yes?"

===================================

"He insists, sir. Says it's vital to the safety of everyone on the station that he talk to you and Garibaldi immediately, if not sooner."

Gazing up at his second in command, John Sheridan grimaced in irritation.

"Typical Londo. If he doesn't get what he wants the minute he decides he wants it, suddenly the whole galaxy's in danger of going supernova."

"I'm not so sure. The look on his face... it wasn't his usual arrogance and overconfidence. I'd swear he was...."

"What?"

"Scared. Shaken at the very least. Maybe you should speak with him, Captain."

"Fine. I trust your judgment, Susan. Send him in."

Drawing and expelling several slow deep breaths, Sheridan tried to prepare himself for the visit of his least favorite ambassador on the station, hoping against hope the impromptu meeting wouldn't run into his dinner hour. Since early that morning, he had been swamped with the normal, everyday problems and crises that went with running a facility of B5's size and he had missed out on both breakfast and lunch. Consequently, he was now grouchy, starving and not in his top diplomatic form.

"Captain. Thank you for seeing me on such short notice. I realize it is quite late so I will not keep you very long, but I have just received a.... very disturbing piece of news and I felt you and.... where is Mr. Garibaldi? He should be here by now. I told Vir..."

"Probably in his quarters having dinner. After I hear you out, I'll decide whether or not to bother him."

"Please... do call him now. The security of the station is at stake."

Slowly realizing that something was indeed off about Londo Mollari's usual manner, the captain sat forward slightly and gestured to the chair across from him, which Mollari claimed.

"If something's going on that I need to know about, just tell me, Londo."

"Yesss..... There is a certain type of criminal... I believe you Earther's call them after some type of breakfast food.... they are compelled to commit the same type of crime again and again, often in the same way..."

"You mean a serial criminal?"

"This is the word; cereal. As I said, breakfast food. It seems our race, venerable and advanced as we may have become, is not immune to this kind of occasional genetic aberration."

"And?"

"The... aberration severely injured several of my people, both women and men on home world.... then managed to escape Centauri security and find a way off-planet."

"I really hope you aren't about to tell me what I *think* you're about to tell me."

"I wish I did not have to. I have reason to believe the monster is now on your station, Captain."

"What reason is that?"

"Heh. This I am not at liberty to divulge. Please trust me. He is here."

"How bad is this likely to get before it's over?"

"If you are able to capture him swiftly, perhaps not too bad at all. If not...."

"How many Centauri did he kill?"

"Kill? Oh, no. To kill his victims would be too kind for this.... creature. He leaves them alive, with all their memories intact. Will you now call Mr. Garibaldi?"

"Damn." Sheridan mumbled, lifting the hand with his link on it close to his face. "Garibaldi? Michael, you there? Respond, Garibaldi. Where the hell... he said he'd be eating alone in his room.... Security."

"Zack here, Captain."

"High level alert, Zack. I need you and three five-man security teams to meet me in front of my office, ASAP."

"Got it. On our way, sir."

"I will go now, Captain, if you don't mind."

"I'd prefer it. Thanks for the heads up."

"You are entirely welcome. I hope, for everyone's sakes, that the search goes well and is over quickly."

"You and me both."

==============================

Two hours later, in a room not far from his own, Garibaldi awoke slowly, his head swimming from the chemical he'd been injected with. As soon as he was able to focus he began a careful inventory of himself and his surroundings. Using all the range of motion in his neck that had been allowed him, he surveyed the room and realized nothing was familiar to him. It was a typical set of guest quarters, like any of a hundred others on the station.

His personal inspection told him that he was flat on his back, stretched out on a surface that felt like steel. His arms had been pulled over his head, his hands bound together then tied to something he couldn't see, which, if he'd been in that position for any length of time, accounted for the fire lancing through his chest and shoulder muscles. His legs were also bound, but his ankles had been secured so that his legs were spread wide apart. He had been stripped of his link and every piece of clothing he'd been wearing before the attack, leaving him obscenely exposed and vulnerable in front of an obvious madman, helpless against whatever his captor might choose to do.

"Hello, Michael. I am glad to see you recovering from the drug in such a short time. It says much for your strength, and a scientist's tools must be strong, yes? We are going to have such a wonderful few hours together. Well... I know I shall, at any rate. You.... you will perhaps not enjoy it so much, but then you are only the subject, the.... raw material. Perhaps quite raw before my tests are finished, but that is neither here nor there is it? I am a man of science and I must complete my work, as the artist must create his masterpiece. You will be my masterpiece, Michael Garibaldi."

When Michael tried to speak up, to resist in the only way he could, he found that avenue of defiance firmly blocked. It wasn't only the sandpaper dryness the sedative had applied to his throat; he physically couldn't speak, no matter how much effort he put into the attempt. "Do not strain yourself, my good man. I have placed a device around your neck that will prevent you from making even the slightest sound. It is one of my more clever inventions actually. It temporarily paralyzes your vocal cords. You will not speak unless I wish it and.... well, let me simply say that by the time I wish it speech will, perhaps, be beyond your ability. You will scream, cry.... but you will not speak."

Michael raised his head as far as he could, stared down his captor and peeled back his lips from his teeth in a silent, feral growl that spoke volumes. It didn't have the result he desired, however, as the Centauri continued to stand close, towering over him. "Please, do not be that way. Do you not realize what an opportunity this is? You are about to become a part of something much larger than yourself. My work in this field will one day be legendary and therefore, so will you. I have almost completed the scholarly paper I am writing. The title is: Pleasure and Pain: Demons of the Humanoid Psyche. Wonderful, hmmm? The chapter on my own people.... I am afraid it will be quite boring. They appear to be absolutely filled with spirit and fire, but it is all on the surface, do you see? They have no courage, no... what is the word you humans use... ah, yes... fortitude. A powerful word for a powerful people."

Retrieving a remote control from a nearby table, the Centauri touched a button and the anti-grav platform his victim lay on rose into the air, halting at waist height on the tall alien. "I have studied your background and your history, Michael. You.... have fortitude in abundance. You should be thrilled I chose you as my only human subject. We will accomplish great things tonight, Michael Garibaldi..... great, great things...."

=======================================

Sipping a small glass of brandy, Sheridan tried to keep his focus on the book in his lap, but his thoughts wouldn't stay in the story. They continued to drift to the troubling mystery of why his normally ultra-reliable security chief had yet to contact him. Just as he had decided to abandon reading for the night and try to get some sleep, his link beeped at him.

"Sheridan."

"It's Zack, sir. Have you heard from the Chief, Captain? His link's been shut down, I can't find anyone who's seen him since dinnertime...."

"No, I haven't heard a word. I was just wondering about him myself."

"Captain, would it be okay if I got one of the night-shift teams to do a search? I'm really worried..."

"It's fine with me, but it won't be okay with him when you find him. You know Michael, Zack. He's probably turned off his link so he could sleep without being disturbed or he's investigating something privately and couldn't have it going off at the wrong moment. I'm sure he's fine. He'll show up tomorrow grinning as if he has no clue how concerned we were."

"Like always. You're right, sir. I'll let it go for tonight, I guess. If he doesn't.... show up that is...."

"I'll lead the search personally first thing in the morning."

"Thanks, Cap. I feel a lot better."

"Glad to hear it. Night, Zack."

"Night, Captain."

==================================

In the guest quarters turned torture chamber, Garibaldi had clamped his teeth tightly together, so tightly that his jaw was beginning to ache unbearably. It was taking all the focus he possessed not to show any emotional reaction to the feel of a warm hand wrapped around his genitals, determinedly trying to force him toward a place he normally would have gone without a fight.

"Come now, Michael. I have been told this is considered a pleasurable act for your species. Why do you insist on keeping your expression so.... expressionless? If you do not enjoy it I must know. If you do, there is no point in restraining yourself. Even if you cannot speak, I will have a reaction one way or the other, my friend. If I keep on the way I am you will ejaculate despite all your efforts to halt the process. I believe this is correct."

For nearly an hour, Michael had been tensing every muscle he thought might prevent his release and cycling random snatches of vids, songs, jokes and even paragraphs from past reports through his head, refusing to give his captor what was wanted. Said captor had now begun to get frustrated. "Ah. I had forgotten that the less pleasant side of human fortitude is stubbornness. Perhaps if I add something from the other side of my thesis equation, it will encourage you to... open up, shall we say? I did not want to introduce the element of pain so early, but you are so much stronger than I anticipated. I may have underestimated you, Michael." The Centauri commented casually as he pored over a case of items his victim couldn't see into.

When he turned back he held a wicked looking stun whip in one hand and a smaller case in the other. "Now, let us see if that stubbornness can be broken, hmmm?"

Quickly, the alien set the case against a wall and unfurled the long slender weapon, testing it against the floor once or twice. Surprised, Garibaldi flinched at the unexpected sparks that shot up from the carpeted surface and immediately kicked himself for giving even that much ground. "Ah. I see. Pain is a consideration. Good. Perhaps I will finally.... make a dent, as you like to say. Just perhaps...."

Returning to his subject's side, the Centauri resumed pleasuring Garibaldi with one hand while lightly dragging the tip of the stun-whip over his upper body with the other. "I think I am correct in saying you know what this weapon can do, yes? It is only on the lowest setting and yet... you can feel the destructive potential, the energy lifting the tiny hairs away from your skin. Even the lightest flick of it.... can cause pain." he mused softly, giving Michael the taste he'd described. "I do not wish to harm you just yet, Michael. We have many hours left in which to explore your tolerances. For now, you must surrender and allow yourself to accept the pleasure I provide.... or there will be very little pleasure this night."

Deeply afraid, now, and fighting the need to reach out and rub the spot on his abdomen where the whip had stung him, Garibaldi merely clenched his teeth a bit tighter, closed his eyes and dug in for a long fight. His captor responded almost immediately. "So. That is how it shall be. Very well. You have made your decision. Learning pleasure through pain it is."

Stepping back, the Centauri touched a button on the handle to shorten the whip's length a little, dialed up the power and cracked the flexible weapon out to contact the sole of his victim's foot.

Coping with the searing pain was difficult enough, but hearing the sizzling of his own flesh and being unable to scream out his agony nauseated Garibaldi to the point where he thought he might vomit on the spot, thereby cheating the Centauri of his prize by drowning in his own noxious fluids.

When the whip touched his other foot, a red haze drifted in around his vision and he closed his eyes again. "Yes. This is much more effective. I can see the pain in the tightness of your face.... in the rigidness of the way you hold yourself. Good, this is very good."

Abruptly, the hand was back between his legs. His focus scattered to the edges of known space by the pain in his feet and the resultant sickness, Michael had nothing left to apply to holding off his orgasm. The first touch at his genitals was all it took for him to begin involuntarily thrusting into the fingers that lightly gripped him, milking and squeezing until he softened. "There. Well done. Why you must make everything such a hardship I do not understand. Now that the breaking is out of the way, I trust the rest of the evening will go much more smoothly, yes?

As his captor turned away to clean up, Michael Garibaldi turned his head to the side, his face a mask of disgust, fury and sorrow. He had not truly wept since his childhood, but his emotional state was such that he could now do nothing to stop the silent, anguished tears that poured from him or the hitching, stuttering breaths that forced their way out of his chest.

=======================================

While the station's commander had found rest, fitful though it might have been, Zack Allen could not. He lay awake, twisting from left side to right side, from his stomach to his back, unable to convince himself that his friend and CO was not in trouble. He knew Garibaldi's penchants too well by this point and he could not reconcile the Chief's disappearance with what he knew of him. There were things coming up during the following day, events and the docking of certain ships, that Garibaldi had specifically said he wanted to be present at to be absolutely sure any problems would be avoided. Zack was positive his boss would never just vanish with such a heavily scheduled day on the horizon. He also knew alcohol was a possible concern, but he refused to believe that to be truth until he saw it for himself.

Tossing aside the covers, the young man sat up and sighed.

"Computer. Lights at forty percent intensity. Time?"

"The time is 1:36 a.m."

Even with the understanding that he would be a basket-case throughout his shift the next day, Zack slipped out of bed, threw on casual clothes and his boots and left his room, intending to check Garibaldi's quarters and all his favorite haunts one last time. Before he was required to bring the whole security force up to date and scare them all to death he wanted to make one more round on his own.

=======================================

"Excellent. You have such a high tolerance for pain. I am extremely impressed. Perhaps I will change my thinking and select one or two more humans to test, hmm? I knew you were a strong species, but.... this is amazing. Or perhaps you are simply a superior example? I tend to think this might be the answer. Still it would be worth my time to find out, would it not?"

In spite of stun-whip burns that covered over half of his body, in spite of several shallow knife slashes that continued to weep red droplets down his skin hours after they had been made, the rage this comment caused gave Garibaldi the strength to lunge up against his bonds, his desperation to prevent anyone else from being hurt moving him outside his own agony. "Still some defiance left in you I see. Anger as well, perhaps. You must learn to relax, Michael. I was led to believe that when humans achieve sexual release it is a calming, soothing experience for them. It has been less than thirty minutes since you last ejaculated, yet you are already tense and angry again. This is a puzzling phenomenon. Ah, well. Something to ponder, yes? A scientist cannot expect to find all the solutions right away. That is what makes science so exciting!"

Breathing harshly, Garibaldi battled the material securing his hands for several more minutes until they became raw and began to bleed. Eventually, he seemed to sink into himself as his energy failed to sustain him. Abruptly, dizziness assaulted him, drawing him down into a gray fog that he knew meant unconsciousness, but he forced the mist to retreat by sheer force of will. He had survived the previous hours without passing out and was determined he would not fade now. "Please do yourself no more harm. Accept that the bonds on your wrists and ankles are stronger than you are..... as am I. You will be released when my testing is completed and not before. Tsk. So stubborn. To cause yourself pain in the name of escaping what pain or pleasure I choose to administer. Stubborn and foolish...."

Stepping to the wall, the Centauri lifted the case he'd placed there earlier in the night, but had never opened, and laid it on a nearby table. Even while being charred by the whip and scored and incised by a variety of instruments, the case had rarely left Garibaldi's thoughts. He had tried to keep from imagining what could be so horrifying that his captor would leave it for last, but his mind would not let it go. The worst torture, the peak of utter cruelty and humiliation, had not been visited on him yet, but that didn't mean his traitorous brain didn't insist on presenting the possibility to him, vividly and in living color.

When the Centauri turned from his perusal of the smaller container, what he held in his hands turned Michael's blood to ice water and made him contemplate, for the first time in the entire night, whether death was preferable to what was about to happen to his already weakened and pain-wracked body. "I believe you recognize this? It is often used for pleasure between... those of the same sex. A disgusting and amoral practice. I use it only as a tool of science. The pleasurable sensation, as I understand the concept, is commensurate with the tool being of an appropriate diameter and length for the person who is using it. Therefore, we will begin with this smaller one. Pleasure first. Where is that oil? I know I... ahh. Here it is."

Unable to deal with any aspect of what the vile creature before him was about to attempt, Garibaldi turned his head as far in the opposite direction as he could force it to go. Wishing he could make the sounds go away as easily, he prepared himself for another round of tensing his muscles and sending pieces of random thought spinning through his head to distract him, but he was given no warning, allowed not the slightest opportunity to find solid ground to stand on before the object he'd been shown was being worked into his body. Sensitive nerves shrieked, flesh tore and shredded, blood flowed and a tiny piece of the man who was Michael Garibaldi breathed its last.

The sudden burning and pressure forced Michael's neck to bow, his torso to arch and a silent scream to be pushed from a throat already ravaged by numerous attempts to speak, yell and curse, despite the device around his neck. His resolve not to let consciousness slip away from him crumbled in the face of the vicious attack and he slid gratefully into blackness, his last coherent thought following him down and searing itself into his soul.

{God.... I'm being raped... he's raping me... no.... God no, please....}

=======================================

SEVEN A.M.

"I'm telling you Captain, the chief's nowhere to be found. I've been lookin' by myself since just before two this morning. It's time to take this to the next level."

"I'm afraid I agree, Zack. We can't wait any longer. Call an emergency meeting of all security personnel in conference room four. Ten minutes."

"Sir... Captain, you don't actually think the chief got caught by that.... thing we were huntin' down last night. Do you?"

"We have to consider it. Even if it's not true, we need to stop this monster. If he hasn't hurt Michael... he's hurt someone else. Get going. Sheridan to C&C"

"Ivanova, here. What's up, Captain?"

"Shut down all outgoing traffic and do it now."

"Yes, sir. Is this about the man-hunt?"

"It's a two-man hunt, now. Garibaldi's missing. No one's seen him since dinner last night."

"Sir... what I read about this Centauri... you don't think...."

"I don't have time to think. Not with Michael's safety potentially hanging in the balance. Get that traffic stopped."

"Yes, sir. Immediately."

"Okay. Everybody knows what your search area is and what to do if you find this Centauri. Let's get out there and..."

"Mr. Allen?"

"Yeah. What?"

"I've got the chief's link signal back."

"You what? Where's it comin' from?"

"A guest suite five rooms down from his quarters."

"Damn! I was there this morning... I was in his room...."

"Time for guilt later, Zack." Sheridan told him. "Let's go make sure he's alright."

"Yeah, right. Alpha squad with me. The rest of you get down to the docking bays and stand watch. That SOB doesn't get off this station."

General agreement was mumbled as most of the security forces ran for the lifts. A small contingent followed Zack and Sheridan to the officer's quarters, but noone in this group spoke a word as all were overwhelmed by their fear at what they might find when they arrived.

===========================

"Get it open, Zack." Sheridan muttered tensely as he stood with his PPG drawn and lifted to ready position near his jaw.

"I'm workin' on it. The bastard screwed with the lock... there. It should...."

As the door finally slid back, the sight it revealed forced more than one member of the team to turn away, falling to their knees and struggling to control the gorge that rose up to scorch their throats.

"Christ.... Michael...." Sheridan managed past his own grief and nausea as he moved to his friend's side. "Michael. Can you hear me?"

Leaning on the doorframe for support, Zack swallowed mightily, forcing down the knot of heat and vile tasting fluid in his own throat, and lifted his link close to his mouth.

"Me... Medlab. We... we need a team in officer's country.... fast as you can make 'em run....."

Stephen Franklin answered immediately.

"Zack? Is that you? You sound like shit. What's going on?"

"Don't ask questions, damn it!" Sheridan suddenly roared into his own link. "He doesn't have time! Get a team up here with life-support equipment and do it now!"

"Okay, okay. I get it. They're on the way."

================================

THAT EVENING: MEDLAB 4

"So? How bad.... is he okay?" Sheridan asked Dr. Franklin tersely, not from irritation or fatigue, but from the effort of keeping his sorrow and pain hidden from everyone else. He knew that, above all, he had to maintain the public façade of the capable leader, in control of the situation at all times, even when he feels his heart and his confidence in himself have been shattered.

"Most of the wounds were superficial. His wrists will take a little more time to heal completely. He must've fought like a wild man to get free...."

"What about...."

"Yeah. The sexual assault... it ripped him up, tore muscle, skin. The surgery fixed all that. I've got him on antibiotics so there shouldn't be any infection. As bad as it is, even that'll get better eventually. I'm not worried about his body, John."

"His mind is okay. It has to be."

"Captain..... there are no guarantees about anything at the moment. He was trapped in there for hours, helpless to scream or do anything to save himself..... We need to hope for the best..... and be prepared for the worst."

"Which is?"

"I'm trying not to think about that, right now."

"Steven."

"The worst case scenario? He comes out from under the anesthetics and the sedation.... but he doesn't choose to acknowledge the world around him."

"You really think...."

"I don't know. The world became a terrifying, painful place for Mike last night; a place that isn't safe anymore. If I'd gone through what he did.... I might decide not to come back either."

"He's strong. He'll be alright. He's made it past tough times before, he'll do it again."

"I hope so too."

"I need you to do a hell of a lot more than hope. I need you to believe...." Sheridan stated grimly, glaring at his Chief Medical Officer.

"I'm not telling you to give up, John. Just don't delude yourself. This isn't a skinned knee or a bruised jaw. He was brutally raped. Not everyone who survives something like this can get all the way back to a hundred percent. I can only say one thing for sure."

"What's that?" Sheridan asked, his voice quiet, but tempered with steel.

"Even if he recovers fully.... he'll never be the same man we knew. That thing in the holding cell stole something from Mike and we can't ever give that back to him. He'll have to take it back on his own... if he can." Franklin said, turning to walk away, but pausing at the last minute to add a last caution. "John. I won't ask for a promise. You wouldn't give me one even if you could, but.... don't kill the Centauri. We may have lost Michael. We can't afford to lose you too."

John Sheridan made no reply.


END