Chapter Text
Seven ran as fast as his thick legs could carry him. Sticks and leaves cracked and rustled beneath his bare feet as dirt and mud squished between his toes. The cool October air drifted up the blue hospital gown that he wore and chilled every inch of skin that was exposed beneath the thin fabric.
His breathing was rapid and shallow, stinging his lungs as he sucked in breath after breath to fuel his ability to continue running. He must have run at least three miles by now into the darkening woods. Sundown was fast approaching with just the last hints of the fizzling sun visible on the horizon. He chased the light, knowing bad things always happened in the dark.
That’s when Sir, the doctor in charge of his care and training, would come by with whatever form of torture was going to toughen him up that day. He had to learn to sense his opponent rather than see him, rely on the subtle breezes and sounds of his movements rather than feel his touch. Strike first before he himself would be stricken.
The lab had been a prison, but it was the only home he had ever known. Confined to four bare, white tile walls and a squeaky cot that sunk beneath his hefty frame, too short to hold his height. A door with a reinforced glass window the size of a notebook allowed for observation at any time. A cover on the outside of the window masked the light in the hallway on days in which he was particularly disappointing, keeping him in complete darkness and isolation from the guards and doctors who passed by.
His sandy curls bounced against his neck with every stride taken. The only reason he was permitted to have such long hair instead of the standard buzz was because he broke the arms of the last four men who tried to cut it over the years. No one else wanted to take the chance, and Sir eventually conceded and said he would allow it as a reward for showcasing his skills. It was the only way he was truly able to rebel without consequence.
Today he had really done it. Refused to kill the poor fellow that had been dragged in, kicking and screaming, by the collar of his white dress shirt. Dr. Zakura. A middle-aged man with a balding head and thick, coke-bottle glasses. Dr. Zakura had been the only man who ever showed him true kindness. Never raised a hand to him in anger. Snuck him snacks when he was to go without food. Gave him magazines to look at when he wasn’t allowed to have the TV. Seven didn’t need to know what he had done. He just needed to execute.
Seven wasn’t supposed to have feelings. Super-Soldiers were made to act, not think. Not feel. To do as they’re told without question or hesitation. Whether the objective is to kill another or sacrifice themselves for the greater good, they are to do it at the snap of a finger. Seven was flawed in this aspect.
He would dig his heels into the floor, cross his tree-trunk arms across his rock-hard chest, stand tall with a scowl until one of them— either he or Sir— broke. On the days that he won he would be punished. Water torture, burns, shock collar, food or sleep deprivation. The others would have been exterminated by now for their insolence. But not Seven.
He was the strongest of them all, in both body and spirit. Where others may have outshined in compliance and obedience to their masters, Seven excelled in speed, strength, and agility. He had the strength of twenty men. He could throw a dump truck with the same ease one could throw a pebble. No sweat broken, no strain evident. When it came to Super-Soldiers, he was the ideal physical specimen. The cream of the crop. The one whom all others were compared and strived to replicate, save for the damn rebellious attitude.
He could outrun the others, a skill that particularly came in handy when he and several of his fellow soldiers were released within the grounds with orders to kill until they were the only one left standing. Seven knew this was execution practice as much as it was Sir’s disposal of weaker subjects. Two birds, one stone. It gave him no pleasure or feeling of accomplishment to have ended their lives, but it was kill or be killed. Despite all the pain and constraints that living at the lab produced, he had hopes of one day escaping.
There was a world out there of which he knew nothing. Large bodies of water with rolling waves, filled with colorful fish and majestic coral; places that served chocolates and candies— things he was not permitted to indulge; machines that could travel faster than him that would allow him to see everything the world had to offer. And women. Beautiful creatures with long, flowing hair, breasts larger and more beautiful than his, pouty lips and skin that looked at soft as a cloud.
Never had he seen a real woman in the flesh before. Aside from commercials on the television that he was permitted to watch once in a blue moon— and the naked magazines that Dr. Zakura would sometimes show him— they were merely just a dream. There were no female doctors at the lab. At least, none that Seven had ever seen.
‘Women complicate things,’ Sir had said when he asked about it. ‘They’ll only get in your way and bring you down, and you cannot be brought down. Can you?’ He didn’t understand what that meant. Women were very pleasing to the eye. He couldn’t imagine how something so beautiful could be so dangerous.
The wobbling sound of a helicopter far off in the sky pricked up his ears with heightened alarm. He didn’t know where it was coming from, but he knew that Sir would pull out all the stops to find him. By land, by sea, by sky. Wherever he went, he knew that he would be hunted. A runaway Super-Soldier was just as good as a dead one.
His heartrate quickened, drumming ferociously in his chest and thundering in his ears along with the impending womp womp womp of the helicopter wings propelling nearer. Twigs slapped against his arms, leaving little cuts and scrapes on the bronze skin, dyed by the sun from his outdoor practices. Tiny stones and acorns embedded the undersides of his feet, but that discomfort was minor compared to what would likely be done to him if her were captured and brought back to the lab.
Looking up through the thinning leaves on the trees, he searched the sky for the machine that was after him as he continued to run. With his eyes upward, he ran into something solid, causing both he and what he hit to topple over and roll a few feet. The surprised grunt he heard from beneath him did not come from his mouth.
He was in a small clearing. A dirt and gravel path that stretched as far as the eye could see in between two tree lines with deep woods on either side. Taking in his surroundings, Seven looked down at the individual beneath him who coughed and groaned as she opened her eyes and held the side of her head.
Seven’s eyes widened in amazement and curiosity at the sight before him. Bright blue eyes riddled with fear and confusion stared back at him. Thick, long lashes fluttered as she attempted to steady the fuzzy vision that the knock to her head had created. Her defined cheekbones and plump, pale lips were captivating— as beautiful, maybe more, than he had seen on TV and in pictures. Small pieces of crumpled leaves stuck to her hair, which was pulled back into a high ponytail.
He looked down at her chest, enthralled with the size of her breasts and how much rounder and bouncier they were compared to his own chest. So much of her pale skin was visible with just a black sports bra covering her chest. It looked just as soft and inviting as any of the other women he had stared at for hours on end.
“Woman,” Seven breathily uttered with admiration and disbelief, looking back up at her face in a state of awe.
The woman beneath him twisted her face in a show of discomfort from his weight on top of her and the cold ground at her back. “What?” she narrowed her eyes and grumbled, still trying to acclimate herself to what happened.
Not knowing how else to voice his discovery, he placed his hand on one of her breasts and nodded down at it. “Woman,” he repeated, explaining to her what she was.
Seven hadn’t been spoken to much, and he was not permitted to do a lot of taking, himself. He was trained to be concise and to the point with his speech, offering one- or two-word answers, most of which consisted of saying, ‘Yes, sir,’ or, ‘No, sir.’ Anything further was considered an argument. He didn’t need to speak. All he needed to do was follow orders.
The young woman’s eyes widened at the contact. With a gasp, she slapped his face and shouted, “Hey! Get your paws off me!”
The volume of her voice shocked him. The slap hardly registered, far too weak for anything he had ever experienced previously. Perhaps Sir had been right. Maybe women really are dangerous. He didn’t need to understand her words fully to know that the sound of her voice and the action she had taken with him expressed her displeasure. He removed his hand from her breast and held himself above her, hands on either side of her body.
Leaves quivered above them as the sound of the helicopter loomed. A spotlight could be seen in the distance, shining down into the area from which he had just came. Fast and fearful, Seven rolled off the woman and grabbed her wrist, dragging her along with him off the trail and further into the woods against a tree for cover.
“Hey! Let go of me! Help!” she screamed while simultaneously trying to pull away.
Seven slumped down onto the ground with his back against a thick trunk. He pulled the woman’s back against his chest and wrapped his legs over hers to hold them down while his arm held her firmly around her waist. A calloused hand quickly covered her mouth to contain her shouts. She wiggled against him in a feeble attempt to shimmy herself lose from his grip, but it was no use.
“Shhh,” he softly prompted her, hot breath blowing against her neck. He clenched his jaw and waited with bated breath for the helicopter to fly over them and continue on its way.
The woman stilled and tilted her head back to look up at the sky. She had never been so close to a helicopter to be able to feel the gust of wind from its fierce propellers. The spotlight scouting the area missed them by a good thirty feet or so. It never hovered or paused but continued on its way.
After several seconds had passed and the sound of the helicopter had dissipated, Seven removed his hand from the woman’s mouth and unhooked his legs from her own. She quickly pushed herself away from him and scrambled to stand up. Several paces away she turned around to look at the man who had held her captive. When he stood up and brushed his hands free from the dirt, she was able to get a better view.
He was a devilishly handsome thing who appeared to be around twenty. Taller than her by a head with curls that reminded her of paintings of angels. The blue hospital gown didn’t seem large enough for him. It hung several inches above his knees. His hairy, muscular legs were covered in dirt, and his feet were bare and filthy. His eyes appeared scared. Just as scared as hers. Despite the hard muscles that she had felt with her own body and seen with her own eyes, there was a softness about his features. A kindness, a gentleness that she saw— an innocence like that of a child.
They stared at each other for several seconds with nothing but their breaths breaking the silence. She caught his eyes drop to her bare abdomen. Nervous about being in the darkening woods alone with a strange man, she quickly brought her arms in front of herself to try and hide her exposed skin. What an evening to go for a jog.
“What the hell was that about?” she asked with an edge of sternness to show that she was not someone to be messed with.
Seven licked his lips and glanced up at the sky to the path which the helicopter had flown. Looking back at the woman, he pointed in that direction and deeply stated, “Bad men.”
His voice sent a shiver down her spine. It was deep, gruff, and sexy. Just as masculine as the rest of him. She should not feel this turned on. Not in this situation. She had no idea who he was or what he was capable of doing. He could be the Ted Bundy of Hawkins for all she knew. Handsome, mysterious, and violent.
Not understanding what he meant by that, she looked at the hospital gown he was wearing and nodded her head at it. “Did you run away from the hospital or something?”
Seven shook his head and reiterated, “Bad men.” He pointed to the sky and then pointed back to the direction from which he had been running.
Confused, she repeated, “Bad men.”
The handsome man nodded at her. He took a step forward to get closer, but she took a step back to keep the distance. Just because she was attracted to him didn’t mean she wasn’t afraid of him.
“No,” he paused and put his hands up to show he was free from weapons and had no ill intentions. “No hurt,” he dropped his shoulders and tried to make himself appear smaller, less daunting.
He again took a step forward, but this time the woman kept still. He observed her and moved cautiously and slowly. As he came closer, she could see the small injuries on his skin. Traces of blood trickled down his arms from cuts and scrapes.
“You’re hurt,” she observed, gazing back up at his sapphire eyes.
He didn’t say anything or offer any indication that he had heard her. He stopped approximately two feet in front of her and studied her face. Knowing that she had responded unfavorably when he last touched her, he opted to keep his hands to himself this time. He did, however, lean forward into her space and sniff at her neck.
The woman jerked backward and shot him an irritated expression, “What the… back off, pal.”
Seven stood up straight again and smirked at the pleasant image and scent in front of him. “Pretty,” he calmly stated as his eyes darted back and forth between her own.
The woman stared at him for a few seconds before a smile crept onto her face and she let out a nervous chuckle. “You’re kind of freaking me out, dude.”
At that, his eyebrows raised questioningly. The smirk on his lips faded and was replaced by a look of uncertainty. Any other man who had gotten in her face to sniff her and comment on her beauty would have been met with a punch to the face and a rape whistle. There was something about this man, though, that told her he didn’t mean anything bad by it. She couldn’t put her finger on it.
She felt guilty about the look on his face after her last sentence. He seemed to not fully understand. Trying to get some more information about the mysterious stranger in her presence, she cleared her throat to ask her next question.
“What’s your name?”
He continued to watch her face without response. She thought perhaps he didn’t understand the question. His English, after all, seemed to be kind of broken. Perhaps he was a foreigner that did not know much of her language.
Placing her hand on her chest to indicate herself, she slowly explained, “I’m Melanie.” His lips perked into a small smile, which she returned. “Melanie,” she repeated and patted her chest twice.
Slowly reaching forward, he placed his dirty hand atop of hers on her chest and echoed, “Melanie.” Rough fingers lightly tapped her hand twice, mimicking her motion.
She smiled and nodded her head, relieved that he understood. “Yes,” she confirmed with a bit of excitement. “Melanie,” she stated again. “What is your name?” she asked, taking the hand he had placed on hers and making him touch his own chest with it.
Seven’s face glowed with contentment at feeling her gentle touch. Her smile was beautiful and friendly. Her eyes patient and caring. Trusting her, he outstretched his left arm, keeping the hand against his chest still because she was holding it and it felt nice.
Motioning down to his arm, Melanie’s eyes followed. There was a tattoo on the inside of his forearm: 007. It was surrounded by fresh cuts and scrapes, but there were also fading scars of various shapes and sizes implanted on his skin.
“Double-oh-seven,” Melanie’s lips quirked amusingly. “Like James Bond?” Her eyes met his again to search for the answer. “James?” she asked, trying to decipher the code.
“Seven,” he corrected her with a friendly expression.
She looked back down at the tattoo. It was, indeed, a seven. She just didn’t think it had been so literal to be his name. It was odd. She had never heard of anyone named after a number.
“Seven,” her tone was flat with skepticism.
Ensuring that she understood, Seven tapped his fingers against his chest twice like what Melanie had done before, and restated, “Seven.”
Melanie smiled, pleased that they were figuring out how to communicate with each other, that he had picked up on what she was asking and that he was following her lead. He was obviously in need of help. Lost in the woods, injured, probably in need of medical attention if the hospital gown he was wearing was any indication.
“Do you need help, Seven?” Melanie asked with her hand still on top of his against his chest.
He was lost in the deep blue color of her eyes. The same color that he had seen in images of the sea on television.
Sounding somewhat distracted, he copied the word, “Help?”
She didn’t question the uncertain tone. Figured it perhaps sounded strange coming from his lips, maybe a word he was less familiar with. Her house was just at the end of this trail, maybe only a quarter of a mile left to go. She could get him inside, allow him to get cleaned up a bit, and then call the hospital to ask if they have a missing patient. At the very least, the police would know what to do and be able to better assist him. For now, she wanted to get them inside from the elements to warm up and clean up.
“Okay,” she agreed and dropped her hand from his. She nodded her head down the trail and started to walk away. “Come with me. We’ll get it figured out.”
Seven allowed her to take several steps ahead of him to see what she was doing. Every curve of her backside and legs was visible in the black spandex pants she was wearing. He felt a flutter in his chest and groin at the sight, not knowing why he found those parts of her so alluring.
She stopped and turned her head to see if he was behind her. “You comin’?” she asked, holding her hand out and beckoning him to follow.
Seven smiled and began to walk towards her.