The First Touch

What it was like when Throttle gave his thoughts to Charlene, the first touch....

Disclaimer: No own Mice, woe is me....

Okay, I know this is a bit disorganized. But the thoughts of people are rarely organized. Especially in the case of two alien species. I mean, Throttle is a psychic alien! Why does almost no one touch on this?! I know the series doesn't make a big deal out of it, but man they should have. He pushed into the mind of another person, giving memories and thoughts, and you never, ever hear about how that might have affected Charley. Well, this was my idea of what really happened.

The First Touch

He had moved so fast, his tail instantly wrapping around her waist to pull her forward, his antennae glowing as they pressed against her forehead. A light touch, warm, was tingling across her scalp, sending goose-bumps all over her body. But all that was recalled later, much later.

He had slipped into her mind so fast, so quickly, she couldn’t even blink. It felt like there was no time in her mind, no way of telling how long he’d been there, (had he always been there?), how had he gotten there?

It was a raw presence, a being, a pressure inside her head. He felt hard, like he was covered in armor, firmly pushing in to open her thoughts to his, sinking deep inside her mind. But there was no pain, no forceful shove, no invasion. No dark intention, no desire to cause pain, not even to read/see/hear/touch what he felt in her mind. Just there, slipping in even more.

He felt hard, and cool to the touch. Calm, too much calm to be natural, a steadiness that she could measure with a hidden thought. He’d had training, formal training, she realized. He was trained to be in the mind of another. He was taught to be calm, be still, but she could still sense it. He was trained to hide it, subsume it, ignore it. Buried deep in his armor, maybe even he couldn’t see it anymore, but she could sense it.

A burning, boiling thing, coiling around his heart. Frustration (with others, himself), anger (at his enemies, at his situation, at himself), pain (for his friends, his memories. It was not meant for her.

It was not meant for her to touch, to soothe, no matter how she felt it, no matter how she wished to heal it.

Not yet. It would take time, a long time, to earn the privilege of touching that burning ember.

*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&

She had been afraid, shaking, her body trembling in his grip. And her stance was still solid, her will unbroken, the fire still shining in her eyes. She had been quite willing to take him on, bare-handed if she had to. She was a survivor.

So he had used a strong presence, keeping his edges sharp and defined to push through any resistance. Surely she would fight him every inch of the way. He would have to dig, push hard, punch through barriers.

He had never been so wrong before.

She had no barriers, no guards, no blocks. He slipped in like a hot knife through butter, easily flowing into her mind-space. She was like water, liquid, flowing around him. She acknowledged, wondered, was filled with curiosity. No distrust, no fear, not even worried he would harm her.

She welcomed him in, accepted his presence with ripples around him, touching with waves of knowing and thought. She flowed at his touch, brushing against him, learning his armor and touch/taste/scent/’voice’.

He instantly stilled, rebuilding the thoughts in his mind. He sent out calm, reassurance, the ripples spreading around him seeming to know him more than they should. He had never encountered a mind like hers before, so accepting of all that he was; he found himself trying to resonate with her. But how could he? Nothing was solid to hold on to, everything was moving and still all at once, a beautiful chaos that nothing could ever describe. Color, sound, soft and hard together. Was this her presence?

And then he knew. She was waiting for him to move.

He was cutting himself off from her. He was stopping her somehow--He was blocking her. The armor had to go.

He lowered his guards, partially dissolved his blocks. He could not remove his shields, he was far too private, but that hardly mattered. She flowed around them anyway. She sank into every chink and crack, no force, no invasion, just accepting of everything. No judgment, no condemnation, and he deserved it, for if any other Martian mind-walker knew what he was doing, they would shame him until the day he died.

No one was allowed to walk in the mind of the defenseless.

And she was completely defenseless. It would be called rape of the worst sort, an intimacy far greater than sex could ever be, and what he was doing now, tearing into her like some kind of—

He stilled completely now, unable to move no matter what he might wish. She had sensed him, the emotions that had sank within him like green bricks of poison, and now the fluid being was sending a cool touch to his presence. It felt like—like—

Like she was forgiving him.

He loosened his control, the blocks completely gone now. Tentatively he extended himself outside of his presence, truly feeling the water/mind/consciousness around him. And she flowed around him, wrapped questions around his answers, feelings around his thoughts. She was learning, he realized, learning how to talk to him, to feel and understand him, taking what he offered and realizing what he took.

He reached out, touched. She accepted, reached out for him.

Throttle began to ‘speak’ in her mind, whispers, scents of forgotten perfume and burning blood, memories flashing through both minds. The sounds of laser-fire, screams, pain and death, love lost and divided, loyalties betrayed. The taste of tears of frustration, grief, defeat, and triumph. The touch of Carbine’s hands, the medics bandages, the mad Dr. Karbunkle’s scalpels and blades and torture. The sight of so, so much death….

She accepted it all, translating it so she could fully
understand.

‘A while back, Mars was invaded by the Plutarkians…..’