Fic: This Is How The World Ends (Abby/Claudia, PG13)
Title: This Is How The World Ends
Author: alyse
Fandom: Primeval
Pairing: Abby/Claudia, Abby/Connor (implied), Claudia/Nick (implied)
Rating: PG13
Warnings: Character death(s).
Word Count: ~1,800
Disclaimer: Primeval and its characters belong to Impossible Pictures. No copyright infringement is intended. This is fanfiction, written solely for love of the show.
Author's Notes: January is Fabulous Females Fest month over on primeval_canon and this is my contribution. It started out as a response to the the drabble meme, written for lsellersfic who wanted Abby/Claudia. The original drabble can be found here. Since reggietate wanted me to expand on it, and given that I'd promised lsellersfic that I'd write some femslash for the Fabulous Females Fest, I thought I'd oblige on both counts :)
Thanks go to aithine for the beta.
Summary: This is how the world ends. Not with a bang, but with a whimper. [T.S. Eliot, The Hollow Men]
-o-
The world ends on a Tuesday, and when it does, it really is with a whimper and not a bang.
Claudia's never been fond of Eliot and staring at the anomalies blooming on the screen of Connor's new Anomaly Detector, she now knows why. She's found some of Eliot's most famous works dark and depressing, delighting in a world that is ugly, twisted out of shape, and she's never cared to look at his work any further. But that is what the world is becoming now - a waste land, past and present intermingling until everything is turned to dust.
Connor swallows beside her, his eyes darting over the screen, his gaze flitting from one flaring marker to the next. He can't keep up, and he ends up looking at Cutter instead, as though Cutter is supposed to have the answers.
If he has, he's not sharing them. He's as silent as the rest of them, as still. Abby, though, Abby isn't still. She reaches out with a frown and hits the button that silences the blaring alarms. They don't need the sound to alert them to what they already know, not when they can see it.
The absence of noise is disorientating, and, strangely, it's the silence that sets Claudia's skin to crawling as the hairs on her arms and the back of her neck begin to rise.
Lester's phone rings from his office, sudden and loud, and she jumps but there's no nervous laughter to follow. Her mouth is too dry, her heart too fast and fearful for that. She can't see him when she looks, not from this angle, but she can picture him, leaning over his desk, the phone handset gripped tightly and his face like stone.
She turns back to the detector, and watches the poisonous flowers spread across the screen.
The world ends on a Tuesday. It just doesn't know it yet.
-o-
Stephen's the first one they lose. It's not a surprise. There's always been a streak of recklessness in the man, some constant need to be the hero, to save the day, when in the end he's just a man and there's no one to save him.
She never finds out what kills him. She never asks. She wouldn't remember anyway - there are too many names to keep track of, so many that even Connor and his database can't keep up. Future, past, it doesn't matter. They're all teeth and claws and hunger, indistinguishable from one another in Claudia's eyes.
Cutter's not the same after that. He's grown gradually more and more grim as the full extent of the problem they're facing dawns on them all, but when Stephen dies in his arms, the blood pouring from his many wounds and part of his face just gone, something inside Cutter breaks beyond repair. Beyond Claudia's repair, certainly. He stops being Nick around then, even in her head and, not long after that, even in her heart.
He's just Cutter, and the sound of his name in her mouth is sharp and hard.
Stephen's the first to die. But he's not the last.
-o-
Connor hurts. With people dying all around them, it had still never occurred to her that they could lose one of their younger team members. She should have known better than that, better than to cling to the hope that any of them will be safe, that any of them could be protected.
He dies saving Abby. If Claudia had ever doubted how much he cared about her, she can't now, not when Connor doesn't hesitate to push Abby out of the way and take her place.
He dies quickly, much more quickly than Stephen did. That's the only comfort that Claudia can take but she knows better than to offer that same comfort to Abby. She never sees Abby cry afterwards, but Abby disappears for a full day after the brief and hurried funeral - it's cremation these days, no matter what the personal preferences of the family might be. It's not safe otherwise. There are too many dying, and the bodies need to be dealt with as quickly and as efficiently as possible.
When Abby reappears back at the ARC, her voice is hoarse and her knuckles are split and scabbed but her eyes are clear and hard and empty.
Claudia knows better than to ask. They don't talk about the dead - there's no time and there are too many. She'll never know if Connor's obvious love for Abby was returned, and it would be cruel to touch on it, whether it was or it wasn't. So she doesn't offer hugs or empty words of sympathy, but after a while Abby accepts the gentle squeeze of her shoulder with grace and a brittle smile.
-o-
She cries over Cutter, cries as though her heart will break when it's already been long broken. Then she dries her eyes and goes back to work.
She's never exactly sure why. It's only delaying the inevitable.
-o-
The first time Abby kisses her, it takes her by surprise.
It shouldn't. They've only got each other to cling to now. It's understandable that Abby might be feeling lost, mistaking kinship and friendship for something more. She sometimes forgets how young Abby still is, when there are aeons at work in the depths of her eyes.
She tries to explain this to Abby, but Abby's eyes grow hot and her expression turns to stone, and the words falter and die in Claudia's mouth, withering in the face of Abby's anger. She doesn't know how Abby can still find the energy for anger, for passion, not when simply surviving takes everything that Claudia has. She doesn't understand how Abby can still cling to hope in the face of that.
The first time she kisses Abby, she forgets all her doubts. It's not about hope. It's not the fiery passion she dreamt about when she was young and foolish, still hoping for boobs and wondering how short she could get her skirts before being called up in front of the Head. But Abby's touch is sure and gentle, even when all they have is brief snatches of time, stolen for them between emergencies. A hard bunk in a dormitory, a corridor in the dead of night, the back bench of a truck, where Abby slips a hand between her legs and makes her sob and sigh.
The world is growing colder, day by day, and Claudia gets it now.
When you're freezing to death, you take what warmth you can.
-o-
When it's her turn to go, she finds that she fights it rather than giving in. She keeps on fighting even as the water closes over her head, her fingers desperately tugging at the studded tongue that's wrapped around her leg. There are sharp teeth embedded in it, and they slice against her fingers until her blood hangs cloudily in the water.
The pain in her fingers is nothing compared to the burning in her lungs, and she has just enough time to think Abby, I'm so sorry before the darkness starts to cloud her vision.
Something tugs at her, catches at her shoulder, and then there's a sound, felt more than heard, roaring past her, the pressure pushing back at her in sharp, staccato bursts.
She can't breathe, and this is what she dreamt about as a child, when the night was too dark - water closing over her head as something dragged her down to eat her.
It breaks over her head instead, and the next breath she takes is of air, not water.
"Claudia!"
It's Abby's voice in the dark, and it's Abby's bright hair she sees when she opens her eyes. She tries to answer but when she opens her mouth the water washes over her chin and she's left spluttering, her arms and legs too tired to help Abby keep her afloat.
And Abby keeps her afloat, keeps her afloat for the aeons that pass until their feet finally hit the ramp that leads down into the river, up from the river to what passes for safety these days. Her body is made of lead and she stumbles, even with Abby's arm around her waist. Her knee hits against the floor with a sharp, jarring pain and that's when it hits. She could have died. She should have died.
There's no shock in the thought, and this must be what war is like, when death comes and it's not a surprise, not a creeping visitor, but one who walks straight up the garden path and knocks.
She wants to sit down, even though they're still knee deep in water. She wants to sit down and rest for a while, just a minute. Just until death gets bored of knocking and walks away again, but Abby won't let her.
Abby ends up dragging her up the bank and Claudia's fingers catch and are cut again, against concrete this time instead of teeth.
"Don't..." Abby's voice breaks on the word, twisting something inside Claudia. "Don't you dare..."
She won't. She wouldn't dare.
She hadn't seen Abby cry over Connor, but Abby is crying now.
-o-
The steps down from the church are slippery and Claudia takes them with care, her knee still sore and her fingers still stiff and aching. She's never really been religious, until now. They say that even an agnostic will pray. At the end.
She didn't do much praying, but she did a lot of thinking, staring at the cross above the alter and listening to the soft murmur of voices - and the occasional muffled sob - from those who, like her, had sought a moment of comfort.
For Claudia, it was more like a moment of clarity.
She's not surprised to see Abby waiting for her at the bottom, perched on a bollard, her coat wrapped tightly around her. Abby's face is drawn, far too cynical for someone her age, but given what they've seen...
The world ended on a Tuesday, but they're not dead yet, and Claudia's not ready to give up without a fight. Not any more. Not when there are things still worth fighting for.
"Praying for salvation?" Abby asks her, with a smile that is sharp and broken. Her eyes are watchful, and there are still aeons in their depths, but they're beautiful in spite of the world of pain they contain.
"No," she answers honestly, moving closer, unafraid. She reaches for Abby's hand, wrapping her sore fingers around Abby's calloused ones. After a moment, Abby's fingers tighten, closing the gap.
"I've found that."
The End
Author: alyse
Fandom: Primeval
Pairing: Abby/Claudia, Abby/Connor (implied), Claudia/Nick (implied)
Rating: PG13
Warnings: Character death(s).
Word Count: ~1,800
Disclaimer: Primeval and its characters belong to Impossible Pictures. No copyright infringement is intended. This is fanfiction, written solely for love of the show.
Author's Notes: January is Fabulous Females Fest month over on primeval_canon and this is my contribution. It started out as a response to the the drabble meme, written for lsellersfic who wanted Abby/Claudia. The original drabble can be found here. Since reggietate wanted me to expand on it, and given that I'd promised lsellersfic that I'd write some femslash for the Fabulous Females Fest, I thought I'd oblige on both counts :)
Thanks go to aithine for the beta.
Summary: This is how the world ends. Not with a bang, but with a whimper. [T.S. Eliot, The Hollow Men]
-o-
The world ends on a Tuesday, and when it does, it really is with a whimper and not a bang.
Claudia's never been fond of Eliot and staring at the anomalies blooming on the screen of Connor's new Anomaly Detector, she now knows why. She's found some of Eliot's most famous works dark and depressing, delighting in a world that is ugly, twisted out of shape, and she's never cared to look at his work any further. But that is what the world is becoming now - a waste land, past and present intermingling until everything is turned to dust.
Connor swallows beside her, his eyes darting over the screen, his gaze flitting from one flaring marker to the next. He can't keep up, and he ends up looking at Cutter instead, as though Cutter is supposed to have the answers.
If he has, he's not sharing them. He's as silent as the rest of them, as still. Abby, though, Abby isn't still. She reaches out with a frown and hits the button that silences the blaring alarms. They don't need the sound to alert them to what they already know, not when they can see it.
The absence of noise is disorientating, and, strangely, it's the silence that sets Claudia's skin to crawling as the hairs on her arms and the back of her neck begin to rise.
Lester's phone rings from his office, sudden and loud, and she jumps but there's no nervous laughter to follow. Her mouth is too dry, her heart too fast and fearful for that. She can't see him when she looks, not from this angle, but she can picture him, leaning over his desk, the phone handset gripped tightly and his face like stone.
She turns back to the detector, and watches the poisonous flowers spread across the screen.
The world ends on a Tuesday. It just doesn't know it yet.
-o-
Stephen's the first one they lose. It's not a surprise. There's always been a streak of recklessness in the man, some constant need to be the hero, to save the day, when in the end he's just a man and there's no one to save him.
She never finds out what kills him. She never asks. She wouldn't remember anyway - there are too many names to keep track of, so many that even Connor and his database can't keep up. Future, past, it doesn't matter. They're all teeth and claws and hunger, indistinguishable from one another in Claudia's eyes.
Cutter's not the same after that. He's grown gradually more and more grim as the full extent of the problem they're facing dawns on them all, but when Stephen dies in his arms, the blood pouring from his many wounds and part of his face just gone, something inside Cutter breaks beyond repair. Beyond Claudia's repair, certainly. He stops being Nick around then, even in her head and, not long after that, even in her heart.
He's just Cutter, and the sound of his name in her mouth is sharp and hard.
Stephen's the first to die. But he's not the last.
-o-
Connor hurts. With people dying all around them, it had still never occurred to her that they could lose one of their younger team members. She should have known better than that, better than to cling to the hope that any of them will be safe, that any of them could be protected.
He dies saving Abby. If Claudia had ever doubted how much he cared about her, she can't now, not when Connor doesn't hesitate to push Abby out of the way and take her place.
He dies quickly, much more quickly than Stephen did. That's the only comfort that Claudia can take but she knows better than to offer that same comfort to Abby. She never sees Abby cry afterwards, but Abby disappears for a full day after the brief and hurried funeral - it's cremation these days, no matter what the personal preferences of the family might be. It's not safe otherwise. There are too many dying, and the bodies need to be dealt with as quickly and as efficiently as possible.
When Abby reappears back at the ARC, her voice is hoarse and her knuckles are split and scabbed but her eyes are clear and hard and empty.
Claudia knows better than to ask. They don't talk about the dead - there's no time and there are too many. She'll never know if Connor's obvious love for Abby was returned, and it would be cruel to touch on it, whether it was or it wasn't. So she doesn't offer hugs or empty words of sympathy, but after a while Abby accepts the gentle squeeze of her shoulder with grace and a brittle smile.
-o-
She cries over Cutter, cries as though her heart will break when it's already been long broken. Then she dries her eyes and goes back to work.
She's never exactly sure why. It's only delaying the inevitable.
-o-
The first time Abby kisses her, it takes her by surprise.
It shouldn't. They've only got each other to cling to now. It's understandable that Abby might be feeling lost, mistaking kinship and friendship for something more. She sometimes forgets how young Abby still is, when there are aeons at work in the depths of her eyes.
She tries to explain this to Abby, but Abby's eyes grow hot and her expression turns to stone, and the words falter and die in Claudia's mouth, withering in the face of Abby's anger. She doesn't know how Abby can still find the energy for anger, for passion, not when simply surviving takes everything that Claudia has. She doesn't understand how Abby can still cling to hope in the face of that.
The first time she kisses Abby, she forgets all her doubts. It's not about hope. It's not the fiery passion she dreamt about when she was young and foolish, still hoping for boobs and wondering how short she could get her skirts before being called up in front of the Head. But Abby's touch is sure and gentle, even when all they have is brief snatches of time, stolen for them between emergencies. A hard bunk in a dormitory, a corridor in the dead of night, the back bench of a truck, where Abby slips a hand between her legs and makes her sob and sigh.
The world is growing colder, day by day, and Claudia gets it now.
When you're freezing to death, you take what warmth you can.
-o-
When it's her turn to go, she finds that she fights it rather than giving in. She keeps on fighting even as the water closes over her head, her fingers desperately tugging at the studded tongue that's wrapped around her leg. There are sharp teeth embedded in it, and they slice against her fingers until her blood hangs cloudily in the water.
The pain in her fingers is nothing compared to the burning in her lungs, and she has just enough time to think Abby, I'm so sorry before the darkness starts to cloud her vision.
Something tugs at her, catches at her shoulder, and then there's a sound, felt more than heard, roaring past her, the pressure pushing back at her in sharp, staccato bursts.
She can't breathe, and this is what she dreamt about as a child, when the night was too dark - water closing over her head as something dragged her down to eat her.
It breaks over her head instead, and the next breath she takes is of air, not water.
"Claudia!"
It's Abby's voice in the dark, and it's Abby's bright hair she sees when she opens her eyes. She tries to answer but when she opens her mouth the water washes over her chin and she's left spluttering, her arms and legs too tired to help Abby keep her afloat.
And Abby keeps her afloat, keeps her afloat for the aeons that pass until their feet finally hit the ramp that leads down into the river, up from the river to what passes for safety these days. Her body is made of lead and she stumbles, even with Abby's arm around her waist. Her knee hits against the floor with a sharp, jarring pain and that's when it hits. She could have died. She should have died.
There's no shock in the thought, and this must be what war is like, when death comes and it's not a surprise, not a creeping visitor, but one who walks straight up the garden path and knocks.
She wants to sit down, even though they're still knee deep in water. She wants to sit down and rest for a while, just a minute. Just until death gets bored of knocking and walks away again, but Abby won't let her.
Abby ends up dragging her up the bank and Claudia's fingers catch and are cut again, against concrete this time instead of teeth.
"Don't..." Abby's voice breaks on the word, twisting something inside Claudia. "Don't you dare..."
She won't. She wouldn't dare.
She hadn't seen Abby cry over Connor, but Abby is crying now.
-o-
The steps down from the church are slippery and Claudia takes them with care, her knee still sore and her fingers still stiff and aching. She's never really been religious, until now. They say that even an agnostic will pray. At the end.
She didn't do much praying, but she did a lot of thinking, staring at the cross above the alter and listening to the soft murmur of voices - and the occasional muffled sob - from those who, like her, had sought a moment of comfort.
For Claudia, it was more like a moment of clarity.
She's not surprised to see Abby waiting for her at the bottom, perched on a bollard, her coat wrapped tightly around her. Abby's face is drawn, far too cynical for someone her age, but given what they've seen...
The world ended on a Tuesday, but they're not dead yet, and Claudia's not ready to give up without a fight. Not any more. Not when there are things still worth fighting for.
"Praying for salvation?" Abby asks her, with a smile that is sharp and broken. Her eyes are watchful, and there are still aeons in their depths, but they're beautiful in spite of the world of pain they contain.
"No," she answers honestly, moving closer, unafraid. She reaches for Abby's hand, wrapping her sore fingers around Abby's calloused ones. After a moment, Abby's fingers tighten, closing the gap.
"I've found that."
The End