Fic: Conduit (1/1)
Title: Conduit
Rating: PG-13
Pairing/Characters: Richard/Jacob, Esau
Word Count: 945
Summary: These are the harbingers of life unending. For starfoozle, who requested “Richard/Jacob” at my Winter Gift-Fic Extravaganza. Spoilers through 5.16 - The Incident, Parts 1 & 2.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.
Author’s Notes: For starfoozle: I've been thinking on something like this for a while - hopefully it came out to your liking.
Conduit
“He’s going to die, you know.”
And it’s gorgeous - perfect - the way those eyes, so calm and serene, flash as they take him in, process his presence here, of all places, in the company of mere mortals as they fail and flee this world for the next.
“This amuses you,” Jacob says evenly, an uncharacteristic fury lacing his tone, the sting of it as even, as steady as the hands that thread through sweat-drenched hair, that rest against that fevered brow; that cling, in their own strange way, to a soul that’s fading, flickering - beyond his means to save.
“I won’t insult you by lying, Jacob.” No, he’d insult him by proving him wrong, for all of eternity, by crushing this shaft of light, this golden boy from a slave ship, washed ashore on the whim of the ocean, not the will of the infinite, the undying, the divine.
“I have told you,” he coaxes, taunts - he is, proudly, the instigator between them; where Jacob would wait in patient silence until the ending of this world and the birthing of the next, he could never manage such restraint. Alpha and omega, yin and yang - they were never meant to overlap, only contrast; oil to water, the rainbow on the surface, but never underneath. “I have always told you.”
Jacob flinches, the cup of his palm now pressed to the burning cheek of the human, his eyes filled, brimming with a concern that even he - bleeding heart that Jacob had always been - rarely showed, rarely gave himself so freely to. “You know nothing of this.”
“You’ve made your bed, Jacob,” Esau sneers, and his counterpart, he looks so young; so naive. “You brought them here.”
There are no answers, of course - the two of them, they are beyond answers; and Jacob, with his human toy - for them, all the answers in the world would not be enough.
“Am I wrong, Jacob?” he asks, his eyes fixed upon the horizon line where it quivers, where it bleeds into night; the lifeline of the man trembling, seizing with feverish strain at his feet, waiting to be severed by the Fates. “It always ends the same.”
“Not this time,” Jacob hisses, his fingers measuring the pulse that they both could hear if they listened, that’s throbbing, pumping too fast, too soft, dying slowing in his chest; “Not with him.” And it surprises them both that he does it in Esau’s presence, presses his lips to the corner of the man’s mouth, delicate and reverent, but he does; he does.
“It’s amazing to me,” Esau comments, breaking the moment, even if Jacob still hovers just above those lips, carefully noting the air that escapes them, the way it wanes; “how quickly you’ve taken to him. How much you seem to care.”
“Though you always were... impetuous with your affections, weren’t you?” Not that he’s still bitter, though he is. “Especially with their kind.” Always, always these worthless slabs of meat. “It’s your weakness, Jacob. It’s your Achilles' heel.”
And there’s a silence that stretches like it used to, before it all went to hell; stretches and seeps until Jacob straightens, tenses, cocks his head and turns eyes like diamonds, hard and shimmering, onto Esau like a death sentence, like damnation from above. “A loophole, perhaps?”
And Esau fights the urge to sneer - perhaps.
“You planned this,” Jacob whispers, eyes upon him like venom in his veins. “This is your doing.”
He doesn’t move, neither confirms nor denies; “This was inevitable.” They are flawed, these vermin of the earth. They don’t deserve anything less.
And Jacob - his eyes narrowed, his face pinched with anger, with bitter hate, the sorts of things he’d always said they didn’t bring, they didn’t breed - everything he’d insisted these people weren’t, barely one of their kind was driving Jacob himself to become. “We’ll see,” he murmurs, voice lethal - low; “won’t we?”
And with the man - fragile, pathetic, ailing human man, so tragic - cradled between the crooks of his elbows, Jacob flees to the jungle, the only solace he has left.
It’d be entertaining, certainly, if it weren’t so obscenely pitiful.
____________________________
“Forgive me, Richard.” Those words. Those words, and a kiss, pressed gently to the forehead, just at the temple, where that heart still beats with blissful, joyous strength; unburdened, not yet - these are the harbingers of life unending. And of course it’s raining - of course it rains; wash away the plague of death upon paradise, and only life remains. Even so, though, the color bleeds, the lines begin to wear and fade, and if Richard is crying, if there are tears as he blinks back the shade of endless night, it would never be known; if Jacob sheds a drop of sorrow for the innocence lost here - for the potential, the precious gift almost torn asunder and scattered to the sea even greater still - it’s impossible to tell, impossible to see.
“I wish there’d been another way.” He does, and he doesn’t. It has always been his vice; he does not like to lose. “But there are still so many things left for you to do.”
Many more rains will fall upon these shores, Jacob knows - many more moons before the end will settle and spread; but no tears will fall from heaven to mourn Richard Alpert ever again, and somewhere in his chest, somewhere nondescript and subtle, Jacob will not deny, will not be ashamed of the fact that for this, he is grateful.
Rating: PG-13
Pairing/Characters: Richard/Jacob, Esau
Word Count: 945
Summary: These are the harbingers of life unending. For starfoozle, who requested “Richard/Jacob” at my Winter Gift-Fic Extravaganza. Spoilers through 5.16 - The Incident, Parts 1 & 2.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.
Author’s Notes: For starfoozle: I've been thinking on something like this for a while - hopefully it came out to your liking.
Conduit
“He’s going to die, you know.”
And it’s gorgeous - perfect - the way those eyes, so calm and serene, flash as they take him in, process his presence here, of all places, in the company of mere mortals as they fail and flee this world for the next.
“This amuses you,” Jacob says evenly, an uncharacteristic fury lacing his tone, the sting of it as even, as steady as the hands that thread through sweat-drenched hair, that rest against that fevered brow; that cling, in their own strange way, to a soul that’s fading, flickering - beyond his means to save.
“I won’t insult you by lying, Jacob.” No, he’d insult him by proving him wrong, for all of eternity, by crushing this shaft of light, this golden boy from a slave ship, washed ashore on the whim of the ocean, not the will of the infinite, the undying, the divine.
“I have told you,” he coaxes, taunts - he is, proudly, the instigator between them; where Jacob would wait in patient silence until the ending of this world and the birthing of the next, he could never manage such restraint. Alpha and omega, yin and yang - they were never meant to overlap, only contrast; oil to water, the rainbow on the surface, but never underneath. “I have always told you.”
Jacob flinches, the cup of his palm now pressed to the burning cheek of the human, his eyes filled, brimming with a concern that even he - bleeding heart that Jacob had always been - rarely showed, rarely gave himself so freely to. “You know nothing of this.”
“You’ve made your bed, Jacob,” Esau sneers, and his counterpart, he looks so young; so naive. “You brought them here.”
There are no answers, of course - the two of them, they are beyond answers; and Jacob, with his human toy - for them, all the answers in the world would not be enough.
“Am I wrong, Jacob?” he asks, his eyes fixed upon the horizon line where it quivers, where it bleeds into night; the lifeline of the man trembling, seizing with feverish strain at his feet, waiting to be severed by the Fates. “It always ends the same.”
“Not this time,” Jacob hisses, his fingers measuring the pulse that they both could hear if they listened, that’s throbbing, pumping too fast, too soft, dying slowing in his chest; “Not with him.” And it surprises them both that he does it in Esau’s presence, presses his lips to the corner of the man’s mouth, delicate and reverent, but he does; he does.
“It’s amazing to me,” Esau comments, breaking the moment, even if Jacob still hovers just above those lips, carefully noting the air that escapes them, the way it wanes; “how quickly you’ve taken to him. How much you seem to care.”
“Though you always were... impetuous with your affections, weren’t you?” Not that he’s still bitter, though he is. “Especially with their kind.” Always, always these worthless slabs of meat. “It’s your weakness, Jacob. It’s your Achilles' heel.”
And there’s a silence that stretches like it used to, before it all went to hell; stretches and seeps until Jacob straightens, tenses, cocks his head and turns eyes like diamonds, hard and shimmering, onto Esau like a death sentence, like damnation from above. “A loophole, perhaps?”
And Esau fights the urge to sneer - perhaps.
“You planned this,” Jacob whispers, eyes upon him like venom in his veins. “This is your doing.”
He doesn’t move, neither confirms nor denies; “This was inevitable.” They are flawed, these vermin of the earth. They don’t deserve anything less.
And Jacob - his eyes narrowed, his face pinched with anger, with bitter hate, the sorts of things he’d always said they didn’t bring, they didn’t breed - everything he’d insisted these people weren’t, barely one of their kind was driving Jacob himself to become. “We’ll see,” he murmurs, voice lethal - low; “won’t we?”
And with the man - fragile, pathetic, ailing human man, so tragic - cradled between the crooks of his elbows, Jacob flees to the jungle, the only solace he has left.
It’d be entertaining, certainly, if it weren’t so obscenely pitiful.
____________________________
“Forgive me, Richard.” Those words. Those words, and a kiss, pressed gently to the forehead, just at the temple, where that heart still beats with blissful, joyous strength; unburdened, not yet - these are the harbingers of life unending. And of course it’s raining - of course it rains; wash away the plague of death upon paradise, and only life remains. Even so, though, the color bleeds, the lines begin to wear and fade, and if Richard is crying, if there are tears as he blinks back the shade of endless night, it would never be known; if Jacob sheds a drop of sorrow for the innocence lost here - for the potential, the precious gift almost torn asunder and scattered to the sea even greater still - it’s impossible to tell, impossible to see.
“I wish there’d been another way.” He does, and he doesn’t. It has always been his vice; he does not like to lose. “But there are still so many things left for you to do.”
Many more rains will fall upon these shores, Jacob knows - many more moons before the end will settle and spread; but no tears will fall from heaven to mourn Richard Alpert ever again, and somewhere in his chest, somewhere nondescript and subtle, Jacob will not deny, will not be ashamed of the fact that for this, he is grateful.