Variations on Necessity
Title: Variations of Necessity
Fandoms: Voyager, TS, Priscilla, Due South, Angel, Farscape
Rating: PG
~~~
Variations on Necessity
I. Q
He watches silently as she sips her coffee, reading some report. She seems utterly absorbed in what she's doing, and possibly wouldn't be aware of him, even if she had the capability to be.
He admires her focus. He treasures the entertainment she afords, but somehow it's become more than that.
She encompases, even more than him, the other one, everything human he admires.
Whatever would he do without her?
II. Fragment
He lets the water rise up over him. He's sick of trying, sick of struggling. He no longer bothers to watch as the madman with his face and voice and name runs rampant.
The fight for the battle of the entire world is happening right outside his mental prison, and he just doesn't care.
He is without her, and always will be, and so it all means nothing.
III. Tick
He looks over at the form sleeping a little ways away from him. The young man is annoying, exasperating, and downright idiotic at times. He sometimes wonders at his own sanity at volunteering to be stuck in a bus with not only him but another who can't stand him for weeks on end.
But he apologizes to kid when he's wronged him, and he only yells because he was so damn scared of the little fool hurting himself.
He doesn't quite understand it, but he couldn't imagine his life without him.
IV. Benton
He wakes up in the middle of the night, from some nameless nightmare. His keen senses peirce the darkness, alert for whatever might have roused him, but there's nothing. He hears soft breathing, nothing more. He inhales deeply, at first getting nothing but sweaty flannel and wolf. But then, wafting over form the other end of the room, he catches it. Smoke. Leather. Musky maleness. Steel and steam and urban grime. Chicago.
In the dark of the tiny shack in the middle of the arctic, a land so wide and savage, he closes his eyes again and smiles.
He has his partner, and so has everything he needs.
V. Lindsey
The bullet rips into him, and he stares in wide-eyed horror and the tearful green skinned man in front of him.
No!! This isn't how it happens, he wants to scream, but it barely comes out as a whisper.
It was so clear. It was perfect. They were getting back to where they were supposed to be. He played the villain, like he was supposed to, and in turn there was supposed to be a hero. That was the deal, that's how it works.
If the hero falls, if he's not the pure soul he's supposed to be, then his own slide into darkness was meaningless.
He dies with the name of the man who failed him on his lips.
VI. Stark
He jerks awake, searching, always searching.
He knows what he's looking for isn't there, but he looks anyway.
She was his centre, his peace. He was her passion, the ability to surrender without losing controll.
Soulmates was not a figure of speach, it was a simple fact, as tendrils of light would reach from him to envelop her in bliss.
Where she has gone, he must go; he knows that now.
The flesh is only holding him back.
VII. Conclusion
Her fingers fly over the keyboard, her mind races over the words.
She picks up and examines one by one the trickster god, the broken AI, the confused queer, the polite mountie, the evil lawyer, the greiving bannik.
In thier pains and joys she lets out her own.
She can't imagine her life without them.
~~~
My.
That was wanky.
Please don't ask me why I chose the ones I did. I don't know why myself.
Fandoms: Voyager, TS, Priscilla, Due South, Angel, Farscape
Rating: PG
~~~
Variations on Necessity
I. Q
He watches silently as she sips her coffee, reading some report. She seems utterly absorbed in what she's doing, and possibly wouldn't be aware of him, even if she had the capability to be.
He admires her focus. He treasures the entertainment she afords, but somehow it's become more than that.
She encompases, even more than him, the other one, everything human he admires.
Whatever would he do without her?
II. Fragment
He lets the water rise up over him. He's sick of trying, sick of struggling. He no longer bothers to watch as the madman with his face and voice and name runs rampant.
The fight for the battle of the entire world is happening right outside his mental prison, and he just doesn't care.
He is without her, and always will be, and so it all means nothing.
III. Tick
He looks over at the form sleeping a little ways away from him. The young man is annoying, exasperating, and downright idiotic at times. He sometimes wonders at his own sanity at volunteering to be stuck in a bus with not only him but another who can't stand him for weeks on end.
But he apologizes to kid when he's wronged him, and he only yells because he was so damn scared of the little fool hurting himself.
He doesn't quite understand it, but he couldn't imagine his life without him.
IV. Benton
He wakes up in the middle of the night, from some nameless nightmare. His keen senses peirce the darkness, alert for whatever might have roused him, but there's nothing. He hears soft breathing, nothing more. He inhales deeply, at first getting nothing but sweaty flannel and wolf. But then, wafting over form the other end of the room, he catches it. Smoke. Leather. Musky maleness. Steel and steam and urban grime. Chicago.
In the dark of the tiny shack in the middle of the arctic, a land so wide and savage, he closes his eyes again and smiles.
He has his partner, and so has everything he needs.
V. Lindsey
The bullet rips into him, and he stares in wide-eyed horror and the tearful green skinned man in front of him.
No!! This isn't how it happens, he wants to scream, but it barely comes out as a whisper.
It was so clear. It was perfect. They were getting back to where they were supposed to be. He played the villain, like he was supposed to, and in turn there was supposed to be a hero. That was the deal, that's how it works.
If the hero falls, if he's not the pure soul he's supposed to be, then his own slide into darkness was meaningless.
He dies with the name of the man who failed him on his lips.
VI. Stark
He jerks awake, searching, always searching.
He knows what he's looking for isn't there, but he looks anyway.
She was his centre, his peace. He was her passion, the ability to surrender without losing controll.
Soulmates was not a figure of speach, it was a simple fact, as tendrils of light would reach from him to envelop her in bliss.
Where she has gone, he must go; he knows that now.
The flesh is only holding him back.
VII. Conclusion
Her fingers fly over the keyboard, her mind races over the words.
She picks up and examines one by one the trickster god, the broken AI, the confused queer, the polite mountie, the evil lawyer, the greiving bannik.
In thier pains and joys she lets out her own.
She can't imagine her life without them.
~~~
My.
That was wanky.
Please don't ask me why I chose the ones I did. I don't know why myself.