Five Orphaned Bunnies/Ficlets
Oh, what could have been. *sigh* But, as I'm tired of looking at them and brooding alone, it's time you all shared my pain. Spring Cleaning in all its glory.
Fandom: The Order
There is no after, or later. Everything slides into then, before, what was. And he remains in the present.
Everyone slides into death, and he remains here. Countries change, progress, revert, flourish, crumble from within. Cities sink and soar, and everyone, everything, everywhere is different.
And Alex remains. Mountains erode. Oceans diminish. Rivers swell and change course. The atmosphere thins. The light becomes brighter.
Culture, society, values, fashion, ideals, all move and shift. Alex does not.
Faith. . . does not. When the world spins, that does not. There is always a Church, and there are always those forced from It. Sin does not change or shift. It, Salvation, Alex, and the Church are the only constants. The face of the planet changes, but they do not.
He is steady and present for centuries. He walks for ages, reads more than any other person in the history of the world. He drinks and eats and shits. He writes. He owns and purchases and gives away, takes, makes deposits and withdrawals, does business, hires and fires. He dresses in fashionable, expensive clothes. His closets are full of them.
He saves and damns souls, never losing count. He futilely wishes for more documentation. How long did the others last? How many souls did his predecessors cleanse, absolve, set free to Heavenly reward? More than Alex has? Fewer?
He sees it happen and writes it down. He saves those the Church refuses. He damns those who deserve it. He changes everything and is changed by nothing.
He is the Sin Eater. He remains. He holds the Keys. The past stretches as far as the future and beyond, and he stretches with it. He becomes thin, hollow, emptying himself of all that he is to make room inside for others.
Is there an end? he'll sometimes ask.
No, is what he always hears in response.
There is no end, but him. He is the end.
He is all that remains.
***
Fandom: Kingdom of Heaven
A Lord with no holdings, a Knight with no quest, he is a man and a man who should have much doubt. Did he act uprightly? Did he keep his oath?
He thinks the answer to both is 'No.'
He feels the answer to both is 'Yes.'
He believes in peace and equality, and is willing to give up both so that others may have them. He regrets much, but never what happened by his own hand.
Is that peace?
Does it even matter anymore?
It should, but Balian already feels at peace. As a man, he wants for nothing. He has no holdings, no quest, no purpose, no say in the doings of great men. Once, he was in possession of all of them, and all the more miserable for it. Beset by constant guilt and shame, and certain of his own inadequacy, it seemed at every turn he made the wrong decision.
He does not wish for glory. He has never wished for it, and prays the day will never come that he does.
In its place, in the place of every knightly or grand desire is Sibylla. She was Princess to his Knight, and now blesses and honors him every second as the woman to his man.
For what man would be a Knight or Lord. . . when he could be loved for just who he is, and be free to love in return?
Balian is a man who is not alone. He is happy and at peace, and that is what lay at the end of Crusade.
***
Fandom: Harry Potter
Sometimes, he doesn't want to speak of them, or remember the good times while sitting by the fire. He doesn't want to be hugged or slapped on the arm. Sometimes, it's all he can do to stay still for a kiss or to hear another joke or shoot the breeze around what qualifies as a water cooler here, and not shout or push or snap.
He finds it less stifling to be alone. He is more comfortable that way, better able to work and get things done. Alone, the guilt recedes and he can think, focus, plan, act. Alone, he is responsible for himself and no one else. Alone, he is himself and no one else.
Just Harry.
***
Fandom: Smallville
He speaks with this. . . man. He watches the mouth move and the language come out. He sees the. . . man's. . . eyes and face and body. He sees this. . . person.
But not really.
Many things are the same, despite all the obvious differences. At first, it's the feeling of the air that surrounds him. At first, Clark's knowledge and understanding of the situation gets in the way. It colors what he sees, what he focuses and picks up on.
This is Zod as he used to be. . . but also as he is now.
Not as he was and then became, though. This is a different person.
Isn't it?
But after that initial meeting, the knowledge and skepticism and certainty fade into the background and that-- that's when Clark can see everything else.
At one point, a soldier of Zod's brings them a platter of food and glasses of water. The soldier sets the tray down and backs away. It's the look that comes over Zod's face as he watches Clark watch him reach over and pick up a piece of fruit. It's the way his mouth curls, and the tilt of his head, and a million other tiny flexes of muscle. It's all that and more, and it results in the same facial expression Clark remembers.
Clark blinks, and it's still there. He fidgets, brings a hand up to his mouth, and still Zod sits across from him with that utterly familiar look on his completely unfamiliar face. He studies Clark, blatantly stares at him the entire time they sit across from each other. This meeting, this attempt at conversation, it's ridiculous and it starts out with Clark wanting nothing more than to leave.
But by the end, he's staring right back. Three hours after first sitting down and he has to actually remind himself to blink, to not lean forward on the strange stool he's been given, to. . . not appear so interested in Zod or. . . Zod's face.
The mannerisms are the same, for the most part. The accent is different, but his cadence is not. The words he speaks, the way he phrases things, that's exactly the same. About two hours in, he says "eyes" and Clark actually flinches back.
The same. This Zod's not angry, and his voice is. . . his own. He speaks with that strange, almost British rumble, but it's. . .
Clark has heard Zod speak before this. He has spoken to this man before. It is the same person, and yet it's not.
It is almost like there are more than just the two of them here, speaking. There is a roomful of people. There is this Zod, and there is Clark playing at being Kal-El, but in his mind he can easily place that other Zod he remembers next to this version. Perhaps the fortress' Jor-El would sit at Clark's left. Next to it, would be the man Clark. . . barely knew, the man who'd died in his arms -- the two duplicates of the real Jor-El, side-by-side and next to their source's son.
Kara would stand and refuse to sit down. She would place herself squarely at Clark's side and alternately seek to protect him and be protected by him. She would glare and refuse to back down and call him Clark when every other soul from his past insists he is Kal-El. Kara would spit on this Zod's offer of friendship. She would not listen, and she would not look closer or try to see. . . the differences.
Brainiac would stand somewhere behind and outside them all, resting until activated again.
And standing with one foot in the circle would be Lex. Made to be some sort of vessel for Zod, surely Lex had a place here. Would he be next to Clark? Would he sit with him? Or would Lex stand proud, recoil and push his shoulders back and treat all of them the same? As a threat, an opponent, something to best and conquer. Would Lex be Alexander or that monster in white? Would he. . . forgive, or would he spit on Clark's offer of friendship?
Would Lex see Clark, or just Kal-El?
Zod is intrigued by the concept of shaking hands. He doesn't quite manage a good grip, but he's a quick learner: Clark has no doubt whatsoever that Zod could and will easily assimilate into human culture, seamlessly, efficiently, dangerously so. He'll have to keep an eye on the man. . .
For there are differences between this Zod and the other.
And there is always hope, for all of them.
***
Fandom: Star Trek XI (2009 Reboot)
He's not one to wax poetic, at least not out loud, but there's more beneath his surface than most people give him credit for. It's better this way, though. Always leave 'em guessing.
He hates being underestimated, but being so has saved his hide more times than he can count. It's undignified, cowardly, but then. . . no one ever said he played fair. If people are stupid enough to disregard the rumors and stories completely, then he's smart enough to take advantage of that stupidity.
He can play the hick to perfection. He can bat his eyelashes with the best of them, and let it never be said that he doesn't know his own strengths.
He can take a punch, verbal, physical, or otherwise. He knows how to dish out some pain, too, and he isn't too noble or afraid to hit a girl. He's good at improvising. He's reckless, but that comes in handy more often than most people would think.
And he's good with people, well, most people. There are always exceptions to every kind of rule, a concept those Admiralty types just can't seem to grasp. But he knows how to work people for the most part, can figure out the right angle quicker than anyone else he's ever come across.
And if a few life forms give him a little trouble from time to time, well then. . .
That just makes life more interesting, and if there's one thing Jim hates above all else, it's boredom.
Besides, a frown is just a smile turned upside down. In fact, next time, he'll just have to say that.
He can't wait to see the look on Spock's face. Maybe he'll even get a raised eyebrow out of it.
Fandom: The Order
There is no after, or later. Everything slides into then, before, what was. And he remains in the present.
Everyone slides into death, and he remains here. Countries change, progress, revert, flourish, crumble from within. Cities sink and soar, and everyone, everything, everywhere is different.
And Alex remains. Mountains erode. Oceans diminish. Rivers swell and change course. The atmosphere thins. The light becomes brighter.
Culture, society, values, fashion, ideals, all move and shift. Alex does not.
Faith. . . does not. When the world spins, that does not. There is always a Church, and there are always those forced from It. Sin does not change or shift. It, Salvation, Alex, and the Church are the only constants. The face of the planet changes, but they do not.
He is steady and present for centuries. He walks for ages, reads more than any other person in the history of the world. He drinks and eats and shits. He writes. He owns and purchases and gives away, takes, makes deposits and withdrawals, does business, hires and fires. He dresses in fashionable, expensive clothes. His closets are full of them.
He saves and damns souls, never losing count. He futilely wishes for more documentation. How long did the others last? How many souls did his predecessors cleanse, absolve, set free to Heavenly reward? More than Alex has? Fewer?
He sees it happen and writes it down. He saves those the Church refuses. He damns those who deserve it. He changes everything and is changed by nothing.
He is the Sin Eater. He remains. He holds the Keys. The past stretches as far as the future and beyond, and he stretches with it. He becomes thin, hollow, emptying himself of all that he is to make room inside for others.
Is there an end? he'll sometimes ask.
No, is what he always hears in response.
There is no end, but him. He is the end.
He is all that remains.
***
Fandom: Kingdom of Heaven
A Lord with no holdings, a Knight with no quest, he is a man and a man who should have much doubt. Did he act uprightly? Did he keep his oath?
He thinks the answer to both is 'No.'
He feels the answer to both is 'Yes.'
He believes in peace and equality, and is willing to give up both so that others may have them. He regrets much, but never what happened by his own hand.
Is that peace?
Does it even matter anymore?
It should, but Balian already feels at peace. As a man, he wants for nothing. He has no holdings, no quest, no purpose, no say in the doings of great men. Once, he was in possession of all of them, and all the more miserable for it. Beset by constant guilt and shame, and certain of his own inadequacy, it seemed at every turn he made the wrong decision.
He does not wish for glory. He has never wished for it, and prays the day will never come that he does.
In its place, in the place of every knightly or grand desire is Sibylla. She was Princess to his Knight, and now blesses and honors him every second as the woman to his man.
For what man would be a Knight or Lord. . . when he could be loved for just who he is, and be free to love in return?
Balian is a man who is not alone. He is happy and at peace, and that is what lay at the end of Crusade.
***
Fandom: Harry Potter
Sometimes, he doesn't want to speak of them, or remember the good times while sitting by the fire. He doesn't want to be hugged or slapped on the arm. Sometimes, it's all he can do to stay still for a kiss or to hear another joke or shoot the breeze around what qualifies as a water cooler here, and not shout or push or snap.
He finds it less stifling to be alone. He is more comfortable that way, better able to work and get things done. Alone, the guilt recedes and he can think, focus, plan, act. Alone, he is responsible for himself and no one else. Alone, he is himself and no one else.
Just Harry.
***
Fandom: Smallville
He speaks with this. . . man. He watches the mouth move and the language come out. He sees the. . . man's. . . eyes and face and body. He sees this. . . person.
But not really.
Many things are the same, despite all the obvious differences. At first, it's the feeling of the air that surrounds him. At first, Clark's knowledge and understanding of the situation gets in the way. It colors what he sees, what he focuses and picks up on.
This is Zod as he used to be. . . but also as he is now.
Not as he was and then became, though. This is a different person.
Isn't it?
But after that initial meeting, the knowledge and skepticism and certainty fade into the background and that-- that's when Clark can see everything else.
At one point, a soldier of Zod's brings them a platter of food and glasses of water. The soldier sets the tray down and backs away. It's the look that comes over Zod's face as he watches Clark watch him reach over and pick up a piece of fruit. It's the way his mouth curls, and the tilt of his head, and a million other tiny flexes of muscle. It's all that and more, and it results in the same facial expression Clark remembers.
Clark blinks, and it's still there. He fidgets, brings a hand up to his mouth, and still Zod sits across from him with that utterly familiar look on his completely unfamiliar face. He studies Clark, blatantly stares at him the entire time they sit across from each other. This meeting, this attempt at conversation, it's ridiculous and it starts out with Clark wanting nothing more than to leave.
But by the end, he's staring right back. Three hours after first sitting down and he has to actually remind himself to blink, to not lean forward on the strange stool he's been given, to. . . not appear so interested in Zod or. . . Zod's face.
The mannerisms are the same, for the most part. The accent is different, but his cadence is not. The words he speaks, the way he phrases things, that's exactly the same. About two hours in, he says "eyes" and Clark actually flinches back.
The same. This Zod's not angry, and his voice is. . . his own. He speaks with that strange, almost British rumble, but it's. . .
Clark has heard Zod speak before this. He has spoken to this man before. It is the same person, and yet it's not.
It is almost like there are more than just the two of them here, speaking. There is a roomful of people. There is this Zod, and there is Clark playing at being Kal-El, but in his mind he can easily place that other Zod he remembers next to this version. Perhaps the fortress' Jor-El would sit at Clark's left. Next to it, would be the man Clark. . . barely knew, the man who'd died in his arms -- the two duplicates of the real Jor-El, side-by-side and next to their source's son.
Kara would stand and refuse to sit down. She would place herself squarely at Clark's side and alternately seek to protect him and be protected by him. She would glare and refuse to back down and call him Clark when every other soul from his past insists he is Kal-El. Kara would spit on this Zod's offer of friendship. She would not listen, and she would not look closer or try to see. . . the differences.
Brainiac would stand somewhere behind and outside them all, resting until activated again.
And standing with one foot in the circle would be Lex. Made to be some sort of vessel for Zod, surely Lex had a place here. Would he be next to Clark? Would he sit with him? Or would Lex stand proud, recoil and push his shoulders back and treat all of them the same? As a threat, an opponent, something to best and conquer. Would Lex be Alexander or that monster in white? Would he. . . forgive, or would he spit on Clark's offer of friendship?
Would Lex see Clark, or just Kal-El?
Zod is intrigued by the concept of shaking hands. He doesn't quite manage a good grip, but he's a quick learner: Clark has no doubt whatsoever that Zod could and will easily assimilate into human culture, seamlessly, efficiently, dangerously so. He'll have to keep an eye on the man. . .
For there are differences between this Zod and the other.
And there is always hope, for all of them.
***
Fandom: Star Trek XI (2009 Reboot)
He's not one to wax poetic, at least not out loud, but there's more beneath his surface than most people give him credit for. It's better this way, though. Always leave 'em guessing.
He hates being underestimated, but being so has saved his hide more times than he can count. It's undignified, cowardly, but then. . . no one ever said he played fair. If people are stupid enough to disregard the rumors and stories completely, then he's smart enough to take advantage of that stupidity.
He can play the hick to perfection. He can bat his eyelashes with the best of them, and let it never be said that he doesn't know his own strengths.
He can take a punch, verbal, physical, or otherwise. He knows how to dish out some pain, too, and he isn't too noble or afraid to hit a girl. He's good at improvising. He's reckless, but that comes in handy more often than most people would think.
And he's good with people, well, most people. There are always exceptions to every kind of rule, a concept those Admiralty types just can't seem to grasp. But he knows how to work people for the most part, can figure out the right angle quicker than anyone else he's ever come across.
And if a few life forms give him a little trouble from time to time, well then. . .
That just makes life more interesting, and if there's one thing Jim hates above all else, it's boredom.
Besides, a frown is just a smile turned upside down. In fact, next time, he'll just have to say that.
He can't wait to see the look on Spock's face. Maybe he'll even get a raised eyebrow out of it.