Numb3rs: Gods and Monsters (The Feet of Clay Remix)
Original Fic: With God On Our Side, by emmademarais
Remix: Gods and Monsters (The Feet of Clay Remix) [Ian, 200 Words, Rated G], by sour_louise
Ian learns early in life that the most prudent course of action, the safest way to exist in the world, is to stay guarded, to stay contained within oneself. He watches the world from somewhere far back behind his eyes, merely a neutral observer, not a participant, not a person who is in any way affected by his surroundings.
He gets out as soon he's able, and, on his sixteenth birthday, joins the army.
He takes aim at the target, emptying his head, becoming nothing more than breath, air, inhale, exhale, squeeze the trigger and there. The instructor's mouth hangs open, his face pale. "What?" asks Ian, innocently, like he doesn't know.
He hears them, when they talk about him, fear and awe in their voices, and he smiles tightly, deliberately cultivating mystique, an aura of otherness, of something above and separate, something different.
They believe in him, have faith in him. They think he can protect them, keep them safe.
Before they ship out, Ian cleans his guns one last time, carefully, efficiently, his mouth a thin, tight line. Everyone needs something to believe in, he tells himself. A god, a superhero, a sniper. A man.
Just a man.
Remix: Gods and Monsters (The Feet of Clay Remix) [Ian, 200 Words, Rated G], by sour_louise
Ian learns early in life that the most prudent course of action, the safest way to exist in the world, is to stay guarded, to stay contained within oneself. He watches the world from somewhere far back behind his eyes, merely a neutral observer, not a participant, not a person who is in any way affected by his surroundings.
He gets out as soon he's able, and, on his sixteenth birthday, joins the army.
He takes aim at the target, emptying his head, becoming nothing more than breath, air, inhale, exhale, squeeze the trigger and there. The instructor's mouth hangs open, his face pale. "What?" asks Ian, innocently, like he doesn't know.
He hears them, when they talk about him, fear and awe in their voices, and he smiles tightly, deliberately cultivating mystique, an aura of otherness, of something above and separate, something different.
They believe in him, have faith in him. They think he can protect them, keep them safe.
Before they ship out, Ian cleans his guns one last time, carefully, efficiently, his mouth a thin, tight line. Everyone needs something to believe in, he tells himself. A god, a superhero, a sniper. A man.
Just a man.