[SoL 2010 Fanfic] For squeakchan
Title: Event Horizon
Combination of OT4 chosen: Allelujah/Somarie
Rating: PG-13
Soma is dreaming. She knows this, because Sergei is alive.
He is sitting in their kitchen, surrounded by tools, a slab of marble in front of him. His left hand was wrapped around himself, cradling his ribs, and he holds a chisel loosely in his right.
"What are you doing, Colonel?" Soma asks from the doorway.
"I'm trying to free the woman trapped inside the marble," Sergei says, and sets down the chisel to tap his finger against the stone slab. He smiles at her, calm and slightly self-deprecating. "I'm afraid I've never been much of an artist."
Soma walks into the room, to look more closely at the marble. "I just see a rock," she says, flatly.
Sergei laughs. "You've never been much of an artist, either," he says, voice wry.
Soma trails her hand through the air over the curve of a maybe-shoulder. "Why don't you just give up?" she asks, not wanting to touch the white stone; the grime on her fingers would dirty it.
"Because she's beautiful," Sergei says, and stands up. "Here," he says, and wraps his strong, dark fingers around the pale stem of her wrist. He moves her hand onto the marble. "You can see-- she's smiling."
Soma lets her hand trace the smile she can almost see, and turns to smile at Sergei.
Allelujah is there instead, hand on her wrist. He leans down, tilts his head until their foreheads touch. "Her name is Mary," he whispers to her, as though sharing a secret, and curls his other hand around her waist.
Soma is silent. Her hand feels warm on the marble. As Allelujah leans forward to brush his lips over her fingers and Mary's lips, through the stone Soma feels the first faint beat up a pulse.
The statue falls as she jerks herself away from Allelujah. The marble sounds like breaking bones as it shatters.
***
The Ptolemaios is quiet at night.
As Marie, she didn't notice it. Allelujah filled up any silence with his presence, his breath, his pulse, his heat. Marie was never alone, even when Allelujah was gone.
Soma is alone on the Ptolemaois, and feels the empty void of space more than she ever did with the HRL. Her mind reaches out, into the blankness of space, in search of the Colonel. She never noticed that she could feel him, before he was gone.
Her mind should feel empty; it's her quantum brainwaves that cannot find him, that tell her that he is gone. It shouldn't constantly be buzzing with the low thrum of plans for vengeance, with scorn for the people around her, for their methods that have only ever gotten people killed.
At night, she focuses on the bare, hollow place beneath her breastbone, where she feels Sergei's loss most keenly. It settles her mind. It does not quiet her thoughts-- not unless you consider the restless, useless whisperings of a crowded room to be quieter than the lone scream of a desperate child-- but it focuses them.
The Ptolemaios is quiet at night. She and Allelujah share a room.
***
"Marie, you need to sleep. The Colonel wouldn't want you to--"
"Don't you tell me what the Colonel would want, Allelujah Haptism."
***
Soma doesn't try to analyze what she does with Allelujah. From the very beginning, there have been no rules to dictate what went on between them: no social cues they could follow, no one to look to as an example. From the first moment they had met on the battlefield, from the moment he made her remember, even until now, she couldn't identify a pattern.
If she had to, she would say it was like falling into a black hole: time slowed, bodies stretched past their limits, and the heavy, ever-present knowledge that she could do nothing but keep falling. She couldn’t escape the sinking feeling of being out of step with the rest of the universe.
Allelujah would probably say it was like finding a piece of yourself you never knew was missing.
***
"Shut up, Allelujah," she said, lips pressed harshly to his. "I don't want to talk to you." She pushed him down onto the bed, and leaned back to strip off her top before wiggling out of her pants.
Allelujah stared at her, and slowly unbuttoned his top. "Marie," he said, and reached out to curl his fingers around the curve of her hip.
"No," she said, and flipped her hair back over as she climbed on the bed and settled herself on his thighs. She moved her hands quickly, undoing his pants and pulling him out of the slit of his boxers. "Don't call me Marie-- don't call me anything. Don't talk to me."
Allelujah's heterochromatic eyes should have made them harder to read. The incessant pleading shouldn't have been so obvious.
Soma closed her eyes, and grabbed Allelujah's hardness. With a sigh, she sank down onto it.
Afterwards, when she tried to roll away, Allelujah would link his hands over her stomach and press himself against her back. They were on the edge of the bed; struggling would have led to an ungraceful fall to the floor.
In the dark, she could stand the sound of his voice. "I'll be here when you're ready, Marie," he would say, every night. "I don't mind waiting."
Tonight, he added, "I love you."
Soma closed her eyes. Her chest, scraped out and raw from Sergei's loss, gave a painful pulse, and the hollowed out space inside her reshaped itself.
"I'm not Marie," Soma said, and refused to acknowledge the tears that leaked out of her eyes.
Allelujah unlocked his hands, and let his right hand settle over breastbone. She could feel the thud of her heart against her ribs, struggling to get out and meet his touch. "She's here," he said, quietly, into the skin of her neck. "And when she's ready to smile again, she'll come out."
***
Soma is dreaming. She knows this, because Sergei is alive.
He hands her a chisel, and stands back. "You'll have to finish the job," he says to her, gesturing to his half-finished statue. His eyes are proud when he looks at her.
Pushing aside her nerves, Soma stares at the marble. She can't see a woman in the rock.
But when she does see her, she knows the woman will be smiling.
Combination of OT4 chosen: Allelujah/Somarie
Rating: PG-13
Soma is dreaming. She knows this, because Sergei is alive.
He is sitting in their kitchen, surrounded by tools, a slab of marble in front of him. His left hand was wrapped around himself, cradling his ribs, and he holds a chisel loosely in his right.
"What are you doing, Colonel?" Soma asks from the doorway.
"I'm trying to free the woman trapped inside the marble," Sergei says, and sets down the chisel to tap his finger against the stone slab. He smiles at her, calm and slightly self-deprecating. "I'm afraid I've never been much of an artist."
Soma walks into the room, to look more closely at the marble. "I just see a rock," she says, flatly.
Sergei laughs. "You've never been much of an artist, either," he says, voice wry.
Soma trails her hand through the air over the curve of a maybe-shoulder. "Why don't you just give up?" she asks, not wanting to touch the white stone; the grime on her fingers would dirty it.
"Because she's beautiful," Sergei says, and stands up. "Here," he says, and wraps his strong, dark fingers around the pale stem of her wrist. He moves her hand onto the marble. "You can see-- she's smiling."
Soma lets her hand trace the smile she can almost see, and turns to smile at Sergei.
Allelujah is there instead, hand on her wrist. He leans down, tilts his head until their foreheads touch. "Her name is Mary," he whispers to her, as though sharing a secret, and curls his other hand around her waist.
Soma is silent. Her hand feels warm on the marble. As Allelujah leans forward to brush his lips over her fingers and Mary's lips, through the stone Soma feels the first faint beat up a pulse.
The statue falls as she jerks herself away from Allelujah. The marble sounds like breaking bones as it shatters.
***
The Ptolemaios is quiet at night.
As Marie, she didn't notice it. Allelujah filled up any silence with his presence, his breath, his pulse, his heat. Marie was never alone, even when Allelujah was gone.
Soma is alone on the Ptolemaois, and feels the empty void of space more than she ever did with the HRL. Her mind reaches out, into the blankness of space, in search of the Colonel. She never noticed that she could feel him, before he was gone.
Her mind should feel empty; it's her quantum brainwaves that cannot find him, that tell her that he is gone. It shouldn't constantly be buzzing with the low thrum of plans for vengeance, with scorn for the people around her, for their methods that have only ever gotten people killed.
At night, she focuses on the bare, hollow place beneath her breastbone, where she feels Sergei's loss most keenly. It settles her mind. It does not quiet her thoughts-- not unless you consider the restless, useless whisperings of a crowded room to be quieter than the lone scream of a desperate child-- but it focuses them.
The Ptolemaios is quiet at night. She and Allelujah share a room.
***
"Marie, you need to sleep. The Colonel wouldn't want you to--"
"Don't you tell me what the Colonel would want, Allelujah Haptism."
***
Soma doesn't try to analyze what she does with Allelujah. From the very beginning, there have been no rules to dictate what went on between them: no social cues they could follow, no one to look to as an example. From the first moment they had met on the battlefield, from the moment he made her remember, even until now, she couldn't identify a pattern.
If she had to, she would say it was like falling into a black hole: time slowed, bodies stretched past their limits, and the heavy, ever-present knowledge that she could do nothing but keep falling. She couldn’t escape the sinking feeling of being out of step with the rest of the universe.
Allelujah would probably say it was like finding a piece of yourself you never knew was missing.
***
"Shut up, Allelujah," she said, lips pressed harshly to his. "I don't want to talk to you." She pushed him down onto the bed, and leaned back to strip off her top before wiggling out of her pants.
Allelujah stared at her, and slowly unbuttoned his top. "Marie," he said, and reached out to curl his fingers around the curve of her hip.
"No," she said, and flipped her hair back over as she climbed on the bed and settled herself on his thighs. She moved her hands quickly, undoing his pants and pulling him out of the slit of his boxers. "Don't call me Marie-- don't call me anything. Don't talk to me."
Allelujah's heterochromatic eyes should have made them harder to read. The incessant pleading shouldn't have been so obvious.
Soma closed her eyes, and grabbed Allelujah's hardness. With a sigh, she sank down onto it.
Afterwards, when she tried to roll away, Allelujah would link his hands over her stomach and press himself against her back. They were on the edge of the bed; struggling would have led to an ungraceful fall to the floor.
In the dark, she could stand the sound of his voice. "I'll be here when you're ready, Marie," he would say, every night. "I don't mind waiting."
Tonight, he added, "I love you."
Soma closed her eyes. Her chest, scraped out and raw from Sergei's loss, gave a painful pulse, and the hollowed out space inside her reshaped itself.
"I'm not Marie," Soma said, and refused to acknowledge the tears that leaked out of her eyes.
Allelujah unlocked his hands, and let his right hand settle over breastbone. She could feel the thud of her heart against her ribs, struggling to get out and meet his touch. "She's here," he said, quietly, into the skin of her neck. "And when she's ready to smile again, she'll come out."
***
Soma is dreaming. She knows this, because Sergei is alive.
He hands her a chisel, and stands back. "You'll have to finish the job," he says to her, gesturing to his half-finished statue. His eyes are proud when he looks at her.
Pushing aside her nerves, Soma stares at the marble. She can't see a woman in the rock.
But when she does see her, she knows the woman will be smiling.