Lay Down Your Burdens, Part I: Sine Qua Non
Fandom: BOK
Beta: Unbeta'd
Disclaimer: Everything important was created by other people.
Title: Lay Down Your Burdens, Part I: Sine Qua Non
Summary: Julianne Sims is seeing things. Or rather, something. Someone.
AN: Watch too much BSG, produce strange fic. Not quite a crossover, but certainly AU. Read at your own risk.
*****
Julianne Sims begins to get headaches. Migraines. They roar over her, without warning. They disrupt her vision. There is a rushing in her ears sometimes.
She gets used to them.
*****
She thinks she sees Lloyd standing on a street corner. No, she knows that she sees Lloyd standing on a street corner. Her heart knows. Her car seems to drift through the intersection, her head turns, he looks at her. She knows.
Lloyd. But not Lloyd. Straight-backed, smug, in a beautiful suit- Not Lloyd. But so much like him. It stays with her. She rationalizes- is that the word? rationalizes? she’s pretty sure it is- rationalizes it. She saw someone who looked immensely like Lloyd Lowery and for a moment, for a fleeting moment she had mistakenly believed that she... Yes. That’s it.
*****
She sees him after that, though. Other street corners.
Sometimes there’s a burst of light. It’s white, a rush, a glow, then it fades. Sometimes she hears music, as if from a far-off room.
It’s stress, she tells herself. The headaches, the sounds, the visions. It’s all just stress. She should tell a doctor. But she doesn’t.
*****
The first time she really sees him, she drops a plate.
She’s making dinner when it happens. She turns around, and he’s standing in the doorway of her tiny kitchen, wrinkling his nose. She jumps, drops the plate she’s holding.
“Careful,” he says. He doesn’t offer to help her clean up, which is the most un-Lloyd-like thing about him.
No, that’s not true. He’s not like Lloyd in any way. Not really. The basic shape of the face, the body, those are the same. (Almost. Maybe he’s a little taller. Maybe not.) But the body language, the look in his eyes, the set of his shoulders, how very, very straight his spine is, not the wrinkle in his nose but the way it happens- the suit he’s wearing quite aside, he is definitely not Lloyd Lowery.
She doesn’t ask him any of the logical questions. (Who are you? Where are you from? How did you get in here?) She doesn’t ask any questions at all. She doesn’t ask because she knows, somewhere, deep-down in her twisted-up heart, she knows.
He is not real.
She closes her eyes, shakes her head.
“That won’t work.” He sounds almost amused. But when she opens her eyes, he’s gone.
*****
He comes back. (Of course he comes back. How can part of you vanish? She doesn’t touch that thought.) She is getting dressed one morning and she sees him in the mirror.
“Wear the purple,” he says. “It’s a good color for you.”
He’s so different, so appealing, this Other Lloyd. A little mesmerizing, which is a dangerous enough quality in a real person. He’s clean-shaven. His hair is shorter, and pushed back from his forehead. He’s very... She mulls over this for a long time, trying to find the right word. He’s confidant. He’s sure of himself, and she’s surprised at how very different that surety is from arrogance.
*****
For a while- a month, perhaps two- he confines himself to mirrors. (She only sees him mirrors, she corrects herself. A part of her knows he’s only presenting himself in mirrors. She’s grateful. She’s not grateful. She won’t think about it.) He comments on her thoughts. He’s usually right.
*****
She hangs up the phone.
“He won’t come around.”
Other Lloyd is sitting on the end of her bed, legs stretched out, ankles crossed.
“Ray. He won’t come around, if that’s what you’re waiting for.”
“Get out of my head.”
He raises an eyebrow, in a way that makes her feel hot and cold all over.
“I’m not in your head.” He says it as if it is very important she believe him.
She rubs a hand over her eyes. Sometimes, she gets a little tired of him.
“Well where are you, then?”
But he’s gone.
*****
She knows her mind is slipping away. (Or at least, she thinks her mind is slipping away. Somehow, that’s the less frightening option.) She knows, but she keeps it to herself.
*****
(Part II Here)
Beta: Unbeta'd
Disclaimer: Everything important was created by other people.
Title: Lay Down Your Burdens, Part I: Sine Qua Non
Summary: Julianne Sims is seeing things. Or rather, something. Someone.
AN: Watch too much BSG, produce strange fic. Not quite a crossover, but certainly AU. Read at your own risk.
*****
Julianne Sims begins to get headaches. Migraines. They roar over her, without warning. They disrupt her vision. There is a rushing in her ears sometimes.
She gets used to them.
*****
She thinks she sees Lloyd standing on a street corner. No, she knows that she sees Lloyd standing on a street corner. Her heart knows. Her car seems to drift through the intersection, her head turns, he looks at her. She knows.
Lloyd. But not Lloyd. Straight-backed, smug, in a beautiful suit- Not Lloyd. But so much like him. It stays with her. She rationalizes- is that the word? rationalizes? she’s pretty sure it is- rationalizes it. She saw someone who looked immensely like Lloyd Lowery and for a moment, for a fleeting moment she had mistakenly believed that she... Yes. That’s it.
*****
She sees him after that, though. Other street corners.
Sometimes there’s a burst of light. It’s white, a rush, a glow, then it fades. Sometimes she hears music, as if from a far-off room.
It’s stress, she tells herself. The headaches, the sounds, the visions. It’s all just stress. She should tell a doctor. But she doesn’t.
*****
The first time she really sees him, she drops a plate.
She’s making dinner when it happens. She turns around, and he’s standing in the doorway of her tiny kitchen, wrinkling his nose. She jumps, drops the plate she’s holding.
“Careful,” he says. He doesn’t offer to help her clean up, which is the most un-Lloyd-like thing about him.
No, that’s not true. He’s not like Lloyd in any way. Not really. The basic shape of the face, the body, those are the same. (Almost. Maybe he’s a little taller. Maybe not.) But the body language, the look in his eyes, the set of his shoulders, how very, very straight his spine is, not the wrinkle in his nose but the way it happens- the suit he’s wearing quite aside, he is definitely not Lloyd Lowery.
She doesn’t ask him any of the logical questions. (Who are you? Where are you from? How did you get in here?) She doesn’t ask any questions at all. She doesn’t ask because she knows, somewhere, deep-down in her twisted-up heart, she knows.
He is not real.
She closes her eyes, shakes her head.
“That won’t work.” He sounds almost amused. But when she opens her eyes, he’s gone.
*****
He comes back. (Of course he comes back. How can part of you vanish? She doesn’t touch that thought.) She is getting dressed one morning and she sees him in the mirror.
“Wear the purple,” he says. “It’s a good color for you.”
He’s so different, so appealing, this Other Lloyd. A little mesmerizing, which is a dangerous enough quality in a real person. He’s clean-shaven. His hair is shorter, and pushed back from his forehead. He’s very... She mulls over this for a long time, trying to find the right word. He’s confidant. He’s sure of himself, and she’s surprised at how very different that surety is from arrogance.
*****
For a while- a month, perhaps two- he confines himself to mirrors. (She only sees him mirrors, she corrects herself. A part of her knows he’s only presenting himself in mirrors. She’s grateful. She’s not grateful. She won’t think about it.) He comments on her thoughts. He’s usually right.
*****
She hangs up the phone.
“He won’t come around.”
Other Lloyd is sitting on the end of her bed, legs stretched out, ankles crossed.
“Ray. He won’t come around, if that’s what you’re waiting for.”
“Get out of my head.”
He raises an eyebrow, in a way that makes her feel hot and cold all over.
“I’m not in your head.” He says it as if it is very important she believe him.
She rubs a hand over her eyes. Sometimes, she gets a little tired of him.
“Well where are you, then?”
But he’s gone.
*****
She knows her mind is slipping away. (Or at least, she thinks her mind is slipping away. Somehow, that’s the less frightening option.) She knows, but she keeps it to herself.
*****
(Part II Here)