Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. Original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended. Furthermore, these drabbles are entirely my mother's fault. You know as well as I do that I've got nothing against that ship... But my mother is militantly anti-sparky and we were having an - um - 'discussion' about the pros and cons of the different ships (which, when I think about it, is a really odd conversation to be having with your mother, lol). Anyway, so this is what came as a result... Me, pulling apart all the reasons why it wouldn't work between them. Yup. Thanks, Mum.
Hmm, by the way, the drabbles won't be connected. They'll have to be read as individual pieces, I'm thinking. I'm planning one per verse.
New Note: This story has been inspired by the lyrics of Not The Doctor, by Alanis Morissette. I did have a full verse per drabble typed out, but because I'm worried about breaking the rules, I've taken them down, and just left a very small, well-credited excerpt. If you don't know the song, go and google the lyrics to see where I'm coming from.
I don't want be a bandage if the wound is not mine -
Lend me some fresh air...
- Alanis Morissette, 'Not The Doctor'.
Elizabeth lays in a mess of bedding, John's head scruffy on her bare belly. Always, it ends like this. Fear of death, anxiety of uncertainty, adrenalin of fighting - and they end in her quarters. End with their blind longing, their losing of thought, and their selfish use of the other. She doesn't know if he loves her; he's never said he does. She knows she doesn't love him. And she's tired of being his post-battle salve, tired of being his proof of existence. She wants to be something more than that...
She'll tell him it's over, when he wakes...