Disclaimer: If I owned Cowboy Bebop, I would be spending my time on
something useful, rather than fan fiction.
AN: My first non-fluffy Bebop fic. Try not to be harsh, I only have experience from critics that are not....well.....critical.
She's been sick for as long as she's been on Bebop. Constantly cold, giddiness, insomnia, and the inability to control volume.
Of course, these are all passed off a childish acts, and are ignored. So she continues to worsen, and continues to suffer.
Beneath a jacket stolen long ago, she shivers deep into the night. Too cold and scared to sleep if she could, too ill to help herself, too strong willed and independent to tell anyone.
This is her battle as far as she's concerned. No one else's. She has made it through adversity on her own before, and no force in this Solar System is going to stop her from doing it again.
As far as I know, I'm the only one who can see how awful she's getting. Well, besides the computer, whom she would tell anything.
Computers only communicate in 1's and 0's, not human language. Tomato can't tell anyone,
So alone she'll dance in order to stay warm, alone she'll laugh, alone she'll collapse in exhaustion from sleepless nights, alone she'll die.
I lay over her, as if I could ever aid in her search for warmth. She hugs me close, tears running down her face. I close my eyes, resting my head against her chest.
She smothers her face into my hair, and I into hers. She embraces my warmth, hugging me closer to receive more.
From the mess of hair, I push myself away. She whimpers softly, pleading with her eyes.
I turn and walk away, to find her aid. Realizing my intentions, she grabs me by the legs and drags me back toward her.
"No.....you can't tell them......they would.....send me away."
I look at her, watching tears roll down her checks. Damn manipulative little.......
I sigh and give in, which she accepts with a squeal. I place my head softly between her newly forming breasts, closing my eyes.
She wraps her arms around my back, hands running up and down. She seeks warmth which she can never achieve, seeks confort that never existed.
She curls into a ball, taking my with her. I can not move, she has surrounded me. The outside world of the ship is closed off, protecting us from all.
The pain that she felt has been shut out as she lays upon the metal floor. No one can touch her, nothing can enter her world that she does not allow. She has a stone wall around her, and it will not crumble. She depends on it to much for it to do so.
Her eyes are closed, but she does not sleep. Merely....thinking, I suppose. She will stay awake through the whole night, be the reason illness or choice.
Too sick to sleep, too tired to recover, too young to die.
No one will cry for her when she passes. No one cries for her now. She would never tell, it would be a sign of weakness. She can never become weak. The illusion that she remains strong is the only part of her life that keeps her going.
I watch her fight inside, her eye lids quivering. She begins to shake once again as the chill space holds takes over her body.
Some just were never made for space travel. I suppose she could be one.
I nuzzle close and fall asleep, listening to the erratic breathing she takes. She whimpers softly, a cry no one will hear. They would never want to believe she could be growing weak.
She must fight alone, but I will be there. Whether she wants me or not.
The frozen dancer moves onward, the inner battle commencing. Fight strong, my beautiful Edward.
Fight strong.
AN: My first non-fluffy Bebop fic. Try not to be harsh, I only have experience from critics that are not....well.....critical.
She's been sick for as long as she's been on Bebop. Constantly cold, giddiness, insomnia, and the inability to control volume.
Of course, these are all passed off a childish acts, and are ignored. So she continues to worsen, and continues to suffer.
Beneath a jacket stolen long ago, she shivers deep into the night. Too cold and scared to sleep if she could, too ill to help herself, too strong willed and independent to tell anyone.
This is her battle as far as she's concerned. No one else's. She has made it through adversity on her own before, and no force in this Solar System is going to stop her from doing it again.
As far as I know, I'm the only one who can see how awful she's getting. Well, besides the computer, whom she would tell anything.
Computers only communicate in 1's and 0's, not human language. Tomato can't tell anyone,
So alone she'll dance in order to stay warm, alone she'll laugh, alone she'll collapse in exhaustion from sleepless nights, alone she'll die.
I lay over her, as if I could ever aid in her search for warmth. She hugs me close, tears running down her face. I close my eyes, resting my head against her chest.
She smothers her face into my hair, and I into hers. She embraces my warmth, hugging me closer to receive more.
From the mess of hair, I push myself away. She whimpers softly, pleading with her eyes.
I turn and walk away, to find her aid. Realizing my intentions, she grabs me by the legs and drags me back toward her.
"No.....you can't tell them......they would.....send me away."
I look at her, watching tears roll down her checks. Damn manipulative little.......
I sigh and give in, which she accepts with a squeal. I place my head softly between her newly forming breasts, closing my eyes.
She wraps her arms around my back, hands running up and down. She seeks warmth which she can never achieve, seeks confort that never existed.
She curls into a ball, taking my with her. I can not move, she has surrounded me. The outside world of the ship is closed off, protecting us from all.
The pain that she felt has been shut out as she lays upon the metal floor. No one can touch her, nothing can enter her world that she does not allow. She has a stone wall around her, and it will not crumble. She depends on it to much for it to do so.
Her eyes are closed, but she does not sleep. Merely....thinking, I suppose. She will stay awake through the whole night, be the reason illness or choice.
Too sick to sleep, too tired to recover, too young to die.
No one will cry for her when she passes. No one cries for her now. She would never tell, it would be a sign of weakness. She can never become weak. The illusion that she remains strong is the only part of her life that keeps her going.
I watch her fight inside, her eye lids quivering. She begins to shake once again as the chill space holds takes over her body.
Some just were never made for space travel. I suppose she could be one.
I nuzzle close and fall asleep, listening to the erratic breathing she takes. She whimpers softly, a cry no one will hear. They would never want to believe she could be growing weak.
She must fight alone, but I will be there. Whether she wants me or not.
The frozen dancer moves onward, the inner battle commencing. Fight strong, my beautiful Edward.
Fight strong.