This fic was written somewhere in the middle of the 2nd season, so character situations reflect that setting.
Feedback: Criticism is welcomed and appreciated. Flames are not.
Archiving: Take it, anyone, everyone. Please.
Note: This story was started before WGFA, so details may not (okay, don't) click quite right. Also, some people
have told me this story is slashy - I didn't mean it to be, really, so I guess I apologize. *g*
Warning: Objects in mirror may be closer than they appear
Disclaimer: Not mine. Frell.
We were 14 when we met the Gypsy woman. Do you remember? It was the first time I had ever gotten drunk, the first
time you'd ever had someone there to share the experience with. Jack was gone again, down to the cape, and Mary
and Laura were out doing whatever they did when your old man was gone. My parents were out of the picture by then -
so was your mother. We didn't know where or why, they were just gone.
Do you remember? It was summer, hot and muggy. We sat together on the hood of Jack's old pick-up and watched the
fire-flies. Drank too much beer. Spilled our guts out to each other. You told me how scared you were that Jack
would never come back. I told you how scared I was that I'd never have a family again. You hugged me then, told
me I'd always be your brother. I cried.
We wandered off, the fire-flies followed us, and we ran into her, the old woman. She wasn't what I'd always thought
a gypsy should look like, no big earrings, no fancy clothes. She had on jeans and a T-shirt, and she gave us coffee
. We thought she was an old hippie. Do you remember?
I think she felt sorry for us - two boys, drunk for the first time, wandering about with no adult to care for us.
She read our palms, gave us our fortunes, helped us through that first hellish night. She listened to our sob
stories. Said she'd help me. Said we'd always be connected, even when you were gone, we'd be connected. I didn't
know what she meant then.
You never mentioned her, the old woman. I don't think you remembered. But I did, clear as day. And I knew that
she'd done something, because you were mine. You always came back to me. We cried on each other's shoulders,
laughed at each other's jokes, knew every sordid detail of each other's first score. We knew everything about each
other. We were closer than brothers. We were closer than lovers.
We shared the same dreams, and we talked about them, hashed over them when I spent the night, so many years after
our peers stopped having sleep-overs. We dreamed of interstellar travel, of nights among the stars, of that
whopping big bass we'd catch next time. We dreamed about finding that one perfect car. You dreamed about finding
that one perfect girl.
The first was Karen Shore. She was the first you gave your body to, your heart to, the first you dreamed about
spending a life with. But you were still mine - I still held the keys to your dreams, and I still held your soul
in my hands. You were connected to me.
I saw everything, felt everything. Your first kiss to those first tentative caresses, I saw them all through you.
All I had to do was close my eyes, and I could see what you saw, feel what you felt. And I envied you. I envied
*her*. But you were still mine.
When Karen left you, in some sadistic part of my soul I was glad. But I held you, comforted you, kissed your hair
and soothed you like Jack should have been there to do. And you became mine again - in body, heart, and soul.
You threw yourself into our dreams then. We spent sleepless nights in college working on our slingshot theory,
working on that dream of space which Jack had somehow given us both. We went out together and caught that bass,
and you went out and caught that '62 T-Bird. And you caught Alex.
In the beginning, Alex was good for you. She taught your body things it never thought could be done, and loved it
with a god-like reverence. But that was all she ever wanted you for - a fleeting satisfaction in the night. But
you fell, and you fell hard. I watched you, and I watched her, and I tried to tell you. But you just sighed,
kissed my hair, and told me how much in love you were. I closed my eyes against the pain.
When you told me you were going to propose, I wanted to stop you - to tell you she didn't love you. I'd seen your
love-making through your eyes, seen the way she acted, seen the things you were blinded towards. But I stepped
back, and watched you fall, and I held you again, gave you the comfort you could never find anywhere else. After
all, you were still mine.
After Alex, you never let anything distract you from your work. The Farscape Project was your life, your love,
your dream. And I stood by your side, and lived it with you, threw myself into the dream beside you. It was all
you ever talked about, all you ever let yourself dream. But through it all, you were mine. I held you to the
ground, didn't let you lose your head to the clouds. The keys to your soul were mine.
You'll never know what went through my head when your module disappeared. How scared I was, how devastated, how
angry. But I could still close my eyes and be you. We were still connected. Somehow, you were still mine. And I
thanked that Gypsy woman, where ever she was, thanked her that I didn't lose you completely.
I watched it all in awe, and I watched it all in horror. I tried to tell Jack, tell Mary and Laura, but no one
believed me, no one else could see, and so no one else believed. To them you were dead, and they were angry at me
for refusing to grieve. But I knew you were alive, and I knew you were out there - I could see it all.
Have you ever known I was there, in the back of your mind, living your life with you? I never understood why the
link didn't work both ways - why I couldn't just somehow give you a little bit of Earth back, let you watch the
superbowl with me, drink a beer. But nothing I did could ever make you acknowledge me, nothing I did ever made you
feel less alone. For once in my life I wasn't there to comfort you, and I hated myself for it.
But I hated Aeryn more - just like I've hated every woman you've chosen to love. They all hurt you in the end -
they all leave you in the end. And this time, I wouldn't be there to comfort you when you fell, I wouldn't be
there to help you through the hurt. I hated her for the pain I knew she was going to put you through. But I sat,
and I watched, and she didn't do it. I kept waiting for the pain, but it didn't come. It still hasn't come. One
day it will, I know it will, but it still hasn't come.
And you love her. You love her more than you've ever loved anyone else. More than Karen, more than Alex, ... more
than me, your best friend, your brother. You'll never come to me for comfort again, I won't be there to hold you
when the inevitable fall comes. I hate that. I hate that. I hate her.
Because you're not mine anymore.
Feedback: Criticism is welcomed and appreciated. Flames are not.
Archiving: Take it, anyone, everyone. Please.
Note: This story was started before WGFA, so details may not (okay, don't) click quite right. Also, some people
have told me this story is slashy - I didn't mean it to be, really, so I guess I apologize. *g*
Warning: Objects in mirror may be closer than they appear
Disclaimer: Not mine. Frell.
We were 14 when we met the Gypsy woman. Do you remember? It was the first time I had ever gotten drunk, the first
time you'd ever had someone there to share the experience with. Jack was gone again, down to the cape, and Mary
and Laura were out doing whatever they did when your old man was gone. My parents were out of the picture by then -
so was your mother. We didn't know where or why, they were just gone.
Do you remember? It was summer, hot and muggy. We sat together on the hood of Jack's old pick-up and watched the
fire-flies. Drank too much beer. Spilled our guts out to each other. You told me how scared you were that Jack
would never come back. I told you how scared I was that I'd never have a family again. You hugged me then, told
me I'd always be your brother. I cried.
We wandered off, the fire-flies followed us, and we ran into her, the old woman. She wasn't what I'd always thought
a gypsy should look like, no big earrings, no fancy clothes. She had on jeans and a T-shirt, and she gave us coffee
. We thought she was an old hippie. Do you remember?
I think she felt sorry for us - two boys, drunk for the first time, wandering about with no adult to care for us.
She read our palms, gave us our fortunes, helped us through that first hellish night. She listened to our sob
stories. Said she'd help me. Said we'd always be connected, even when you were gone, we'd be connected. I didn't
know what she meant then.
You never mentioned her, the old woman. I don't think you remembered. But I did, clear as day. And I knew that
she'd done something, because you were mine. You always came back to me. We cried on each other's shoulders,
laughed at each other's jokes, knew every sordid detail of each other's first score. We knew everything about each
other. We were closer than brothers. We were closer than lovers.
We shared the same dreams, and we talked about them, hashed over them when I spent the night, so many years after
our peers stopped having sleep-overs. We dreamed of interstellar travel, of nights among the stars, of that
whopping big bass we'd catch next time. We dreamed about finding that one perfect car. You dreamed about finding
that one perfect girl.
The first was Karen Shore. She was the first you gave your body to, your heart to, the first you dreamed about
spending a life with. But you were still mine - I still held the keys to your dreams, and I still held your soul
in my hands. You were connected to me.
I saw everything, felt everything. Your first kiss to those first tentative caresses, I saw them all through you.
All I had to do was close my eyes, and I could see what you saw, feel what you felt. And I envied you. I envied
*her*. But you were still mine.
When Karen left you, in some sadistic part of my soul I was glad. But I held you, comforted you, kissed your hair
and soothed you like Jack should have been there to do. And you became mine again - in body, heart, and soul.
You threw yourself into our dreams then. We spent sleepless nights in college working on our slingshot theory,
working on that dream of space which Jack had somehow given us both. We went out together and caught that bass,
and you went out and caught that '62 T-Bird. And you caught Alex.
In the beginning, Alex was good for you. She taught your body things it never thought could be done, and loved it
with a god-like reverence. But that was all she ever wanted you for - a fleeting satisfaction in the night. But
you fell, and you fell hard. I watched you, and I watched her, and I tried to tell you. But you just sighed,
kissed my hair, and told me how much in love you were. I closed my eyes against the pain.
When you told me you were going to propose, I wanted to stop you - to tell you she didn't love you. I'd seen your
love-making through your eyes, seen the way she acted, seen the things you were blinded towards. But I stepped
back, and watched you fall, and I held you again, gave you the comfort you could never find anywhere else. After
all, you were still mine.
After Alex, you never let anything distract you from your work. The Farscape Project was your life, your love,
your dream. And I stood by your side, and lived it with you, threw myself into the dream beside you. It was all
you ever talked about, all you ever let yourself dream. But through it all, you were mine. I held you to the
ground, didn't let you lose your head to the clouds. The keys to your soul were mine.
You'll never know what went through my head when your module disappeared. How scared I was, how devastated, how
angry. But I could still close my eyes and be you. We were still connected. Somehow, you were still mine. And I
thanked that Gypsy woman, where ever she was, thanked her that I didn't lose you completely.
I watched it all in awe, and I watched it all in horror. I tried to tell Jack, tell Mary and Laura, but no one
believed me, no one else could see, and so no one else believed. To them you were dead, and they were angry at me
for refusing to grieve. But I knew you were alive, and I knew you were out there - I could see it all.
Have you ever known I was there, in the back of your mind, living your life with you? I never understood why the
link didn't work both ways - why I couldn't just somehow give you a little bit of Earth back, let you watch the
superbowl with me, drink a beer. But nothing I did could ever make you acknowledge me, nothing I did ever made you
feel less alone. For once in my life I wasn't there to comfort you, and I hated myself for it.
But I hated Aeryn more - just like I've hated every woman you've chosen to love. They all hurt you in the end -
they all leave you in the end. And this time, I wouldn't be there to comfort you when you fell, I wouldn't be
there to help you through the hurt. I hated her for the pain I knew she was going to put you through. But I sat,
and I watched, and she didn't do it. I kept waiting for the pain, but it didn't come. It still hasn't come. One
day it will, I know it will, but it still hasn't come.
And you love her. You love her more than you've ever loved anyone else. More than Karen, more than Alex, ... more
than me, your best friend, your brother. You'll never come to me for comfort again, I won't be there to hold you
when the inevitable fall comes. I hate that. I hate that. I hate her.
Because you're not mine anymore.