Warning/Rating: M, for disturbing imagery referencing rape, necrophilia, cannibalism, and suicide.
Author's Note: Totally AU. This is a dark Valentine's fic that takes place in space, originally written for the 12 Days of Christmas in July event over on LJ. I have loved science-fiction for all of my reading life, and this story reflects that. With Valentine's Day fast approaching, I thought I'd share it here! =)
The line of poetry quoted is from I Carry Your Heart With Me by E.E. Cummings.
At the End of the World
In space, there are fates worse than death. Then, too, some deaths are better than others, and some are worse… far, far worse. And when death comes, only the very fortunate die well.
When Earth was left behind, rent to the core and shuddering its own destruction, guns became almost totally useless for combat. A round won't combust in the vacuum of space, and only a fool would fire one off inside a vessel and risk breaching the hull. But guns still had their place; Mary kept at least one on her person at all times, save for when she was naked, and sometimes then as well.
She kept one on her because there were fates worse than death, and because some deaths were better than others. Though the magazine was fully loaded, if that time came, she'd likely only need one bullet… maybe two.
It was her partner's turn to work salvage, picking through the ruined hulks of ships that had met the worst of fates. It always made her nervous, though she knew he was good at what he did; it was hard to let go of the need to control, to be there, to be able to make sure he came back. But someone had to pilot the ship, and she had shown a true knack for it, an aptitude that transcended mere ability into the realm of naturally gifted talent that lay beyond. Marshall often told her he preferred going out to staying behind, if only because he was far more confident that she would never lose him than he was of his own ability to avoid losing her to the endless reaches of space.
He was good at what he did, and so was she.
And if either of them ever failed, it would only take one bullet to end the loneliness.
Because in space, a person can lose their mind to loneliness. In space, loneliness is a fate worse than death.
The evac ships, the distant memory of a decade prior, had rapidly deteriorated into the worst of slums. Murder was common, whether for rations or a place to sleep or simply to make ones' bones and earn the privilege of not being harassed constantly; even then, those with a reputation were met with typically unpleasant run-ins with those seeking to gain one. And rape was an ever present danger, especially for a woman, but sometimes for a man as well. Not even the dead were safe, for Mary had once seen a corpse violated in ways she hoped to never see again, and in some orifices that were clearly not original to the body.
At least that individual had been lucky enough to be dead first.
Just another reason to be ready to eat a bullet if it all went sideways.
Those lucky enough to get out in one piece, or at least alive, generally lived as she did now, drifting from one broken hulk to the next, salvaging and storing what was needed to survive. Unless, of course, they turned to piracy. Pirate crews were less common than one might think, however; it took a certain degree of cooperation to run one sufficiently, yet attracted the type of personalities that don't cooperate well. Most pirate crews ended up turning on each other, sooner or later, coming to an end that was of little consequence to anyone else save for their absence.
Absence… the word echoed through her mind, threatening and ever-present. Ever and always a danger, the possibility that she could end up alone. She depressed a button on the panel in front of her.
"Marshall, you ready to come back?"
A crackle of static from the radio console, then…
"Yeah, Mare. She's stripped down pretty good, but I found a couple crates of stuff we can use. They're adrift and tagged with a beacon for pickup. Hold steady, I'm coming in."
"Roger that, partner," she affirmed. She knew he wouldn't approach the airlock without her okay; even the smallest bump on her part would send him spinning off into oblivion when he wasn't tethered, and not all salvage operations allowed for that luxury. She would never allow it to happen out of carelessness, but performing her end of the task under a short span of hyper-vigilance made it safer.
After a long, slow minute, she heard a thunk, the locking mechanism of the airlock sending a vibration through the interior hull; she knew her partner, in the soundless vacuum of the as yet uncycled chamber couldn't hear it, but the sound always warmed her. It meant he was one step closer to her and further from gone.
The dual air circulators thrummed to life, pulsing air into the chamber. One gave a slightly ragged chug on every fourth beat, something she resolved to check once the pickup was done. The sound faded as the cycle finished, and the hatch swung wide as her partner stepped through.
Marshall engaged the pressure lock on the interior hatch and popped the seals on his headgear. The helmet off, he stripped back the liner to reveal hair that, while sweaty and bedraggled after spending the last hour plastered to his head, still managed to look appealing to Mary. She watched as he unsealed his gloves ruffled a hand through it, making it fluff into sweat-dampened spikes, the longer front bits arcing forward over his brow.
"You're a mess," she offered one of a few standard fallback greetings she often relied upon to keep them both on task until the job was done.
"Aren't we all," he replied.
"Find anything interesting?"
"Oh, a few bits and bobs from the Days of Empire. Nothing terribly exciting, though."
Mary smirked. 'Days of Empire' was Marshall's favorite euphemism for the world that had once been, a reference, he had explained years back, to the long-ago time when the British Empire had spanned the globe. 'What once was, will never be again,' he had told her then, and then, as always, he'd spoken truth. It had been a desperately sad realization at the time, but it had since devolved into a sort of personal joke between them. Then again, all jokes were of the personal kind; it was only them, out here, alone together.
"There is no Empire," she scoffed. "There is no world."
"'I want no world, for beautiful, you are my world, my true,'" he quoted, as he was often inclined to do, "'and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant, and whatever a sun will always sing is you.'"
"You were out there too long again," she said with a laugh as she locked onto the beacon coordinates for their cargo. "You've gotten space-loopy."
"I'm always space-loopy, Mare, just like everyone else," he replied, grinning.
"Everyone else, nothing," she huffed to cover her amusement. "The only person you ever see is me, unless we have to trade for something."
He leaned over her shoulder and watched her manipulate the controls.
"We could change that," he replied softly, his tone serious.
"You have got to be kidding. No way can we take on a crew," her brow furrowed as she answered while she put the ship into a roll that would align it with the cargo. "You know most people out there would just kill us and take the ship, and I'm not interested in weeding them out for the few who won't."
The cargo floated into the bay, and Mary pressed the button that closed the bay doors. A dull thunk reverberated throughout the inner hull. She set the ship on a slow burn away from the wreck and got up from the pilot's seat to stretch her legs. Marshall caught her arm and pulled her around to face him. His gaze burned into hers and captured her attention instantly.
"That isn't what I meant, Mare."
She saw in his eyes a solemnity that was appropriate to what he was asking. Stepping back, she shook her head emphatically and laid her palm on his chest.
"No. Not this again," she said, nearly pleading as she pushed away. "You know that isn't possible. It's worse than impossible, it's insane."
"It's not insane," he protested, pressing his hand to the back of hers and lacing his fingers between her own. "People have children. It's something humanity has been doing since the beginning. It's something humanity needs to keep doing, or else this is the end, not just of the world but of everything."
"Marshall, I've seen children slaughtered for food," she hissed. "And the world is gone. It's gone and humanity is gone and neither are coming back. 'What once was, will never be again.' You said that to me, Marshall. You know it's over."
Her voice finally broke, giving way to tears. Dwelling on the past was a luxury that neither of them indulged often, beyond jokes and collected artifacts that Marshall found fascinating and even Mary secretly enjoyed, but sometimes, tears were too close at hand, and grief demanded and was given release.
He drew her to him, the gear he wore for the environment of space making a scrunching sound as he folded her in his arms. He slid his hand into her hair, letting her locks twine around his long fingers, cradling her as she wept.
"I've seen it too," he whispered sadly. "But as much as we can never go back, we have to go forward. We can't just let it end."
He continued to hold her as she was wracked by silent sobs and long after she stilled in his arms. When she finally pulled back from him, he took her hand in his once more.
"Come with me, Mare," he pleaded gently. "There's something I want to show you."
He led her down the main corridor and into a branched side-corridor, into a small section of the vessel that housed unused rooms that were suitable either for storage or for crew, which they used for storage almost exclusively. One door, she noticed, was sealed with a rigged-up code lock. That certainly wasn't standard. The expression of confusion she'd worn all the way down the corridor deepened.
"Is this where you've been sneaking off to for the last few months?" she asked. Obviously, she could have followed him anytime she'd felt like it and found out for herself, but privacy was occasionally a necessity in close quarters, and as long as he wasn't showing signs of madness it was better to leave him to his own devices from time to time. She was the same way, and she knew he afforded her the same privilege of trust.
He punched in the code, his body blocking her view as the door crawled back into the recess of its frame. Beckoning her forward, he urged her past him into the doorway, edging behind her and wrapping her in his arms once more as he rested his chin on her shoulder.
Mary sucked in a breath; there, in a room bathed in purple by the ultraviolet lights that hung from the ceiling, was a planter containing a small shrub, from which bloomed a single white rose.
"Oh my God, Marshall," she breathed. "Where did you get this?"
"I found a seed packet on one of the hulks we salvaged, of all things," he replied quietly. "At first I was just messing around, to see if any of the seeds would grow. Only this one proved to be viable. I thought it would die, but it kept growing, and more and more, I wanted to make it bloom for you."
"It's beautiful," she sighed as she looked at it, almost glowing under the purple light.
"I'd hoped it would be red, symbolism and all, but…"
"No, Marshall, this is… it's perfect," she murmured.
"Mary," he whispered, "do you know what today is?"
She angled her head, looking at him in confusion again. He wasn't that surprised; out here, in the void, days weren't really days at all. The ship's programming kept them on a day/night cycle that was optimized for human function, but that was the extent of it.
"By Earth's calendar, today would be Valentine's Day."
Mary remained silent, turning back to stare at the rose, the minutes stretching on like the infinity that surrounded them.
"Where did you get the water for it?" she asked finally.
"I tweaked a little more efficiency out of the condensers. Ship's been a little drier. I was surprised that you didn't seem to notice."
"I noticed. I liked it. Besides, you're always messing with the condensers. You'd have told me if anything was wrong."
She fell silent again, chewing on her lip in a gesture he recognized as intense thought. Another expanse of time stretched out around them.
"Marshall?" she spoke, her voice lilting his name into a question.
"Yeah?" he murmured back. Her eyes were serious, yet shining with something that took him a moment to place. Hope, he decided at last; what he was seeing in her, for the first time in he knew not how long, was hope. When she spoke again, her words came out slowly, deliberately.
"If that rose is still alive in an Earth year," she breathed, "then… we can try."
He hugged her to him tightly, the suddenness of his action drawing a gasp from her, and buried his face against her neck. Her arms encircled him in return, her palms flattening against his back, and she was startled to discover he was trembling. She could hardly breathe, his embrace was so forceful, but she didn't want it to stop. He shook against her, whispered indecipherable words barely heard against her neck, and tears fell from both of them without sound. No longer were they tears of grief for what once was and would never be again, but tears of hope and of joy and of promise.
The small, battered craft pressed on through the void that permitted no sound. Computer-regulated days passed on as they had for so long. There still existed fates worse than death, and some deaths that were far, far worse than others, and Mary still carried her gun… but now, she was filled with the hope that it would never be needed.
And the rose lived.
A/N: Thank you for reading! If you liked this, please review to let me know! This is a story I could possibly be convinced to come back to... ;)