TITLE: Mercury - Chapter 1

AUTHOR: Vicinity

SUMMARY: The idea of redemption leads Yves - and Jimmy - into the heart of something more dangerous than she could have imagined. Formerly titled "The Immortality Solution."

RATING: PG-13

DISCLAIMER: Not mine, not mine.

SPOILERS: Takes place after "Jump the Shark." Makes reference to another one of my stories, "Madrigal."

AUTHOR's NOTES:

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"Half close your eyelids, loosen your hair,

And dream about the great and their pride;

They have spoken against you everywhere,

But weigh this song with the great and their pride;

I made it out of a mouthful of air,

Their children's children shall say they have lied."

-W.B. Yeats

She moves in darkness, seeing only by the faint, dim light from the street outside. She glances around the sterile apartment one last time, making sure that she has not forgotten anything that could lead to her, to her location. She used to worry about being followed by the men hired by her father, those who would bring her back to him for a price she would not be able to afford, but now she worries about being followed by him, and for a such different reason. She worries because she no longer cares only about her own survival, the continuation of her own freedom, but about his, as well, and she thinks that it is perhaps this that frightens her the most. Her dreams are no longer haunted by her own death, but by his as well.

Satisfied that there is nothing that can give her away, she hoists the black bag over her darkly-clad shoulder, thin apartment key in one hand. Even though she knows that the lock on the reinforced door will not keep out anyone who has a real interest in getting in, it will give her time. Besides, it would not be right to simply walk out, as she has so many times before. She wonders what has changed, and she thinks that unfortunately, she knows.

She opens the front door and comes face to face with him. She sighs, because somehow his presence here does not surprise her. "Jimmy?" she questions flatly, wondering why he is here, why now.

"Hey, Yves. I was just stopping by to say hi. Where're you going?" She pauses in answering as she locks the door behind her, slipping the key into her pocket and making a mental note to get rid of it as soon as is really safe.

"Out," she answers finally. "I'm going out."

"Where to?" he asks, falling into step beside her as she walks resolutely down the narrow corridor. He is near enough for her to smell what she always thinks of as simply his scent, though she knows this is ridiculous.

"Does it really matter?" She doesn't look up at him, not wanting to see what he will do when he comprehends.

"You're leaving, aren't you? And you're not coming back." He makes the question into a statement, sounding at once pensive and resigned. He has to think that she is leaving him, and now he will truly be alone.

She stops walking and turns to face him. "Jimmy," she sighs, trying to put the complexity of thoughts and unspeakable reasons into words, words that will make him understand. "No." This one word seems to convey the myriad of meanings associated with it, and so she does not elaborate, watching his shoulders slump as if she is simply affirming something he already knew.

"Why now?" he asks, sounding lost.

"It doesn't matter." She says this coldly, as coldly as she can, because she knows that anything that happens now will be less painful than whatever could happen later. She shoves past him, stalking towards the elevator at the end of the hallway. There she will be safe, locked behind the steel doors, and even if he sprints down the stairs, she will have a moment to decide what she is going to tell him, and how.

He reaches out, catching her wrist, and she inhales sharply before she can catch herself. "I'm sorry," he says, sounding confused. "I didn't mean . . ."

"You didn't," she answers, before he can finish his sentence, not wanting to know how he will conclude. Not wanting to hear his thoughts spoken aloud, because if they mirror hers, she might not leave. "I really need to be going."

"I'm coming with you," he announces firmly.

"No, you're not."

"Yes, I am," he argues.

"Jimmy, you have no idea . . . and you're not even prepared." She tries to refute his answer, but as she recognizes the stubborn glint in his calm eyes, she knows that it will be easier just to give in momentarily than to continue to fight. He will follow her anyway, as he has done before.

"Fine." She pivots on her heel and moves quickly to the end of the hall. He will leave eventually, she thinks, when he learns what she will be doing, and how much it will take. And if he does not go on his own, she will leave him, as she has before. But not now. Not now. Because no matter how bitter she can be to him, she does not want to leave by herself again.

The ride to the airport is silent, as she does not want to speak, and he seems to sense this as he stares out the passenger window. She wonders why she let him come with her, because the last time he tried to do the same, she stopped him. She didn't give him the chance to say anything, and maybe that was her mistake, because then he chased her around the world so that he could tell her what she didn't give him time to. Now he is with her, afraid to let her go without him, because he thinks that this time she will not come back.

And she knows that he would be right. The fact that she is leaving with a destination in mind does not matter, because after she finished there, she was going to disappear. It would be easier that way, to not come back in between, and to not say goodbye. She has learned this so many times.

It would be easier to just give in. To stop fighting and to go along with him. To pretend that what they could have would be right, would somehow be right. Afterward, though, when reality would become a factor, it would be more dangerous for the both of them, because then they might know that there was a chance they could be real, that they could stop pretending. Then they would become desperate, and when one is desperate, they are more likely to make mistakes.