Title: In Living Color
Author: liz_Z
E-mail: liz_Z@secret-agent.com
Category:
Rating: PG
Spoilers: For MFN and EoME
Season/sequel info: Takes place after the end of the second season
Disclaimer: I don't own 'em, I'm not making any money off of 'em, and the fact that I create character clones in my spare time has nothing to do with anything.
Author's notes: This is a tiny little piece in Arnaud's point of view, written for fun as much as anything. Just my take on what he might be thinking now that he's visible again...
It's the little things in life that count. Things like being able to see yourself in the mirror every day. Things like being able to take a shower without ice forming on your skin. Things like being able to see in color. As I said, the little things.
Of course, one doesn't have time to enjoy the little things when one is being held prisoner by Chrysalis. The accommodations aren't particularly nasty, but the experiences held in said accommodations are far from pleasant. And the fact that they stuck needles in my arms every day for a month didn't exactly help matters.
But now I'm free. Not only that, I'm visible. When I walk down the streets people actually see me, actually move out of my way. I don't have to wear any of those stupid false skins to make my presence known. It's a refreshing feeling.
Unfortunately, Fawkes is still alive; my alliance with Chrysalis regrettably did not result in his demise. In fact, it quite likely may have given him his freedom from the quicksilver madness I designed into the gland so long ago. And if he has his freedom, he'll probably be coming after me.
I'm far from dim, though. I've taken precautions. All my places of business are protected by the finest security systems money can buy, complete with thermal sensors. My personal place of residence is equipped similarly. I have absolutely no reason to fear Fawkes, or Hobbes, or any of the Agency's other minions.
And yet, I have trouble sleeping at night.
Whenever I close my eyes, I see Fawkes. He's standing there, gun in hand, silver eyes gleaming in the darkness. He raises the gun and fires. And in my dreams, he doesn't aim for my leg. He aims for my heart.
Still, the nightmares are a small price to pay for my freedom. And I must admit that, even with my intense hatred of Fawkes and his mutual feelings toward me, he does make a very good rescuer. Of course, he was looking out for his own interests at the time, but still, he got me out of Chrysalis's clutches mostly in one piece.
My mother always told me that life is what you make of it. Right now, I'm not sure whether I've made myself a heaven or a living hell. But, whatever it is, at least I can see it in color.
