Disclaimer: Big shock, I don't own 'em! I'm just messing around, stealin' 'em, cause I can't even rent 'em! How sad is that? So if you still feel compelled to sue, well, you have to have like no life!
Author's Notes: This is a short, Max POV, angsty, A/M ficcy, yes it is A/M even if it doesn't out and out say so. Big freaking surprise, I know, more like, been done a thousand times. But this one's got better plot then the others, so THERE! J/K. So be a sport and read it anyway, okay? And then you can rant or rave to me in e-mail. Isn't that so much better then just stopping right now? I mean you already went to the trouble of clicking the link and everything!
Story Notes: Takes place in the middle of "Designate This!" All I can say, is it's not exactly AU, but then it also kind of is. They didn't show us anything beyond Alec saying he had an hour to kill after Max said in no uncertain terms that the whole "breeding partners" thing wasn't going to happen. But what if something changed in that hour.
Summary: Better not cry, better not shout, 'cause Santa Clause is coming to town. Humph. Like there's a Santa here. Probably some soul sucking engineered parasite with my luck.
Rated: PG-13 more or less after the settled dust. Warning for one bad word and undertones of badness.
Thanks: H2O Lilly! Babe, haven't heard from you in a bit, but you're still my inspiration. I write in the aims of pleasing you. Plain and simple, my beta/feedback-goddess!
Feedback: Love it? Hate it? Go on, you'll be my best friend! See, all you have to do is click the little link! goddess_delenn@yahoo.com
Date Started/Finished: January 25th, 2004
Weakness Without Forgiveness
By ~Delenn~
The ground is cold. Hard. And my eyes are staring at it, unblinking, staring at that fucking cement that won't answer. Just it and me, and it won't tell, and I won't ever say.
I should blink, I think. That would seem more human, more normal, oh god, why don't I blink? Can I anymore? Isn't that what people do, blink. What's wrong with me?
The buzz of the fluorescent lights is mocking me. Like some sick, echoing, laughter in the dark silence. Wait, that's not right, if the lights are on, why is it dark? Okay, we tried blinking, how about opening eyes now. Okay, so that's a no.
I think I'm going to be sick. I wonder if I even can… maybe I lack the genetic code that says you can throw up when you're shriveling up and dying inside. Wouldn't that be poetic justice? Hmm, maybe not, just another bizarre point about me.
Cry, scream, do something! But my body's not gonna because my brain knows what will happen, they'll come in, haul me away, do tests to see what made me cry. Couldn't just ask or anything. Not supposed to have those emotions like crying.
Seems my heart missed that memo. I'll settle for the shaking, the shaking is good, makes me think I'm having a seizure, but I'm not, I can't, they took that defect out of me. Maybe if I stay curled up here long enough I'll just die.
From the cold cement that's seeping into my bones, or my broken heart, not blinking, eyes closed, shaking, something! They wouldn't give me that luxury, couldn't let something so useful die.
Wallow in misery for a limited time. Sun is rising, they're going to come get me soon, and I better look all not bushy tailed, or watch out. Better not cry, better not shout, 'cause Santa Clause is coming to town. Humph. Like there's a Santa here. Probably some soul sucking engineered parasite with my luck.
It's not even like I have anybody to blame. My own damn choice. My own damn fault. I wasn't strong enough. I failed. I let it happen. I'm the one who knew better. I let it happen. Oh god, forgive me. But there is no god, and I'm not forgiving myself.
So here we go, night again, time to stay in my little corner because I'm not going near that bed again. Ever. Not until I'm sure I can lift it up without gouging my own eyes out, not until I can look Joshua in the eyes and not want to die. Not until I have hope that when I escape I'll have something to go back to.
Not until I'm sure that when he comes back I'm not going to be stupid. I'm not going to ask him to hold me and make it better. Make my weakness better. Make the world go away for just a little bit, not again.
Reality is cold and harsh and when the door opens and he comes in he's not going to see any of that. Not the longing. Not the self-hate. Not the fantasy. Not me. Reality. Mission parameters. Escape.
Author's Notes: This is a short, Max POV, angsty, A/M ficcy, yes it is A/M even if it doesn't out and out say so. Big freaking surprise, I know, more like, been done a thousand times. But this one's got better plot then the others, so THERE! J/K. So be a sport and read it anyway, okay? And then you can rant or rave to me in e-mail. Isn't that so much better then just stopping right now? I mean you already went to the trouble of clicking the link and everything!
Story Notes: Takes place in the middle of "Designate This!" All I can say, is it's not exactly AU, but then it also kind of is. They didn't show us anything beyond Alec saying he had an hour to kill after Max said in no uncertain terms that the whole "breeding partners" thing wasn't going to happen. But what if something changed in that hour.
Summary: Better not cry, better not shout, 'cause Santa Clause is coming to town. Humph. Like there's a Santa here. Probably some soul sucking engineered parasite with my luck.
Rated: PG-13 more or less after the settled dust. Warning for one bad word and undertones of badness.
Thanks: H2O Lilly! Babe, haven't heard from you in a bit, but you're still my inspiration. I write in the aims of pleasing you. Plain and simple, my beta/feedback-goddess!
Feedback: Love it? Hate it? Go on, you'll be my best friend! See, all you have to do is click the little link! goddess_delenn@yahoo.com
Date Started/Finished: January 25th, 2004
By ~Delenn~
The ground is cold. Hard. And my eyes are staring at it, unblinking, staring at that fucking cement that won't answer. Just it and me, and it won't tell, and I won't ever say.
I should blink, I think. That would seem more human, more normal, oh god, why don't I blink? Can I anymore? Isn't that what people do, blink. What's wrong with me?
The buzz of the fluorescent lights is mocking me. Like some sick, echoing, laughter in the dark silence. Wait, that's not right, if the lights are on, why is it dark? Okay, we tried blinking, how about opening eyes now. Okay, so that's a no.
I think I'm going to be sick. I wonder if I even can… maybe I lack the genetic code that says you can throw up when you're shriveling up and dying inside. Wouldn't that be poetic justice? Hmm, maybe not, just another bizarre point about me.
Cry, scream, do something! But my body's not gonna because my brain knows what will happen, they'll come in, haul me away, do tests to see what made me cry. Couldn't just ask or anything. Not supposed to have those emotions like crying.
Seems my heart missed that memo. I'll settle for the shaking, the shaking is good, makes me think I'm having a seizure, but I'm not, I can't, they took that defect out of me. Maybe if I stay curled up here long enough I'll just die.
From the cold cement that's seeping into my bones, or my broken heart, not blinking, eyes closed, shaking, something! They wouldn't give me that luxury, couldn't let something so useful die.
Wallow in misery for a limited time. Sun is rising, they're going to come get me soon, and I better look all not bushy tailed, or watch out. Better not cry, better not shout, 'cause Santa Clause is coming to town. Humph. Like there's a Santa here. Probably some soul sucking engineered parasite with my luck.
It's not even like I have anybody to blame. My own damn choice. My own damn fault. I wasn't strong enough. I failed. I let it happen. I'm the one who knew better. I let it happen. Oh god, forgive me. But there is no god, and I'm not forgiving myself.
So here we go, night again, time to stay in my little corner because I'm not going near that bed again. Ever. Not until I'm sure I can lift it up without gouging my own eyes out, not until I can look Joshua in the eyes and not want to die. Not until I have hope that when I escape I'll have something to go back to.
Not until I'm sure that when he comes back I'm not going to be stupid. I'm not going to ask him to hold me and make it better. Make my weakness better. Make the world go away for just a little bit, not again.
Reality is cold and harsh and when the door opens and he comes in he's not going to see any of that. Not the longing. Not the self-hate. Not the fantasy. Not me. Reality. Mission parameters. Escape.