Author: Finula (frostbyte40@Hotmail.com)
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Jason Katims and Pocketbook own Roswell. I just get the basic plot ideas that aren't in the show.
Authors Notes: If you want to archive (okay, doubtful) please email me and ask. Forst Roswell fanfic, so constructive critisism welcome. Flames are used to toast tea-cakes. Please review.
Title: Losses.
Summary: Nicholas speaks his mind.
Pairing: Nicholas/?
I've lived a long time. Seen more battles than I care to remember, at this point. Bloodshed has become a part of my existence, an every day occurance, that no longer bothers me in the slightest.
Sometimes, I try to remember if it ever did, but to be honest, I've got more pressing matters to attend to. "Destroy the Royal Four's pathetic new incarnations" etc etc. Sound familiair?
But anyway. I sacrificed all pretence at emotion the day I swore loyalty to my leader, and I rejoiced at the freedom I was given in return. I suppose that some might say that no amount of power could ever be equal to "love", or somethingequally foolish.
What can I say? If you truly strive for what you desire, you have to expect losses. For me, the ends justify the means.
People, whether they were of my race, or another onesoon to be conquered, were of no consequence to me.
Fodder.
Animals that stod in the way of whatever goal I was trying to achieve at that moment, whatever power I found myself craving.I considered myself superior to any being I came across, with the only notable exception being Khivar, to whom i remain loyal to this day.
And even in regard to him right now......well, who knows what the future brings. I value myself just a bit more than him, thankyou.
Ahh. Though that might peak your interest. I like to keep my options open.
So over-confident was I, that weakness took me completely unawares. Oh, she was beautiful, of course, but who would expect less of a true-blooded Antarian? No, it wasn't her appearance that drew me in, that was just a happy bonus. In her, I saw my equal, someone who could recognize that man behind the ice, and embrace me for not just who I was, but why I was. That she belonged to another was hardly an obstacle. He may have ruled the world, but his blindness when it came to seeing what was behind her dazzling smiles and declaration of adoration was as laughable as it was obvious.
He called it love. I called it stupidity. Our opinions always did differ slightly on women.
She never claimed to love me, nor I her, but I can still feel the gaping hole her death left in me, a hole I was never able to fill. She caused me pain I thought myself above feeling. I never could decide whether to loathe her or admire her for that.
She understood me, and I her, to a degree that would have been terrifying, had I not been sure of my power over her. You see, she had way too many nasty little secrets, that could have seriously damaged her, had they been revealed.
I should know. I was one of them.
I will admit, I definately felt the stirrings of the old excitement, when faced with the prospect of getting her back. Of course, that could be blamed on the increasingly erratic hormones of this husk.
I have tried to replace her before, of course, the most famous attempt being Lonnie.
What a disappointment. All of the scheming potential, with none of the finesse. A petulant child trapped in the body of a woman designed to draw stares. Laughable really, when you look at her as a twisted, perverse opposite of me.
But....you. I never dared hope...
I can see her, screaming behind your eyes, waiting to be released, once that thick shroud of denial is dispersed. I can see all the desire for what once was ( without the death part, obviously), trapped in you, only just repressed by confusion and partial amnesia.
Can you feel her, on the edge of your bad dreams?
It can't last forever, surely. I will bring her to the durface, meld her with you, for my own benefit, and, i suppose, for Khivar's, being the generous individual my current loyalty dictates I must be towards him, at least if I ever want any chance of changing my current place of residence.
Being fourteen is very tedious. And I don't know about you, but this body certainly doesn't do anything for me. or my self-confidence.
However, i suppose, there is the remote possibility I might fail, and I will remain alone.
Am I crazy, or did disappointment just flicker in those eyes?
Power has always been my main aim, and even my re-incarnated, dare I say soulmate (such an overused word. Damn the fourteem year old in me that demanded I watch Dawsons Creek), will never be allowed to stand in the way of that.
You have to expect losses, and I'd hate to believe I'd wasted three life-spans of hard work.
Is any of this getting through, Tess, or do you want me to go on for a while?