Korobushka

Korobushka


Disclaimer:
A: I have no sense of continuity so this takes place just after Scott died, regardless of what is happening now.

B: I don't own Scott or Jean, I'm not making any money, I don't have any any way etcetera.

Otherwise this is the first fic I've written outside of the TCP concept and to top it all off, it's a song fic. Kinda. It's based on the melody of "Korobushka" by BOND, a string quartet, about the last err...forty seconds of the piece. There are no actuall words in the music on the CD.

Feedback is always appreciated, Flames will be ignored (or mocked, depends on my mood), ifn' yah all don't like it say WHY SVP. It helps in the writing process, especially since I'm hoping for dark suspense.

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The notes of violins, cello, and viola danced on the air in the nearly abandoned mansion. Solid and heavy, it moved fluidly, the tempo slowly increasing, oft joyful notes created dissonance with the gloom down below. A solitary listener smiles ironically, at imagined words therin.

Come, unto me
Come, die with me
Come, yield to me, for
I'll set thee free.
Images of freedom found in Death's embrace dance with the music.

************

The past few months had been...difficult. A life long love lost, friends changed beyond all recognition, a world falling appart despite every effort. Nothing was solid, real, anymore. Balance and purpose seem to be the dreams of a mis-spent youth. To join with the music, to give in, finding freedom in oblivion, create an almost unbearable tension. It would be so simple, so simple. Her years on the team had shown her irreperable ways of damaging the body...so simple.
In counterpoint to the music a drawer opens in the kitchen, something glitters, and flashes through the rooms, halting a hairsbreath from her throat. Quietly saying her goodbyes, she foccuses on the music, the words uringing her on, to give in, to be free.

Come unto me...

The last image in her minds eye, that of her love, dying needlessly before her, taking hope away.

Come die with me...

Beckoning, the image of her love echoed the words, calling her forward, to be together.

Come yield to me, for
I'll set thee free.

The object moved back slightly, in preparation... a ragged whisper "I'm coming dearest, I'll be there soon."

Driven by an unseen hand the object flashes as it flies forward, impacting sharply on her bared throat.

There is no real pain, no freeing oblivion, only a dull ache where the metal spoon had impacted, leaving what would be a nasty bruise come morning. Tears running down her face, mixing with laughter, the shock of her fortuitous mistake startling her out of her depression.

Upstairs the music was reaching a cresendo, but the words she imagined had changed. It was not what it had seemed, it beckoned, yes, but to something else.

Come unto me
Come dance with me
Come, be like me, for
I'll set thee free

Standing up, spoon in hand Jean smiled as she cried, sometimes things weren't always as they seemed.

Fin