TITLE: Mercury
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:
*****************************************************************************
When she lets herself into her room, he is waiting. He is sitting on the edge of her bed, not looking at anything in particular, and the expression on his face when he sees her makes her want to cry. She nods at him, drops her jacket on the table, and then goes into the bathroom, where she spends several minutes making certain that she won't throw up. Then she goes back out and sits opposite him on a chair she drags away from the table, and she waits for him to begin. He does.
"Yves, please. I know you don't want me here, but I want to help. I have to," he tells her, and when she looks at him she wants to curl up and cry, and then sleep for as long as possible. Instead, she nods, and then, wondering why, she tells him. She is tired of pretending, tired of everything, and so if this is to be the end, then at least she can say she tried to tell him why.
She starts from the beginning, and she tries to make it as simple as possible. Not for him, but for her. Because some of these are memories that she can barely tolerate, and others are pieces that she remembers only as she says them. She does not want to make them any more real, any more vivid, than she already knows.
She tells him about her father, and the way that he raised her in steel and ice. She tells him about her mother, and how she died only when faith was not enough. She tells him about Drou, and she could not be both a servant and a friend. She tells him about Andre, but she does not tell him about how he looked at her when he died. She tells him about the Gunmen, and how she could have saved them. She tells him about Anarchist17 and Wehlsey . . .
She tells him everything that she can fit into words. The others, the images and the sensations, she keeps to herself. It has to be that way, she thinks, because if even she cannot speak them, he will not be able to understand. She watches him as she speaks, looking for the first glimpse of a separation, of a hatred. She speaks, and she thinks that she should stop before it is too late, but she can't, and he makes no move to stop her himself.
When she is done, it is quiet. He does not speak, and when she rises and retrieves her jacket, he does not move to stop her. She pauses in the hallway, and when there is nothing, she walks faster.
The streets are chilled and she shivers slightly, wondering why she had to tell him so much. He didn't ask for it, not all of it. She wonders why he didn't stop her, and why she didn't notice that she was going too far, way past all of the limits she had thought about so many times. Maybe it is better like this, though, because she will not have to worry about hiding as much, and she will not have to worry about what he will do when he finds out. She won't have to worry about him at all, once he leaves. She wonders if he will be gone when she returns to the hotel, and she wonders when she will go back.
She walks for hours, ignoring the looks she receives from the other pedestrians. She walks through the early shadows into the neon glow, and she stops only when she thinks that she is beyond feeling anything other than exhaustion. She walks back to the hotel, finds her room empty and dark, and collapses willingly into her bed.
She awakens to find him watching her, and she wonders how he got in, until she remembers that she did not lock her door, and then she wonders if that is a sign of something else, something larger. He waits until she sits up, pulling her hair back and stretching slightly. "Yves?" he says. "I'm sorry I didn't go with you last night. I couldn't . . . and then I was thinking about what that might have seemed like to you, and I wanted to tell you that I just needed to think. That was a lot . . ."
"I know. I'm sorry," she answers, wondering how he is going to say goodbye.
"Don't be. Thanks for telling me." She nods in response, and then he continues. "You don't have to hide anything from me." She waits for him to continue, but he doesn't, and when she looks up at him he is looking back at her, waiting for a response. She shrugs, not knowing what to say. Somehow "I know" seems paltry, and she honestly cannot think of anything else.
Finally he breaks the silence. "What are we going to do now?" he asks her.
"I don't know," she answers, and then she sighs. "We're going to go to Obsidian."
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:
*****************************************************************************
When she lets herself into her room, he is waiting. He is sitting on the edge of her bed, not looking at anything in particular, and the expression on his face when he sees her makes her want to cry. She nods at him, drops her jacket on the table, and then goes into the bathroom, where she spends several minutes making certain that she won't throw up. Then she goes back out and sits opposite him on a chair she drags away from the table, and she waits for him to begin. He does.
"Yves, please. I know you don't want me here, but I want to help. I have to," he tells her, and when she looks at him she wants to curl up and cry, and then sleep for as long as possible. Instead, she nods, and then, wondering why, she tells him. She is tired of pretending, tired of everything, and so if this is to be the end, then at least she can say she tried to tell him why.
She starts from the beginning, and she tries to make it as simple as possible. Not for him, but for her. Because some of these are memories that she can barely tolerate, and others are pieces that she remembers only as she says them. She does not want to make them any more real, any more vivid, than she already knows.
She tells him about her father, and the way that he raised her in steel and ice. She tells him about her mother, and how she died only when faith was not enough. She tells him about Drou, and she could not be both a servant and a friend. She tells him about Andre, but she does not tell him about how he looked at her when he died. She tells him about the Gunmen, and how she could have saved them. She tells him about Anarchist17 and Wehlsey . . .
She tells him everything that she can fit into words. The others, the images and the sensations, she keeps to herself. It has to be that way, she thinks, because if even she cannot speak them, he will not be able to understand. She watches him as she speaks, looking for the first glimpse of a separation, of a hatred. She speaks, and she thinks that she should stop before it is too late, but she can't, and he makes no move to stop her himself.
When she is done, it is quiet. He does not speak, and when she rises and retrieves her jacket, he does not move to stop her. She pauses in the hallway, and when there is nothing, she walks faster.
The streets are chilled and she shivers slightly, wondering why she had to tell him so much. He didn't ask for it, not all of it. She wonders why he didn't stop her, and why she didn't notice that she was going too far, way past all of the limits she had thought about so many times. Maybe it is better like this, though, because she will not have to worry about hiding as much, and she will not have to worry about what he will do when he finds out. She won't have to worry about him at all, once he leaves. She wonders if he will be gone when she returns to the hotel, and she wonders when she will go back.
She walks for hours, ignoring the looks she receives from the other pedestrians. She walks through the early shadows into the neon glow, and she stops only when she thinks that she is beyond feeling anything other than exhaustion. She walks back to the hotel, finds her room empty and dark, and collapses willingly into her bed.
She awakens to find him watching her, and she wonders how he got in, until she remembers that she did not lock her door, and then she wonders if that is a sign of something else, something larger. He waits until she sits up, pulling her hair back and stretching slightly. "Yves?" he says. "I'm sorry I didn't go with you last night. I couldn't . . . and then I was thinking about what that might have seemed like to you, and I wanted to tell you that I just needed to think. That was a lot . . ."
"I know. I'm sorry," she answers, wondering how he is going to say goodbye.
"Don't be. Thanks for telling me." She nods in response, and then he continues. "You don't have to hide anything from me." She waits for him to continue, but he doesn't, and when she looks up at him he is looking back at her, waiting for a response. She shrugs, not knowing what to say. Somehow "I know" seems paltry, and she honestly cannot think of anything else.
Finally he breaks the silence. "What are we going to do now?" he asks her.
"I don't know," she answers, and then she sighs. "We're going to go to Obsidian."