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:
DISCLAIMER: Not mine, not mine.
SPOILERS: Takes place after "Jump the Shark." Makes reference to another one of my stories, "Madrigal."
AUTHOR's NOTES:
*****************************************************************************
She watches the sun rise, destroying the darkness and flooding the city with almost irritable brightness. It is easier to pretend when she cannot blend into the darkness. She thinks that as the skies lighten, she begins to change. Fanciful, she knows, but perhaps too true. She sips her coffee, made several hours ago with the small machine by the sink, and relishes the bleak taste on her tongue. Blackness, she thinks. What it means to be awake. She wonders how much she would really like to close her eyes and be able to forget.
She sighs, draining her mug to bone-dust white, and then she rises. She stares at herself in the mirror over the sink, reflecting so recently a dead woman. Lady Lazarus, she thinks. Truly. She sighs, setting the porcelain down gently and turning to check her mail.
Two messages. She ignores the first, a request for services at an exorbitant price, and focuses on the other. She stares at it for a moment before she is able to fully comprehend. An image, unreal but of extreme quality. A dream-image, she thinks, a photo of a nightmare. She stares at her onscreen self and wonders if her eyes are always that dark. But behind her, the others . . . fallen and broken, and yet somehow still alive. And then she realises that the image of her has been blurred over a photo of her father, and she slams down the laptop screen as the source of the image resurfaces.
A nightmare. One of her most vivid, most recent. She shudders at the memory of the sensations that are always so real in sleep, and at the harsh reality of such sensations after dawn. Taking a deep breath, she steels herself as she raises the screen., forcing herself not to react at the sight of the - collage. She swallows, scrolling down past the image to the words beneath it.
I am.
There is nothing else. She sighs and stands, crossing out of the room and into the hall. He answers the door a moment after she knocks, looking slightly tired, something he tries to hide as soon as he sees her. She smiles half-heartedly at the attempt. "Morning," he greets her, moving out of the way so that she can enter.
"Morning. I just wanted to let you know that I'll be in my room most of the day, I think. On the computer." Simple enough, she thinks, and it is the truth.
"Alright," he answers. "Thanks - I mean,"
"I know. At any rate, I'll see you later." At his nod she turns and goes back into her room. She closes the door tightly behind her before pouring another cup of coffee and returning to her laptop on the desk. She thinks that her headache is intensifying, but right now there are more important things to deal with, the sender of the image being at the front of her mind. Matthew, she thinks, but how could he have known? For all that she has sacrificed in order to remain anonymous, has her father somehow managed . . . it's not unreasonable, she knows, and she hates that. Nothing is beyond him. Nothing.
Hours later, and she has nothing. Codes and lines and there is nothing. She thinks it is impossible for there to be no trace, and she has to be missing it. She blinks as her eyes blur slightly when she turns away from the screen. All of this, and she still does not know what to do. She sighs, opening the image again. She does not move this time, staring into it as she wonders what else there is.
"What's that?" His voice comes from directly behind her, and despite herself she jumps.
"Nothing." She does not turn to look at him, and he comes around the desk to face her.
"Yves?"
"What?" She knows that her voice is cold, but she cannot think of another way to mask the exhaustion. Anything else would take too much energy, and right now, she has none.
"You have to stop it." When she opens her mouth, he continues. "Not him - what you're doing. All of it. If you don't stop, you're gonna drive it to pieces, and then there'll be nothing left."
"Jimmy," she begins. "I can't not do this. I can't ignore it. I can't pretend that everything's alright, and I can't pretend that it doesn't matter. I can't keep doing it." She still does not look at him as she realises that her voice has risen. She closes her eyes for a moment. "I'm sorry."
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:
DISCLAIMER: Not mine, not mine.
SPOILERS: Takes place after "Jump the Shark." Makes reference to another one of my stories, "Madrigal."
AUTHOR's NOTES:
*****************************************************************************
She watches the sun rise, destroying the darkness and flooding the city with almost irritable brightness. It is easier to pretend when she cannot blend into the darkness. She thinks that as the skies lighten, she begins to change. Fanciful, she knows, but perhaps too true. She sips her coffee, made several hours ago with the small machine by the sink, and relishes the bleak taste on her tongue. Blackness, she thinks. What it means to be awake. She wonders how much she would really like to close her eyes and be able to forget.
She sighs, draining her mug to bone-dust white, and then she rises. She stares at herself in the mirror over the sink, reflecting so recently a dead woman. Lady Lazarus, she thinks. Truly. She sighs, setting the porcelain down gently and turning to check her mail.
Two messages. She ignores the first, a request for services at an exorbitant price, and focuses on the other. She stares at it for a moment before she is able to fully comprehend. An image, unreal but of extreme quality. A dream-image, she thinks, a photo of a nightmare. She stares at her onscreen self and wonders if her eyes are always that dark. But behind her, the others . . . fallen and broken, and yet somehow still alive. And then she realises that the image of her has been blurred over a photo of her father, and she slams down the laptop screen as the source of the image resurfaces.
A nightmare. One of her most vivid, most recent. She shudders at the memory of the sensations that are always so real in sleep, and at the harsh reality of such sensations after dawn. Taking a deep breath, she steels herself as she raises the screen., forcing herself not to react at the sight of the - collage. She swallows, scrolling down past the image to the words beneath it.
I am.
There is nothing else. She sighs and stands, crossing out of the room and into the hall. He answers the door a moment after she knocks, looking slightly tired, something he tries to hide as soon as he sees her. She smiles half-heartedly at the attempt. "Morning," he greets her, moving out of the way so that she can enter.
"Morning. I just wanted to let you know that I'll be in my room most of the day, I think. On the computer." Simple enough, she thinks, and it is the truth.
"Alright," he answers. "Thanks - I mean,"
"I know. At any rate, I'll see you later." At his nod she turns and goes back into her room. She closes the door tightly behind her before pouring another cup of coffee and returning to her laptop on the desk. She thinks that her headache is intensifying, but right now there are more important things to deal with, the sender of the image being at the front of her mind. Matthew, she thinks, but how could he have known? For all that she has sacrificed in order to remain anonymous, has her father somehow managed . . . it's not unreasonable, she knows, and she hates that. Nothing is beyond him. Nothing.
Hours later, and she has nothing. Codes and lines and there is nothing. She thinks it is impossible for there to be no trace, and she has to be missing it. She blinks as her eyes blur slightly when she turns away from the screen. All of this, and she still does not know what to do. She sighs, opening the image again. She does not move this time, staring into it as she wonders what else there is.
"What's that?" His voice comes from directly behind her, and despite herself she jumps.
"Nothing." She does not turn to look at him, and he comes around the desk to face her.
"Yves?"
"What?" She knows that her voice is cold, but she cannot think of another way to mask the exhaustion. Anything else would take too much energy, and right now, she has none.
"You have to stop it." When she opens her mouth, he continues. "Not him - what you're doing. All of it. If you don't stop, you're gonna drive it to pieces, and then there'll be nothing left."
"Jimmy," she begins. "I can't not do this. I can't ignore it. I can't pretend that everything's alright, and I can't pretend that it doesn't matter. I can't keep doing it." She still does not look at him as she realises that her voice has risen. She closes her eyes for a moment. "I'm sorry."