TITLE: Mercury
AUTHOR: Vicinity
DISCLAIMER: Not mine, not mine.
SPOILERS: Takes place after "Jump the Shark." Makes reference to another one of my stories, "Madrigal."
*****************************************************************************
There is no-one around to watch her return to the hotel. The sky is as black as is possible for the area, and when she compares it to that of other, more crowded cities, she does appreciate it. Still, she can't help but wish for more light, because the darkness makes hiding easier and she can't help feeling that she is being watched. She scans the windows lining the front of the hotel and does not see anyone staring back at her. It is not until she is ready to turn around and see who is behind her that she realises that it is her, it is something in her, waiting. She shivers, hoping the idea is simply nervous anxiety but knowing that it has to be something else, something real.
She crosses the front lot quickly, knowing that the feeling will not fade as soon as she is within thick walls, but hoping that it will. It does, slightly, once the automated doors close tightly behind her. She takes the elevator up to her room, not wanting the empty echo of the stairwell. It is ridiculous to take comfort in the vacant protection of walls, but when there is nothing else, it will do. She thinks that perhaps she should leave the lights off, that doing so would make it harder for her to be seen, but the idea is irrational, and so she touches the bedside lamp, allowing a soft glow. It will do, she thinks, and then she wonders what she will do the next day. She wonders why they have done this to her, why he had it done. To destroy her, to stop her, vengeance mirrored, but why like this? It would have been so much easier, so much quicker, to hire an assassin. He had plenty of them, she knew.
She sighs. He has chosen this because it is what she would have chosen, or perhaps the reverse is true. She is her father's daughter, after all. She used to hate that phrase, but now she understands it as true, and she begins to appreciate it. It has been necessary, and it will be, if she is to continue.
It is art, she thinks. It is his art. He finds beauty in death, and he wants hers to be personal. She reaches to the small black radio on the dresser, suddenly finding too much in the silence. The music is soft and edged with static, but she doesn't move to adjust it. She rests against the edge of the bed, not trusting herself to rise again if she falls any further. She wonders where Jimmy is now, alone in the city. She wonders if he will be coming back. She thinks she made it clear enough that she didn't want him to, that she could not let him. Another time she might have been able to, but now he is too much. He is a reminder of what she was for a little while, and as she begins to realize this, she knows why he cannot stay. He would make her human, and that is what she cannot be if she is to destroy her father now.
She thinks that he understood.
She rests her face in her hands for a moment, trying not to think. When it doesn't work she sighs and rises, opening her laptop. She has one new message in her inbox, and she thinks that she knows who sent it. Finally.
She reads the words quickly, not sure if she should be relieved or terrified. Maybe both. A threat, a warning. My beloved daughter . . . an ending. She does not close it, but she does look away. She wonders why he did not do it earlier. She thinks it is foolish to let him hurt her now, and she swallows harshly. She shoves her chair back and realises she has nowhere else to go.
She sleeps. He is in her dreams. They both are. First Jimmy. He touches her face gently, and she runs. Outside it is snowing, thick and frozen and white, and she is trapped. He is coming after her, and she is freezing. She hears him behind her, and she turns to tell him to go. As their eyes meet he begins to speak and there is no sound. They are in a void. And then he is gone, replaced by her father as he was the night she left. He smiles, and he tells her that he misses her. He says he wants to see her again, and so does Drou. The woman is next to him, smiling and radiant. They both want to see her again. They are both so sorry, and she is so cold.
She awakens on her feet, and almost stumbles. Leaning against a building for balance, she realizes that she is outside, on the sidewalk in front of the hotel. She is wearing her jacket and boots and she knows that she was walking. It is raining, and she can feel the moisture on her face. She is not dreaming, but she is here. She was going somewhere . . . she feels nauseated as she understands what he is doing to her. It is not enough that he can force her to lose control, but that he can control her body while she is unaware . . . where was she going? There are so many choices, so many answers. She wonders if she will find out, but she knows that she will not voluntarily return to sleep. Voluntarily . . . she wonders if he can control that, too.
She looks at the blank windows of the hotel. If she went back inside, would anyone notice? She wonders if her thoughts are even hers. She wonders . . . and she knows she will drive herself insane by wondering. There is no way to know, and she can either allow herself to think or she cannot, but the sacrifice in that would be permanent.
She takes a deep breath, trying to consider her options. She could go back inside and wait for another email, or she could try to find him again. Or she could just wait here. Give in, for the time being. She pauses, and then sighs. She really doesn't have a choice at all, not tonight. And not tomorrow.
She closes her eyes.
AUTHOR: Vicinity
DISCLAIMER: Not mine, not mine.
SPOILERS: Takes place after "Jump the Shark." Makes reference to another one of my stories, "Madrigal."
*****************************************************************************
There is no-one around to watch her return to the hotel. The sky is as black as is possible for the area, and when she compares it to that of other, more crowded cities, she does appreciate it. Still, she can't help but wish for more light, because the darkness makes hiding easier and she can't help feeling that she is being watched. She scans the windows lining the front of the hotel and does not see anyone staring back at her. It is not until she is ready to turn around and see who is behind her that she realises that it is her, it is something in her, waiting. She shivers, hoping the idea is simply nervous anxiety but knowing that it has to be something else, something real.
She crosses the front lot quickly, knowing that the feeling will not fade as soon as she is within thick walls, but hoping that it will. It does, slightly, once the automated doors close tightly behind her. She takes the elevator up to her room, not wanting the empty echo of the stairwell. It is ridiculous to take comfort in the vacant protection of walls, but when there is nothing else, it will do. She thinks that perhaps she should leave the lights off, that doing so would make it harder for her to be seen, but the idea is irrational, and so she touches the bedside lamp, allowing a soft glow. It will do, she thinks, and then she wonders what she will do the next day. She wonders why they have done this to her, why he had it done. To destroy her, to stop her, vengeance mirrored, but why like this? It would have been so much easier, so much quicker, to hire an assassin. He had plenty of them, she knew.
She sighs. He has chosen this because it is what she would have chosen, or perhaps the reverse is true. She is her father's daughter, after all. She used to hate that phrase, but now she understands it as true, and she begins to appreciate it. It has been necessary, and it will be, if she is to continue.
It is art, she thinks. It is his art. He finds beauty in death, and he wants hers to be personal. She reaches to the small black radio on the dresser, suddenly finding too much in the silence. The music is soft and edged with static, but she doesn't move to adjust it. She rests against the edge of the bed, not trusting herself to rise again if she falls any further. She wonders where Jimmy is now, alone in the city. She wonders if he will be coming back. She thinks she made it clear enough that she didn't want him to, that she could not let him. Another time she might have been able to, but now he is too much. He is a reminder of what she was for a little while, and as she begins to realize this, she knows why he cannot stay. He would make her human, and that is what she cannot be if she is to destroy her father now.
She thinks that he understood.
She rests her face in her hands for a moment, trying not to think. When it doesn't work she sighs and rises, opening her laptop. She has one new message in her inbox, and she thinks that she knows who sent it. Finally.
She reads the words quickly, not sure if she should be relieved or terrified. Maybe both. A threat, a warning. My beloved daughter . . . an ending. She does not close it, but she does look away. She wonders why he did not do it earlier. She thinks it is foolish to let him hurt her now, and she swallows harshly. She shoves her chair back and realises she has nowhere else to go.
She sleeps. He is in her dreams. They both are. First Jimmy. He touches her face gently, and she runs. Outside it is snowing, thick and frozen and white, and she is trapped. He is coming after her, and she is freezing. She hears him behind her, and she turns to tell him to go. As their eyes meet he begins to speak and there is no sound. They are in a void. And then he is gone, replaced by her father as he was the night she left. He smiles, and he tells her that he misses her. He says he wants to see her again, and so does Drou. The woman is next to him, smiling and radiant. They both want to see her again. They are both so sorry, and she is so cold.
She awakens on her feet, and almost stumbles. Leaning against a building for balance, she realizes that she is outside, on the sidewalk in front of the hotel. She is wearing her jacket and boots and she knows that she was walking. It is raining, and she can feel the moisture on her face. She is not dreaming, but she is here. She was going somewhere . . . she feels nauseated as she understands what he is doing to her. It is not enough that he can force her to lose control, but that he can control her body while she is unaware . . . where was she going? There are so many choices, so many answers. She wonders if she will find out, but she knows that she will not voluntarily return to sleep. Voluntarily . . . she wonders if he can control that, too.
She looks at the blank windows of the hotel. If she went back inside, would anyone notice? She wonders if her thoughts are even hers. She wonders . . . and she knows she will drive herself insane by wondering. There is no way to know, and she can either allow herself to think or she cannot, but the sacrifice in that would be permanent.
She takes a deep breath, trying to consider her options. She could go back inside and wait for another email, or she could try to find him again. Or she could just wait here. Give in, for the time being. She pauses, and then sighs. She really doesn't have a choice at all, not tonight. And not tomorrow.
She closes her eyes.