Chrome
by intodust
Disclaimer: Dark Angel is the property of 20th Century Fox and Cameron/Eglee Productions; that is, it's not mine.
Spoilers for "The Berrisford Agenda," though the story takes place earlier in the season.
---
Evening's heavy with promises; sometimes he can almost see them. Or maybe that's just the smoke; the bar's heavy with it, but it blurs the edges and so he doesn't mind the haze. He's tired of perfection and clean lines, blue and white, both deceptively sharp. This is distorted and dulled, shades of red, black, gold, and the colors blend so easily into one another. He doesn't have to stay within the lines here; no one else is. He's one of the many, part of the crowd, or so he thinks it appears; he himself can still see the divisions.
That, of course, is the problem. He doesn't care so much about how they see him, how they react, as long as he stays mostly out of sight. That isn't a problem, really; he just pretends otherwise because it gives them simple conclusions and ideas, and he doesn't have to worry about what they're thinking. Maybe he's happier when he's distant and walking away. Maybe he's tired of trying to fit in, trying to meld and still be unique, an individual - that's the sort of thing Max says, the sort of phrase she uses. Be an individual, make his place, find a home, make friends. Fit in. The alternative's destroyed, all other options gone to ashes. He doesn't have a choice, and so here he is. One of the crowd, Saturday night, nameless unfamiliar bar because he doesn't want to see anyone that he knows. He doesn't want to talk about the past and the future; he wants to be here, now.
And most of the time, he is. Except when he closes his eyes and feels himself begin to come apart, feels everything begin to unravel, and then he runs, but it's never far enough. He's sick of knowing that, having that analysis exist next to the nightmares that are sometimes real life. That knowledge just makes things harder, more complex, more ironic. Times like that, he wishes he was back within gray-black confines, where things were absolute and outlined and he didn't have to worry about the walls and rules he can't always see.
But he's here now because sometimes perfection is too much, and sometimes the grime and dirt and fatigue of what they call daily living is overwhelming. Sometimes he just wants to be flesh on flesh, quickness and feeling - but not emotions. Never emotions. Because emotions are what brought him here, aren't they? She burned the place down because she wanted to save her lover, or boyfriend, or whatever she's calling him now, and because of that he's homeless, though not by definition, and he's wandering. And this time, he ended up here.
Here. He's supposed to be above this, above feeling, but he thinks maybe something went wrong, because the thing with Rachel, that was never supposed to happen, either. No, not "the thing." The affair: the affair with Rachel. It's smooth, clean, hints of sex and drama, but not at all close to reality, to what happened. He likes that.
When he looks up, scans the room as a matter of habit, the smile's still on his face. The woman a few seats away thinks it's for her and he can sense the blood pounding in her veins, but maybe he doesn't mind. It's what he was planning on, anyway, what he expected. It's what he does now. It's what he does, but he used to be so much more. He had promise, potential. And then... and then. He doesn't know what comes next.
So he comes in here, saunters in and nearly chokes on the smoke, slides onto a stool, pretends he's normal. Pretends he's real, because they define real as what they believe in, what they can see and test, and he's not like that. They can test him as often as they want and he'll always keep pieces hidden, shadowed, dark, because he doesn't want to give all of himself away. He's done that before, didn't like how it turned out.
And so he gets what he came for, because he's alone and this is how it works, and it's what he does. He's not quite human, but sometimes he's close enough.
---
Feedback would be most welcome, if you're so inclined.
by intodust
Disclaimer: Dark Angel is the property of 20th Century Fox and Cameron/Eglee Productions; that is, it's not mine.
Spoilers for "The Berrisford Agenda," though the story takes place earlier in the season.
---
Evening's heavy with promises; sometimes he can almost see them. Or maybe that's just the smoke; the bar's heavy with it, but it blurs the edges and so he doesn't mind the haze. He's tired of perfection and clean lines, blue and white, both deceptively sharp. This is distorted and dulled, shades of red, black, gold, and the colors blend so easily into one another. He doesn't have to stay within the lines here; no one else is. He's one of the many, part of the crowd, or so he thinks it appears; he himself can still see the divisions.
That, of course, is the problem. He doesn't care so much about how they see him, how they react, as long as he stays mostly out of sight. That isn't a problem, really; he just pretends otherwise because it gives them simple conclusions and ideas, and he doesn't have to worry about what they're thinking. Maybe he's happier when he's distant and walking away. Maybe he's tired of trying to fit in, trying to meld and still be unique, an individual - that's the sort of thing Max says, the sort of phrase she uses. Be an individual, make his place, find a home, make friends. Fit in. The alternative's destroyed, all other options gone to ashes. He doesn't have a choice, and so here he is. One of the crowd, Saturday night, nameless unfamiliar bar because he doesn't want to see anyone that he knows. He doesn't want to talk about the past and the future; he wants to be here, now.
And most of the time, he is. Except when he closes his eyes and feels himself begin to come apart, feels everything begin to unravel, and then he runs, but it's never far enough. He's sick of knowing that, having that analysis exist next to the nightmares that are sometimes real life. That knowledge just makes things harder, more complex, more ironic. Times like that, he wishes he was back within gray-black confines, where things were absolute and outlined and he didn't have to worry about the walls and rules he can't always see.
But he's here now because sometimes perfection is too much, and sometimes the grime and dirt and fatigue of what they call daily living is overwhelming. Sometimes he just wants to be flesh on flesh, quickness and feeling - but not emotions. Never emotions. Because emotions are what brought him here, aren't they? She burned the place down because she wanted to save her lover, or boyfriend, or whatever she's calling him now, and because of that he's homeless, though not by definition, and he's wandering. And this time, he ended up here.
Here. He's supposed to be above this, above feeling, but he thinks maybe something went wrong, because the thing with Rachel, that was never supposed to happen, either. No, not "the thing." The affair: the affair with Rachel. It's smooth, clean, hints of sex and drama, but not at all close to reality, to what happened. He likes that.
When he looks up, scans the room as a matter of habit, the smile's still on his face. The woman a few seats away thinks it's for her and he can sense the blood pounding in her veins, but maybe he doesn't mind. It's what he was planning on, anyway, what he expected. It's what he does now. It's what he does, but he used to be so much more. He had promise, potential. And then... and then. He doesn't know what comes next.
So he comes in here, saunters in and nearly chokes on the smoke, slides onto a stool, pretends he's normal. Pretends he's real, because they define real as what they believe in, what they can see and test, and he's not like that. They can test him as often as they want and he'll always keep pieces hidden, shadowed, dark, because he doesn't want to give all of himself away. He's done that before, didn't like how it turned out.
And so he gets what he came for, because he's alone and this is how it works, and it's what he does. He's not quite human, but sometimes he's close enough.
---
Feedback would be most welcome, if you're so inclined.