DARKNESS (Ian)
By Chornyi
Not mine.. Not even Ian, unfortunately. You know whose they are.
Another short story. Got two versions, one from Sara's POV, one from Ian's POV.. This is Ian's.
....................................................................................
Darkness. It hides a multitude of sins.
It's been a long night. She's been working overtime, she's tired, wired, in no mood for him. He should just let her go home, pull the sheet over her head and sleep.
That's what she'll do. She won't even shower, or eat. She'll just hit the mattress. Her eyes will be closed before her cheek touches the pillow. It's been that kind of day, that kind of night.
She'll fall asleep smelling of old sweat and stale exhaust, her hair tangled, her eyelashes wet.
She deserves it.
He should let her go.
But he can't.
He moves out of the shadows as she picks up her helmet, shaking her hair out of its tight ponytail. Her body moves gracefully as she whirls to face him- he raises his hands and freezes.
'Sara.'
'What do YOU want?' Her voice is not welcoming. He takes a step closer, even though her eyes warn him not to.
'To talk to you. Nothing more.'
'Well, I don't think the speech fairy is going to grant your wish tonight, Nottingham.'
She turns her back on him, dismissing him, and bends over her bike.
'Sara-' He crosses the line and touches her.
Her arm, with the barest tips of his gloved fingers.
She jerks and turns on him, teeth bared. The stone on her wrist flares violent red, morphs between bracelet, gauntlet, sword and back to bracelet almost faster then his eyes can register.
She stares at it helplessly, then back up into his eyes.
'Don't touch me.'
'I'm sorry-'
'Yeah, well. Just go, okay, Nottingham? Just go. I'm not doing this tonight.'
'But I-'
'Ian. That's your name, right? Ian?'
'Yes. Ian is my name.'
'Okay. Well, Ian, it's been a long night. I want to go home. What I don't want is to have to deal with any of your cryptic shit. Okay? So why don't you just go home to Kenny and tell him so?'
'I have not come from Mr. Irons.'
'C'mon, Ian. We both know that's not true.' She straddles the bike, her head bent, face shadowed by a curtain of chestnut hair, helmet in her left hand.
He wants to touch her, the long, thick hair, the tender line of her neck. His fingers twitch with the aborted desire.
Instead, he tries to defend himself. 'It is true, Sara. He has nothing to do with why I'm here.'
'Why ARE you here?'
'I told you. I want to talk-'
'Yeah. I know. To me. If this is going to be similar to any of your other little talks, I don't want to hear it.'
She shakes her head and puts on the helmet. 'In fact, I don't wanna do this at all. I'll see you... Some other time. I'm sure.'
He wants to stop her, but he knows she will not welcome his touch. He dared it once, he won't again.
Instead, he lowers his head in defeat. 'Some other time.' he agrees reluctantly. 'I will be.. around.. if you need me.'
'Yeah. I'm sure you will be.. around.' she says. The helmet hides her face, except for her eyes. They pin his suddenly, hazel on brown, and he tries to look away. But when he lowers his gaze again, she catches his chin and forces it back up to hers.
'Ian?' she says.
'Yes, Sara?' he answers.
It's an effort to speak. Caught in her gaze, he can barely breath. Her fingers are still holding his chin, they seem to burn.
'Don't follow me.'
He shakes his head wordlessly and she lets him go.
'Goodnight, Ian.'
'Goodnight, Sara.'
She stares at him for a second longer, and something in her eyes seems undecided. He wishes he could see her mouth, see if it trembles. For him?
Then the Buell roars and she's gone.
He stands there, alone in the darkness.
By Chornyi
Not mine.. Not even Ian, unfortunately. You know whose they are.
Another short story. Got two versions, one from Sara's POV, one from Ian's POV.. This is Ian's.
....................................................................................
Darkness. It hides a multitude of sins.
It's been a long night. She's been working overtime, she's tired, wired, in no mood for him. He should just let her go home, pull the sheet over her head and sleep.
That's what she'll do. She won't even shower, or eat. She'll just hit the mattress. Her eyes will be closed before her cheek touches the pillow. It's been that kind of day, that kind of night.
She'll fall asleep smelling of old sweat and stale exhaust, her hair tangled, her eyelashes wet.
She deserves it.
He should let her go.
But he can't.
He moves out of the shadows as she picks up her helmet, shaking her hair out of its tight ponytail. Her body moves gracefully as she whirls to face him- he raises his hands and freezes.
'Sara.'
'What do YOU want?' Her voice is not welcoming. He takes a step closer, even though her eyes warn him not to.
'To talk to you. Nothing more.'
'Well, I don't think the speech fairy is going to grant your wish tonight, Nottingham.'
She turns her back on him, dismissing him, and bends over her bike.
'Sara-' He crosses the line and touches her.
Her arm, with the barest tips of his gloved fingers.
She jerks and turns on him, teeth bared. The stone on her wrist flares violent red, morphs between bracelet, gauntlet, sword and back to bracelet almost faster then his eyes can register.
She stares at it helplessly, then back up into his eyes.
'Don't touch me.'
'I'm sorry-'
'Yeah, well. Just go, okay, Nottingham? Just go. I'm not doing this tonight.'
'But I-'
'Ian. That's your name, right? Ian?'
'Yes. Ian is my name.'
'Okay. Well, Ian, it's been a long night. I want to go home. What I don't want is to have to deal with any of your cryptic shit. Okay? So why don't you just go home to Kenny and tell him so?'
'I have not come from Mr. Irons.'
'C'mon, Ian. We both know that's not true.' She straddles the bike, her head bent, face shadowed by a curtain of chestnut hair, helmet in her left hand.
He wants to touch her, the long, thick hair, the tender line of her neck. His fingers twitch with the aborted desire.
Instead, he tries to defend himself. 'It is true, Sara. He has nothing to do with why I'm here.'
'Why ARE you here?'
'I told you. I want to talk-'
'Yeah. I know. To me. If this is going to be similar to any of your other little talks, I don't want to hear it.'
She shakes her head and puts on the helmet. 'In fact, I don't wanna do this at all. I'll see you... Some other time. I'm sure.'
He wants to stop her, but he knows she will not welcome his touch. He dared it once, he won't again.
Instead, he lowers his head in defeat. 'Some other time.' he agrees reluctantly. 'I will be.. around.. if you need me.'
'Yeah. I'm sure you will be.. around.' she says. The helmet hides her face, except for her eyes. They pin his suddenly, hazel on brown, and he tries to look away. But when he lowers his gaze again, she catches his chin and forces it back up to hers.
'Ian?' she says.
'Yes, Sara?' he answers.
It's an effort to speak. Caught in her gaze, he can barely breath. Her fingers are still holding his chin, they seem to burn.
'Don't follow me.'
He shakes his head wordlessly and she lets him go.
'Goodnight, Ian.'
'Goodnight, Sara.'
She stares at him for a second longer, and something in her eyes seems undecided. He wishes he could see her mouth, see if it trembles. For him?
Then the Buell roars and she's gone.
He stands there, alone in the darkness.