Remember a fan fiction that went like this?
I'm so sorry for the long wait. I was just too busy being young and shallow during the summer, and I don't really watch television anymore. But whatever. I want to finish this one, so I'll try to update more frequently now. Once again, I'm sooooo sorry for the long wait, and it's never going to happen again (which is probably a lie, but w/e) Enjoy!!
. .
Chapter 12
It had been hours since he was unresponsive. Maxim stared out the window, embracing with him mind the quivering rain against his window. It had been days since he had thought, hours since he ate. What was the matter? The trouble in the company, the slow movement of the newly built up and newly deteriorating syndicate, or that she wasn't there anymore, that she wasn't by his side?
He closed his eyes and instinctively faced the nymph depicted on the inner lining of his lid. Her smiling image, bronze skin, bright eyes. She was such a child and he knew it, for he had loved her for being a child. Why did he let her go, watch her without motion when she departed from his home that rainy afternoon when her thin shoulders convulsed spasmodically and the corners of her lips were turned down?
And the emotion on her face still lingered in his mind. How she grimaced, a smirk at simultaneous pleasure and pain when he had entered her, when she wrapped her legs around him, embraced with her quivering arms the last bit of humanity that he had left. The way her small breasts felt against his chest, the way their heartbeats collided. The glory and the shame of deflowering a masterpiece, unleashing a zephyr and a tempest. The way her small hands dug into his back, the way she moaned, almost in recognition. He was a man and for those brief moments she was a woman. No, not a child, a woman. But only then; after they came apart she retained her innocence. It was a price she did not have to pay. Perhaps, it was she who had deflowered him.
No one ever needs to know about this, Ed, it was a one time thing.no one ever needs to know. And despite whatever protests she may have had, he would never embrace her anyway. It was a mistake being with her, putting his heart up for something so unworthy. She was still such a naiveté, how could she ever comprehend the consequences of abandonment, of giving up everything for your love but never having anything in return. No, he did not want to kiss her skin; he did not want to smell her hair. It was over before it even started, why couldn't she understand that?
"You are just a child, you have no comprehension of these things," he told her that somber day and wondered if she had believed him. She didn't, she saw right through the hard exterior, she comprehended his very core. He was as much of a child as she, but he was too much of a coward to admit it. And nothing can ever be crueler than a child at play. He had played with her, and then he had left her. He had left her because he knew that she would never really leave. She was that toy that he had tossed aside, into a corner, where it was within his peripheral vision, but never in the focus point. It would lie there forever and he would be satisfied, but had a different child dared to touch that toy, such fury would erupt from the former that no other treasure in the world would be comparable to that beaten, old doll, unwittingly reclining in the arms of another.
It was too early in the morning for Johnny to turn on the television and see his father's beaten spaceship. It was too early in the morning and too late in his life.
It lay in the back of a news reporter who spoke about a massive accident that occurred in outer space. It appeared that a small ship crashed into a large passenger liner. Several passengers on the liner had minor injuries, whereas the driver of the ship was badly wounded and in critical condition.
The camera cued on the face of the victim, a young girl who might have been beautiful once, but in her darkened features of lifelessness, the aspect was growing harder to determine by the moment. Johnny sprang up, hating himself for it. Had he not been hoping for this? Had he not been dreaming that this happen to her? He had, indeed, wanted some unknown catastrophe to strike so she would realize how powerless she was in the face of the world and come home, just so he could ridicule her and then forgive her and live happily ever after with humble Francoise by his side.
And there she was, crushed by reality, all of her dreams fading away. And yet, when she opened her eyes, all of the donned glory of her face was immediately returned by the strong, willful gaze of her eyes. Did Johnny not understand that she could not live his life? She had understood at once that he could not live hers. And yet he still lived in denial that she was going to be his. He'd always wanted that, he'd always dreamed of that as he looked across the classroom at her disconnected face. Why was this beautiful, mysterious girl so unattainable? He had always been able to get girls he liked; why did he not have such luck with this one?
And suddenly he hated her. Who did she think she was? Stealing his ship, lying to him, leaving him alone in the middle of nowhere. And now he had an advantage, he knew where she was, and would be, for the next couple of days. He had seen her condition; he knew that she would not be getting out of the hospital anytime soon. The Metropolitan Hospital on Mars: that was where she was. Perhaps a day's drive if he went fast. And then he stopped, why was he thinking this? She would be brought home eventually. There was no need for him to go after her. He didn't even have a ship anymore. He could borrow one, of course, or rent it with the money he had accumulated over the summer doing chores for various neighbors. But what would be the point? She wasn't worth it, yet somehow, she was.
If she had opened her eyes, if she had seen him sitting there, perhaps she would fall in love with him, perhaps she would care. Maybe it would work. It could work if he wanted it to work. But he had doubts it would. No, he wasn't going to chase her across the galaxy; he had better things to do.
And then he did the craziest thing he had ever done. He went; he went to see her, to rescue her, to bring her home to him. No, he wouldn't tell her parents, or the authorities. He was going to be a hero all on his own. She would fall in love with him; like all other girls, Françoise would love him too.
.
.
.
YAN was a large skyscraper in the center of Mars. It was one of the three tallest on the planet, the other two going to the rebuilt Red Dragons Organization on the opposite side of planet and the Metropolitan Hospital, only several blocks down. The front lobby was busy with visitors and employees, all fitting into busy-bee equilibrium. The operator at the front desk, a middle-aged woman with dark eyes and dyed hair, answered the telephone incessantly and paid little attention to what went out around her. It took her several minutes to realize that someone wanted to speak with her.
"May I help you?" the operator, whose nametag suggested Susie, asked when she faced a tall woman with flowing blonde locks and green eyes. The woman was dressed in a dark business suit that congratulated her dangerous curves.
"Yes, please," the woman said, "I would like to speak with the president of this organization."
Susie stared at the woman for a moment before breaking into laughter. She shrieked for several moments before regaining her strength to speak.
"I'm sorry, ma'am," she said uneasily, "but I'm afraid that's not possible."
"Why not?"
"First of all," she began, "you need an appointment, and second, you'll need to be on a waiting list for an appointment."
"How long might that take?" The woman asked Susie.
"Oh, too long."
"I can wait. Two days? Three?"
The secretary broke into laughter again. The woman stared at her with a blank face.
"You're obviously confused," Susie said after a moment.
"No, I think the only one that's confused here is you. I need to speak to someone right away. It's important."
"I'm sorry, but you'll have to go now. You can do it freely or I can call security."
The woman sighed. She walked away from the desk and was lost in the crowd. The operator instantly forgot and looked down at her desk, waiting for more phone calls.
Faye groaned to herself as she followed the secession of the crowd. She had to know the truth, yet knew not whom to ask. She thought it out to the point that she would need a disguise. It was Mars, after all. For all she knew, those men, who had been quite for a while, were still after her. There she was, on Mars, in YAN, but who would help her with her worries? And what was in that microchip within her arm? What information? And then there was that intuition that Faye hated about herself. How much was this information worth?
Plenty enough, apparently, for the time and effort spent on hunting her down. The faceless men might someday return, that dark silhouette that had tortured her. Somehow, she had forgotten about their existence for a while. After all, she was with Spike. He could protect her; she was in no real danger when she was by his side. But not anymore, things had happened and it tore her heart apart to remember them. He was dead for all she needed to care, and he would never come alive again. It was something she knew she had to accept unconditionally.
And yet a fragment of her mentality was strained, for he still lingered in her mind, no matter how hard she tried to block it out. His face, his smile, so sad, so tragic. And those forlorn eyes of his, but what did it matter now? Yet when she went to buy a wig, why did she choose one with long, blonde hair? Why did she wear dark clothing and sunglasses to disguise herself? It was as if Faye was unwittingly impersonating someone who was no longer alive, yet lived on through memory. Someone---
"Julia?" she heard from behind and instinctively turned her head, almost fainting. It was a face she did not recognize, a man of short stature with a thick goatee and large spectacles. There was a flicker of hope in his eyes which immediately vanished when he realized that she was not the woman he was looking for.
"I'm sorry," the old man whispered and sped away. Perhaps it was instinct, perhaps it was curiosity, but Faye found herself rushing after him.
"Wait---Julia? You know Julia?" She spoke to the startled stranger.
He looked at her with unease and paused, "I don't know what you're talking about, ma'am."
"You're lying. You knew Julia."
The man contemplated for a moment, "I don't know you."
Faye nodded, "I'm sorry, then." She turned and began to walk away. This time, it was the man that rushed after her.
"You knew her too? You knew Julia?"
Faye stopped and stared into his eyes, moistness was gathering around.
"Maybe this isn't the place to speak of this," she told him.
"No," he agreed, "it is not."
.
.
.
The café was only half full. Busy employees of surrounding companies were just winding down on their lunch breaks. The place was bright, and large windows supplied a full view of the street. It had been raining for days, and the grayness was as depressing as the sheltered pedestrians that walked the streets.
Faye and the stranger sat in silence for a while, staring out of the window and drinking coffee. It was he who disrupted the quiet.
"What's your name?"
She looked at him for a moment in contemplation, which name did she want to give?
"Rose," she said quietly.
"That's a pretty name. Pretty name for a pretty woman."
Faye smiled, "Thank you."
He looked up at the ceiling for a moment, as if remembering a far away time.
"Julia---she was beautiful. I've seen many pretty women, pretty in comparison to others. But if they stood next to a real beauty---but how many real beauties do you meet in one lifetime?"
Somehow, Faye was not offended. She agreed wholeheartedly.
"I was lucky enough to meet one. Sweet little Julia. I can still see her at fifteen, so quiet, so scared. Like a little kitten, pending along a dark street she hadn't walked before. She had no home, no past. Nothing left to go back to. At least that's what she claimed. It was like she was born on the day that I met her. Bruises on her, those told me otherwise. So innocent, yet with a past. Isn't that intriguing? Julia always had a thing for men who hurt her. Once, she told me her father was a bad man, that's all I ever knew about what happened to her before the day when she waited on me in a sleazy old diner just a few blocks down."
"Men who hurt her?" Faye stumbled, almost to herself.
"You know the funny thing about outward appearances? It's the weakest ones that look the strongest. I remember watching her. Mao and I, we always watched her. We wanted her, you know. Every man she's ever known wanted her in some way."
Faye's face remained motionless. Being wanted, being desired. Why did he speak of that as if it were some sort of curse?
"Isn't it funny how life goes? When chance bestows upon you something valuable, it becomes so much harder living. Life is hard only when you have something to live for."
"Life is hard either way," Faye interrupted.
The old man stared at her, "You're right, Rose. But staying alive is much harder to desire than dying."
"I know someone who would probably agree with you on that."
"Spike," the man said quietly. Faye did not need to confirm, nor was she surprised that the old man had guessed. Spike, who else? Who else would rather die than live?
"How is YAN connected to the Red Dragons?" Faye asked suddenly.
The man stared at her blankly, "That's what you're after, huh? It was nice meeting you Rose, but I must get back to work."
He raised himself from the chair. Faye's eyes widened, "No! Please, sir!"
He began to walk away.
"I need you, please!" she called after him, "I've been told to contact YAN by someone."
"Whom?" he asked, disinterested.
"I am not sure if I can trust you."
"Then I'll be on my way."
"James Shields."
This was enough. He was on alert.
"James Shields? What's this about? Who are you?"
"My name is Rose Shields," she said quietly, "I'm his wife."
"You're Faye Valentine," he said unflinchingly, "I should have known."
.
.
.
A/N: Well, that's it for now. Hopefully, now that summer's over and I'm focusing on my writing again, I won't spend my days partying and will actually write more. Not that any of this is real writing, it's just me being bored. But, whatever. Reviews inspire me *hint hint*
I'm so sorry for the long wait. I was just too busy being young and shallow during the summer, and I don't really watch television anymore. But whatever. I want to finish this one, so I'll try to update more frequently now. Once again, I'm sooooo sorry for the long wait, and it's never going to happen again (which is probably a lie, but w/e) Enjoy!!
. .
Chapter 12
It had been hours since he was unresponsive. Maxim stared out the window, embracing with him mind the quivering rain against his window. It had been days since he had thought, hours since he ate. What was the matter? The trouble in the company, the slow movement of the newly built up and newly deteriorating syndicate, or that she wasn't there anymore, that she wasn't by his side?
He closed his eyes and instinctively faced the nymph depicted on the inner lining of his lid. Her smiling image, bronze skin, bright eyes. She was such a child and he knew it, for he had loved her for being a child. Why did he let her go, watch her without motion when she departed from his home that rainy afternoon when her thin shoulders convulsed spasmodically and the corners of her lips were turned down?
And the emotion on her face still lingered in his mind. How she grimaced, a smirk at simultaneous pleasure and pain when he had entered her, when she wrapped her legs around him, embraced with her quivering arms the last bit of humanity that he had left. The way her small breasts felt against his chest, the way their heartbeats collided. The glory and the shame of deflowering a masterpiece, unleashing a zephyr and a tempest. The way her small hands dug into his back, the way she moaned, almost in recognition. He was a man and for those brief moments she was a woman. No, not a child, a woman. But only then; after they came apart she retained her innocence. It was a price she did not have to pay. Perhaps, it was she who had deflowered him.
No one ever needs to know about this, Ed, it was a one time thing.no one ever needs to know. And despite whatever protests she may have had, he would never embrace her anyway. It was a mistake being with her, putting his heart up for something so unworthy. She was still such a naiveté, how could she ever comprehend the consequences of abandonment, of giving up everything for your love but never having anything in return. No, he did not want to kiss her skin; he did not want to smell her hair. It was over before it even started, why couldn't she understand that?
"You are just a child, you have no comprehension of these things," he told her that somber day and wondered if she had believed him. She didn't, she saw right through the hard exterior, she comprehended his very core. He was as much of a child as she, but he was too much of a coward to admit it. And nothing can ever be crueler than a child at play. He had played with her, and then he had left her. He had left her because he knew that she would never really leave. She was that toy that he had tossed aside, into a corner, where it was within his peripheral vision, but never in the focus point. It would lie there forever and he would be satisfied, but had a different child dared to touch that toy, such fury would erupt from the former that no other treasure in the world would be comparable to that beaten, old doll, unwittingly reclining in the arms of another.
It was too early in the morning for Johnny to turn on the television and see his father's beaten spaceship. It was too early in the morning and too late in his life.
It lay in the back of a news reporter who spoke about a massive accident that occurred in outer space. It appeared that a small ship crashed into a large passenger liner. Several passengers on the liner had minor injuries, whereas the driver of the ship was badly wounded and in critical condition.
The camera cued on the face of the victim, a young girl who might have been beautiful once, but in her darkened features of lifelessness, the aspect was growing harder to determine by the moment. Johnny sprang up, hating himself for it. Had he not been hoping for this? Had he not been dreaming that this happen to her? He had, indeed, wanted some unknown catastrophe to strike so she would realize how powerless she was in the face of the world and come home, just so he could ridicule her and then forgive her and live happily ever after with humble Francoise by his side.
And there she was, crushed by reality, all of her dreams fading away. And yet, when she opened her eyes, all of the donned glory of her face was immediately returned by the strong, willful gaze of her eyes. Did Johnny not understand that she could not live his life? She had understood at once that he could not live hers. And yet he still lived in denial that she was going to be his. He'd always wanted that, he'd always dreamed of that as he looked across the classroom at her disconnected face. Why was this beautiful, mysterious girl so unattainable? He had always been able to get girls he liked; why did he not have such luck with this one?
And suddenly he hated her. Who did she think she was? Stealing his ship, lying to him, leaving him alone in the middle of nowhere. And now he had an advantage, he knew where she was, and would be, for the next couple of days. He had seen her condition; he knew that she would not be getting out of the hospital anytime soon. The Metropolitan Hospital on Mars: that was where she was. Perhaps a day's drive if he went fast. And then he stopped, why was he thinking this? She would be brought home eventually. There was no need for him to go after her. He didn't even have a ship anymore. He could borrow one, of course, or rent it with the money he had accumulated over the summer doing chores for various neighbors. But what would be the point? She wasn't worth it, yet somehow, she was.
If she had opened her eyes, if she had seen him sitting there, perhaps she would fall in love with him, perhaps she would care. Maybe it would work. It could work if he wanted it to work. But he had doubts it would. No, he wasn't going to chase her across the galaxy; he had better things to do.
And then he did the craziest thing he had ever done. He went; he went to see her, to rescue her, to bring her home to him. No, he wouldn't tell her parents, or the authorities. He was going to be a hero all on his own. She would fall in love with him; like all other girls, Françoise would love him too.
.
.
.
YAN was a large skyscraper in the center of Mars. It was one of the three tallest on the planet, the other two going to the rebuilt Red Dragons Organization on the opposite side of planet and the Metropolitan Hospital, only several blocks down. The front lobby was busy with visitors and employees, all fitting into busy-bee equilibrium. The operator at the front desk, a middle-aged woman with dark eyes and dyed hair, answered the telephone incessantly and paid little attention to what went out around her. It took her several minutes to realize that someone wanted to speak with her.
"May I help you?" the operator, whose nametag suggested Susie, asked when she faced a tall woman with flowing blonde locks and green eyes. The woman was dressed in a dark business suit that congratulated her dangerous curves.
"Yes, please," the woman said, "I would like to speak with the president of this organization."
Susie stared at the woman for a moment before breaking into laughter. She shrieked for several moments before regaining her strength to speak.
"I'm sorry, ma'am," she said uneasily, "but I'm afraid that's not possible."
"Why not?"
"First of all," she began, "you need an appointment, and second, you'll need to be on a waiting list for an appointment."
"How long might that take?" The woman asked Susie.
"Oh, too long."
"I can wait. Two days? Three?"
The secretary broke into laughter again. The woman stared at her with a blank face.
"You're obviously confused," Susie said after a moment.
"No, I think the only one that's confused here is you. I need to speak to someone right away. It's important."
"I'm sorry, but you'll have to go now. You can do it freely or I can call security."
The woman sighed. She walked away from the desk and was lost in the crowd. The operator instantly forgot and looked down at her desk, waiting for more phone calls.
Faye groaned to herself as she followed the secession of the crowd. She had to know the truth, yet knew not whom to ask. She thought it out to the point that she would need a disguise. It was Mars, after all. For all she knew, those men, who had been quite for a while, were still after her. There she was, on Mars, in YAN, but who would help her with her worries? And what was in that microchip within her arm? What information? And then there was that intuition that Faye hated about herself. How much was this information worth?
Plenty enough, apparently, for the time and effort spent on hunting her down. The faceless men might someday return, that dark silhouette that had tortured her. Somehow, she had forgotten about their existence for a while. After all, she was with Spike. He could protect her; she was in no real danger when she was by his side. But not anymore, things had happened and it tore her heart apart to remember them. He was dead for all she needed to care, and he would never come alive again. It was something she knew she had to accept unconditionally.
And yet a fragment of her mentality was strained, for he still lingered in her mind, no matter how hard she tried to block it out. His face, his smile, so sad, so tragic. And those forlorn eyes of his, but what did it matter now? Yet when she went to buy a wig, why did she choose one with long, blonde hair? Why did she wear dark clothing and sunglasses to disguise herself? It was as if Faye was unwittingly impersonating someone who was no longer alive, yet lived on through memory. Someone---
"Julia?" she heard from behind and instinctively turned her head, almost fainting. It was a face she did not recognize, a man of short stature with a thick goatee and large spectacles. There was a flicker of hope in his eyes which immediately vanished when he realized that she was not the woman he was looking for.
"I'm sorry," the old man whispered and sped away. Perhaps it was instinct, perhaps it was curiosity, but Faye found herself rushing after him.
"Wait---Julia? You know Julia?" She spoke to the startled stranger.
He looked at her with unease and paused, "I don't know what you're talking about, ma'am."
"You're lying. You knew Julia."
The man contemplated for a moment, "I don't know you."
Faye nodded, "I'm sorry, then." She turned and began to walk away. This time, it was the man that rushed after her.
"You knew her too? You knew Julia?"
Faye stopped and stared into his eyes, moistness was gathering around.
"Maybe this isn't the place to speak of this," she told him.
"No," he agreed, "it is not."
.
.
.
The café was only half full. Busy employees of surrounding companies were just winding down on their lunch breaks. The place was bright, and large windows supplied a full view of the street. It had been raining for days, and the grayness was as depressing as the sheltered pedestrians that walked the streets.
Faye and the stranger sat in silence for a while, staring out of the window and drinking coffee. It was he who disrupted the quiet.
"What's your name?"
She looked at him for a moment in contemplation, which name did she want to give?
"Rose," she said quietly.
"That's a pretty name. Pretty name for a pretty woman."
Faye smiled, "Thank you."
He looked up at the ceiling for a moment, as if remembering a far away time.
"Julia---she was beautiful. I've seen many pretty women, pretty in comparison to others. But if they stood next to a real beauty---but how many real beauties do you meet in one lifetime?"
Somehow, Faye was not offended. She agreed wholeheartedly.
"I was lucky enough to meet one. Sweet little Julia. I can still see her at fifteen, so quiet, so scared. Like a little kitten, pending along a dark street she hadn't walked before. She had no home, no past. Nothing left to go back to. At least that's what she claimed. It was like she was born on the day that I met her. Bruises on her, those told me otherwise. So innocent, yet with a past. Isn't that intriguing? Julia always had a thing for men who hurt her. Once, she told me her father was a bad man, that's all I ever knew about what happened to her before the day when she waited on me in a sleazy old diner just a few blocks down."
"Men who hurt her?" Faye stumbled, almost to herself.
"You know the funny thing about outward appearances? It's the weakest ones that look the strongest. I remember watching her. Mao and I, we always watched her. We wanted her, you know. Every man she's ever known wanted her in some way."
Faye's face remained motionless. Being wanted, being desired. Why did he speak of that as if it were some sort of curse?
"Isn't it funny how life goes? When chance bestows upon you something valuable, it becomes so much harder living. Life is hard only when you have something to live for."
"Life is hard either way," Faye interrupted.
The old man stared at her, "You're right, Rose. But staying alive is much harder to desire than dying."
"I know someone who would probably agree with you on that."
"Spike," the man said quietly. Faye did not need to confirm, nor was she surprised that the old man had guessed. Spike, who else? Who else would rather die than live?
"How is YAN connected to the Red Dragons?" Faye asked suddenly.
The man stared at her blankly, "That's what you're after, huh? It was nice meeting you Rose, but I must get back to work."
He raised himself from the chair. Faye's eyes widened, "No! Please, sir!"
He began to walk away.
"I need you, please!" she called after him, "I've been told to contact YAN by someone."
"Whom?" he asked, disinterested.
"I am not sure if I can trust you."
"Then I'll be on my way."
"James Shields."
This was enough. He was on alert.
"James Shields? What's this about? Who are you?"
"My name is Rose Shields," she said quietly, "I'm his wife."
"You're Faye Valentine," he said unflinchingly, "I should have known."
.
.
.
A/N: Well, that's it for now. Hopefully, now that summer's over and I'm focusing on my writing again, I won't spend my days partying and will actually write more. Not that any of this is real writing, it's just me being bored. But, whatever. Reviews inspire me *hint hint*