AUTHOR: Kristen Kilar (chickadee(underscore)from(underscore)3(at)yahoo(dot)com)
TITLE: Another Bag Of Bricks
RATING: PG. Drug use. Language. Angst.
DISCLAIMER: If I owned Andromeda Dylan would have stayed dead at the end of "The Test". Clearly, this hasn't happened. "Another Bag Of Bricks" belongs to Flogging Molly.
ARCHIVE: Sure, but please ask. I like to know where my babies are spending the night.
SUMMARY: Ignatius Valentine reflects on his two conflicting loves: Beka and Flash. Set long before Andromeda.
SPOILERS: References to things mentioned in "The Ties That Blind", "The Pearls That Were His Eyes", "It Makes A Lovely Light", "Exalted Reason, Resplendent Daughter" (I'm sorry, I couldn't get around it!), and "Time Out Of Mind".
AUTHOR'S NOTES: More introspective angst from ChicaFrom3. Is anyone at all surprised?
People don't write enough about Ignatius Valentine, that's my firm opinion. The show doesn't do enough with this amazing character either. So here's my small attempt to contribute to the small body of work about Ignatius.
There's no Harper in this story! Is everyone thoroughly shocked? (grin)
Dedicated to my amazing beta, Myna/niki blue/rah rah replica/etc.
Also dedicated to all fans of Ignatius everywhere. There aren't enough of us!
This is a weird piece and was hard to write, both for the same reason: Ignatius was suffering from the effects of a long-term addiction to a hard drug. His memory and thought processes are all messed up. This story therefore is repetitive and tangential. If it doesn't work, tell me that it doesn't work.
Please read and review. I will love you forever.
Another Bag Of Bricks
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Temper filled with blindness
Leads this lost and lonely man
Dragged around your whipping tree
A scourge you can't command
So deafen me with silence
Drown me with your roar
Scowl me with your hollow eyes
Still burnin' to the core
No door will go unanswered
Like so many closed before
No vagabond to knock upon
This tired and beatin' war
-- Old Earth Song Lyrics, Flogging Molly, circa 2000AD
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His hands were shaking.
He stared at them for several long moments before processing this fact.
He needed another hit. His last high had worn off too fast, stripping him of the superman feeling and leaving him a broken shell, a waste of space.
He hated himself when he was sober, and liked himself when he was high.
So he needed another hit.
Logical.
No. No, he needed to pick up parts to repair the Maru. He needed to buy Beka a birthday present. He needed to pay their FTA taxes. He needed…
He needed another hit.
Damn. Damn. Damn.
He cursed Sid for introducing him to Flash, and then trying to involve him in murder. He cursed Talia for walking out on him and plunging him into despair only Flash could lift. He cursed Rafe for running away and stripping him of his last lifeline.
He cursed himself for being weak and stupid and for needing another hit.
He couldn't remember what parts the Maru needed now.
But he remembered it was Rocket's birthday. Thirteenth, a landmark year. Or was it fourteenth? Anyway, it was her birthday and he needed to get her a present. That was the thought he managed to hang on to through the drug-induced haze that wrapped his mind. It was Beka's birthday.
Beka.
He was so proud of her, his Booster Rocket. The best slipstream pilot in three galaxies, even at such a young age. She might just be the first Valentine to amount to something. She wouldn't end up another useless junkie like her old man.
His hands were shaking. Why were his hands shaking?
God, he needed another hit. He couldn't keep his thoughts straight.
Rocket.
He needed to get her a present.
He did not want a replay of last year. It had been her eleventh birthday—no, wait, that was wrong, wasn't it? If she was fourteen now she would've been thirteen last year, right? God, he hated Flash. His memory was all screwed up.
Anyway, it was her birthday. He'd forgotten it, thanks to an incredible high. That was bad enough. He'd tried to make up for it with a belated gift, gotten her a VR game she'd been wanting. It was a week late but she hadn't cared. She'd been so happy, given him a tight hug and a kiss on the cheek and a thanks, Daddy, you're the best! I love you!
He'd felt like the universe's best father. Until he came down off the Flash and realized his stash was out and, God, he had no cash—
"I'm sorry, Rocket. I needed it. But I'll get you another one, I promise."
She'd believed him. That was the worst part. She'd genuinely believed that Daddy would get her another one.
He hated himself.
He was the worst father in the history of the three galaxies.
So, he had to get her a gift this year. A good one. On time. And he couldn't sell it for more drugs.
Sure. That would be easy.
Damn, he needed another hit.
He felt like crying. He was a damned junkie coming down hard and he didn't deserve his Rocket. She deserved a good father, one who could remember how old she was, one who wouldn't sell off her birthday gifts for drugs, one whose eyes weren't constantly bloodshot and glazed over from years of Flash abuse.
It had been different.
Once.
Once he'd been a good father. He was sure of that. Once, when Beka and Rafe were little and Talia was around and his soul was intact. He had been a good father. He had been smart, then, and had always had a plan and a get-rich-quick scheme; he could make them laugh and they loved him.
Those days were gone. He tried to remember how it had happened.
Sid, first. Sid had gotten the bright idea of extending the Maru's operations into drug smuggling. They had been one of the first to start smuggling Flash, and people got hooked, fast. It was a new drug, a better drug, a synaptic enhancer that attracted Slip pilots because it made users stronger, better, faster, able to react quicker to changes in the 'stream.
"It's a great solution, if you don't make it your problem."
Prophetic, huh? They hadn't been smuggling it for long when he decided to make it his solution. And it was great—at first. He flew better. He felt like nothing could bring him down. Then it became his problem.
Then came Signa Gamma One docking station. Ignatius still couldn't think of it without a shudder. That had effectively ended his association with Sid. God, those poor people…
He had to admit, if only to himself, he was still proud of himself for hiding Sid's secret in Beka's hair nanos. It was a cool piece of tech.
Then it was Talia. The love of his life, a drop-dead gorgeous redhead with a brilliant smile, he'd always had a weakness for redheads, she was rich when he'd met her but she'd left that behind to come with him, to be the Maru's first lady and the mother of their beautiful children.
Then she got sick of it. Sick of their near-poverty-line existence. Sick of his and Sid's get-rich-quick schemes. Sick of the drugs. Sick of being a wife and mother. So she just packed it up and walked out. Went back to Odekirk and took up her cushy job and barely acknowledged the family she left behind.
So the Valentine family quietly fell apart.
Ignatius used more and more Flash to try to kill the pain of her abandonment. Rafe became surly and silent, acting out whenever he got the chance. For a week after she found out her mom wasn't coming back, Beka stayed locked in her room, crying and not answering when her father or brother tried to coax her out. When she finally came out, she was quieter and more distant, but clung all the closer to her daddy.
And then he came to Rafe, the final straw in his downfall. Maybe two years ago Rafe had followed in his mother's footsteps and left. He'd said he was sick of hanging around with this pretense of a family. He was sick of cleaning up after his dad's drug-induced screw-ups. He promised Beka he'd come back for her one day and then he was gone. The Maru and Flash and his Rocket were all that Ignatius had left.
And he couldn't even handle them.
Rocket deserved better, but she didn't have better, she was stuck with him.
Shit. He needed another hit. He automatically reached for his pocket, scrabbled around, and found a little glass vial. But when he pulled it out, it was empty.
Oh, shit.
Money. He needed money to get more Flash. Simple. He checked his pockets and found several credit chips, vaguely remembered getting paid for the Maru's last haul. More than enough to buy a new supply of Flash.
No. Wait. That was wrong, wasn't it?
Rocket. It was Rocket's birthday. She needed a present.
He needed Flash.
His hands were shaking.
Okay. He had money. He could split it. Half towards Flash, half for Rocket's present. That made sense, right?
Right?
He needed to find a dealer. He would think better once he got his next hit.
He looked around hazily and realized that he must be on a Drift. Should be easy to find a Flash dealer, then.
It took him a good deal longer than he'd thought to find a dealer, because his mind kept drifting and he kept forgetting what he was looking for. Then he had to waste half an hour bickering with the dealer, trying to hold on his train of thought long enough to make sure he wouldn't get screwed out of a lot of cash.
But at last he had the glass vial cradled in his palm, peering at the precious white liquid.
He felt better as soon as the Flash was in his possession. Now he just had to go back to the relative privacy of the Maru and take a hit and he'd be good to go.
The Maru.
Rocket.
Rocket's present.
Damn.
He checked how much money he had left. Not much. Clearly he'd spent far more than he'd meant to on Flash.
But he could still get her a present. Not a great present, not an expensive present, but he could get her a present.
He headed for the market area of the Drift.
Finding a present for Rocket was every bit as hard as finding a good Flash dealer. Everything was too expensive or inappropriate or just not good enough for the daughter of Ignatius Valentine.
He found it, though, in a small curio shop tended by one bored Than who looked at his eyes disdainfully, clearly reading the telltale signs of Flash addiction, but sold it to him anyway.
Relieved, he headed back to where the Maru was docked. He imagined Beka's reaction to her gift.
He was constantly reassured by the weight of the Flash vial in his pocket.
The Maru was in desperate need of repair, but he couldn't concentrate on that now. He went inside, to the crew quarters.
Rocket was curled up on her bunk, sound asleep. He started to wake her up so he could give her his present—then stopped.
Her hair, this week a mind-bending plaid, fell in her face, which was for once smooth and free of worry lines. His lifestyle had forced her to grow up far too fast—only when she was asleep did she look as young as she really was. The faded pajamas she wore were wrinkled and a few sizes too big for her. She clutched her Corinthian angel doll to her chest.
She looked so young. Young and angelic. His little angel, his Booster Rocket, the one good thing left in his life.
He couldn't bring himself to wake her up. Especially since he knew that in a few minutes he'd be in the bathroom, putting Flash in his eyes.
Instead, careful not to her wake her, he pulled her blankets up around her. Put the fuzzy black dice he'd bought for her on the bed beside her so she'd find them when she woke. Kissed her on the forehead and whispered, "Happy birthday, Rocket."
He left the room as quietly as he could manage.
While he was administering the Flash to himself, all he could think about was how much he hated himself for not being strong enough to stay clean for Rebeka's sake.
But his hands were shaking.
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When all return to exile
Free from all once bound
Decline and brawl old parasites
The truth will yet be found
With another bag of bricks
This cold dark tormented hell
Is all I'll ever know
So when you get to heaven
May the devil be the judge
With another bag of bricks
-- Old Earth Song Lyrics, Flogging Molly, circa 2000AD
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END