Personally, I don't like this fic. Alex gives me a lot of trouble, generally to do with why he seems to be unnecessarily dark and dramatic despite being, technically, a walking dead man.

Unfortunately I also thought it was cowardly behaviour to keep on avoiding him, so I ended up writing this out of sheer pride. Sorry.


The Heart Beats On And Will Not Stop
Finished 27 August 2005

After Alex was discharged and had done everything duty compelled him to do, he quietly returned to the pilots' hostel and tried to die.

It should have been easy. He felt as though he were already dead; it ought to have been a matter of switching off, stopping – without any need for drama. His body didn't seem to be getting the hint, though: it continued getting hungry and thirsty, and Alex glanced at the bathroom mirror one morning and realised that his scratches were actually healing. As if there was supposed to be life after this.

But he couldn't have become a Vanship pilot if he'd had any inclination towards suicide, and so Alex continued going through the motions of life, patiently waiting for things to catch up.

Except he could no longer sleep.

Alex had come back to Anatoly a complete wreck. Now that he was off sedatives he was dreaming of the Grand Stream every time he fell asleep; virtually every pilot on his floor had come hammering on his door the first two nights to make sure he wasn't being murdered.

The screaming had stopped after that. Evidently no one had wondered why.

It'd been about four days so far. One way or another, Alex thought, distantly, pacing slowly from one end of his small room to the other, he was going to end up dead. At the moment it seemed like it would happen sooner rather than later. Walking was like wading through treacle.

Somebody knocked on his door in the middle of his pacing the next evening. Alex turned quickly, managed two steps, and then collapsed.

.

Vincent was staring down at him when he woke up. "I heard about what happened."

Alex blinked. "Go away."

Vincent sighed. "I'd rather not have your death on my hands. What are you trying to do?"

"You're supposed to be on a ship," Alex said, sharply.

"I applied for leave."

"There's no way it could have been approved."

"All right, I resigned. They'll hire me again eventually. Don't change the subject."

"I can't sleep," Alex said. He tried to sit up.

Vincent pushed him back down gently, with one hand. "Alex, you survived the Grand Stream. You can't die of exhaustion now."

Alex shut his eyes. None of this made any sense.

"Yuris would have a fit," Vincent said, quietly.

"But I didn't survive the Grand Stream," Alex whispered, drifting into sleep.

"Go to sleep."

Three hours later he woke up remembering the thing on the Guild ship, the one pretending to be a person.

He was also on the floor, tangled in sheets, and Vincent was kneeling next to him with the beginnings of a spectacular bruise on one cheek. "Are you all right?" Vincent ventured.

"It was smiling," Alex said, softly.

"What?"

"It was smiling," Alex repeated, staring wildly. "On the ship. Watching."

Vincent was watching him with increasing concern. "Alex. Breathe."

His vision was purpling at the edges. "That was a crown. It – "

Vincent slapped him, hard. "Shut up and breathe."

And then Alex was gasping and crying, in huge tearing sobs that shook his entire frame. Vincent picked up the blankets, wrapped them around him and pulled him close, muttering awkwardly that it was all right, everything would be all right eventually. After a while he gave up, and settled for rubbing Alex's shoulder in a vague, soothing way.

Alex cried for an hour and then fell asleep.

.

Vincent opened his eyes in the morning to find Alex awake, dressed and sitting at his desk writing something. "Um."

"Vince?"

"What?"

"I'm quitting. Help me get onto a ship. As soon as possible."

"What? Why?"

Alex stared at him. "Because I want to kill the Guild Queen."

Vincent opened his mouth and then closed it. "It'll take a while," he eventually said, weakly.

"As soon as possible," Alex repeated. "I'm going to give notice."

He was halfway through the door when Vincent demanded, "Alex, tell me what's going on."

"Later." Alex continued walking. If he stopped before tendering his resignation he might change his mind. Might go back to waiting to die.

He breathed in, slowly and deliberately. As long as that thing was still alive, still ruling, he couldn't allow himself to stop.

It was the most painful decision he'd ever had to make. But he'd already finished with the self-pity last night.

Alex glanced down at the letter in his hand, smoothed out the wrinkles where he'd been clutching it too hard, and picked up the pace.