in honor of love
Feb. 14th, 2006 05:38 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
somedaybitchtechnically i've never written a Farscape fic. at least not one of my own. this was the only one, and it's only 600 words, so, you know, a ficletasticshortnessthing. i wrote it a couple of years ago. thought it was lost on the blog but, while looking for something else, i found a printout of it in my stuff at work. serendipity is a strange and wonderful thing, and with all the recent talk of Farscape fic, well, here's one that only was posted in private, because i'm an elitist bastard that way.
there are parts of this i don't even recognize writing and others i remember because it's never gone away.
Farscape was always a love story, Ben said; about a boy and girl. i think it was always about hope; the hope that comes from love. every kind of love.
so, you know, here it is. the only one. post Icarus Abides.
Her unease was vague, almost ethereal, and yet it had been a companion for so long, she wondered how she’d failed to notice. It loomed, the unease, the inexplicable anxiety, when she was lowest, weakest, most burdened by the events of her past. Most burdened, by the loss of him. The moment of loss existed outside of time, as if it had always been there, waiting. Waiting for her to acknowledge its inevitability. Waiting for her to recognize her own role in its existence. Waiting for her like death.
For another kind of death it was, the loss. The loss of him. The loss of all things good and true about her. The loss of her hope, her future. The loss of her redemption.
He asked her to let him go. Forced her with his quiet understanding. His sadness, his tears, the gaping maw of regret she could see so clearly in soul. His inability to fix what went wrong. It all screamed at her in a way that he could not, would not ever. He loved her. She knew that. Believed it with every fiber of her consciousness. He believed in what they had meant to each other as strongly as she. She had a faith in that knowledge as surely as she knew that air would hit her lungs with her next shattered breath.
And yet it was broken. And she couldn’t fix it. The hole in her soul would remain, and the unease would find its way back in.
She hadn’t understood before, that it was a warning, a chance to…to what? Run? Pretend? He couldn’t abide that any more than she. Their respect for each other was too vast, too honest, even in its deep and endless flaws.
Sometimes, she begged. Begged whatever deity would listen to her anguished pleas to make it as it was, return her to the start, the middle, anywhere but that singular, non-linear moment in time when her carefully contrived world had fallen apart. For it was contrived. All of it. She wasn’t what he thought she was, who he thought she was, what he needed her to be. It was the single largest regret of her life, a wound from which she knew she could never heal, because he had asked so very little of her.
Faith and love. That was all. Was it so much? It wasn’t, she finally understood, a knowledge completely useless after the fact. She could give it to him now. He had taught her that, taught her how. The loss of him had taught her what he had tried to instill but was unable, what he had waited for her to understand, what had finally been his undoing. She saw it in his eyes when he said goodbye. She understood it all so clearly in that moment, that never-ending, always existing moment in time that would never stop punishing her for her cowardly lack of faith.
The soft rustling of cloth brought her unwillingly from her reverie. The empathy and understanding in his voice was almost more than she could stand. He knew what she feared now. She could hear it in his voice, feel it in the sweet gentleness of his touch upon her shoulder. He understood and he had no answer, could not help her, had no idea if what she feared was truth, if what she would do now was justice for her crimes. He knew that she would force herself to walk alone now, because she thought she had no right to do otherwise, that she had no hope the Universe could forgive her for what she’d done.
“We’re here.”
“Thank you, Stark.”
there are parts of this i don't even recognize writing and others i remember because it's never gone away.
Farscape was always a love story, Ben said; about a boy and girl. i think it was always about hope; the hope that comes from love. every kind of love.
so, you know, here it is. the only one. post Icarus Abides.
Her unease was vague, almost ethereal, and yet it had been a companion for so long, she wondered how she’d failed to notice. It loomed, the unease, the inexplicable anxiety, when she was lowest, weakest, most burdened by the events of her past. Most burdened, by the loss of him. The moment of loss existed outside of time, as if it had always been there, waiting. Waiting for her to acknowledge its inevitability. Waiting for her to recognize her own role in its existence. Waiting for her like death.
For another kind of death it was, the loss. The loss of him. The loss of all things good and true about her. The loss of her hope, her future. The loss of her redemption.
He asked her to let him go. Forced her with his quiet understanding. His sadness, his tears, the gaping maw of regret she could see so clearly in soul. His inability to fix what went wrong. It all screamed at her in a way that he could not, would not ever. He loved her. She knew that. Believed it with every fiber of her consciousness. He believed in what they had meant to each other as strongly as she. She had a faith in that knowledge as surely as she knew that air would hit her lungs with her next shattered breath.
And yet it was broken. And she couldn’t fix it. The hole in her soul would remain, and the unease would find its way back in.
She hadn’t understood before, that it was a warning, a chance to…to what? Run? Pretend? He couldn’t abide that any more than she. Their respect for each other was too vast, too honest, even in its deep and endless flaws.
Sometimes, she begged. Begged whatever deity would listen to her anguished pleas to make it as it was, return her to the start, the middle, anywhere but that singular, non-linear moment in time when her carefully contrived world had fallen apart. For it was contrived. All of it. She wasn’t what he thought she was, who he thought she was, what he needed her to be. It was the single largest regret of her life, a wound from which she knew she could never heal, because he had asked so very little of her.
Faith and love. That was all. Was it so much? It wasn’t, she finally understood, a knowledge completely useless after the fact. She could give it to him now. He had taught her that, taught her how. The loss of him had taught her what he had tried to instill but was unable, what he had waited for her to understand, what had finally been his undoing. She saw it in his eyes when he said goodbye. She understood it all so clearly in that moment, that never-ending, always existing moment in time that would never stop punishing her for her cowardly lack of faith.
The soft rustling of cloth brought her unwillingly from her reverie. The empathy and understanding in his voice was almost more than she could stand. He knew what she feared now. She could hear it in his voice, feel it in the sweet gentleness of his touch upon her shoulder. He understood and he had no answer, could not help her, had no idea if what she feared was truth, if what she would do now was justice for her crimes. He knew that she would force herself to walk alone now, because she thought she had no right to do otherwise, that she had no hope the Universe could forgive her for what she’d done.
“We’re here.”
“Thank you, Stark.”
