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eye_of_a_catStarted life as the fifth-season sequel to Elements of Consolation, that I said I'd work on ages ago. I've been working on this for a while (and then deleting it, and then working on it again, and then getting angry with it and upset with it and scrapping the whole thing, and then working on it again, and...) for a while now, and more recently I've been using it as angst overspill for the AU WIP I'm working on (one of the reasons for the title).
Deborah, I'm afraid it's not brilliant as a birthday present, especially if you've not been having a great time of things. But here it is anyway, in super-sparkly wrapping paper to try to cancel out Minbari angst.
Title: Aside
Pairing: D/L. (Oh, pretend to look surprised.)
Rating: R. I think R. However, while it's not as graphic as it could be (still pretty graphic, though), it's squicky on about eighteen different levels. 'Angst' does not cover this. Just so you're warned.
Disclaimer: JMS owns all - except the poem, which is A. E. Housman's. I'm just borrowing and will put them back in one piece.
Notes:
1. This exists in the same universe as my fic 'Elements of Consolation', although I don't want to call it a sequel. (A possible sequel, maybe.) It takes place somewhere after 'Atonement' but before the end of Season 4.
2. I know, I know, the only Minbari prophecy we hear about comes from Valen, and he was very particular about time and place. But there had to be Minbari prophecy before that, and I wanted to make it different from Valen's, just because it would be nice if the Minbari had something of their own that the Vorlons hadn't messed with yet. (Because it's not like Minbar degenerated into messy civil war after the Vorlons left, or anything...) (Oh, hey, look - 'Valen' and 'Vorlon' are very similar words, aren't they? How did I never notice that before?)
Look not in my eyes, for fear
They mirror true the sight I see
And there you find your face too clear
And love it and be lost like me
One the long night through must lie
Spent in star-defeated sighs
But why should you as well as I
Perish? Gaze not in my eyes.
This was what happened: when she closed her eyes, the universe no longer had three dimensions. Everything became compressed into the flat surface of a picture, taking her with it, crushing her between layers, and she knew - knew like she knew the sound of her own breath, the pace of her own footsteps - that when she opened her eyes it would be real. She would exist in a world where depth and distance ceased to be, and past and future with them, so that all time was now and all things were here. She knew this.
It never was, of course. It never was more than an illusion, the result of an exhausted mind trying to make sense out of the day's questions, only an illusion. She knew this. It was a ridiculous thing to fear, an irrational thing. She longed to hear John tell her this, John who would never think to doubt such a fundamental thing as the ground beneath his feet, but what could she answer if he asked why it terrified her so? If I have no place to stand because all places are one, if my actions never happened because all time and all things are now, then who am I? And that he would not know.
In the chrysalis, it had been this way - space was not real, time was not real, and she was caught between Minbari and alien, what she had been and what she would be. She had not thought of Valen but of the teachers who came before him, and of how they spent days in deep meditation to reach this state. The prophecy they gave made no mention of time or place, and was difficult to understand even for trained scholars, but to be in that holy space where such things no longer mattered was wisdom in itself. This had been a comfort to her, and when she was no longer capable of thought, there was still the knowledge she was fulfilling prophecy and the sound of Lennier's prayers in the darkness. But now, unable to sleep, unable to meditate, unable to do anything except lie here and wish it all to be gone, she felt neither holy nor wise nor anything else.
Lennier was asleep when she called for him, blinking in the light of the vidscreen and stumbling over his words, but soon he was there anyway - just as he always had been there, just as he always would be there. She touched his face, his neck, felt each curve and point of his headbone under her palms, until she knew he was real. He closed his eyes beneath her hands, and suddenly she was angry - he would never know this doubt, this fear. And so she kissed him, hard, to take away that certainty, and felt him hesitate and then wrap his arms around her and pull her close, his hands on her back and his lips warm beneath her own. She broke away from him and held his trembling hand on her chest, and asked "Who am I?"
He could say, You are a murderer, knowing now what she had done. He could say You are a freak, a corruption of everything Minbari. He could say You are the remnant of discarded prophecy, useless, nothing. All this he knew, and every word of it was true, and the thought of hearing him say so was more than she could bear, and she pressed her face into his neck before she could see the answer in his eyes. She was crying, maybe - or she was, she must have been, and he kissed the tears from her face and stroked her hair and told her that he would not leave her.
He said this a hundred times, a thousand times, in the past and in the future and in this moment where she stood holding him as if he was the only thing left in the universe. He said this until she was strong again, and she trailed kisses down his neck until his voice shook, grazed his skin with her teeth so that he gasped with pain or pleasure and there were no more words.
She pulled him down with her, the silk of his robes brushing against her face before she tore them aside to feel his bare skin under her arms. His hand cradled the back of her head against the floor - he was careful, so careful, so afraid of hurting her. There were words again, a rich whisper in the darkness, although she could not tell if he spoke them aloud or even whether they were his: Why? Why this?
"You know who I am," she answered, her hands gripping his shoulders. "You know me."
He hesitated - there was still time for them to stop, for this not to happen. "Your partner," he said, his hands still and shaking on her body. "He should know you."
John, who had sent the Vorlons away for her because their question was no temptation to him. John, who did not know what it was like to live like this between time and space. John, who would never know what she had done or what she could do, who would never forgive her if he did. "I do not want him to know who I am," she said. "Do you understand? I do not want him to know."
He understood, of course, because he had always known her, and she tugged the last of his clothing away and asked him again and again, Who am I? Who am I?, pulling him close and pushing him away and biting and kissing and scratching all at once, until he grabbed her wrists, his hands covering the scars from the Inquisitor's manacles, and said "You are Delenn. You are all that you are."
This was not an answer, or if it was she did not want to understand it, but it was enough. When he released her wrists she reached for him to press every part of her body against his, and pulled him inside her with a single movement that made him cry out against her throat. In this moment that was not a moment, she had never been without him, had never not known what it was to feel him move as though he were part of her. She was Minbari again, whole again, and the wanting and pleasure and joy were all one, and nothing else mattered.
During her transformation, she knew that she was safe as long as he was still with her, praying, waiting. He was what she needed and what she needed to be, and the universe would never allow him to be so close to her if she was beyond redemption. She knew this now in the touch of his hands on her body, hands that would never be covered in the blood of genocide, hands that prayed when she could not. He brushed sweat-soaked strands of hair from her face and asked "Who am I?", and it did not even seem strange that he should ask that question, or that he should ask it of her.
"You are everything," she said without needing to think, and only realised from what she saw reflected in his eyes that she had spoken it aloud. He held her in his arms so tightly that there was no space between them, and whispered words too quiet for her to hear, over and over again until there were no more words, and there was no more thought, and nothing was real except him.
It was always this way, and it always would be this way. He would be there when she needed him, as he had been so many times before. They would not speak of this, but she did not need to - only a look, only the touch of her hand on his face, and he would know what she asked. She no longer made him raise his eyes to look at her before leaving, and she did not know whether this was better.
And sometimes it had not happened, because how could something that existed outside space and time exist at all? It had not happened, and she had not heard the words he whispered, and he had seen nothing in her eyes, and she could return to John and be glad that together they had sent away the gods. And sometimes it was holy, as everything that existed in this sacred place was holy, and all else was less beside it.
She lay warm in his arms, her face nestled into the curl of his shoulder, falling asleep to the soft chant of his prayers.
And sometimes, it was no more than this.
Deborah, I'm afraid it's not brilliant as a birthday present, especially if you've not been having a great time of things. But here it is anyway, in super-sparkly wrapping paper to try to cancel out Minbari angst.
Title: Aside
Pairing: D/L. (Oh, pretend to look surprised.)
Rating: R. I think R. However, while it's not as graphic as it could be (still pretty graphic, though), it's squicky on about eighteen different levels. 'Angst' does not cover this. Just so you're warned.
Disclaimer: JMS owns all - except the poem, which is A. E. Housman's. I'm just borrowing and will put them back in one piece.
Notes:
1. This exists in the same universe as my fic 'Elements of Consolation', although I don't want to call it a sequel. (A possible sequel, maybe.) It takes place somewhere after 'Atonement' but before the end of Season 4.
2. I know, I know, the only Minbari prophecy we hear about comes from Valen, and he was very particular about time and place. But there had to be Minbari prophecy before that, and I wanted to make it different from Valen's, just because it would be nice if the Minbari had something of their own that the Vorlons hadn't messed with yet. (Because it's not like Minbar degenerated into messy civil war after the Vorlons left, or anything...) (Oh, hey, look - 'Valen' and 'Vorlon' are very similar words, aren't they? How did I never notice that before?)
Look not in my eyes, for fear
They mirror true the sight I see
And there you find your face too clear
And love it and be lost like me
One the long night through must lie
Spent in star-defeated sighs
But why should you as well as I
Perish? Gaze not in my eyes.
This was what happened: when she closed her eyes, the universe no longer had three dimensions. Everything became compressed into the flat surface of a picture, taking her with it, crushing her between layers, and she knew - knew like she knew the sound of her own breath, the pace of her own footsteps - that when she opened her eyes it would be real. She would exist in a world where depth and distance ceased to be, and past and future with them, so that all time was now and all things were here. She knew this.
It never was, of course. It never was more than an illusion, the result of an exhausted mind trying to make sense out of the day's questions, only an illusion. She knew this. It was a ridiculous thing to fear, an irrational thing. She longed to hear John tell her this, John who would never think to doubt such a fundamental thing as the ground beneath his feet, but what could she answer if he asked why it terrified her so? If I have no place to stand because all places are one, if my actions never happened because all time and all things are now, then who am I? And that he would not know.
In the chrysalis, it had been this way - space was not real, time was not real, and she was caught between Minbari and alien, what she had been and what she would be. She had not thought of Valen but of the teachers who came before him, and of how they spent days in deep meditation to reach this state. The prophecy they gave made no mention of time or place, and was difficult to understand even for trained scholars, but to be in that holy space where such things no longer mattered was wisdom in itself. This had been a comfort to her, and when she was no longer capable of thought, there was still the knowledge she was fulfilling prophecy and the sound of Lennier's prayers in the darkness. But now, unable to sleep, unable to meditate, unable to do anything except lie here and wish it all to be gone, she felt neither holy nor wise nor anything else.
Lennier was asleep when she called for him, blinking in the light of the vidscreen and stumbling over his words, but soon he was there anyway - just as he always had been there, just as he always would be there. She touched his face, his neck, felt each curve and point of his headbone under her palms, until she knew he was real. He closed his eyes beneath her hands, and suddenly she was angry - he would never know this doubt, this fear. And so she kissed him, hard, to take away that certainty, and felt him hesitate and then wrap his arms around her and pull her close, his hands on her back and his lips warm beneath her own. She broke away from him and held his trembling hand on her chest, and asked "Who am I?"
He could say, You are a murderer, knowing now what she had done. He could say You are a freak, a corruption of everything Minbari. He could say You are the remnant of discarded prophecy, useless, nothing. All this he knew, and every word of it was true, and the thought of hearing him say so was more than she could bear, and she pressed her face into his neck before she could see the answer in his eyes. She was crying, maybe - or she was, she must have been, and he kissed the tears from her face and stroked her hair and told her that he would not leave her.
He said this a hundred times, a thousand times, in the past and in the future and in this moment where she stood holding him as if he was the only thing left in the universe. He said this until she was strong again, and she trailed kisses down his neck until his voice shook, grazed his skin with her teeth so that he gasped with pain or pleasure and there were no more words.
She pulled him down with her, the silk of his robes brushing against her face before she tore them aside to feel his bare skin under her arms. His hand cradled the back of her head against the floor - he was careful, so careful, so afraid of hurting her. There were words again, a rich whisper in the darkness, although she could not tell if he spoke them aloud or even whether they were his: Why? Why this?
"You know who I am," she answered, her hands gripping his shoulders. "You know me."
He hesitated - there was still time for them to stop, for this not to happen. "Your partner," he said, his hands still and shaking on her body. "He should know you."
John, who had sent the Vorlons away for her because their question was no temptation to him. John, who did not know what it was like to live like this between time and space. John, who would never know what she had done or what she could do, who would never forgive her if he did. "I do not want him to know who I am," she said. "Do you understand? I do not want him to know."
He understood, of course, because he had always known her, and she tugged the last of his clothing away and asked him again and again, Who am I? Who am I?, pulling him close and pushing him away and biting and kissing and scratching all at once, until he grabbed her wrists, his hands covering the scars from the Inquisitor's manacles, and said "You are Delenn. You are all that you are."
This was not an answer, or if it was she did not want to understand it, but it was enough. When he released her wrists she reached for him to press every part of her body against his, and pulled him inside her with a single movement that made him cry out against her throat. In this moment that was not a moment, she had never been without him, had never not known what it was to feel him move as though he were part of her. She was Minbari again, whole again, and the wanting and pleasure and joy were all one, and nothing else mattered.
During her transformation, she knew that she was safe as long as he was still with her, praying, waiting. He was what she needed and what she needed to be, and the universe would never allow him to be so close to her if she was beyond redemption. She knew this now in the touch of his hands on her body, hands that would never be covered in the blood of genocide, hands that prayed when she could not. He brushed sweat-soaked strands of hair from her face and asked "Who am I?", and it did not even seem strange that he should ask that question, or that he should ask it of her.
"You are everything," she said without needing to think, and only realised from what she saw reflected in his eyes that she had spoken it aloud. He held her in his arms so tightly that there was no space between them, and whispered words too quiet for her to hear, over and over again until there were no more words, and there was no more thought, and nothing was real except him.
It was always this way, and it always would be this way. He would be there when she needed him, as he had been so many times before. They would not speak of this, but she did not need to - only a look, only the touch of her hand on his face, and he would know what she asked. She no longer made him raise his eyes to look at her before leaving, and she did not know whether this was better.
And sometimes it had not happened, because how could something that existed outside space and time exist at all? It had not happened, and she had not heard the words he whispered, and he had seen nothing in her eyes, and she could return to John and be glad that together they had sent away the gods. And sometimes it was holy, as everything that existed in this sacred place was holy, and all else was less beside it.
She lay warm in his arms, her face nestled into the curl of his shoulder, falling asleep to the soft chant of his prayers.
And sometimes, it was no more than this.
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(no subject)
Date: 2004-07-07 02:37 am (UTC)If I have no place to stand because all places are one, if my actions never happened because all time and all things are now, then who am I?
Yes, exactly. Delenn has changed so many prophesies that she has nothing to believe in, even herself inasmuch as she is a creation of those same prophesies.
And sometimes it had not happened, because how could something that existed outside space and time exist at all?
A little mysticism is a dangerous thing. And maybe that's why Delenn can be so destructive, because she's a mystic but not much of a believer.
Oh, I'm going to be back to read this story over and over again, and will certainly comment more when I get the chance. Thank you so much.
(no subject)
Date: 2004-07-07 01:18 pm (UTC)A little mysticism is a dangerous thing.
One of the reasons I couldn't make this fic work to begin with was that I kept trying to write it from Lennier's POV. I thought Delenn would be a lot tougher to write - and she is, but as soon as I switched to her perspective, it all started working. Lennier can't just borrow bits and pieces of mysticism to justify whatever he wants to do anyway, but Delenn can - and while I really don't like seeing her rationalise what she's doing here in that way, I suppose it's no worse than her using prophecy to justify anything else she does.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-08-23 03:38 am (UTC)Is it wrong that I really sort of hate Delenn in this fic? I love her, as a character, but the way she treats Lennier... it makes sense, and honestly in a lot of ways its very in character (especially given the background of the preceding fic), but... wow. All kind of heartache are indicated for the poor boy in this.
Interesting that Lennier refers to Sheridan only as "your partner" in this - as if he's afraid to mention his name, or can't bring himself to. And I love how they define each other, in such a simple and continuous way. Delenn, with all her doubts, desperately needs someone who will see all of her, everything she's ashamed of and can't admit to anyone else, and still accept her and reaffirm to her that she is still herself. And Lennier, gods bless him, is very much the kind of person who needs someone else to define his life by, someone to live for and on whom he can focus all his loyalty and devotion. It just drives me mad that she can't ever give him more than that.
Beautiful, disturbing, horribly sad writing. I'm really glad I didn't read this before I wrote mine, or I would never have felt able to make mine work. ;)
(no subject)
Date: 2006-08-24 03:53 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-08-24 05:32 pm (UTC)Maybe that's my favorite thing about Babylon 5 as a series - all the characters act under these fablous delusions and obsessions regarding themselves and the world around them. They're so wonderfully realistic, and yet completely over-the-top and legendary in both their flaws and their virtues.