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dark Dean

They Just Don't Get It (LoM fic, sort of)

Posted on 2007.04.10 at 17:34
Current Location: a bad place
Current Mood: crushedcrushed
Tags: ,
 I keep thinking 'Right that's it, no more fic till this is over.'  But in the same way as I can't keep away from TRA (have logged off, and now visit as a guest, which was hardly the point!) I can't stop thinking, and therefore writing, about Life on Mars.  So I've tried to get some of that down on paper, hence a bit of nonsense, tossed off (well, I mean written) in about ten mins, really more of a stream of consciousness than anything else.  I'm feeling a bit jittery.

Words: about 200-300 or so.
Rating is PG I suppose.
No spoilers, warnings, pairings or anything like that.
Summary:  The title is the summary.

The air crackled, hummed, seemed in her oversensitised mind to actually come to life around her.  It was time.  She'd anticipated this moment for what seemed like forever.  She couldn't remember not wanting this.  And now - now she would give literally anything to have it snatched away.  Anticipation and apprehension surged through her, robbing her of breath, bringing a prickle of premature, unwanted tears.  She couldn't let go now.

She stood, casting wary eyes round the dim scene in front of her.  A faint sensation of nausea welled up, spurring her finally to action.  Her steps hesitant, reluctant, she made her way over to the small table, pausing to take a long, steadying gulp of the Chilean red already set in preparation.

She sat, stiffly upright at first, unconsciously chewing one finger in a childhood release of tension that she'd never been able to break.

He came, settling himself next to her with an air of relaxed interest that she couldn't possibly hope to match.  Don't speak, she begged him silently.  Just - don't say anything.  There are no words.

She stared straight ahead, unaware of her body shrinking back, her arms crossing defensively round her in a futile gesture of protection.  Her breasts rose, fell, rose, fell, gathering in pace as fear and the utter enormity of the moment slammed into her.  She covered her face, desperate for escape, unable to resist the lure, hunted eyes peeking out from between barred fingers.  He leaned closer.  She gasped audibly.  Oh God oh no not that, please God please anything but that...

She felt the heaviness of an arm slide round her, pulling her close - limp, spent, incapable of anything but unresisting compliance, she gave in and leant closer, his breath warm on her neck, his scent familiar but uncomforting.

Inevitably, inexorably, the light began to fade, never to be relit.  Her heart surged with - it felt like grief, bereavement, tragedy.  And the tears came, blinding her, racking her frame woth sobs she couldn't control, her soul curling up and withering with the death of hope.

And at the end, he spoke, softly, sympathy laced with exasperation, and, horribly, even amusement.

"For God's sake, love, it's only a TV show."

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