Inside Out

 
 
Notes: This was written for Liza, my recipient in the Great Canadian Lyric Wheel 2006: Jagged Little Fics Ficathon. I freely admit to more than a little trepidation here. 
This is a whole new character I have never written before, and it is a huge leap of faith for me. So here it is. At least it’s short; a couple of thousand words give or take. 

My undying gratitude and props to Eva for the beta. Much love to my reviewers, Kaz and Susan for their encouragement and enthusiasm and everything else. And, of course, mad props to Kaz for allowing me to pick her brain. As always, all mistakes remain mine.

Warnings: Let’s see. No sex. Some violence. No bad words. Just a hint of dark, adult themes. It really is a kinder, gentler me.

Rating: PG-13

Setting: The murky depths of time between s3 and s4

Spoilers: Only if you haven’t watched the series.

Disclaimer: Definitely not mine. They belong to Henson, et. al. No copyright infringement intended. There is definitely no money being made.
 

---

I have as much rage as you have

I have as much pain as you do

I've lived as much hell as you have

and I've kept mine bubbling under for you

Sympathetic Character

- Alanis Morissette

*

She’s been here a solar week, stalking her prey, before she finally decides on the killing ground. She knows the when, the how, and now the where.

She also knows the why; she just doesn’t care.

Objective.

She’s trailed him four times now, marked his route. He’s always in early and out late; straight shot, no stops. And he always uses the level risers to enter and exit the skyway that connects the spaceport with the high-rise tower that houses his small, low-level government minister’s office.

Mission.

At this point of convergence in time and space, she times it perfectly.

She knows the lower levels are empty, and smiles up at the wizened little man hurrying down as she climbs.

The landing is narrow where they meet, and she nods as he angles slightly to give her room enough to pass. She steps and pivots as her right hand pulls up her pistol and fires into the back of the little man’s head from a distance of less than six denches.

The silencer is more than worth its cost. There isn’t a sound except the snick of the trigger as the man’s thin hair puffs out in a splash of pale pink and crimson.

She fires a second shot as the body begins to fall and follows it down, firing three more times into the head as legs and arms splay on the ground.

Execution.

Stepping over and away from the body, she heads back down the level risers and out into the quiet of a dark, empty street.

In less than an arn the planet’s twin suns will rise and she will be gone.

*************************

He marvels at how small it is, at what it carries as he caresses the thin chip carefully between his thumb and forefinger. Suddenly his fingers snap closed, hard enough to drive the chip into the palm of his hand.

She was gone, and he needed a trail; something, anything to follow.

He’s been so close, close enough to reach out and touch. But somehow it has always slipped away. He’s seen their love, the aura so bright it blinded him; felt their love, almost drowned in it.

He shifts and sinks further into the overly cushioned chair. It’s just a game for a serious devotee. A private collection.

His shame burns deep. His memories. Her memories.

He has his vision, his mission, his quest.

He has his love.

*************************

The spaceport is deserted; the air oppressive, and her sharp, quick eyes scan the horizon as she begins to walk from the edge of town. Clouds of dark smoke and ash float on the horizon, and the acrid burn of the air from border fires scorches her lungs as she moves past the squat, sprawling mills and their bellowing stacks.

Crossing the tracks, she avoids the slow moving ground transport that rumbles by, kicking up a sirocco that chokes her nostrils and closes her throat, making it difficult to breathe. By the time her head clears, she’s under the viaduct and into the canyons of shadow and grey created by twisted towers rising up over dark, narrow streets and darker, narrower alleys.

The meager remains of the sun are lost to shadow and dust here, and the air is harsh with the stink of disease, decay, and death. Haze hangs heavy here, thick and pressing in around her, hovering just above the undercurrent of quiet anticipation that thrums in the air like electricity.

She moves more quickly now, threading her way through the displaced and the dispossessed who are far too intent on foraging in their furious attempt to ward off the inevitable to notice anything but their own need. A slight shiver works its way through her as a sudden breeze blows through the canyon, carrying their desperation, carrying the coming storm.

Three commerce planets in as many solar days, three days from her last mission, and there is only this one last stop before she can go home.

Her eyes scan the crowd as she bobs and weaves, cleaving the desperate masses busy begging, stealing, and selling. Withered, skeletal creatures wrapped in dull shades of grey and dirty brown scurry under a dark, angry sky, trying to be somewhere else.

She almost chokes on the hot, fetid air she drags into her lungs, the heat of the fires and their smoke hitting her full on as she turns off the street and into the alley. Her stomach rolls at the stink of decomposing garbage and the acidic smell of urine as she steps carefully over and around the scattered, sprawled bodies and waste debris littering her way.

She finds what she’s looking for, pulls open the almost invisible grey door and steps through into a deeper darkness. The door snicks quietly closed behind her, and long fingers tap a staccato beat against the pistol on her thigh as her eyes adjust to the thin trail of light lining the length of the corridor.

Ten microts later she’s moving again, long, silent steps sliding down the close confines of the hallway.

*************************

Slipping through the door into the main room, she lets her eyes run a quick recon. The mid day crowd is sparse and scattered; a half dozen drinkers strung out along the bar, small groups of two or three at a couple of the tables.

It’s only slightly lighter here than in the hallway, still darker than the deep gloom of outside, but she knows in microts that he’s not here.

Just off to her left, at the near end of the bar, the serving girl sits, running a drying cloth around a glass. When she finishes, she flips it upside down and stacks it in line along the neat little row she’s started in front of her.

The man rinsing glasses behind the bar flicks his gaze in her direction; runs his eyes up and down her. With a slight nod, he goes back to his glasses.

She takes two steps in and feels him behind and just to the side of her. Her fingers wrap her pistol as she spins and freezes. “Stark.”

His name, her voice, turns the cacophony in his head suddenly to blessed, silent clarity. His heart sings deep in his chest and quiet joy floods his veins as his lips curve up in a gentle smile. He lets his hand hover just shy of touching her, and when he speaks his voice is low and quiet and doesn’t tremble. “It’s good to see you, Aeryn.”

“What are you doing here? I thought you would still be on Valldon.”

He’d searched for her there; for something, anything to follow, to take him back home. “She was gone.”

Shadows run through her eyes as she tilts her head and arches an elegant eyebrow at him. “And so you’re looking for her here?”

He knows she’s looking for that now; knows it bone deep the way he knows that part of Zhaan they both carry, the way he knows he can save her, wants to. “No. Not here.”

His hand drops to his side as his voice drops to the ghost of a whisper. “Not in this place.”

The dead pools of her eyes settle on him, but her voice is soft and calm, wrapping him against her words. “Then you should probably go.”

“Wait.” He’s so close he can reach out and touch her even as he feels her slipping away. “Let me buy you a drink.” He points to a table in the shadows of the far corner as panic ignites deep in his head, like those long ago solar flares at Dam-Ba-Da. “I have currency.”

Her eyes rake the room. She needs to get him down and out of sight. And then she needs him gone. “One drink.”

She spins on her heel and heads back toward the shadows in the corner.

He snags a clean glass from the bored looking server slouching on her stool and follows her.

*************************

She settles in, back against the wall, clean lines of sight to the front and back doors, hands resting easy on the table as he pours from an almost empty bottle.

“How are you?” He slides the glass over to her side of the table. “How are Moya and Pilot?”

She lifts a tight shoulder and he knows; recognizes the calm chill wrapping her that he’s ignored in his joy at seeing her again.

Death clings to her like a lover’s hand. Empty and hollow, he can barely feel the echoes of Zhaan in her.

And he knows.

The voices in his head are picking up, but his is soft and low. “You’re following in your mother’s footsteps.”

She shrugs a slender shoulder again, wraps elegant fingers around her glass. “A low-level government minister, a middleman for Plokavian arms shipments with a side interest in sex trafficking and the local slave trade.”

Sick fear twists in his gut as the voices get louder. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. She’s supposed to be not just alive, but safe and happy. And he is supposed to protect her.

His hand rises, hovers in the no man’s land between them. “Let me…”

She leans forward, elbows resting on the table, her voice soft and not unkind. “You remember the Plokavians, don’t you?”

The sense memory of that fires through his veins, ghosts along nerve endings and across wildly firing synapses as the voices rise to a low roar until another memory cuts through the white noise in his head to clarity.

He grabs hold of it, holds fast and anchors himself against the rising tide, finding that place in himself that is the best, as pure and clean as the finest crystal.

He is supposed to protect her.

He has to do something; anything.

One thing.

His hand touches her face, fingertips gently stroking the smooth satin of her skin. “May I give you this?” He leans in close as his fingers move to close her eyes. “It’s a place I once saw. I’ve carried it with me for a very long time.”

She breathes softly; a gentle warmth against his face. “It’s beautiful.”

His hand moves to cup her face. “Just hold onto that. Don’t let go.”

She pulls back suddenly and her eyes snap open, flare with awareness, then slit and slide up and over him to the front door as she tilts her head, the lines of her body taut as a tripwire.

He ignores the change in energy, ignores the new arrival; pulls her face back to him. “There are many ways to be enslaved.” His hand hovers, gentle fingertips skimming the satin of her cheek, pressing soft at the silk of her hairline. “Keep this. Travel light.”

She slips from her seat, away from him, her hand kind as she tugs on his arm. He stands and she holds tight to him, keeps him from looking back.

Sudden anger flares deep inside, mixes with fear and a pain that ricochets in his heart, hurts bone deep.

“You should go.”

It isn’t supposed to be like this. He’s supposed to protect her.

She’s angled her body to shield him from the rest of the room. Tugging gently on his arm, she keeps him focused on her as she turns him slightly, pointing him in the direction of the back door.

Her eyes are shaded and sad as she lays her palm on his cheek, cups his face in her hand as she breathes softly. “You should go now.”

He stills deep inside, lets her gentle push send him on his way. Reaching the door, he turns his head, and out of the corner of his eye watches her walking away from him.

He pushes through the door and slips down the hallway. Stepping out into the angry grey of outside, he shivers and shrugs himself deeper into his coat as he heads into the coming storm.

He knows she’s already gone.