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Entry tags:
fic: newBionic Woman, Lost Myself Again, PG13, Jamie/Sarah
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Fandom: newBionic Woman
Pairing: Jamie/Sarah, bit of Jamie/Will
Rating: PG13, if that. Vague references to sex and violences. Language.
Set: er. Vaguely around the next episode, with what might be spoilers? I think?
Length: 1000, barely.
Notes: Wrote this at work while trying not to kill people yesterday. Title is utterly stolen from 30StM.
Lost Myself Again
by ALC Punk!
look at the red, red changes in the sky... - 30 Seconds to Mars, 'Echelon'
Jamie is floating free. There's nothing but her in a vast empty space that seems to go on forever. Nothing echoes, and nothing rebounds. Everything is simply there.
Hello, she thinks. Instinctively, she keeps silent. Letting only her thought out. There are no echoes from other minds. No one replies.
Hello. Hello.
Answer me.
The dark replies with nothing and silence.
Jamie can feel the wind on her skin, suddenly. It's different than before, when she would stand on the quad and turn her face to the sun. She's more sensitive to it, now. Or perhaps more aware that she's alive. The wind buffets her, and she tries to turn against it, like she does when she runs.
She ran, once. Ran forever, it seemed and there was nothing to stop her, not even the wind.
Now, she just floats. Wherever she is.
Morbidly, she wonders if she is dead. If the last few days (weeks?) have been a lie. If she died that night, skull and body fractured by the will of Sarah Corvus and a Mack truck.
No.
She's not dead. There was, and is, too much pain for her to be dead. This is what life feels like.
Because he's dead.
Will is dead.
She's not sure whether the pain is real, though. Because even though he's dead, she has the feeling that she never really knew him at all.
He is dead, she repeats to herself as she sucks in a breath, almost conscious of the real world again.
There's someone next to her, in bed. She can smell his scent on her pillow, feel his skin against hers. She wants to kiss him like there'll be no tomorrow (she knows there isn't).
Her senses are heightened, now. She can hear the person next to her, sense his heartbeat, taste Will's skin on the back of her tongue (or maybe that's just wishful thinking).
Will Anthros did this to her--he was saving her, he said. Saving her for what, she doesn't know. And maybe doesn't care.
Jamie knows he was lying, but there is still a part of her that loves him. That enjoys the scent of him and remembers his hands on her skin, his mouth on hers.
A part of her that reaches out for him, even as the larger part tries to remind her he is dead and gone.
The movement of her hand on the sheets wakes her fully, and Jamie is no longer floating with the wind pushing and pulling against her skin.
Someone is snoring and for a brief moment, joy and hate fill her, thinking it's Will. Then reality asserts itself and the joy fades.
Turning over, Jamie stares at Sarah Corvus, wondering how she'd gotten to this low pass. How she can still taste Sarah, now, still feel her hands and skin--rougher than Jamie had expected, but it hadn't mattered. She was rough, too, and neither of them could break the other.
Sleeping with the enemy. The woman who'd killed her lover, though he was the one who'd changed her life irrevocably.
As though she can sense Jamie's regard, Sarah's eyes flicker open. For just a moment, something lost and afraid stares at Jamie. Then the moment is gone and Sarah's defenses and mania are back, snapping into place like a new rubber-band.
"You should be sleeping."
"Not tired." Jamie replies, voice thick with sleep. That hate is still there, and she wonders if it bubbles over, now that her physical needs have been met. Now that she isn't playing with fire and life.
"I am." Tugging the blankets, Sarah pulls them free of Jamie and snuggles down, eyes drifting closed.
She's asleep again in moments, but Jamie can't follow her example. The sound of Sarah's snores punctuate the rest of the night as Jamie lays there, trying not to think.
If she thinks, she will remember how they got here. How Sarah pressed up against her, mouth hot and insistent. How Jamie couldn't get naked fast enough for Sarah's hands and mouth. How she slammed Sarah down into the coffee table, shattering it, and neither of them got a scratch. Fists pounding against each other, blood so heated Jamie thought she would burn up.
Every tactic she could think of, Sarah could counter. And vice versa, until they were wet with sweat and Jamie had Sarah on her knees (or maybe Sarah only let her think she'd won).
It wasn't hate, then. It was very little other than pure lust. Being able to move and feel without having to worry about damaging her partner (yespleasenow).
A shiver escapes her, and she tries to put those memories back in the box.
She thinks Sarah only stayed because she was tired.
Not that it matters. There is nothing between them, but hatred. Jamie discounts the shared bond of their respective modifications, the machines that run rampant through their bloodstreams changing them from human into something Jamie refuses to contemplate.
It's something Sarah has embraced whole-heartedly.
The train of thought stops there, leaving her in free-fall again. Don't think, don't feel--there's a pulled muscle from almost falling over the balcony--don't think.
Towards morning, she realizes how very utterly cold she is and rolls over. Wriggling backwards, she lifts the covers until she's spooned up against Sarah. Reaching behind herself, Jamie catches the sleeping woman's hand, tugging her arm over and around her waist.
Sarah shifts, her nose bumping the back of Jamie's neck, her breath warm against her skin.
This should be awkward. It should feel wrong, having Sarah pressed against her back, skin almost white-hot against Jamie's cold. But it doesn't. It's not home, and it's not a respite from the things that drive them both, but it's something that no one else can touch... or maybe she should go back to sleep and try to dream about Johnny Depp.
-f-
Fandom: newBionic Woman
Pairing: Jamie/Sarah, bit of Jamie/Will
Rating: PG13, if that. Vague references to sex and violences. Language.
Set: er. Vaguely around the next episode, with what might be spoilers? I think?
Length: 1000, barely.
Notes: Wrote this at work while trying not to kill people yesterday. Title is utterly stolen from 30StM.
Lost Myself Again
by ALC Punk!
look at the red, red changes in the sky... - 30 Seconds to Mars, 'Echelon'
Jamie is floating free. There's nothing but her in a vast empty space that seems to go on forever. Nothing echoes, and nothing rebounds. Everything is simply there.
Hello, she thinks. Instinctively, she keeps silent. Letting only her thought out. There are no echoes from other minds. No one replies.
Hello. Hello.
Answer me.
The dark replies with nothing and silence.
Jamie can feel the wind on her skin, suddenly. It's different than before, when she would stand on the quad and turn her face to the sun. She's more sensitive to it, now. Or perhaps more aware that she's alive. The wind buffets her, and she tries to turn against it, like she does when she runs.
She ran, once. Ran forever, it seemed and there was nothing to stop her, not even the wind.
Now, she just floats. Wherever she is.
Morbidly, she wonders if she is dead. If the last few days (weeks?) have been a lie. If she died that night, skull and body fractured by the will of Sarah Corvus and a Mack truck.
No.
She's not dead. There was, and is, too much pain for her to be dead. This is what life feels like.
Because he's dead.
Will is dead.
She's not sure whether the pain is real, though. Because even though he's dead, she has the feeling that she never really knew him at all.
He is dead, she repeats to herself as she sucks in a breath, almost conscious of the real world again.
There's someone next to her, in bed. She can smell his scent on her pillow, feel his skin against hers. She wants to kiss him like there'll be no tomorrow (she knows there isn't).
Her senses are heightened, now. She can hear the person next to her, sense his heartbeat, taste Will's skin on the back of her tongue (or maybe that's just wishful thinking).
Will Anthros did this to her--he was saving her, he said. Saving her for what, she doesn't know. And maybe doesn't care.
Jamie knows he was lying, but there is still a part of her that loves him. That enjoys the scent of him and remembers his hands on her skin, his mouth on hers.
A part of her that reaches out for him, even as the larger part tries to remind her he is dead and gone.
The movement of her hand on the sheets wakes her fully, and Jamie is no longer floating with the wind pushing and pulling against her skin.
Someone is snoring and for a brief moment, joy and hate fill her, thinking it's Will. Then reality asserts itself and the joy fades.
Turning over, Jamie stares at Sarah Corvus, wondering how she'd gotten to this low pass. How she can still taste Sarah, now, still feel her hands and skin--rougher than Jamie had expected, but it hadn't mattered. She was rough, too, and neither of them could break the other.
Sleeping with the enemy. The woman who'd killed her lover, though he was the one who'd changed her life irrevocably.
As though she can sense Jamie's regard, Sarah's eyes flicker open. For just a moment, something lost and afraid stares at Jamie. Then the moment is gone and Sarah's defenses and mania are back, snapping into place like a new rubber-band.
"You should be sleeping."
"Not tired." Jamie replies, voice thick with sleep. That hate is still there, and she wonders if it bubbles over, now that her physical needs have been met. Now that she isn't playing with fire and life.
"I am." Tugging the blankets, Sarah pulls them free of Jamie and snuggles down, eyes drifting closed.
She's asleep again in moments, but Jamie can't follow her example. The sound of Sarah's snores punctuate the rest of the night as Jamie lays there, trying not to think.
If she thinks, she will remember how they got here. How Sarah pressed up against her, mouth hot and insistent. How Jamie couldn't get naked fast enough for Sarah's hands and mouth. How she slammed Sarah down into the coffee table, shattering it, and neither of them got a scratch. Fists pounding against each other, blood so heated Jamie thought she would burn up.
Every tactic she could think of, Sarah could counter. And vice versa, until they were wet with sweat and Jamie had Sarah on her knees (or maybe Sarah only let her think she'd won).
It wasn't hate, then. It was very little other than pure lust. Being able to move and feel without having to worry about damaging her partner (yespleasenow).
A shiver escapes her, and she tries to put those memories back in the box.
She thinks Sarah only stayed because she was tired.
Not that it matters. There is nothing between them, but hatred. Jamie discounts the shared bond of their respective modifications, the machines that run rampant through their bloodstreams changing them from human into something Jamie refuses to contemplate.
It's something Sarah has embraced whole-heartedly.
The train of thought stops there, leaving her in free-fall again. Don't think, don't feel--there's a pulled muscle from almost falling over the balcony--don't think.
Towards morning, she realizes how very utterly cold she is and rolls over. Wriggling backwards, she lifts the covers until she's spooned up against Sarah. Reaching behind herself, Jamie catches the sleeping woman's hand, tugging her arm over and around her waist.
Sarah shifts, her nose bumping the back of Jamie's neck, her breath warm against her skin.
This should be awkward. It should feel wrong, having Sarah pressed against her back, skin almost white-hot against Jamie's cold. But it doesn't. It's not home, and it's not a respite from the things that drive them both, but it's something that no one else can touch... or maybe she should go back to sleep and try to dream about Johnny Depp.
-f-