No characters were harmed in the making of this fic, but only because we ordered another plate of sweet potatoes.
Both the writers would like to apologize for this story being the sticky, slushy pile of sweet goo that it is. For all the hours that were spent deconstructing Marcus, it wasn't supposed to come out this romantic. Or maybe it was, because we'd finally nailed how JMS did it. Oh, yeah, and I blame it on the icon.
Disclaimer: The Great Maker thought them up. And he did it so beautifully, too. But they gave us this icon and said, "write!" so we did.
This story was written for the Iconography Challenge by Lindsay and Mar, and was beta'd by the beautiful Allison. This, which I think constitutes as some form of extenuating circumstances, was the icon we were given:
Darker Thoughts
White Star 2
and Adi
I pass by the free clinic, and I think of you. Something would have made me think of you, one way or another. But right now, this train of thought goes from the clinic to Stephen to you. And from you to everything Stephen had told me about you.
We are born into families, and if we are lucky we get to keep them for a long time, and if we are luckier we get to love them forever. Stephen told me how you lost yours. Your mother to suicide, your brother to a war you never got to fight. He was vague about your father, I suppose that's because you were as well. You volunteer very little about yourself, even to those you call friends. They know only that which you allow them to, or that which they have experienced with you.
Stephen's a wonderful gossip, but he can tell me very little about your love life. There was a man named Malcolm, he said, a few years ago. It ended badly, and there was nothing since, at least that he knows of. But I think I see the marks of fresh scars in your eyes, a pain sharper than one that could be caused by an old lover.
I see wounds there, more than just of love, maybe even more than everything I know of you. Or maybe I do know it all, he's really told me all, and it's you that's the missing piece of the puzzle. I know you're not as tough as you look, as you act, but maybe you're even a little bit of a woman under the armor. A little bit of a damsel in distress, perhaps? In need of a knight on a white horse?
I wonder why you joined Earthforce. Did you feel the need to continue a brother's quest as well? I wonder if you too have discovered the emptiness that fills you when you take on someone else's destiny. Do you ever feel as though you wear his face as a mask? Walk the steps laid down for his shoes? You don't seem to. You seem to have no regrets. Though convincing other people that you're doing what you were meant to do is usually easier than convincing yourself.
I stick my hand into your shadow, the past you carry on your back, the bottomless pit of anguish and despair. It comes out covered in the blood-red pain of your memories. The liquid that burns through your veins when you lie in bed at night, trying to forget long enough to sleep.
And when sleep finally comes, of what do you dream? Do you dream of the future or the past? Do you dream of ghosts reaching out from the shadows, or arms holding you tight, holding you close, keeping you safe? Do you dream at all?
I used to dream, you know. Of a home and a family. I don't know if you've ever dreamed of those. You're a career officer. I've seen those during the war, served with them. I don't think I understood those who gave their heart and soul to the military until I met you. But now I understand, I see you cling to your job as though you have nothing else left. Maybe because you have nothing else left.
I've heard the rumors that circulate through the station, they're practically legends by now, even if they've been exaggerated tenfold or a hundred-fold, they're still impressive. They say you drink and start bar fights. They say you finish them, as well. Are you angry at life or yourself? Do you feel that life is punishing you by destroying the ones around you? Is that why you isolate yourself?
I know what it feels like when everyone around you dies, everyone you love. Maybe you're as dangerous to be around as I am. So why do I feel I want to take that risk? Why do I want to imagine making you smile, making you laugh? I want to smooth away the worried crease between your eyes. I want to make your eyes sparkle.
I suppose I'm a romantic at heart. I want to be able to shield you. You'll resist, of course, because there's a facade to maintain. But I can see through it. I can sense how vulnerable you are, how lonely your nights get to be.
It's why I prowl around Down Below at odd hours of the night. Sure, it helps maintain contacts of the shadier kind, but that's only an excuse. Mostly, it's an escape from my quarters, from my thoughts. From myself. Down Below is good for that, losing yourself, I mean.
I want you to lose yourself in me. I want to make the world to go away. I want to make your sorrow dissipate. I want you to wash your imagined sins away, to feel reprieved. I want you to see the good in yourself, the good that I see in you. That everyone sees in you.
I have very little experience with romance. I don't know how to woo a woman, but I'm a quick study and a good observer. I will watch and learn if you just give me a chance. I will ask anyone who knows anything about you. I will work hard if that's what it takes.
I will go to the ends of the universe, walk through the dark places no one else will enter. It's my calling, my destiny now. It seems it's what the universe meant for me to do. It's been a long time since I wanted to share it with someone. And so, I will entangle your life with mine, so that what may come will come for both of us, and we will face it together.
I think I love you.