CHANCE ENCOUNTER
Mar. 17th, 2009 06:56 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nymeria_dwChance Encounter
(A Farscape fanfiction)
Author: Nymeria
Disclaimer: The Farscape universe and its characters do not belong to me - I'm just borrowing them for a little while
Rating: PG
Setting: Peacekeeper Wars
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Pain had abated a little, but it was still radiating fiercely from the wound, expanding in pounding waves.
Lying facedown on the ground, where she had been so unceremoniously dumped, she made another half-hearted attempt to get up: strength, of mind and body alike, failed her, and she slumped back, too tired to even care.
One corner of her brain retained enough energy to feel contempt for the state she was in: she had been in worse, far worse situations, and she had survived them, even thriving on the challenges they offered to her resourcefulness and survival instincts.
But not today.
Discovering she was still alive, despite the inner certainty that there had been very few chances of that, brought no joy or satisfaction.
No spurt of energy to drive her through the next steps, propel her forward.
She felt exhausted, worn out. Empty.
Neither because of the last few days' crazy-paced events, nor because of the complicated games she had been playing.
No, the physical and spiritual hollowness came from crumbled hopes, from the collapse of carefully crafted plans which had tumbled down all around her – beyond control.
She had always taken pride on her aptitude to steer her life, and others', in the required direction: hers was a superior mind, and she skillfully employed it to craft situations to her advantage, always pushing the envelope a little bit further, testing her abilities.
Honing them toward perfection.
Not this time.
This time something had not worked.
Failure.
A word she had steadfastly refused to consider as part of her vocabulary, and which now haunted her – the mental discomfort as intense as the physical pain she was unable to shunt aside.
She had relinquished part of her destiny to someone else – edging her bets, the conscious part of her mind called it.
Surrender, the unconscious' voice hissed with vicious spite, parading before her mind's eye all those instances in which she had willingly handed over control – her most prized possession – for a fleeting moment of…what?
Belonging? Togetherness?
Impossible!
Yet the pull had been overwhelming: she had tried to coat it with pragmatism, telling herself such a powerful alliance would turn to her advantage – but she had felt it inexorably draw her in like a magnet, beyond her ability, and resolve, to resist.
Letting it change her. Letting him change her.
Inside and out.
She still didn't know what had pulled her back from the brink, what had forced her to stop and look where she was headed – recoiling in surprised fright.
Overcompensation.
That's what the spiteful inner voice whispered: from one end to the other, ricocheting like a wildly flying projectile, she had struggled for balance. Again edging her bets.
But she had failed. Spectacularly so.
The gamble had backfired, leaving her with nothing at all: that she still had her life was of little consequence, considering the circumstances.
Considering the pain still lingering in the echo of those damning words.
<You have ruined something unique.>
Had she? Was that the intolerable truth which sapped her strength and willpower?
Suddenly afraid of finding the answer, she forced her consciousness outwards – anything was better than dwelling on that.
Unable to stand up, she resorted to crawling – without purpose or direction, just to obey the need to do something.
Taking charge once more of the chaos and devastation of her life, mirrored so sharply in the rubble surrounding her prone form.
That was when she caught a movement – a presence.
Raising her head she saw a gross, misshapen figure advancing toward her position, and recognized it, almost laughing out loud at the profound irony of such a chance encounter.
"Isn't it splendid when the makings of a new deal…come together?"
Splendid.
Not the word she would have used, no, but it was a starting point.
Planning had failed her. Let chance dictate her life for a while.
(A Farscape fanfiction)
Author: Nymeria
Disclaimer: The Farscape universe and its characters do not belong to me - I'm just borrowing them for a little while
Rating: PG
Setting: Peacekeeper Wars
=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=
Pain had abated a little, but it was still radiating fiercely from the wound, expanding in pounding waves.
Lying facedown on the ground, where she had been so unceremoniously dumped, she made another half-hearted attempt to get up: strength, of mind and body alike, failed her, and she slumped back, too tired to even care.
One corner of her brain retained enough energy to feel contempt for the state she was in: she had been in worse, far worse situations, and she had survived them, even thriving on the challenges they offered to her resourcefulness and survival instincts.
But not today.
Discovering she was still alive, despite the inner certainty that there had been very few chances of that, brought no joy or satisfaction.
No spurt of energy to drive her through the next steps, propel her forward.
She felt exhausted, worn out. Empty.
Neither because of the last few days' crazy-paced events, nor because of the complicated games she had been playing.
No, the physical and spiritual hollowness came from crumbled hopes, from the collapse of carefully crafted plans which had tumbled down all around her – beyond control.
She had always taken pride on her aptitude to steer her life, and others', in the required direction: hers was a superior mind, and she skillfully employed it to craft situations to her advantage, always pushing the envelope a little bit further, testing her abilities.
Honing them toward perfection.
Not this time.
This time something had not worked.
Failure.
A word she had steadfastly refused to consider as part of her vocabulary, and which now haunted her – the mental discomfort as intense as the physical pain she was unable to shunt aside.
She had relinquished part of her destiny to someone else – edging her bets, the conscious part of her mind called it.
Surrender, the unconscious' voice hissed with vicious spite, parading before her mind's eye all those instances in which she had willingly handed over control – her most prized possession – for a fleeting moment of…what?
Belonging? Togetherness?
Impossible!
Yet the pull had been overwhelming: she had tried to coat it with pragmatism, telling herself such a powerful alliance would turn to her advantage – but she had felt it inexorably draw her in like a magnet, beyond her ability, and resolve, to resist.
Letting it change her. Letting him change her.
Inside and out.
She still didn't know what had pulled her back from the brink, what had forced her to stop and look where she was headed – recoiling in surprised fright.
Overcompensation.
That's what the spiteful inner voice whispered: from one end to the other, ricocheting like a wildly flying projectile, she had struggled for balance. Again edging her bets.
But she had failed. Spectacularly so.
The gamble had backfired, leaving her with nothing at all: that she still had her life was of little consequence, considering the circumstances.
Considering the pain still lingering in the echo of those damning words.
<You have ruined something unique.>
Had she? Was that the intolerable truth which sapped her strength and willpower?
Suddenly afraid of finding the answer, she forced her consciousness outwards – anything was better than dwelling on that.
Unable to stand up, she resorted to crawling – without purpose or direction, just to obey the need to do something.
Taking charge once more of the chaos and devastation of her life, mirrored so sharply in the rubble surrounding her prone form.
That was when she caught a movement – a presence.
Raising her head she saw a gross, misshapen figure advancing toward her position, and recognized it, almost laughing out loud at the profound irony of such a chance encounter.
"Isn't it splendid when the makings of a new deal…come together?"
Splendid.
Not the word she would have used, no, but it was a starting point.
Planning had failed her. Let chance dictate her life for a while.
