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carcinogen) wrote2010-09-30 10:22 am
carcinogen) wrote2010-09-30 10:22 am
fic: star map (Star Trek XI)
star map
Star Trek XI; Nero(/Mandana).
270 words.
Nero considers the geometry of a failing star. Cold spots in the core, a stutter. He sucks on his teeth thoughtfully. Not all of them end their lives with light, but those that do are the brightest things that will ever be, a marker for countless worlds and journeymen, a candle in the dark.
Mandana, she was like that too; bright beyond his ability to bear it. Beautiful, and unaware of her beauty even as it drew on her body like an insistent hand, a soft weight guiding her through open doors that breathed cold air. It was a warning, maybe, a voice whispering in her ear: the world can’t bear to look at someone so lovely, not for long.
He thinks he might still know the shape of her, and all the textures. There is always the fear of forgetting; but even worse is the threat of inventing memories for his own sake. Like wishing for someone else, someone better. He will not allow it. There is no one else. He will forget if he must, but there will never be anyone else.
He remembers her smile but not the sound of her laughter; he remembers how he felt when she watched him but not the colour of her eyes. In pieces, she is going somewhere beyond the reach of his dreaming, just as her skin and her hair once went through his fingers. What a thing to recall, the feel of her, receding in icy ribbons of phantom tide, back into an endless night unmarked by stars.
She had such hard hands, he thinks fondly. And still, such a gentle touch.
Star Trek XI; Nero(/Mandana).
270 words.
Nero considers the geometry of a failing star. Cold spots in the core, a stutter. He sucks on his teeth thoughtfully. Not all of them end their lives with light, but those that do are the brightest things that will ever be, a marker for countless worlds and journeymen, a candle in the dark.
Mandana, she was like that too; bright beyond his ability to bear it. Beautiful, and unaware of her beauty even as it drew on her body like an insistent hand, a soft weight guiding her through open doors that breathed cold air. It was a warning, maybe, a voice whispering in her ear: the world can’t bear to look at someone so lovely, not for long.
He thinks he might still know the shape of her, and all the textures. There is always the fear of forgetting; but even worse is the threat of inventing memories for his own sake. Like wishing for someone else, someone better. He will not allow it. There is no one else. He will forget if he must, but there will never be anyone else.
He remembers her smile but not the sound of her laughter; he remembers how he felt when she watched him but not the colour of her eyes. In pieces, she is going somewhere beyond the reach of his dreaming, just as her skin and her hair once went through his fingers. What a thing to recall, the feel of her, receding in icy ribbons of phantom tide, back into an endless night unmarked by stars.
She had such hard hands, he thinks fondly. And still, such a gentle touch.
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Thanks so much for writing about Nero. I find myself craving more fic about him, and this was just perfect for that.
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