Old fic: Farscape - Loss of Innocents
Jun. 29th, 2009 07:27 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
elliejaneBack in the day, I posted whatever Farscape fic I'd written to the Kansas forum (and transferred subsequently to TerraFirma). I've decided to migrate it over to LiveJournal and tag it, in an attempt to get all my fanfic in one place (not that I wrote much)! This will happen slowly, when I'm in the mood, lol. It's possible that one or two of my lovely flist will have seen them before, thusly, aplologies in advance for the repetition.
Title: Loss of Innocents
Fandom: Farscape
Rating: G
Words: 550
Setting: Roundabout the end of Season 2.
Disclaimer: Always theirs, never mine.
Date originally posted at Kansas forum: 6th April 2004
Summary: John Crichton is lost. In thought, perhaps, or memories. Or other places.
John Crichton is lost. In thought, perhaps, or memories. Or other places.
If you lose innocence can you ever get it back, he wonders? Does it leave an empty space, or does it just melt into a different awareness? Or is innocence somehow molded into something...baser?
He strokes a finger down the curve of a cheek, brushes delicately over fair eyelashes. Gilina had had innocence, he thought. Some kind of shinning belief in life, for all her peacekeeper training. There had been grime on her hands and sweat on her face but she stubbornly believed in him, in John Crichton. Had been innocent enough to think that loving him would not rock her world, not tear it from its foundations. He gives a mirthless laugh.
Innocent enough to believe, in the end, that Scorpius would not kill her.
His fingertip continues its trail, venturing briefly into the soft hair. He cups a palm against the cheek, smooth skin under bare hands. He can chart this face by touch, following its dips and sweeps, the obstinate jaw line, the gentle mouth. Places an almost tentative fingertip to a lip, feeling the softness there.
He lets himself shuffle through through a few more memories. Wonders whether the radiant Aeryn also had this innocence. Maybe she did, he thinks, even back then; following blindly, obeying orders given, trusting that they were the right orders, the right things to do. This becoming more - has she lost or gained?
He skims the lines of the brow, remembers the feel of a kiss there. Touches upon the eyes, which could show such vulnerability. Then caresses a thumb down the curves to rub gently at the equally vulnerable softness of the neck beneath the jaw. Realises it is almost as if he is trying to find a pulse. He shakes his head slightly.
Does innocence lie behind the eyes? Behind the facade that is shown to the world? Or does it shine in the face, daring the darkness to tarnish it?
Soon he will not see this smooth, innocent face. It will be gone, disappeared. He will still feel the clean, smooth curves under his hands but all there will be, all he will see, is a mask of a face, with pale, cold lines.
He sighs briefly with something like regret.
Others will look at him and see these worn, tired features. They will expect innocence to reside there still, but it will not. The man he once was would say he has been tarnished, tainted...poisoned. But innocence, John Crichton's kind of innocence, is not something to be valued in this place. That sliver of purity will gain him nothing but pain. Has already gained it.
He blinks few times and then stares steadily ahead. Stares into the mirror, shattered and broken. Reflecting back fragmented features; crushed silvered glass shimmering back a crushed mind, a disjointed face.
He smiles almost as crookedly as the reflection. Strokes a knuckle across the chin. Rubs a thumb over the wry mouth and feels the dichotomy of the soft flesh when all he can now see is the thinned blackened lips in the splinters of glass.
The thumb he rubs belongs to Scorpius' hand. He smiles with Scorpius' mouth.
Innocence is overrated.
There is none left in John Crichton any more.
fin
Title: Loss of Innocents
Fandom: Farscape
Rating: G
Words: 550
Setting: Roundabout the end of Season 2.
Disclaimer: Always theirs, never mine.
Date originally posted at Kansas forum: 6th April 2004
Summary: John Crichton is lost. In thought, perhaps, or memories. Or other places.
John Crichton is lost. In thought, perhaps, or memories. Or other places.
If you lose innocence can you ever get it back, he wonders? Does it leave an empty space, or does it just melt into a different awareness? Or is innocence somehow molded into something...baser?
He strokes a finger down the curve of a cheek, brushes delicately over fair eyelashes. Gilina had had innocence, he thought. Some kind of shinning belief in life, for all her peacekeeper training. There had been grime on her hands and sweat on her face but she stubbornly believed in him, in John Crichton. Had been innocent enough to think that loving him would not rock her world, not tear it from its foundations. He gives a mirthless laugh.
Innocent enough to believe, in the end, that Scorpius would not kill her.
His fingertip continues its trail, venturing briefly into the soft hair. He cups a palm against the cheek, smooth skin under bare hands. He can chart this face by touch, following its dips and sweeps, the obstinate jaw line, the gentle mouth. Places an almost tentative fingertip to a lip, feeling the softness there.
He lets himself shuffle through through a few more memories. Wonders whether the radiant Aeryn also had this innocence. Maybe she did, he thinks, even back then; following blindly, obeying orders given, trusting that they were the right orders, the right things to do. This becoming more - has she lost or gained?
He skims the lines of the brow, remembers the feel of a kiss there. Touches upon the eyes, which could show such vulnerability. Then caresses a thumb down the curves to rub gently at the equally vulnerable softness of the neck beneath the jaw. Realises it is almost as if he is trying to find a pulse. He shakes his head slightly.
Does innocence lie behind the eyes? Behind the facade that is shown to the world? Or does it shine in the face, daring the darkness to tarnish it?
Soon he will not see this smooth, innocent face. It will be gone, disappeared. He will still feel the clean, smooth curves under his hands but all there will be, all he will see, is a mask of a face, with pale, cold lines.
He sighs briefly with something like regret.
Others will look at him and see these worn, tired features. They will expect innocence to reside there still, but it will not. The man he once was would say he has been tarnished, tainted...poisoned. But innocence, John Crichton's kind of innocence, is not something to be valued in this place. That sliver of purity will gain him nothing but pain. Has already gained it.
He blinks few times and then stares steadily ahead. Stares into the mirror, shattered and broken. Reflecting back fragmented features; crushed silvered glass shimmering back a crushed mind, a disjointed face.
He smiles almost as crookedly as the reflection. Strokes a knuckle across the chin. Rubs a thumb over the wry mouth and feels the dichotomy of the soft flesh when all he can now see is the thinned blackened lips in the splinters of glass.
The thumb he rubs belongs to Scorpius' hand. He smiles with Scorpius' mouth.
Innocence is overrated.
There is none left in John Crichton any more.
fin
