Niki (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
niki_chidon) wrote2009-08-31 11:11 pm
niki_chidon) wrote2009-08-31 11:11 pm
Entry tags:
Cliche Bingo post 4: Slightly Longer Stories
Title: The Price of Our Profession
Cliché: Physical Violence
Fandom: Popular
Pairing: Sam/Brooke
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Not mine
Summary: The price of Sam's job
Words: 1399
She looked so small in the hospital bed — one could almost believe she was still in high school and not the professional woman in her thirties. She was still thin and her face looked so young in sleep. No sign of pain on her face now. The doctors had upped the dose of her pain medication.
To Brooke she was still beautiful, even though one of her eyes was black and her mouth was swollen. The sheet that covered her body hid the tape around her ribcage but the bandaged hands were lying on top of it. Her left wrist had been broken as well as some fingers, and the whole hand was covered in one cast.
The cast covered the boot mark that had been left on it.
There had been at least two men, the police had told her. They had surprised her but she had fought back, hard. They theorised she had broken some of those bones in her hand by hitting her assailants. The only reason she was still alive was because they had not wanted her dead.
Sam had always known this could happen. That's why she took self defence classes.
Fat lot of good those had done.
Brooke couldn't even hold her hand, fearing it might cause her further discomfort. She kept touching her cheek, her forehead, her shoulder—any place that looked unharmed. She had to keep touching her, to convince herself Sam was safe and still with her.
The police had taken Sam's case notes, on the off chance that the beating had been connected. Brooke was sure it was. Sam's cell phone and wallet had still been on her, only her camera was missing, so it was obvious it had not been a mugging.
Besides, who bothered to do that much damage if they didn't mean it?
Brooke had been so glad Sam had given up her dream of becoming a war correspondent. All romance from that profession had been stripped from that the day they moved in together for the first time.
They had been 21, and had been together for two years by then. They had both decided they had to try living alone, first, before settling down together. That meant they had the clutter from two separate lives to fit into the tiny flat they could afford with their combined salaries. They had both been in school still, but Sam was already selling stories on the side and Brooke had been working alongside her studies all along.
She remembered wondering about one photo Sam wanted to have on the wall. It looked like a regular field to Brooke, and not a very attractive one at that. She'd asked about it, and could still remember the conversation word by word, even after all these years.
“What's the deal with this ugly field?” she'd asked.
“It's by Robert Capa,” Sam had replied, distracted.
“And...?”
“Come on, even you have to know who he is!”
“Nope,” she'd declared carelessly.
“You know those photos from the Normandy invasion? Second World War?”
“The black and white stuff that's badly out of focus?”
“Them. He took them.”
“He's famous because he took pictures out of focus?”
“No, silly. The pictures were great when he took them but the magazine was so impatient to get them the assistant who was developing the film set the dryer too hot and melted most of if. Those pictures we have left were the only they could salvage.”
“Oh. I didn't know that. But what's the deal with the field?”
“It's the last photo he ever took before walking into a landmine,” Sam had explained and Brooke had turned to look at the picture with new eyes.
It made her shutter.
“That's creepy.”
“That's the price of our profession,” Sam had said quietly, and it hadn't sounded melodramatic at all, maybe because she sounded so matter-of-fact when she said it.
Brooke had though Sam would be safer back home. No landmines.
But Sam was still Sam, wanting to right the wrongs, ferret out the truth, and share it with the world. They had received more threats than they could count but no one had acted on them before.
At least, not this clearly. Brooke suddenly wondered how much Sam had hidden from her. How many times had she been threatened, face to face, how many times had she taken a cab home because she was scared, how many times had she wanted to stay home with her instead of going out because of who might be lurking out there?
Brooke fought hard not to be mad at her. After all, she didn't know she was right (though she was quite sure) and also knew Sam would only have been quiet to protect her.
What about protecting herself? What about not working alone? What about not poking every tiger?
But she knew Sam would never change, and deep down, she didn't want her to.
She was deep in thought, stroking Sam's forehead when she felt movement. Sam was moving her head from side to side, frowning. She was obviously feeling the pain again.
Brooke looked at the clock. The nurses had told her they couldn't give her more pain medication until four. It was not quite three o'clock. She hope Sam would stay asleep a while longer.
“Brooke?”
No such luck. Her eyes were open now. (Well, one was open, the other was sort of halfway open.)
“Hey, sweetheart,” she whispered tenderly.
“You okay?” Sam muttered.
“Me? I wasn't just beaten up by a pack of thugs. But yes, I'm okay, because the docs told me you'll live. And your writing hand should heal perfectly.” She tried to keep her tone light, not wanting the other woman see how worried she had been.
“Did they take my phone?” Sam asked suddenly.
“Who? The docs?”
“Brooke!”
“No, they didn't take anything but your camera.”
Inexplicably, this made Sam smile. “Gotcha,” she whispered.
“Sam?”
“When I noticed they were following me, I turned the recording function on on my phone. Even with all the evidence I had I could only have gotten them in trouble because of unpaid taxes—no evidence of the intimidation or physical violence. But now I've got that and those creeps are going down!”
Her triumphant speech was quiet and she had to pause every now and then to draw breath because the cracked ribs made her breathing laboured. But she was smiling as widely as her injuries allowed, and reaching for Brooke with the less damaged hand.
“You set them up?” she demanded, angry now.
“What? No! Brooke, no. I'd never look for this, I'd never scare you that way,” Sam hastened to explain.
She relented, and took her hand lightly. “Good. I was worried.”
“Sorry about that, I'll try my best not to end up here again.”
Her best. What would Sam say if she asked her to change sections and spend the rest of her life reporting society weddings and dog shows?
Then again, knowing Sam, she'd probably uncover an international crime syndicate using the shows as a cover.
“I know,” she replied, tenderly, and leaned closer to kiss her cheek. “I love you,” she whispered.
“Love you too,” Sam answered, already half asleep again.
Brooke waited until she was sleeping, then extracted her hand and went though Sam's things. She knew her first request when she woke up properly would be the whereabouts of her phone. Might as well make sure it had the evidence she wanted.
She checked that there was a new sound file, listened to the beginning of it but stopped before the beating started. She'd never want to hear that bit. But the police would, and with any luck the monsters would be behind bars before Sam had even left the hospital.
She smiled, suddenly. Trust Sam to use even being beaten up as a tool to get the story she wanted. The bad guys would go down, and Sam would recover. What else could she ask for?
Besides, dog shows were boring.
She slipped out to call their parents, to let them know their idiot of a daughter would live to fight another day.
- - - - -
Title: Outing Superman
Cliché: Secret identity
Fandom: Lois & Clark: The New Adventures of Superman
Pairing: Lois/Clark (implied)
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not mine
Summary: Someone wants to 'out' Superman, and they have a fool-proof plan.
Notes: Obvious, really, but I'm a sucker for coming out stories and this was an excuse to write one!
Warning: Bit of an Deus ex Machina in the end because I wrote myself into a corner.
Words: 1499
Clark had occasionally thought how much easier telling Lois about his secret would be if he had no other choice, if the situation – or the bad guy – took the choice out of his hands.
He'd always come to the conclusion that it would be worse, in the end, because then pissed off Lois would have the added grievance of him never coming clean about it on his own.
He also found these thoughts highly ironic now, as he found himself in just that situation, trapped inside the Planet newsroom (again), this time with most of his colleagues, at the mercy of a madman.
Madman with high-speed cameras, and Lois as a hostage.
He could move fast enough to get all the guns and not been seen with the naked eye. But the cameras would catch it, and they made automatic backups that were sent to an undisclosed location in the blink of an eye. So even if he could take the cameras, the information would be irretrievable. Of course, he could move fast enough to escape the cameras, too, but the newsroom wouldn't survive that.
He really was trapped.
They seemed to know his identity, too, or at least had made some pretty shrewd guesses. The set-up was such they were obviously expecting a rescue from within, from someone not in costume. Someone with something to lose. They just needed the proof. They didn't seem to want to kill him, they had no kryptonite. But Clark Kent could be killed even without.
Lois was shouting for the Superman to stay away. This only seemed to amuse the leader of the group. The audience was holding its collective breath but Clark saw Jimmy draw in air obviously preparing to shout.
The leader walked away from Lois, leaving her standing in the middle of the room, alone, and raised his gun to aim at her.
“You leave me no choice, Superman.”
And then he pulled the trigger.
There was a chorus of screams which ended when they realised Lois wasn't dead. Clark Kent was standing next to her, hand in the air, fist closed, only inches from her chest.
“Enough!” he said, and everyone recognised the commanding tone. This was Superman speaking. But the blue and red apparition was nowhere to be seen, what everyone saw was Clark Kent, with a stern look on his face, opening his fist and letting the dust fall to the ground.
He seemed taller, now, his posture straight and menacing, no sign of the farmboy reporter despite the suit and glasses.
“Well, well, well,” the leader of the group drawled. “You getting all this on film, boys?”
Even though he kept his eyes on the bad guy Clark was aware of Lois' dumbfounded expression, Jimmy's incredulity, and Perry's... sadness?
“I'm so sorry, Lois, this is not how I wanted you to find out,” he said, still not looking away.
“Want to give us a show, Superman?” the bad guy teased, making a suggestive movement with his gun.
Slowly, at human speed, Clark raised his glasses, stared intently at the gun and in a moment it was glowing red, falling on the floor with a yelp from the man.
“You forgot one thing,” Clark said. “I'm free to act now.”
He flew into action, too fast for anyone to see. They only saw the results: the men unarmed and tied down with whatever he could find for the purpose, the cameras a crumbling pile on the floor. Then he slowed down, and fixed his tie instinctively. He still hadn't bothered to change into his suit.
He didn't dare to meet anyone's eyes.
“The tapes,” he demanded with a steely voice, his arms crossed over his chest, in a pose everyone connected to his alter ego.
“The tapes!” he demanded again, taking a step closer, catching the leader by his shirt.
“You're Superman,” the man stuttered. “You can't hurt me.” Still, there was uncertainty in his eyes.
He let his own get even colder. “You forget, I am Clark Kent at the moment, and to all intents and purposes you have just killed me. I'm not exactly performing to my usual standard at the moment.”
The threat in his voice got him a stammered confession of a radio car lined with lead on the street in front of the Planet.
He let the man go, and was gone and back in a second. He was carrying the man from the van and his equipment. The man joined the others, and then he flew out of the window to toss all of the gear into the sun.
He hadn't stopped to feel at any point. He still couldn't look at his friends. If he did, he knew he would crumble. Clark Kent was dead. Again. And this time in a way that left his friends hating him and his family in danger.
“Could someone please call the cops?” he asked quietly, still not looking at anyone.
“But if we get them arrested they will talk!” Lois said, walking to him, and Clark risked a look at her face.
The only emotion he could read on her face was concern.
“What do you suggest, Lois? That I toss them all out of the window?” he hadn't meant to sound so sarcastic.
“No, son,” Perry said, stepping forward.
“Of course not, you're Superman, you can't do that.” Jimmy was also moving closer, face serious. “But we could,” he offered.
That forced a laugh out of Clark and he finally made himself to face them. The rest of the room faded as he turned to look at his closest friends in the eye.
He removed his glasses and stood there, smiling very faintly, waiting for their response.
“I am going to be so mad at you later,” Lois threatened. “But right now we have more important things to do.”
“What can we do, Lois? What is there to do? I have to take these men to the police station, and then I need to see to the safety of my parents.”
“Maybe we could... you know, not tell anyone what we saw?” Jimmy suggested, hesitantly.
“Jimmy, this is a newsroom. Even if the Planet wouldn't publish the story, somehow it would leak. It's too good to not sell. Ralph's recorder is running as we speak,” he finished, shrugging.
“How do you... oh, right. Hand it over,” Perry demanded.
“What are you going to do, son?” he asked, after fixing a hard stare at his reporters.
“I don't know. I'm dead, you see. Clark Kent is who I am, Superman is just what I can do. But I doubt I can be Clark Kent anymore, and... which one do you think the world needs more? I can't just do what I did for years and more somewhere else, to be someone else. Besides, if I just disappeared, all of you would be in danger, to be used by mad men like them to flush me out.”
Silently, Lois took his hand, and squeezed it. He squeezed back. At least his friends were still there for him.
Suddenly there was as small voice of someone clearing their throat by the elevators. They all turned to face a small man in an old-fashioned suit smiling at them.
“I'm afraid it's not quite yet time for your secret to come out, Clark,” he said.
“Who are you?”
“Wells, H.G. Wells. We have met, but you don't remember it. We travelled in time together.”
“But of course you did,” Perry said, sitting down on the nearest chair.
“Come on, we have to fix it. I'll take you back a few hours and that'll take care of it.”
“Okay, let's say that I believe you. You can make this all not happen?” Clark checked.
“Precisely,” the man nodded, smiling as if to a particularly bright pupil.
“But... I kind of like my friends knowing.”
“We're honoured, son,” Perry got up again. “But even though it feels like rejecting a precious gift, I think protecting you is more important. You'll tell us one day, when you are ready.”
“It is quite a burden,” Clark admitted.
Jimmy shook his head. “That's not why. We'd carry it for you, we'd keep you safe. But if we have to forget for them to forget,” he nodded towards the rest of the staff and the bad guys. “Well, we'll take it.”
“Clark,” Lois said, pulling him closer from the hand she was still holding. “Tell me soon,” she whispered, reaching to place a soft kiss on his lips.
After a final look at his friends, accompanied with a smile he hope conveyed just how grateful he was for their support, he turned around and followed the little man out.
Title: Effacement
Cliché: Amnesia
Fandom: Earth 2
Pairing: John Danziger/Devon Adair
Rating: R
Disclaimer: If it was mine it would be out on Region 2 DVD!
Summary: John Danziger wakes up in a cave, with a very pregnant Devon Adair, and no idea how any of that happened.
Notes: as the show is not out as R2 it's been some time since I've seen it... sorry for the obvious mistakes
Words: 3731
…
“John! Come on, help me out here.”
The words made no sense, the voice was not familiar, but the ground was hard and the rain was cold, and somehow, with the aid of the owner of the voice, he managed to get up and take a few steps into somewhere dry before everything was black again.
…
“John? Are you awake?”
His head ached, and opening his eyes took a bit more effort than he was used to. Must have been quite a party. The dim light of the... cave? was enough to hurt his eyes, and what he saw confused him even more.
A woman... damn, Devon Adair. The leader of the damn-fool expedition into G889. She didn't look like the distant director of the Adair Industries, or a high and mighty leader, she looked... ruffled, worried – and very pregnant. When did that happen?
“You worried me, John,” she said, smiling, and he realised she was holding his hand. He didn't even remember when they had advanced to the whole first name stage.
“Wha... Where are we?” he managed to get out with a gravelly voice.
She didn't answer before helping him to drink some water from a canteen. She then smoothed his hair back from his forehead with a familiar gesture.
“I found a cave near where we crashed. I had to get you away from the rain.”
“Crash?” His voice was a bit stronger now, but nothing she said seemed to make any sense.
“You don't remember? Don't worry, the rail seems to be fine. I just didn't think it was...” She frowned at his expression. “What?”
“We're down on the planet? G889?”
“Where else? John, are you alright?”
“Why am I on the planet, Adair?”
Her face was shocked. “You mean... what's the last thing you remember?”
“A... an explosion? On the ship... We were trying to find a... True!”
He tried to sit up despite the pain but she stopped him.
“True is fine! She's safe at the colony.”
“Colony?”
“Oh dear,” she whispered, biting her lower lip.
“Look... I realise it's been a while since the explosion,” John started, gesturing towards her stomach. “So are you ready to fill me in?”
He was getting restless, fidgeting a little on the rough ground and she rested her hand on his chest, then drew it back as if burnt.
She obviously didn't know how to behave around him at the moment.
He raised his hands to run them over his face and a piece of metal around one of the fingers caught his attention. A... ring. On his ring finger. He stared at the thick band of something that looked like industrial steel.
His gaze widened.
“After spending the best part of a year fixing and tending to the underside of the truck you said it was probably the most expensive piece of metal in the planet,” she explained, smiling a little.
His eyes moved, and she obligingly raised her own left hand. He was too numb by now to be really surprised to see a matching ring there. He swallowed. How the hell did an Adair get hitched with a drone? How did he marry someone when Ellie...
“Tell me,” he implored hoarsely.
She did. For the best part of an hour she explained about the crash, the survivors, their struggles...
“Your son?” he asked, suddenly remembering he was a syndrome child.
“Completely cured,” she answered, unable to stop the smile that accompanied the idea. The smile turned sad when she went on, quietly: “He calls you 'dad'.”
John closed his eyes, desperate to remember, feeling like he was still unconscious but not sure whether in a dream or a nightmare.
“Tell me,” he said again.
She told him about her decision to lead the group to the seashore, where the colonists would arrive, of his challenge to her leadership, of their fights, their adventures, of betrayal and friendship. She was honest even about her own mistakes, not sparing him of his. Through it all he could follow the thread of growing respect and friendship.
“How did we...?” He made a sweeping gesture with his ringed hand towards her stomach. She blushed.
“Adair? Wait, what do I call you?” he asked sheepishly.
“Devon,” she replied, smiling. “Or Dev. You were the first one who ever did. That's... another story. Are you sure you're up to talking?”
“What happened, anyway? I mean, now. Why are we out here on our own?”
She blushed. “We just... wanted a few days for ourselves. Without the kids. You know, like... a honeymoon.”
“Oh... Oh.”
“We too the rail, planned to camp for a few nights... then this storm started, and... I think a lightening struck a tree next to us because the next thing I knew we'd been hit by a burning branch, you were unconscious, and...”
“Are you alright?” he interrupted.
“Yes, you... you shielded me with your body, took the blow. The rain was pouring down painfully by then but luckily I see this cave, could rouse you enough to make it here... then you passed out again. Our gear is damaged somehow, and I couldn't contact the Colony...” her voice told expressively of her worry, one she must still feel. After all, he wasn't... quite himself at the moment. At least, not the 'him' she remembered.
“My head aches a bit, like after an all-night drinking binge. And my muscles hurt. But I think that's it, except for, you know, my memory.”
He could almost believe she was the one who was crazy, was making things up, but she was pregnant, so time had definitely passed from what he remembered. And the look on her face was definitely loving concern, something he had never seen before.
“Tell me,” he asked again, and this time his tone clearly indicated he meant something much more personal.
She had been so angry. She didn't even remember what the fight had been about but it had been going on for hours, fuelled by their frustration... the reason for it she had had to re-examine when their whispered argument – everyone else was sleeping already so they had taken their argument into the woods – had... transformed.
She didn't know who kissed who first, or when the anger turned into blazing lust but without conscious decision they were suddenly devouring each other, his stubble against her face an uncontrollable turn on, his hands, oh god, his hands... she couldn't get close enough, pulling his hard body closer, letting him crush her against the tree behind her, rubbing her body against him... his hands on her behind, raising her, and she wrapped her legs around him, closer, closer, pressing her aching need against his hard masculinity.
They were tearing at each others' clothes, his rough panting breath loud in her ear, muffling her moans against his shoulder... And then he was pushing into her, filling the aching emptiness, so rough it hurt but she needed it too much to care, met him thrust for thrust, bracing against the tree. Close, closer... her head banging against the tree as the orgasm shook her like an explosion and then he was thrusting even deeper, harder, and then he was coming, too.
Suddenly she became aware of her surroundings, the cool night air, the camp, the tree, John... John. They disentangled, pulling up their clothes, not meeting each other's eyes. Oh god, what had they done?
“I...” She cleared her throat. “Good night,” she mumbled before slipping away.
Her legs were wobbly, she felt raw, and he didn't try to stop her.
Neither one of them ever referred to the fight – or its explosive finish – again.
“That's it? Things just went back to normal after that?”
“Well, hardly normal. We were both avoiding each other. Not hostile... wary. We didn't even dare to fight. The others were actually worried but since we seemed to be co-operating better than before...”
“Really?”
“Honestly? We were both pussyfooting around, careful not to start even the smallest argument.”
“I see. But...?”
“Then I got sick.”
Third day of nausea and she knew she wasn't wrong. She recognised the symptoms from when she had been expecting Uly. Tender breasts, nausea, sensitivity to smells, and all the little things that wouldn't mean anything on their own but together amounted to a frightening truth.
Of all the stupid, irresponsible things she had ever done...
She didn't know what to do, who to tell. John deserved to know, but how would he react with True's mother still alive and left behind? The doc would need to know to help her... and the others would find out sooner or later. How would that affect their attitude toward her?
She still hadn't figured out how to tell John when he walked on her as she was throwing up, safely away from the camp. His worry soon turned into comprehension when he met her guilty look. He stood back up, his hands raised in front of him, palms out, as if warding off an attack. He backed away slowly.
It was Alonzo who found her, still weak after her bout of sickness and with tears drying on her face. He carried her into the med tent past the worried faces of the others. Seeing her discomfort, Julia made everyone else leave, even Yale and Uly.
Julia was staring at her instruments in confusion when John entered the tent. He went straight to Devon.
“I'm sorry I ran,” he said quietly, taking her hand and sitting down next to her lying form. “You're not alone.”
Devon only had time to smile in response before Julia turned and cleared her throat.
“Well... congratulations,” she said warily.
Apparently her confusion had cleared some with the arrival of a potential, no, make that likely, father.
“Everything's fine, then?” John asked, worried.
“Yes, as far as I can tell. I can give you something for the nausea, Devon, and we need to increase your food portion but other than that...”
“I don't think I'm ready for the others to know just yet. It would... change the way they look at me and we need... I need to be a leader for now.”
She turned to face John. “We shouldn't have... I mean, the timing couldn't be worse... but I wasn't thinking, I...”
John snorted in amusement, obviously realising she didn't regret the act itself, only its unplanned consequences.
“Let's face it, there wasn't much thinking involved,” he said dryly and she blushed.
“Well,” Julia decided to ignore the revelation and address Devon's earlier request. “I could just say that you are anaemic, everyone will readily believe that the way you look, and that we need to get more nutrition in you. That will explain the initial rise in your weight, too, but before long it will be too obvious ignore. And there could be other signs the women at least might be able to pick up.”
“I don't know. I wasn't very moody when I was expecting Uly, and can probably keep things low key all thorough the first trimester and well into the second.”
“Well, that's good.”
She noticed their shared looks then, and cleared her throat again. “I'll... let you two have some privacy.”
She left, and Devon turned to look at John. She noticed he was still holding her hand so he couldn't be too upset with her.
“John... I'm sorry,” she said simply.
“Don't be. It's not like you planned this... Right?” he checked with exaggerated suspicion that made her laugh.
“No,” she said, smiling, but turned serious right after. “What are we going to do?”
John sighed. “I don't know. But I'm here for you. I know I wouldn't be your first choice for a father of your child but I want to help and...”
“No,” Devon said and he was shocked into silence. She hastened to explain. “I mean yes, you would be. My first choice.” Then, trying to lighten the mood again, finished with: “At least under the circumstances!”
There wasn't much choice in G899, after all, but she knew he'd understand she didn't really mean it. She had to make sure, though.
“John, you have to know I respect you more than anyone here, I like you... and I'm immensely attracted to you.”
There, it was said. Now he could throw it in her face if he wanted to.
“You have to know the feeling's mutual,” John said quietly, then grinned. “After all, you carry the evidence,” he said, placing his other hand on her still flat stomach.
She covered it with her own hand. “Oh, John. We're going to have a baby.”
“And that's it?” John asked, looking at Devon, now resting her hand on her not-so-flat stomach.
“Well, that was the beginning. We managed to keep it hidden for weeks – Julia had explained about my anaemia and everyone kept feeding me. And after they noticed how protective you had suddenly become they figured it was something more serious than we were telling, and kept trying to stop me from over-working myself. It was almost worse that after I came back after the cold sleep!”
She had explained about that, too, briefly, so John just nodded and asked her to go on.
“And... us?”
“We... we were not together. But we weren't fighting so much anymore, so we used to have these long conversations and I believe I fully only got to know you then.”
She was silent for a moment, as if lost in a memory.
It was one of those nights again. She woke up too early, needing to relieve herself, feeling nauseated... She was sitting by the fire pit, slowly sipping something Julia had determined was closest she could get to weak tea on the planet. Whatever it was, it calmed her stomach.
At some point, John joined her, and they watched the sun coming up in silence. She leaned into his shoulder, and he wrapped his arm around her – it was that kind of moment.
“Dev... I don't want to push you into anything, but I want you to think about something.”
“Yes?”
“When we get to New Pacifica... I'm going to ask you to marry me.” He raised his hand to stop her from speaking. “No, don't say anything now. Just... think about it.”
She did. The rest of their journey was dotted with new discoveries, new threats, new dangers, new surprises, new adventures and even new friends.
And then they reached their destination. The truck had finally died a few kilometres back so they had decided to push on with a light load, certain they were close. When they climbed over a steep rise and first glanced the sea... It was a magical moment.
They were running towards the shore (well, Dev was forbidden to run but she was in the rail so it didn't matter) and when they reached it they were all laughing and hugging and frolicking on the sand like children.
Dev pulled John into a hug, smiled and met his eyes. “Yes,” she said.
“Dev?”
“John... yes,” she repeated, and this time he got it.
“Yeah?” he checked, his own smile widening.
“Yeah,” she replied, letting her happiness out in the form of laughter.
He pulled her closer, and was soon spinning her around like a child, joining in on her laughter, and then he kissed her, there in the middle of everyone.”
“We didn't actually get around marrying until much later when we had some sort of permanent colony established and houses built. Then we celebrated our new home and our wedding at the same time and, well, then we left the kids with Yale and came here...” she let her voice die down and showed her worry on her face.
“I'm sorry,” John said suddenly. She turned to look at him. “Some honeymoon, huh. I'm sorry I did this to you.”
“It's not like you did it on purpose. Right?”
The laughter was therapeutic.
“So, how far are we from the others?”
“A couple of hours ride.”
“You say we can't contact the others. How long would it take for them tom start worrying?”
“Well, they promised not to bother us for a day or two but I think then they'd try to reach us – they know we'd want to check up on the kids.”
“The kids... How are they handling all this?” He did the 'ring-baby-us' wave again.
“Surprisingly well. You know, you're the closest thing to a father Uly has ever had, and when True realised I wasn't trying to take you from her she relented, too, and we've become friends.
“Friends?”
“I told her I wouldn't try to take her mother's place but that I'd always be there for her in any capacity she wanted or needed me to. I love your girl, John,” she finished quietly, obviously realising that in some sense True would always be the most important person in his life.
He awarded her reassurance with a smile.
“I'm pretty sure you shouldn't be trekking for hours in your condition but if I were to go get help...”
“No, John. We don't know how badly you've been hurt. You can't go anywhere alone!”
“But can we stay here?”
“Why not? It's dry, warm, and safe from the elements. We have enough food for a week, we were supposed to stay on our own for a few days, remember? We're well stocked.”
“Then what?”
“I know it's a hard position for both of us – but we wait for rescue.”
It came sooner than either one could have hoped. They woke up the next day to Julia's frantic shouts (well, Dev recognised the voice and informed John).
“In here!”
“Thank goodness you are safe!” she exclaimed, rushing in, diaglove ready. “We were worried about the storm, and when we couldn't reach you on the gear...”
“It broke in the crash.”
“Crash? Are you alright?”
“Lightening struck a tree next to us and we went tumbling – Julia, John is suffering from amnesia.”
“Amnesia?” she asked, kneeling down next to John who was looking at her, trying to fit her into everything Devon had told him.
“Dr Heller, I presume,” he drawled.
“You don't remember me?”
“Nope, the last year is all blank.”
“Is he forming new memories normally?”
“Yes, I think so.” Devon frowned.
“Well, I do remember last night,” John offered. “And before that the crash. I mean the explosion in space, not this recent crash.”
“But before the ship you remember everything?” It was Julia's turn to frown.
“Yep.”
“That's odd. Did you hit your head?”
That was the moment Alonzo walked in, with a puzzled look on his face.
“How did we get here, Julia?” he asked.
“Not funny,” Julia snapped.
“Danz? Dev? Why did we decide to crash their honeymoon?” he sounded sincerely confused and Julia got up to face him.
“You really don't remember?”
“I remember... having dinner with Yale and the kids after we'd wished the lovebirds off, and then – puff – we're here.”
“Didn't know amnesia was contagious,” John said.
“On this planet...” Julia just said and moved closer to examine her husband.
“What's that on your hands?” she asked, and they all looked at the black powder that was staining his fingers.
“Dunno,” he said, then raised the hand closer to his face and sniffed. He frowned, shook his head, and stared at Julia in confusion.
“How did we get here, Jules?”
“Didn't we do this bit already?”
“What bit? Danz, Dev... what are you doing in here?”
After careful and cautious studies Julie concluded that the cause for the amnesia was the ash from the tree that had burnt down after the lightening struck it. Fresh branches did nothing but the burnt remnants seemed to cause immediate loss of memory. Without further studies Julie couldn't say what determined the amount of lost time or whether John would ever regain his lost year.
They transported him back to the colony and into the newly-finished hospital, where Julia ran more tests and Dev took residence by his bedside (his other injuries had required bed rest despite his protests).
True and Uly were regular visitors too, and John could see Dev had spoken the truth when telling about her current relationship with True. The girl had obviously softened a lot towards the older woman.
John was also almost certain she had almost called Devon 'mother' when they had returned, safe and sound. Well, mostly.
John woke up, blinking, confused about where he was. White walls, real bed... hospital? Dev was asleep on a chair next to him, looking uncomfortable.
“Are you out of your shanking mind?” he had yelled before having time to consider, and Dev woke with a start.
“What?”
“What are you thinking, sitting cooped up like that? It can't be good for the baby.”
Dev merely stared at him, then suddenly started to smile, a beaming, happy smile. “John?”
“Dev?” he replied with sarcasm.
“You're back!” she exclaimed, throwing her arms around his neck.
“What?” he had time to ask before the memories started crashing in.
“Oh god, Dev” he hugged her closer, as if to protect her (or himself) from the horror he remembered. “Oh, love, I'm so sorry I put you through that,” he whispered against her hair.
Her tears were running against his neck, and he pulled her closer.
“I'm here now. I'm back.”
Cliché: Physical Violence
Fandom: Popular
Pairing: Sam/Brooke
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Not mine
Summary: The price of Sam's job
Words: 1399
She looked so small in the hospital bed — one could almost believe she was still in high school and not the professional woman in her thirties. She was still thin and her face looked so young in sleep. No sign of pain on her face now. The doctors had upped the dose of her pain medication.
To Brooke she was still beautiful, even though one of her eyes was black and her mouth was swollen. The sheet that covered her body hid the tape around her ribcage but the bandaged hands were lying on top of it. Her left wrist had been broken as well as some fingers, and the whole hand was covered in one cast.
The cast covered the boot mark that had been left on it.
There had been at least two men, the police had told her. They had surprised her but she had fought back, hard. They theorised she had broken some of those bones in her hand by hitting her assailants. The only reason she was still alive was because they had not wanted her dead.
Sam had always known this could happen. That's why she took self defence classes.
Fat lot of good those had done.
Brooke couldn't even hold her hand, fearing it might cause her further discomfort. She kept touching her cheek, her forehead, her shoulder—any place that looked unharmed. She had to keep touching her, to convince herself Sam was safe and still with her.
The police had taken Sam's case notes, on the off chance that the beating had been connected. Brooke was sure it was. Sam's cell phone and wallet had still been on her, only her camera was missing, so it was obvious it had not been a mugging.
Besides, who bothered to do that much damage if they didn't mean it?
Brooke had been so glad Sam had given up her dream of becoming a war correspondent. All romance from that profession had been stripped from that the day they moved in together for the first time.
They had been 21, and had been together for two years by then. They had both decided they had to try living alone, first, before settling down together. That meant they had the clutter from two separate lives to fit into the tiny flat they could afford with their combined salaries. They had both been in school still, but Sam was already selling stories on the side and Brooke had been working alongside her studies all along.
She remembered wondering about one photo Sam wanted to have on the wall. It looked like a regular field to Brooke, and not a very attractive one at that. She'd asked about it, and could still remember the conversation word by word, even after all these years.
“What's the deal with this ugly field?” she'd asked.
“It's by Robert Capa,” Sam had replied, distracted.
“And...?”
“Come on, even you have to know who he is!”
“Nope,” she'd declared carelessly.
“You know those photos from the Normandy invasion? Second World War?”
“The black and white stuff that's badly out of focus?”
“Them. He took them.”
“He's famous because he took pictures out of focus?”
“No, silly. The pictures were great when he took them but the magazine was so impatient to get them the assistant who was developing the film set the dryer too hot and melted most of if. Those pictures we have left were the only they could salvage.”
“Oh. I didn't know that. But what's the deal with the field?”
“It's the last photo he ever took before walking into a landmine,” Sam had explained and Brooke had turned to look at the picture with new eyes.
It made her shutter.
“That's creepy.”
“That's the price of our profession,” Sam had said quietly, and it hadn't sounded melodramatic at all, maybe because she sounded so matter-of-fact when she said it.
Brooke had though Sam would be safer back home. No landmines.
But Sam was still Sam, wanting to right the wrongs, ferret out the truth, and share it with the world. They had received more threats than they could count but no one had acted on them before.
At least, not this clearly. Brooke suddenly wondered how much Sam had hidden from her. How many times had she been threatened, face to face, how many times had she taken a cab home because she was scared, how many times had she wanted to stay home with her instead of going out because of who might be lurking out there?
Brooke fought hard not to be mad at her. After all, she didn't know she was right (though she was quite sure) and also knew Sam would only have been quiet to protect her.
What about protecting herself? What about not working alone? What about not poking every tiger?
But she knew Sam would never change, and deep down, she didn't want her to.
She was deep in thought, stroking Sam's forehead when she felt movement. Sam was moving her head from side to side, frowning. She was obviously feeling the pain again.
Brooke looked at the clock. The nurses had told her they couldn't give her more pain medication until four. It was not quite three o'clock. She hope Sam would stay asleep a while longer.
“Brooke?”
No such luck. Her eyes were open now. (Well, one was open, the other was sort of halfway open.)
“Hey, sweetheart,” she whispered tenderly.
“You okay?” Sam muttered.
“Me? I wasn't just beaten up by a pack of thugs. But yes, I'm okay, because the docs told me you'll live. And your writing hand should heal perfectly.” She tried to keep her tone light, not wanting the other woman see how worried she had been.
“Did they take my phone?” Sam asked suddenly.
“Who? The docs?”
“Brooke!”
“No, they didn't take anything but your camera.”
Inexplicably, this made Sam smile. “Gotcha,” she whispered.
“Sam?”
“When I noticed they were following me, I turned the recording function on on my phone. Even with all the evidence I had I could only have gotten them in trouble because of unpaid taxes—no evidence of the intimidation or physical violence. But now I've got that and those creeps are going down!”
Her triumphant speech was quiet and she had to pause every now and then to draw breath because the cracked ribs made her breathing laboured. But she was smiling as widely as her injuries allowed, and reaching for Brooke with the less damaged hand.
“You set them up?” she demanded, angry now.
“What? No! Brooke, no. I'd never look for this, I'd never scare you that way,” Sam hastened to explain.
She relented, and took her hand lightly. “Good. I was worried.”
“Sorry about that, I'll try my best not to end up here again.”
Her best. What would Sam say if she asked her to change sections and spend the rest of her life reporting society weddings and dog shows?
Then again, knowing Sam, she'd probably uncover an international crime syndicate using the shows as a cover.
“I know,” she replied, tenderly, and leaned closer to kiss her cheek. “I love you,” she whispered.
“Love you too,” Sam answered, already half asleep again.
Brooke waited until she was sleeping, then extracted her hand and went though Sam's things. She knew her first request when she woke up properly would be the whereabouts of her phone. Might as well make sure it had the evidence she wanted.
She checked that there was a new sound file, listened to the beginning of it but stopped before the beating started. She'd never want to hear that bit. But the police would, and with any luck the monsters would be behind bars before Sam had even left the hospital.
She smiled, suddenly. Trust Sam to use even being beaten up as a tool to get the story she wanted. The bad guys would go down, and Sam would recover. What else could she ask for?
Besides, dog shows were boring.
She slipped out to call their parents, to let them know their idiot of a daughter would live to fight another day.
- - - - -
Title: Outing Superman
Cliché: Secret identity
Fandom: Lois & Clark: The New Adventures of Superman
Pairing: Lois/Clark (implied)
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not mine
Summary: Someone wants to 'out' Superman, and they have a fool-proof plan.
Notes: Obvious, really, but I'm a sucker for coming out stories and this was an excuse to write one!
Warning: Bit of an Deus ex Machina in the end because I wrote myself into a corner.
Words: 1499
Clark had occasionally thought how much easier telling Lois about his secret would be if he had no other choice, if the situation – or the bad guy – took the choice out of his hands.
He'd always come to the conclusion that it would be worse, in the end, because then pissed off Lois would have the added grievance of him never coming clean about it on his own.
He also found these thoughts highly ironic now, as he found himself in just that situation, trapped inside the Planet newsroom (again), this time with most of his colleagues, at the mercy of a madman.
Madman with high-speed cameras, and Lois as a hostage.
He could move fast enough to get all the guns and not been seen with the naked eye. But the cameras would catch it, and they made automatic backups that were sent to an undisclosed location in the blink of an eye. So even if he could take the cameras, the information would be irretrievable. Of course, he could move fast enough to escape the cameras, too, but the newsroom wouldn't survive that.
He really was trapped.
They seemed to know his identity, too, or at least had made some pretty shrewd guesses. The set-up was such they were obviously expecting a rescue from within, from someone not in costume. Someone with something to lose. They just needed the proof. They didn't seem to want to kill him, they had no kryptonite. But Clark Kent could be killed even without.
Lois was shouting for the Superman to stay away. This only seemed to amuse the leader of the group. The audience was holding its collective breath but Clark saw Jimmy draw in air obviously preparing to shout.
The leader walked away from Lois, leaving her standing in the middle of the room, alone, and raised his gun to aim at her.
“You leave me no choice, Superman.”
And then he pulled the trigger.
There was a chorus of screams which ended when they realised Lois wasn't dead. Clark Kent was standing next to her, hand in the air, fist closed, only inches from her chest.
“Enough!” he said, and everyone recognised the commanding tone. This was Superman speaking. But the blue and red apparition was nowhere to be seen, what everyone saw was Clark Kent, with a stern look on his face, opening his fist and letting the dust fall to the ground.
He seemed taller, now, his posture straight and menacing, no sign of the farmboy reporter despite the suit and glasses.
“Well, well, well,” the leader of the group drawled. “You getting all this on film, boys?”
Even though he kept his eyes on the bad guy Clark was aware of Lois' dumbfounded expression, Jimmy's incredulity, and Perry's... sadness?
“I'm so sorry, Lois, this is not how I wanted you to find out,” he said, still not looking away.
“Want to give us a show, Superman?” the bad guy teased, making a suggestive movement with his gun.
Slowly, at human speed, Clark raised his glasses, stared intently at the gun and in a moment it was glowing red, falling on the floor with a yelp from the man.
“You forgot one thing,” Clark said. “I'm free to act now.”
He flew into action, too fast for anyone to see. They only saw the results: the men unarmed and tied down with whatever he could find for the purpose, the cameras a crumbling pile on the floor. Then he slowed down, and fixed his tie instinctively. He still hadn't bothered to change into his suit.
He didn't dare to meet anyone's eyes.
“The tapes,” he demanded with a steely voice, his arms crossed over his chest, in a pose everyone connected to his alter ego.
“The tapes!” he demanded again, taking a step closer, catching the leader by his shirt.
“You're Superman,” the man stuttered. “You can't hurt me.” Still, there was uncertainty in his eyes.
He let his own get even colder. “You forget, I am Clark Kent at the moment, and to all intents and purposes you have just killed me. I'm not exactly performing to my usual standard at the moment.”
The threat in his voice got him a stammered confession of a radio car lined with lead on the street in front of the Planet.
He let the man go, and was gone and back in a second. He was carrying the man from the van and his equipment. The man joined the others, and then he flew out of the window to toss all of the gear into the sun.
He hadn't stopped to feel at any point. He still couldn't look at his friends. If he did, he knew he would crumble. Clark Kent was dead. Again. And this time in a way that left his friends hating him and his family in danger.
“Could someone please call the cops?” he asked quietly, still not looking at anyone.
“But if we get them arrested they will talk!” Lois said, walking to him, and Clark risked a look at her face.
The only emotion he could read on her face was concern.
“What do you suggest, Lois? That I toss them all out of the window?” he hadn't meant to sound so sarcastic.
“No, son,” Perry said, stepping forward.
“Of course not, you're Superman, you can't do that.” Jimmy was also moving closer, face serious. “But we could,” he offered.
That forced a laugh out of Clark and he finally made himself to face them. The rest of the room faded as he turned to look at his closest friends in the eye.
He removed his glasses and stood there, smiling very faintly, waiting for their response.
“I am going to be so mad at you later,” Lois threatened. “But right now we have more important things to do.”
“What can we do, Lois? What is there to do? I have to take these men to the police station, and then I need to see to the safety of my parents.”
“Maybe we could... you know, not tell anyone what we saw?” Jimmy suggested, hesitantly.
“Jimmy, this is a newsroom. Even if the Planet wouldn't publish the story, somehow it would leak. It's too good to not sell. Ralph's recorder is running as we speak,” he finished, shrugging.
“How do you... oh, right. Hand it over,” Perry demanded.
“What are you going to do, son?” he asked, after fixing a hard stare at his reporters.
“I don't know. I'm dead, you see. Clark Kent is who I am, Superman is just what I can do. But I doubt I can be Clark Kent anymore, and... which one do you think the world needs more? I can't just do what I did for years and more somewhere else, to be someone else. Besides, if I just disappeared, all of you would be in danger, to be used by mad men like them to flush me out.”
Silently, Lois took his hand, and squeezed it. He squeezed back. At least his friends were still there for him.
Suddenly there was as small voice of someone clearing their throat by the elevators. They all turned to face a small man in an old-fashioned suit smiling at them.
“I'm afraid it's not quite yet time for your secret to come out, Clark,” he said.
“Who are you?”
“Wells, H.G. Wells. We have met, but you don't remember it. We travelled in time together.”
“But of course you did,” Perry said, sitting down on the nearest chair.
“Come on, we have to fix it. I'll take you back a few hours and that'll take care of it.”
“Okay, let's say that I believe you. You can make this all not happen?” Clark checked.
“Precisely,” the man nodded, smiling as if to a particularly bright pupil.
“But... I kind of like my friends knowing.”
“We're honoured, son,” Perry got up again. “But even though it feels like rejecting a precious gift, I think protecting you is more important. You'll tell us one day, when you are ready.”
“It is quite a burden,” Clark admitted.
Jimmy shook his head. “That's not why. We'd carry it for you, we'd keep you safe. But if we have to forget for them to forget,” he nodded towards the rest of the staff and the bad guys. “Well, we'll take it.”
“Clark,” Lois said, pulling him closer from the hand she was still holding. “Tell me soon,” she whispered, reaching to place a soft kiss on his lips.
After a final look at his friends, accompanied with a smile he hope conveyed just how grateful he was for their support, he turned around and followed the little man out.
Title: Effacement
Cliché: Amnesia
Fandom: Earth 2
Pairing: John Danziger/Devon Adair
Rating: R
Disclaimer: If it was mine it would be out on Region 2 DVD!
Summary: John Danziger wakes up in a cave, with a very pregnant Devon Adair, and no idea how any of that happened.
Notes: as the show is not out as R2 it's been some time since I've seen it... sorry for the obvious mistakes
Words: 3731
…
“John! Come on, help me out here.”
The words made no sense, the voice was not familiar, but the ground was hard and the rain was cold, and somehow, with the aid of the owner of the voice, he managed to get up and take a few steps into somewhere dry before everything was black again.
…
“John? Are you awake?”
His head ached, and opening his eyes took a bit more effort than he was used to. Must have been quite a party. The dim light of the... cave? was enough to hurt his eyes, and what he saw confused him even more.
A woman... damn, Devon Adair. The leader of the damn-fool expedition into G889. She didn't look like the distant director of the Adair Industries, or a high and mighty leader, she looked... ruffled, worried – and very pregnant. When did that happen?
“You worried me, John,” she said, smiling, and he realised she was holding his hand. He didn't even remember when they had advanced to the whole first name stage.
“Wha... Where are we?” he managed to get out with a gravelly voice.
She didn't answer before helping him to drink some water from a canteen. She then smoothed his hair back from his forehead with a familiar gesture.
“I found a cave near where we crashed. I had to get you away from the rain.”
“Crash?” His voice was a bit stronger now, but nothing she said seemed to make any sense.
“You don't remember? Don't worry, the rail seems to be fine. I just didn't think it was...” She frowned at his expression. “What?”
“We're down on the planet? G889?”
“Where else? John, are you alright?”
“Why am I on the planet, Adair?”
Her face was shocked. “You mean... what's the last thing you remember?”
“A... an explosion? On the ship... We were trying to find a... True!”
He tried to sit up despite the pain but she stopped him.
“True is fine! She's safe at the colony.”
“Colony?”
“Oh dear,” she whispered, biting her lower lip.
“Look... I realise it's been a while since the explosion,” John started, gesturing towards her stomach. “So are you ready to fill me in?”
He was getting restless, fidgeting a little on the rough ground and she rested her hand on his chest, then drew it back as if burnt.
She obviously didn't know how to behave around him at the moment.
He raised his hands to run them over his face and a piece of metal around one of the fingers caught his attention. A... ring. On his ring finger. He stared at the thick band of something that looked like industrial steel.
His gaze widened.
“After spending the best part of a year fixing and tending to the underside of the truck you said it was probably the most expensive piece of metal in the planet,” she explained, smiling a little.
His eyes moved, and she obligingly raised her own left hand. He was too numb by now to be really surprised to see a matching ring there. He swallowed. How the hell did an Adair get hitched with a drone? How did he marry someone when Ellie...
“Tell me,” he implored hoarsely.
She did. For the best part of an hour she explained about the crash, the survivors, their struggles...
“Your son?” he asked, suddenly remembering he was a syndrome child.
“Completely cured,” she answered, unable to stop the smile that accompanied the idea. The smile turned sad when she went on, quietly: “He calls you 'dad'.”
John closed his eyes, desperate to remember, feeling like he was still unconscious but not sure whether in a dream or a nightmare.
“Tell me,” he said again.
She told him about her decision to lead the group to the seashore, where the colonists would arrive, of his challenge to her leadership, of their fights, their adventures, of betrayal and friendship. She was honest even about her own mistakes, not sparing him of his. Through it all he could follow the thread of growing respect and friendship.
“How did we...?” He made a sweeping gesture with his ringed hand towards her stomach. She blushed.
“Adair? Wait, what do I call you?” he asked sheepishly.
“Devon,” she replied, smiling. “Or Dev. You were the first one who ever did. That's... another story. Are you sure you're up to talking?”
“What happened, anyway? I mean, now. Why are we out here on our own?”
She blushed. “We just... wanted a few days for ourselves. Without the kids. You know, like... a honeymoon.”
“Oh... Oh.”
“We too the rail, planned to camp for a few nights... then this storm started, and... I think a lightening struck a tree next to us because the next thing I knew we'd been hit by a burning branch, you were unconscious, and...”
“Are you alright?” he interrupted.
“Yes, you... you shielded me with your body, took the blow. The rain was pouring down painfully by then but luckily I see this cave, could rouse you enough to make it here... then you passed out again. Our gear is damaged somehow, and I couldn't contact the Colony...” her voice told expressively of her worry, one she must still feel. After all, he wasn't... quite himself at the moment. At least, not the 'him' she remembered.
“My head aches a bit, like after an all-night drinking binge. And my muscles hurt. But I think that's it, except for, you know, my memory.”
He could almost believe she was the one who was crazy, was making things up, but she was pregnant, so time had definitely passed from what he remembered. And the look on her face was definitely loving concern, something he had never seen before.
“Tell me,” he asked again, and this time his tone clearly indicated he meant something much more personal.
She had been so angry. She didn't even remember what the fight had been about but it had been going on for hours, fuelled by their frustration... the reason for it she had had to re-examine when their whispered argument – everyone else was sleeping already so they had taken their argument into the woods – had... transformed.
She didn't know who kissed who first, or when the anger turned into blazing lust but without conscious decision they were suddenly devouring each other, his stubble against her face an uncontrollable turn on, his hands, oh god, his hands... she couldn't get close enough, pulling his hard body closer, letting him crush her against the tree behind her, rubbing her body against him... his hands on her behind, raising her, and she wrapped her legs around him, closer, closer, pressing her aching need against his hard masculinity.
They were tearing at each others' clothes, his rough panting breath loud in her ear, muffling her moans against his shoulder... And then he was pushing into her, filling the aching emptiness, so rough it hurt but she needed it too much to care, met him thrust for thrust, bracing against the tree. Close, closer... her head banging against the tree as the orgasm shook her like an explosion and then he was thrusting even deeper, harder, and then he was coming, too.
Suddenly she became aware of her surroundings, the cool night air, the camp, the tree, John... John. They disentangled, pulling up their clothes, not meeting each other's eyes. Oh god, what had they done?
“I...” She cleared her throat. “Good night,” she mumbled before slipping away.
Her legs were wobbly, she felt raw, and he didn't try to stop her.
Neither one of them ever referred to the fight – or its explosive finish – again.
“That's it? Things just went back to normal after that?”
“Well, hardly normal. We were both avoiding each other. Not hostile... wary. We didn't even dare to fight. The others were actually worried but since we seemed to be co-operating better than before...”
“Really?”
“Honestly? We were both pussyfooting around, careful not to start even the smallest argument.”
“I see. But...?”
“Then I got sick.”
Third day of nausea and she knew she wasn't wrong. She recognised the symptoms from when she had been expecting Uly. Tender breasts, nausea, sensitivity to smells, and all the little things that wouldn't mean anything on their own but together amounted to a frightening truth.
Of all the stupid, irresponsible things she had ever done...
She didn't know what to do, who to tell. John deserved to know, but how would he react with True's mother still alive and left behind? The doc would need to know to help her... and the others would find out sooner or later. How would that affect their attitude toward her?
She still hadn't figured out how to tell John when he walked on her as she was throwing up, safely away from the camp. His worry soon turned into comprehension when he met her guilty look. He stood back up, his hands raised in front of him, palms out, as if warding off an attack. He backed away slowly.
It was Alonzo who found her, still weak after her bout of sickness and with tears drying on her face. He carried her into the med tent past the worried faces of the others. Seeing her discomfort, Julia made everyone else leave, even Yale and Uly.
Julia was staring at her instruments in confusion when John entered the tent. He went straight to Devon.
“I'm sorry I ran,” he said quietly, taking her hand and sitting down next to her lying form. “You're not alone.”
Devon only had time to smile in response before Julia turned and cleared her throat.
“Well... congratulations,” she said warily.
Apparently her confusion had cleared some with the arrival of a potential, no, make that likely, father.
“Everything's fine, then?” John asked, worried.
“Yes, as far as I can tell. I can give you something for the nausea, Devon, and we need to increase your food portion but other than that...”
“I don't think I'm ready for the others to know just yet. It would... change the way they look at me and we need... I need to be a leader for now.”
She turned to face John. “We shouldn't have... I mean, the timing couldn't be worse... but I wasn't thinking, I...”
John snorted in amusement, obviously realising she didn't regret the act itself, only its unplanned consequences.
“Let's face it, there wasn't much thinking involved,” he said dryly and she blushed.
“Well,” Julia decided to ignore the revelation and address Devon's earlier request. “I could just say that you are anaemic, everyone will readily believe that the way you look, and that we need to get more nutrition in you. That will explain the initial rise in your weight, too, but before long it will be too obvious ignore. And there could be other signs the women at least might be able to pick up.”
“I don't know. I wasn't very moody when I was expecting Uly, and can probably keep things low key all thorough the first trimester and well into the second.”
“Well, that's good.”
She noticed their shared looks then, and cleared her throat again. “I'll... let you two have some privacy.”
She left, and Devon turned to look at John. She noticed he was still holding her hand so he couldn't be too upset with her.
“John... I'm sorry,” she said simply.
“Don't be. It's not like you planned this... Right?” he checked with exaggerated suspicion that made her laugh.
“No,” she said, smiling, but turned serious right after. “What are we going to do?”
John sighed. “I don't know. But I'm here for you. I know I wouldn't be your first choice for a father of your child but I want to help and...”
“No,” Devon said and he was shocked into silence. She hastened to explain. “I mean yes, you would be. My first choice.” Then, trying to lighten the mood again, finished with: “At least under the circumstances!”
There wasn't much choice in G899, after all, but she knew he'd understand she didn't really mean it. She had to make sure, though.
“John, you have to know I respect you more than anyone here, I like you... and I'm immensely attracted to you.”
There, it was said. Now he could throw it in her face if he wanted to.
“You have to know the feeling's mutual,” John said quietly, then grinned. “After all, you carry the evidence,” he said, placing his other hand on her still flat stomach.
She covered it with her own hand. “Oh, John. We're going to have a baby.”
“And that's it?” John asked, looking at Devon, now resting her hand on her not-so-flat stomach.
“Well, that was the beginning. We managed to keep it hidden for weeks – Julia had explained about my anaemia and everyone kept feeding me. And after they noticed how protective you had suddenly become they figured it was something more serious than we were telling, and kept trying to stop me from over-working myself. It was almost worse that after I came back after the cold sleep!”
She had explained about that, too, briefly, so John just nodded and asked her to go on.
“And... us?”
“We... we were not together. But we weren't fighting so much anymore, so we used to have these long conversations and I believe I fully only got to know you then.”
She was silent for a moment, as if lost in a memory.
It was one of those nights again. She woke up too early, needing to relieve herself, feeling nauseated... She was sitting by the fire pit, slowly sipping something Julia had determined was closest she could get to weak tea on the planet. Whatever it was, it calmed her stomach.
At some point, John joined her, and they watched the sun coming up in silence. She leaned into his shoulder, and he wrapped his arm around her – it was that kind of moment.
“Dev... I don't want to push you into anything, but I want you to think about something.”
“Yes?”
“When we get to New Pacifica... I'm going to ask you to marry me.” He raised his hand to stop her from speaking. “No, don't say anything now. Just... think about it.”
She did. The rest of their journey was dotted with new discoveries, new threats, new dangers, new surprises, new adventures and even new friends.
And then they reached their destination. The truck had finally died a few kilometres back so they had decided to push on with a light load, certain they were close. When they climbed over a steep rise and first glanced the sea... It was a magical moment.
They were running towards the shore (well, Dev was forbidden to run but she was in the rail so it didn't matter) and when they reached it they were all laughing and hugging and frolicking on the sand like children.
Dev pulled John into a hug, smiled and met his eyes. “Yes,” she said.
“Dev?”
“John... yes,” she repeated, and this time he got it.
“Yeah?” he checked, his own smile widening.
“Yeah,” she replied, letting her happiness out in the form of laughter.
He pulled her closer, and was soon spinning her around like a child, joining in on her laughter, and then he kissed her, there in the middle of everyone.”
“We didn't actually get around marrying until much later when we had some sort of permanent colony established and houses built. Then we celebrated our new home and our wedding at the same time and, well, then we left the kids with Yale and came here...” she let her voice die down and showed her worry on her face.
“I'm sorry,” John said suddenly. She turned to look at him. “Some honeymoon, huh. I'm sorry I did this to you.”
“It's not like you did it on purpose. Right?”
The laughter was therapeutic.
“So, how far are we from the others?”
“A couple of hours ride.”
“You say we can't contact the others. How long would it take for them tom start worrying?”
“Well, they promised not to bother us for a day or two but I think then they'd try to reach us – they know we'd want to check up on the kids.”
“The kids... How are they handling all this?” He did the 'ring-baby-us' wave again.
“Surprisingly well. You know, you're the closest thing to a father Uly has ever had, and when True realised I wasn't trying to take you from her she relented, too, and we've become friends.
“Friends?”
“I told her I wouldn't try to take her mother's place but that I'd always be there for her in any capacity she wanted or needed me to. I love your girl, John,” she finished quietly, obviously realising that in some sense True would always be the most important person in his life.
He awarded her reassurance with a smile.
“I'm pretty sure you shouldn't be trekking for hours in your condition but if I were to go get help...”
“No, John. We don't know how badly you've been hurt. You can't go anywhere alone!”
“But can we stay here?”
“Why not? It's dry, warm, and safe from the elements. We have enough food for a week, we were supposed to stay on our own for a few days, remember? We're well stocked.”
“Then what?”
“I know it's a hard position for both of us – but we wait for rescue.”
It came sooner than either one could have hoped. They woke up the next day to Julia's frantic shouts (well, Dev recognised the voice and informed John).
“In here!”
“Thank goodness you are safe!” she exclaimed, rushing in, diaglove ready. “We were worried about the storm, and when we couldn't reach you on the gear...”
“It broke in the crash.”
“Crash? Are you alright?”
“Lightening struck a tree next to us and we went tumbling – Julia, John is suffering from amnesia.”
“Amnesia?” she asked, kneeling down next to John who was looking at her, trying to fit her into everything Devon had told him.
“Dr Heller, I presume,” he drawled.
“You don't remember me?”
“Nope, the last year is all blank.”
“Is he forming new memories normally?”
“Yes, I think so.” Devon frowned.
“Well, I do remember last night,” John offered. “And before that the crash. I mean the explosion in space, not this recent crash.”
“But before the ship you remember everything?” It was Julia's turn to frown.
“Yep.”
“That's odd. Did you hit your head?”
That was the moment Alonzo walked in, with a puzzled look on his face.
“How did we get here, Julia?” he asked.
“Not funny,” Julia snapped.
“Danz? Dev? Why did we decide to crash their honeymoon?” he sounded sincerely confused and Julia got up to face him.
“You really don't remember?”
“I remember... having dinner with Yale and the kids after we'd wished the lovebirds off, and then – puff – we're here.”
“Didn't know amnesia was contagious,” John said.
“On this planet...” Julia just said and moved closer to examine her husband.
“What's that on your hands?” she asked, and they all looked at the black powder that was staining his fingers.
“Dunno,” he said, then raised the hand closer to his face and sniffed. He frowned, shook his head, and stared at Julia in confusion.
“How did we get here, Jules?”
“Didn't we do this bit already?”
“What bit? Danz, Dev... what are you doing in here?”
After careful and cautious studies Julie concluded that the cause for the amnesia was the ash from the tree that had burnt down after the lightening struck it. Fresh branches did nothing but the burnt remnants seemed to cause immediate loss of memory. Without further studies Julie couldn't say what determined the amount of lost time or whether John would ever regain his lost year.
They transported him back to the colony and into the newly-finished hospital, where Julia ran more tests and Dev took residence by his bedside (his other injuries had required bed rest despite his protests).
True and Uly were regular visitors too, and John could see Dev had spoken the truth when telling about her current relationship with True. The girl had obviously softened a lot towards the older woman.
John was also almost certain she had almost called Devon 'mother' when they had returned, safe and sound. Well, mostly.
John woke up, blinking, confused about where he was. White walls, real bed... hospital? Dev was asleep on a chair next to him, looking uncomfortable.
“Are you out of your shanking mind?” he had yelled before having time to consider, and Dev woke with a start.
“What?”
“What are you thinking, sitting cooped up like that? It can't be good for the baby.”
Dev merely stared at him, then suddenly started to smile, a beaming, happy smile. “John?”
“Dev?” he replied with sarcasm.
“You're back!” she exclaimed, throwing her arms around his neck.
“What?” he had time to ask before the memories started crashing in.
“Oh god, Dev” he hugged her closer, as if to protect her (or himself) from the horror he remembered. “Oh, love, I'm so sorry I put you through that,” he whispered against her hair.
Her tears were running against his neck, and he pulled her closer.
“I'm here now. I'm back.”