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Feb. 16th, 2009 10:46 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
seriousficTitle: Before You Let It Go...
Fandom: DC comics
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,735
Acknowledgments: Thanks to Tracy and![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lurkslikefox for betaing this.
Characters/Pairings: Scott/Barda
Previous Part: 5/6
Summary: The truth will set them free.
Scott laid in bed, unable to sleep. It was funny. On Apokolips, he’d never lost a moment’s sleep, but on Earth, in the lap of luxury, he felt a restless energy that kept popping his eyes open. It was easier after he’d escaped one of Darkseid’s hunters or put on a show or had Oberon to talk to. He needed to contribute to the war effort. Had to raise morale. Had to warn people. Time he didn’t spend doing that felt like failure.
Finally he got up, repeated the steps of his routine to himself as he washed up, and took a sleeping pill. He curled up on the carpet, pulling the cotton bedsheet over him, and finally felt right.
***
Scott wore a costume and a mask when he performed. It was easier than remembering to shave in the morning. No real loss. His face was generically handsome at best, ‘quirky good looks’ more likely. And the mask livened things up, gave him an air of mystery. He could pretend he was Mr. Miracle instead of whoever Scott Free was. Ghost… memory… one of Darkseid’s clockwork minions, carrying out orders even after the fire had gone out. He had made his escape. So what was he escaping to?
Scott looked at himself in the mirror. It was a lot easier with the mask on.
Oberon was just getting into costume. “How about we get some brewskis after the show?”
“I anticipate encores. You can, though.”
“What about after the encore?”
“Thought I’d drop by the burn ward, entertain some of the kids who couldn’t make it.”
“They’re gonna get sick of you if you keep dropping in.”
Scott put his feet up in a relaxed pose. It didn’t fool anyone. “I detect a note of criticism.”
Oberon pulled up a stool and suddenly they were sharing the same mirror. “You ever watch The Shawshank Redemption?”
“Parts of it. Caught it on cable.”
“You catch the part about being institutionalized?”
“Yeah,” Scott said, “I caught that part.”
“You get institutionalized, it doesn’t matter when you get out, you’re serving a life sentence.”
“Is this supposed to be the first twenty minutes of some indie movie? I meet a cute girl, she’s quirky on demand, I listen to alt-rock and stop wearing ties?”
“You don’t wear ties now.”
Scott tipped his chair over and twisted onto his feet. “Obi, I’m good. I have my audience, I have Buffy on Tuesdays, and I’m thinking of getting a cat. Maybe a hamster.”
“You don’t want more?”
“The more you get, the more you have to lose. Come on, we’ve got some death to defy.”
Oberon grabbed the oversized padlock. “If that’s what you call it.”
***
They’d stood in that mirror once, her and Scott. She’d played with her hair, thinking of wearing it up for Scott, and he’d twisted a strand of it around his finger. Barda could almost pretend she could still see them there, if it weren’t for Darkseid’s mass in the way. The mirror struggled to contain the reflection of his eyes.
She left him staring at himself and went back to Auralie. Auralie never had been able to keep clean, even in death. Barda straightened her hair, smoothed her clothes. “Tell me again what happened.”
“I found your slave, Scott Free, was harboring an undesirable. I offered him a choice. His life or hers. He chose to save himself and fled to Earth.”
Barda looked over at her Mega-Rod. It lay where it had fallen, black blood dried like a stalactite from the head dripping down to the floor. She picked it up and cleaned it off and thought of Scott, thought of cob-webs filling up the stupid house and thornfields crawling into the ducts and he was gone, escaped.
She’d come back from assignment, her last assignment, to find Kalibak waiting. He’d seemed ineffably smug as he escorted her to her house, and now she knew why. She’d never forgive herself for trying to hold onto one branch as she grabbed for the next, playing soldier while Auralie died. But she would make up for it.
“Scott wasn’t harboring Auralie,” she told Darkseid. “I was. She was my sister and I loved her. And he wasn’t my slave, he was my lover. I always knew you were a tyrant and a monster, but I thought we had a code of honor. Now I know you’re a liar as well.”
The mirror cracked. Darkseid turned around, his slow footsteps enough to shake the house. “You think you can walk away from me?”
“Scott did.”
“If you open this door, you had better not try to go through it again.”
“And you better hope I don’t.”
Darkseid watched her disappear into the Boomtube. He couldn’t even summon up the anger to order a pursuit, not just yet. Apokolips was perfection. Perfection didn’t need her, not even her corpse.
He turned back to the mirror. Even shattered, he could see the scar Scott Free had left. It was so small, nigh-unnoticeable, a hairline fracture. Only Darkseid could see the imperfection. Even when he stopped looking at the mirror.
A splinter in the mind’s eye.
***
It was a packed house and the applause was a sweet salve over his many scars. Scott worked the crowd like a conductor with an orchestra: the roller-coaster fear of the trap, the Hitchcock suspense of the escape, and finally the collective exhale of freedom. He made it something they couldn’t take for granted.
He was still drying off from the Jovian water cell when Oberon strung the chains over him. “For this next escape, I’ll need a volunteer from the audience. Oberon, if you’d be so kind…”
While Scott kept his back turned (and prepared a vial of acid for later), Oberon looked over the crowd. One woman caught his eye. He got the impression, aided by her gesturing, that if he didn’t pick her, she’d make him pay for it. “You there, ma’am, would you like to be in the show?”
She left her seat and came up to the stage. Her overwhelming size got a laugh from the audience, who assumed she was a spoofy part of the show.
“Miss, these chains are so thick we only allow stagehands over 18 to handle them. They’re that heavy. Would you please test the strength of these chains?”
Barda took one handful of chains in her left and one handful in her right, then pulled them apart. Scott turned around, absently picking part of a link out of his collar. He stood there, staring, as Barda pulled off his mask.
She did it much more carefully than she had handled the chains.
“I tried to save your sister,” Scott said, his voice coming over a great distance.
“I know.” She fiddled with his cape clasp, saying “Nice outfit.”
“I was going to come back for you… send a message… I didn’t know what to say. I thought the wrong thing would make you stay on Apokolips forever.”
Scott broke out of his spell and went, stumbling on a dropped chain to the audience’s nervous laughter, to drop the curtain. It obliterated all but the hint of them from the crowd’s sight.
“I had nightmares you’d never leave. I was so scared to find out…”
Peeking out from under the curtain, Barda’s shadow crossed the stage until it merged with Scott’s. “My arms got tired.”
Scott’s silhouette wrapped his arms around Barda’s. “I’ll carry you.”
***
Oberon complained of the refund to the audience throughout the car ride home, although he was slightly mollified to be given tomorrow off. He drove off into the night with one last cautioning finger-shake at Scott.
“That’s what they drive around in?” Barda asked of Oberon’s puttering old pick-up.
“Yes!” Scott said, glad the awkward driving silence was over.
“I suppose they have laws against installing weaponry on one.”
“It might be an unwritten rule.”
“All the places to live in the universe and you pick here.”
Scott got the fence door for her. “It’s not much to look at, but it has plenty of room.”
“Too much room for one?”
“Way too much.” He took Barda’s hand and pulled her toward the front door. Barda let herself be pulled.
“I wouldn’t want to be a freeloader, though. I’ll pull my own weight.”
“That’s a bold statement.”
Barda dug her heels in at the porch, making Scott snap back into her arms.
“I mean, I’m sure there are any number of useful positions I could find for you.”
“I’ll bet.” Barda gave him a little prod toward the door. “I can clean.”
“It can get a tad dirty, the house.”
“I can vacuum.”
“Always appreciated.”
“And if you have any gruesome alien creatures that need to be stomped on…”
“That rarely comes up. Although there is Funky Flashman…”
Barda pressed Scott against the door, leaning over him on arms so thick they made the door groan. “Scott Free, I think I have something to offer this household.”
“I’m compelled to agree, Big Barda.”
She ran a finger over his lip, slowly working it open, then popped an apple in so quick it was almost magic. “I think an apple tree would look great in the backyard, don’t you?” Opening the door, she slipped past the teetering Scott. “So where’s the kitchen, anyway?”
Scott regained his balance, spat out the apple. “You learned how to cook?”
“You forgot how?” Barda retorted from the kitchen, which she was giving an appraising look.
“I suppose I could reheat some turkey.” Scott put his hands on her shoulders and let them trickle down her arms. “After all, you didn’t get so strong from eating cookies.”
“No, I got this strong from you,” she said softly. She looped his arms around her body, wrapping herself up in him. “I’m not going to war again. You’re not going to run anymore.”
“No.”
“So it looks like we’re stuck with each other.”
“Well, you know me.” Scott rested his head on her shoulder. “Always a slave to my heart.”
***
Amidst all the chaos and confusion of Barda moving in, she and Scott made time to plant a single apple seed in the backyard. It grew faster than anyone could’ve predicted, and over the years, as their children and their children’s children grew, the only darkness they knew was its shade.
Fandom: DC comics
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,735
Acknowledgments: Thanks to Tracy and
lurkslikefox for betaing this.Characters/Pairings: Scott/Barda
Previous Part: 5/6
Summary: The truth will set them free.
Scott laid in bed, unable to sleep. It was funny. On Apokolips, he’d never lost a moment’s sleep, but on Earth, in the lap of luxury, he felt a restless energy that kept popping his eyes open. It was easier after he’d escaped one of Darkseid’s hunters or put on a show or had Oberon to talk to. He needed to contribute to the war effort. Had to raise morale. Had to warn people. Time he didn’t spend doing that felt like failure.
Finally he got up, repeated the steps of his routine to himself as he washed up, and took a sleeping pill. He curled up on the carpet, pulling the cotton bedsheet over him, and finally felt right.
***
Scott wore a costume and a mask when he performed. It was easier than remembering to shave in the morning. No real loss. His face was generically handsome at best, ‘quirky good looks’ more likely. And the mask livened things up, gave him an air of mystery. He could pretend he was Mr. Miracle instead of whoever Scott Free was. Ghost… memory… one of Darkseid’s clockwork minions, carrying out orders even after the fire had gone out. He had made his escape. So what was he escaping to?
Scott looked at himself in the mirror. It was a lot easier with the mask on.
Oberon was just getting into costume. “How about we get some brewskis after the show?”
“I anticipate encores. You can, though.”
“What about after the encore?”
“Thought I’d drop by the burn ward, entertain some of the kids who couldn’t make it.”
“They’re gonna get sick of you if you keep dropping in.”
Scott put his feet up in a relaxed pose. It didn’t fool anyone. “I detect a note of criticism.”
Oberon pulled up a stool and suddenly they were sharing the same mirror. “You ever watch The Shawshank Redemption?”
“Parts of it. Caught it on cable.”
“You catch the part about being institutionalized?”
“Yeah,” Scott said, “I caught that part.”
“You get institutionalized, it doesn’t matter when you get out, you’re serving a life sentence.”
“Is this supposed to be the first twenty minutes of some indie movie? I meet a cute girl, she’s quirky on demand, I listen to alt-rock and stop wearing ties?”
“You don’t wear ties now.”
Scott tipped his chair over and twisted onto his feet. “Obi, I’m good. I have my audience, I have Buffy on Tuesdays, and I’m thinking of getting a cat. Maybe a hamster.”
“You don’t want more?”
“The more you get, the more you have to lose. Come on, we’ve got some death to defy.”
Oberon grabbed the oversized padlock. “If that’s what you call it.”
***
They’d stood in that mirror once, her and Scott. She’d played with her hair, thinking of wearing it up for Scott, and he’d twisted a strand of it around his finger. Barda could almost pretend she could still see them there, if it weren’t for Darkseid’s mass in the way. The mirror struggled to contain the reflection of his eyes.
She left him staring at himself and went back to Auralie. Auralie never had been able to keep clean, even in death. Barda straightened her hair, smoothed her clothes. “Tell me again what happened.”
“I found your slave, Scott Free, was harboring an undesirable. I offered him a choice. His life or hers. He chose to save himself and fled to Earth.”
Barda looked over at her Mega-Rod. It lay where it had fallen, black blood dried like a stalactite from the head dripping down to the floor. She picked it up and cleaned it off and thought of Scott, thought of cob-webs filling up the stupid house and thornfields crawling into the ducts and he was gone, escaped.
She’d come back from assignment, her last assignment, to find Kalibak waiting. He’d seemed ineffably smug as he escorted her to her house, and now she knew why. She’d never forgive herself for trying to hold onto one branch as she grabbed for the next, playing soldier while Auralie died. But she would make up for it.
“Scott wasn’t harboring Auralie,” she told Darkseid. “I was. She was my sister and I loved her. And he wasn’t my slave, he was my lover. I always knew you were a tyrant and a monster, but I thought we had a code of honor. Now I know you’re a liar as well.”
The mirror cracked. Darkseid turned around, his slow footsteps enough to shake the house. “You think you can walk away from me?”
“Scott did.”
“If you open this door, you had better not try to go through it again.”
“And you better hope I don’t.”
Darkseid watched her disappear into the Boomtube. He couldn’t even summon up the anger to order a pursuit, not just yet. Apokolips was perfection. Perfection didn’t need her, not even her corpse.
He turned back to the mirror. Even shattered, he could see the scar Scott Free had left. It was so small, nigh-unnoticeable, a hairline fracture. Only Darkseid could see the imperfection. Even when he stopped looking at the mirror.
A splinter in the mind’s eye.
***
It was a packed house and the applause was a sweet salve over his many scars. Scott worked the crowd like a conductor with an orchestra: the roller-coaster fear of the trap, the Hitchcock suspense of the escape, and finally the collective exhale of freedom. He made it something they couldn’t take for granted.
He was still drying off from the Jovian water cell when Oberon strung the chains over him. “For this next escape, I’ll need a volunteer from the audience. Oberon, if you’d be so kind…”
While Scott kept his back turned (and prepared a vial of acid for later), Oberon looked over the crowd. One woman caught his eye. He got the impression, aided by her gesturing, that if he didn’t pick her, she’d make him pay for it. “You there, ma’am, would you like to be in the show?”
She left her seat and came up to the stage. Her overwhelming size got a laugh from the audience, who assumed she was a spoofy part of the show.
“Miss, these chains are so thick we only allow stagehands over 18 to handle them. They’re that heavy. Would you please test the strength of these chains?”
Barda took one handful of chains in her left and one handful in her right, then pulled them apart. Scott turned around, absently picking part of a link out of his collar. He stood there, staring, as Barda pulled off his mask.
She did it much more carefully than she had handled the chains.
“I tried to save your sister,” Scott said, his voice coming over a great distance.
“I know.” She fiddled with his cape clasp, saying “Nice outfit.”
“I was going to come back for you… send a message… I didn’t know what to say. I thought the wrong thing would make you stay on Apokolips forever.”
Scott broke out of his spell and went, stumbling on a dropped chain to the audience’s nervous laughter, to drop the curtain. It obliterated all but the hint of them from the crowd’s sight.
“I had nightmares you’d never leave. I was so scared to find out…”
Peeking out from under the curtain, Barda’s shadow crossed the stage until it merged with Scott’s. “My arms got tired.”
Scott’s silhouette wrapped his arms around Barda’s. “I’ll carry you.”
***
Oberon complained of the refund to the audience throughout the car ride home, although he was slightly mollified to be given tomorrow off. He drove off into the night with one last cautioning finger-shake at Scott.
“That’s what they drive around in?” Barda asked of Oberon’s puttering old pick-up.
“Yes!” Scott said, glad the awkward driving silence was over.
“I suppose they have laws against installing weaponry on one.”
“It might be an unwritten rule.”
“All the places to live in the universe and you pick here.”
Scott got the fence door for her. “It’s not much to look at, but it has plenty of room.”
“Too much room for one?”
“Way too much.” He took Barda’s hand and pulled her toward the front door. Barda let herself be pulled.
“I wouldn’t want to be a freeloader, though. I’ll pull my own weight.”
“That’s a bold statement.”
Barda dug her heels in at the porch, making Scott snap back into her arms.
“I mean, I’m sure there are any number of useful positions I could find for you.”
“I’ll bet.” Barda gave him a little prod toward the door. “I can clean.”
“It can get a tad dirty, the house.”
“I can vacuum.”
“Always appreciated.”
“And if you have any gruesome alien creatures that need to be stomped on…”
“That rarely comes up. Although there is Funky Flashman…”
Barda pressed Scott against the door, leaning over him on arms so thick they made the door groan. “Scott Free, I think I have something to offer this household.”
“I’m compelled to agree, Big Barda.”
She ran a finger over his lip, slowly working it open, then popped an apple in so quick it was almost magic. “I think an apple tree would look great in the backyard, don’t you?” Opening the door, she slipped past the teetering Scott. “So where’s the kitchen, anyway?”
Scott regained his balance, spat out the apple. “You learned how to cook?”
“You forgot how?” Barda retorted from the kitchen, which she was giving an appraising look.
“I suppose I could reheat some turkey.” Scott put his hands on her shoulders and let them trickle down her arms. “After all, you didn’t get so strong from eating cookies.”
“No, I got this strong from you,” she said softly. She looped his arms around her body, wrapping herself up in him. “I’m not going to war again. You’re not going to run anymore.”
“No.”
“So it looks like we’re stuck with each other.”
“Well, you know me.” Scott rested his head on her shoulder. “Always a slave to my heart.”
***
Amidst all the chaos and confusion of Barda moving in, she and Scott made time to plant a single apple seed in the backyard. It grew faster than anyone could’ve predicted, and over the years, as their children and their children’s children grew, the only darkness they knew was its shade.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2009-02-16 05:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-02-16 10:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-02-17 02:32 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-02-17 03:38 am (UTC)exclamation pointellipsis on the whole saga.no subject
Date: 2009-02-17 06:09 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-02-17 07:51 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-02-17 08:00 am (UTC)I'm glad you liked it, though. I never expected a series about these two to get so much of an audience!
no subject
Date: 2009-02-17 09:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-02-18 05:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-02-25 03:41 pm (UTC)And I may have wiped some sand from my eye when he saw her on stage.
no subject
Date: 2009-02-26 09:19 pm (UTC)