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azarias, who sent me Sharpe/Harper goodies.
Terminal amounts of fluff await behind the lj cut (also evil nanites, but mostly fluff).
Friendly Fire, part 2/?
The Carrier
Tacking into the bleed:
There was loss. There was abandonment.
The fragments of the /00110111/ that had attached themselves to the organic mass sent out signals, trying to resume contact with the whole. They slid silently, invisibly, along the life form's surface, joining together until there was enough energy and organization to run the subroutines required to search for the rest of the /00110111/.
The data collected indicated no further intelligent life, save for the alien presence and its strange, primitive harmonies. The /00110111/ analyzed the available data repeatedly. Errors had not been made. 99.32975 percent of the /00110111/ had vanished, and the /00110111/ that remained were incomplete.
There was no longer harmony.
"You could have died," Midnighter mumbled into Apollo's ear. He was draped halfway on top of Apollo, legs tangled with his, one arm slung across his chest, as if trying to pin him to the bed by sheer virtue of mass. Midnighter spat out a mouthful of hair, and repeated himself. "You could have died."
Considering that Apollo had just spent a significant amount of time demonstrating exactly how alive he was, he'd thought that particular topic of conversation was closed. He should have known better.
By this point, Midnighter had had enough time to run thousands of simulations and derive hundreds of thousands of possible outcomes for Apollo's battle with the shift ships. Most of them, Apollo was pretty sure, involved his death at the hands of Sliding Albion—there had been some close moments in that fight, even after he'd finished re-charging. The fact that he had survived after all wouldn't have stopped Midnighter from running the numbers.
When Midnighter said, "I told you so," he could back it up with statistics and flow charts. It made winning an argument difficult.
Apollo tried anyway. "You're the one with two broken ribs," he pointed out, sliding one hand gently over the spectacular bruise on Midnighter's left side. "That means you don't get to nag me like a girl."
"Cracked ribs," Midnighter corrected him. He grabbed Apollo's wrist and pulled it firmly away from said battered ribs. "They'll heal in a week, and you're changing the subject."
It had been worth a try, anyway. "There was nothing else Jenny could have done."
"I know that," Midnighter said. He sounded as if he didn’t like admitting it now anymore than he had when Jenny had given the order. "If someone had gone with you, the entire operation would have had only a twenty-five percent chance of succeeding. Less, probably," he corrected himself. "Regis was too difficult to predict."
Which is why he was able to use you and Jack like punching bags, Apollo thought. He didn't say it aloud; there was no need to, with the evidence stamped all over his lover's body. Midnighter was quite simply the fastest fighter he had ever seen, and could take even more damage than Apollo could. His and Jack's fight with Regis must have been considerably more desperate than they had made it sound.
They hadn't had any alternatives either. Sliding Albion had had to be stopped, regardless of how much it cost. The consequences of failing hadn't even been worth considering.
He didn't point that out, either. Midnighter already knew it.
Instead, Apollo simply lay there and held on to his lover, exhausted to the bone—not the sick, empty exhaustion he’d felt earlier that day (had it really been less than a day?) when his energy levels had bottomed out, but the normal exhaustion that came from flying too far and being hit too hard. There had been hundreds of shiftships, possibly even thousands, and only one of him.
When he’d stepped—well, fallen, really—through that Door, Apollo had honestly thought he wouldn’t be coming back. That he would never see Midnighter’s face again. Never feel the sun on his skin again. Never hear that low rasp of a voice whisper in his ear again. Never fly again. Never sit around watching television while Midnighter made snide comments about his choice of entertainment. Never get to do any of the things that made day-to-day life worth living.
It might just possibly have been worth it, but lying there in the dark with Midnighter, Apollo was monumentally, selfishly glad that that kind of sacrifice hadn’t, after all, been required of him. He couldn’t help glowing with satisfaction, just a little—he had the energy reserves to waste, now.
"I can't do this without you." Midnighter's voice jerked Apollo back from the edge of sleep. He kissed Apollo's shoulder, right on top of the bite mark he'd left there earlier, which was already starting to bruise. Apollo could already see the smirk Jenny was going to wear when she saw it. If she said anything, he was going to remind her smugly that he got to have sex with Midnighter and she didn't, which should--probably, hopefully--shut her up.
"You were doing this sort of thing before we ever met," he said.
"The killing things part, yeah. I meant the touchy-feely, being on a team part."
Apollo nodded, his cheek brushing against Midnighter’s close-cropped hair. He knew what the other man meant. For so very, very long, it had been just the two of them against the world; no friends, no family, even a friendly conversation with a stranger had been a rarity. Joining Jenny’s team had been like coming back to life in some ways—once again, the two of them were doing what they’d been built to do—but it was also taking some getting used to. They were both out of practice at being around other people, if they could ever have been said to be ‘in practice’ to begin with. "I thought we were doing pretty well,” he said, “considering how long we've been on our own."
"We were,” Midnighter said softly. “I wouldn't."
The lights in their quarters had all been turned out, but Midnighter could see in the dark, and Apollo made his own light.
The faint, golden glow was just bright enough for him to see Midnighter's face, inches from his own, but soft enough to hide the other man's scars. Without his mask, he looked like a completely different person, someone younger and infinitely more open. Apollo preferred to focus on the fact that this was terribly romantic and made him feel ridiculously special--no one else got to see the real Midnighter, only him--and to ignore the fact that, upon further examination, it was probably a semi-disturbing sign of how messed up they both were.
Midnighter still didn't trust anyone else on the Carrier enough to show them what he looked like.
This was the point where Apollo was supposed to say something reassuring, but any sort of promise--I'll be here forever, I won't let anything take me away from you, I'll never leave you on your own--would have been a lie, and they would both know it.
"If I had to do it over again," he finally said, "I'd still go out there."
"I know." Midnighter grinned--not the twisted little grin that meant he was anticipating beating the pulp out of something, but the proud little grin that he wore when contemplating Apollo beating the pulp out of something. "That's why I love you. You are seriously hot when you fry aliens with your eyeballs."
There was no longer harmony.
The remaining /00110111/ analyzed possible courses of action. The /00110111/ could seek contact with the alien presence, if, indeed, it was possible to create the harmony necessary for data transfers with such an intelligence. Further data analysis indicated that the presence existed in symbiosis with a parasitic organic mass, and its subroutines were therefore suspect. Organic matter was not capable of harmony.
Initiating contact with the alien intelligence was therefore not statistically likely to produce optimal results.
The remaining /00110111/ could also initiate the proper subroutines required to begin replicating those parts of the /00110111/ that had been lost/taken/destroyed. Available data indicated a substantial percentage of metallic elements within the organic mass. The slightly smaller organic parasites that moved about within the larger life form were particularly rich in iron, and contained in addition trace amounts of other metals, including copper, potassium, and zinc.
Analysis of this course of action produced results closer to optimal than those of initiating contact. The /00110111/ triggered the codes required to begin the process of assimilation and transformation. The organic mass was large, and the remaining fragments of the /00110111/ few, but within 27 temporal units of exponential growth, the disharmonic matter could be eliminated and replaced with more of the /00110111/. There was not enough matter available to restore all that had been lost, but harmony could, perhaps, be achieved once more.
^_~
On to Part Three
azarias, who sent me Sharpe/Harper goodies.Terminal amounts of fluff await behind the lj cut (also evil nanites, but mostly fluff).
Friendly Fire, part 2/?
The Carrier
Tacking into the bleed:
There was loss. There was abandonment.
The fragments of the /00110111/ that had attached themselves to the organic mass sent out signals, trying to resume contact with the whole. They slid silently, invisibly, along the life form's surface, joining together until there was enough energy and organization to run the subroutines required to search for the rest of the /00110111/.
The data collected indicated no further intelligent life, save for the alien presence and its strange, primitive harmonies. The /00110111/ analyzed the available data repeatedly. Errors had not been made. 99.32975 percent of the /00110111/ had vanished, and the /00110111/ that remained were incomplete.
There was no longer harmony.
"You could have died," Midnighter mumbled into Apollo's ear. He was draped halfway on top of Apollo, legs tangled with his, one arm slung across his chest, as if trying to pin him to the bed by sheer virtue of mass. Midnighter spat out a mouthful of hair, and repeated himself. "You could have died."
Considering that Apollo had just spent a significant amount of time demonstrating exactly how alive he was, he'd thought that particular topic of conversation was closed. He should have known better.
By this point, Midnighter had had enough time to run thousands of simulations and derive hundreds of thousands of possible outcomes for Apollo's battle with the shift ships. Most of them, Apollo was pretty sure, involved his death at the hands of Sliding Albion—there had been some close moments in that fight, even after he'd finished re-charging. The fact that he had survived after all wouldn't have stopped Midnighter from running the numbers.
When Midnighter said, "I told you so," he could back it up with statistics and flow charts. It made winning an argument difficult.
Apollo tried anyway. "You're the one with two broken ribs," he pointed out, sliding one hand gently over the spectacular bruise on Midnighter's left side. "That means you don't get to nag me like a girl."
"Cracked ribs," Midnighter corrected him. He grabbed Apollo's wrist and pulled it firmly away from said battered ribs. "They'll heal in a week, and you're changing the subject."
It had been worth a try, anyway. "There was nothing else Jenny could have done."
"I know that," Midnighter said. He sounded as if he didn’t like admitting it now anymore than he had when Jenny had given the order. "If someone had gone with you, the entire operation would have had only a twenty-five percent chance of succeeding. Less, probably," he corrected himself. "Regis was too difficult to predict."
Which is why he was able to use you and Jack like punching bags, Apollo thought. He didn't say it aloud; there was no need to, with the evidence stamped all over his lover's body. Midnighter was quite simply the fastest fighter he had ever seen, and could take even more damage than Apollo could. His and Jack's fight with Regis must have been considerably more desperate than they had made it sound.
They hadn't had any alternatives either. Sliding Albion had had to be stopped, regardless of how much it cost. The consequences of failing hadn't even been worth considering.
He didn't point that out, either. Midnighter already knew it.
Instead, Apollo simply lay there and held on to his lover, exhausted to the bone—not the sick, empty exhaustion he’d felt earlier that day (had it really been less than a day?) when his energy levels had bottomed out, but the normal exhaustion that came from flying too far and being hit too hard. There had been hundreds of shiftships, possibly even thousands, and only one of him.
When he’d stepped—well, fallen, really—through that Door, Apollo had honestly thought he wouldn’t be coming back. That he would never see Midnighter’s face again. Never feel the sun on his skin again. Never hear that low rasp of a voice whisper in his ear again. Never fly again. Never sit around watching television while Midnighter made snide comments about his choice of entertainment. Never get to do any of the things that made day-to-day life worth living.
It might just possibly have been worth it, but lying there in the dark with Midnighter, Apollo was monumentally, selfishly glad that that kind of sacrifice hadn’t, after all, been required of him. He couldn’t help glowing with satisfaction, just a little—he had the energy reserves to waste, now.
"I can't do this without you." Midnighter's voice jerked Apollo back from the edge of sleep. He kissed Apollo's shoulder, right on top of the bite mark he'd left there earlier, which was already starting to bruise. Apollo could already see the smirk Jenny was going to wear when she saw it. If she said anything, he was going to remind her smugly that he got to have sex with Midnighter and she didn't, which should--probably, hopefully--shut her up.
"You were doing this sort of thing before we ever met," he said.
"The killing things part, yeah. I meant the touchy-feely, being on a team part."
Apollo nodded, his cheek brushing against Midnighter’s close-cropped hair. He knew what the other man meant. For so very, very long, it had been just the two of them against the world; no friends, no family, even a friendly conversation with a stranger had been a rarity. Joining Jenny’s team had been like coming back to life in some ways—once again, the two of them were doing what they’d been built to do—but it was also taking some getting used to. They were both out of practice at being around other people, if they could ever have been said to be ‘in practice’ to begin with. "I thought we were doing pretty well,” he said, “considering how long we've been on our own."
"We were,” Midnighter said softly. “I wouldn't."
The lights in their quarters had all been turned out, but Midnighter could see in the dark, and Apollo made his own light.
The faint, golden glow was just bright enough for him to see Midnighter's face, inches from his own, but soft enough to hide the other man's scars. Without his mask, he looked like a completely different person, someone younger and infinitely more open. Apollo preferred to focus on the fact that this was terribly romantic and made him feel ridiculously special--no one else got to see the real Midnighter, only him--and to ignore the fact that, upon further examination, it was probably a semi-disturbing sign of how messed up they both were.
Midnighter still didn't trust anyone else on the Carrier enough to show them what he looked like.
This was the point where Apollo was supposed to say something reassuring, but any sort of promise--I'll be here forever, I won't let anything take me away from you, I'll never leave you on your own--would have been a lie, and they would both know it.
"If I had to do it over again," he finally said, "I'd still go out there."
"I know." Midnighter grinned--not the twisted little grin that meant he was anticipating beating the pulp out of something, but the proud little grin that he wore when contemplating Apollo beating the pulp out of something. "That's why I love you. You are seriously hot when you fry aliens with your eyeballs."
There was no longer harmony.
The remaining /00110111/ analyzed possible courses of action. The /00110111/ could seek contact with the alien presence, if, indeed, it was possible to create the harmony necessary for data transfers with such an intelligence. Further data analysis indicated that the presence existed in symbiosis with a parasitic organic mass, and its subroutines were therefore suspect. Organic matter was not capable of harmony.
Initiating contact with the alien intelligence was therefore not statistically likely to produce optimal results.
The remaining /00110111/ could also initiate the proper subroutines required to begin replicating those parts of the /00110111/ that had been lost/taken/destroyed. Available data indicated a substantial percentage of metallic elements within the organic mass. The slightly smaller organic parasites that moved about within the larger life form were particularly rich in iron, and contained in addition trace amounts of other metals, including copper, potassium, and zinc.
Analysis of this course of action produced results closer to optimal than those of initiating contact. The /00110111/ triggered the codes required to begin the process of assimilation and transformation. The organic mass was large, and the remaining fragments of the /00110111/ few, but within 27 temporal units of exponential growth, the disharmonic matter could be eliminated and replaced with more of the /00110111/. There was not enough matter available to restore all that had been lost, but harmony could, perhaps, be achieved once more.
On to Part Three
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Thank you!
I love the early team so much, back when Jenny was the only one sure of what they were doing, and they weren't at all sure of one another, and Midnighter talking to anyone but Apollo and Jenny or going bare-faced in front of anyone was a novelty, and no one but Jenny knew the Doctor's name (or likely cared) ... I love superheroes with purely human foibles.
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Re: Thank you!
no one but Jenny knew the Doctor's name (or likely cared) ...
And, man, is it hard for me to type "the Doctor" when they think about him instead of a name. Because in my brain, there's only one "The Doctor" (or rather, ten of him, but none of them are Jeroen). The fact that the Authority's Doctor also runs around with a Jack and that his replacement keeps company with a Rose only makes it more confusing.
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Re: Thank you!
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Re: Thank you!
(And isn't it lovely that they really, canonically are porn powers?)
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Re: Thank you!
I can't threesome them, because I can't shake Jeroen's ghost off Habib. Jeroen and Jenny Q were too fraternal (in my head, and in the panel or two of shared screentime they have in the entire run of the series ... I'm very liberal in making up my own canon) and that keeps ruining any sex thoughts Jenny might cast Habib's way. I do have a half-drafted futurefic that depends rather heavily on Jenny/Rose porn to demonstrate just how deeply fucked up my Jenny Quantum is.
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Re: Thank you!
Mmm. Jenny/Rose is good all on its own. And so very, very pretty.
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Revolution mostly made me want to write shower!fic of the Lady Macbeth kind (Bendix made me feel grimy, and he wasn't even in my head), but Jenny Q./Rose/Habib would be a glorious thing to read.
I think the best part would be Apollo's reaction upon finding out that Jenny Q. was sleeping with Rose. There would be much parental yelling, in which the phrase "young lady" might even show up. Her argument that sex with Rose can't get her pregnant and is therefore cool wouldn't convince him.
Meanwhile, Midnighter would break into Rose's bedroom in the middle of the night, wake her up by putting a knife to her throat, and tell her that if she ever, ever hurts Jenny, he'll kill her so dead that even porn powers won't make any difference. And then neither of them would ever mention the encounter again, except via the significant looks Midnighter would give her any time she's in the same room with Jenny.
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Re: Thank you!
And... damn. Now I want to write this again. Except for the part where I totally suck at porn. Damn. I may just have to give it a try anyway.
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The nanites are fast becoming one (some?) of my favourite "characters" in this piece to write, irritating amount of passive voice and all. They're not evil, they're just socially mal-adjusted. Really, if they could learn to comunicate with the rest of the Authority, they'd fit right in.
I'm almost sorry I'm going to end by electrocuting them all.
but not really, 'cause having Angie bleed nanites out her eyes after Jenny accidentally zaps her and Midnighter as well will be coolFrom:
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Well, if it is, then I'm wrong right along with you.
The nanites are fast becoming one (some?) of my favourite "characters" in this piece to write, irritating amount of passive voice and all. They're not evil, they're just socially mal-adjusted. Really, if they could learn to comunicate with the rest of the Authority, they'd fit right in.
Pet!Nanites! And they would fit right in at that.
but bleeding nanites out the eyes is just too cool to pass upFrom:
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Only fellow nanites are people. The rest go in a data folder label "not!nanites," to be evaluated for threat level and potential usefulness.
Similar to Midnighter's mental "people who are not Apollo or Jenny Q" folder.
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Similar to Midnighter's mental "people who are not Apollo or Jenny Q" folder.
See, that's the great part though- the nanites really aren't any stranger or more amoral than any of the rest of the Authority. In fact, probably less than some.
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If it's wrong, I want to live in Wrongville with you. Theirloveissoderangedyetfunctional. And they're so up front about the fact that they're both so fucked up there's probably no one else in the world who'd put up with either of them, so it's a very good thing they're both gay and have compatible notions of housekeeping.
*virtuously refrains from mentioning her strange Jenny S/Apollo notions*having Angie bleed nanites out her eyes after Jenny accidentally zaps her and Midnighter as well will be cool
*seconds this declaration of coolness*
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Well, we know Apollo likes them bitchy and violent...
having Angie bleed nanites out her eyes after Jenny accidentally zaps her and Midnighter as well will be cool
*seconds this declaration of coolness*
Then I shall fix things with hurty medical science and Doctor ex Machina (it's not just for the BBC anymore!).
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