Other Fan Fiction ❯ Phantasmagoria ❯ It is as it is ( Chapter 1 )
[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]
By: Asmodeus Saccharine 
This was supposed to be a one-shot, but it mutated beyond my control as I was writing.
Non Anime: Other Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Drama / Romance / Angst / | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 06.27.2006 | Updated On: 06.27.2006 | Pages: 2 | Words: 1.5K | Visits: 377 | Status: Work In Progress
This was supposed to be a one-shot, but it mutated beyond my control as I was writing.
Non Anime: Other Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Drama / Romance / Angst / | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 06.27.2006 | Updated On: 06.27.2006 | Pages: 2 | Words: 1.5K | Visits: 377 | Status: Work In Progress
A/N: I am, admittedly, desperate because of the lack of straightforward GoliathxElisa. So now I shall inflict myself upon you, as deranged as is my custom. In fact, everyone else should write more just to keep me from releasing any more of my ramblings into cyberspace. Do your civic duty!
xxx
It was punishment, she supposed. For seeking release instead of staying the strong, pure heroine. For every time she'd tied off in preparation for a syringe, every stranger in a strange bed. If she had suffered quietly, none of this would be happening.
But she had needed something, anything, to distract her.
She was careful. Usually. She never took a hit on duty, never shared a needle unless she was drunk, never forgot a condom unless she was too frayed to care.
It had been necessary. Something dark and craven kept trying to claw its way out from inside her, and she simply redirected that black energy. Left to bottle up, she knew it would have been disasterous. He was a friend. They all were. She was responsible for them, their subtle protector in a world which would never entirely be their own. She couldn't afford to feel anything but protectiveness, trust, loyalty.
She had to chase away the dreams of wings. Of being wrapped in impossibly powerful arms, knowing how gentle they could be, knowing they could crush her in an instant. Of whispers and skin and pleasure-pain.
There was a definite similarity in the men she chose. She never did it conciously, but they always seemed to be tall, powerful. Broad shoulders and dark hair. She knew why she always turned off the lights. She knew exactly who she was pretending to hold inside her.
She always ran her flattened hands over their shoulders when she climaxed, and let herself imagine she was touching leathery wings.
Sometimes, depending on the drug, she went hysterical. Laughing until it became pain, and beyond. At herself, her own pathetic situation. She had always been strong, before. She had never had lust shake her down to her toes, or felt the golden heat that she finally admitted was love pooling in her chest.
Friends would send her on dates, dress her up to visit bars. No one was close to good enough. No one came close to matching his quiet intensity, the strength in his hands, the guarded warmth of his smile, or the impossibly low voice that caressed her skin like a tangible thing. There was a betting pool at the office by now, everyone waiting to see when she would come out the closet.
She didn't want women. She didn't want men. She didn't want anything human. She wanted what she knew she could never come close to having, and that knowledge reveled in tearing her apart.
It was punishment, she supposed. She had tried to take the edge off, find enough release to get her through the day.
It was punishment. And now she was dying.
xxx
She had been carrying the disease for years now, it seemed, had undoubtedly recieved it several times over from different sources. Now it was manifesting itself.
Attempting to keep it quiet hadn't held for long. One day she was so drained from vomiting that she couldn't make it to her feet. She missed a meeting at the tower. She expected to see a dark silhouette glide past her window, expected to hear the snap of wings. Even now, feeling like she was more dead than alive, the thought caused an involuntary thrill. But Goliath didn't come.
David Xanatos did.
He knocked. Waited. The thought of the smug billionaire wasn't nearly enough to drag her to the door, so she remained with her forehead pressed against porcelain. Her fingers fluttered on the steel handle, but she was unable to summon the strength to flush away the vomit. The acrid smell was happily shooting its way up her nostrils, and she rolled onto her back on the floor to escape it.
However David got in, she didn't hear. But next she knew he was filling up the bathroom doorway. He was silent as he washed her face. Even as he filled the tub with warm water, as he stripped her and settled her in, his disapproval was palpable.
"Better than pity," she murmured. The hands that were lowering her back into the water stilled before gliding back into efficient motion, sign enough that he had heard. He was gentle, showing no sign of embarassment. Another woman might have been insulted at such a lack of response in a man, given the situation. Elisa was grateful. Asexual was sounding pretty good right now.
"This doesn't make us friends, you know," she said bluntly as he dried her.
Immaculate brows arched in a polished, habitual expression. The gleaming smile was just short of condescending, and familiar enough to be of comfort. "Of course not, detective. I would expect nothing less." There were no more words until she was in her bed, heavy blankets pulled up to her chin.
"I assume, then, that you don't plan on telling Goliath and the others?"
She blinked a few times before answering, wondering if her plans made any difference. Then again, if David hadn't called a doctor by now, he probably didn't intend to rat her out. "Course not."
"Given your habits - and yes, I know plenty about them; I have years of your exploits on file - this all seems rather inevitable. Your doctor tells me they're estimating less than a year. The only thing that surprises me is that you aren't using what time is left to you. Do you really intend to die alone, Elisa?"
His use of her given name jolted her more than the sentiments expressed.
"What would you advise?" she murmured harshly, feeling that the hoarseness left in her voice suited the bitterness of the words themselves. "Throw my rotting self at him? Even if something did form, out of whatever sense of duty Goliath has in him, it would be a joke. I'll get out of town when it's close to over. He doesn't have to know."
xxx
They had talked for hours. An understanding had been reached, though neither of them was pleased. Since Elisa refused to see her doctor regularly, or seek more intensive treatments, David would check on her every day, and was allowed to take care of her in whatever way he saw fit. She saw an endless sea of mandatory naps looming ahead, and they made her scowl. In return for her cooperation, however, David would help her keep her condition a secret.
She still went to work, but didn't go out of her way. No more volunteering for extra shifts, no ambitious chases down alleys.
When she visited the clan, she kept things short. Hudson had his television to return to, and Lex was kept busy playing with Alex. She thought she felt an unsettling knowledge in Fox's stare, but if David had told her what was going on, the woman wasn't about to leak any information.
Bronx seemed to smell the sickness on her, so she was careful to maintain a subtle distance. Brooklyn was out more than usual, devoting himself to his latest in an increasingly long line of modern fixations. Broadway and Angela seemed to be constantly disappearing into the nearest cozy nook. She tried not to hate them for being happy.
Goliath said nothing aloud, of course, but she could sense a bit of hurt. Expected, of course. His friend was avoiding him more and more, stopping by just long enough to say hello and offer a few moments of bright, false smiles. She knew him well enough to know that he was searching for the right words, trying to find an explanation for the change. She loved him every instant, watching him try, as always, to frame the intensity of what he felt with flimsy, insubstantial words.
She wasn't touching her drugs anymore, and she certainly wasn't fucking. So the dreams were back, making themselves as comfortable as if they had never left her.
She dreamt of firm lips on her skin, teeth latched into her neck. Of bruising hands on her arms, on her breasts. Of hard, hot weight grinding her hips to powder. She dreamt of climaxing wrapped in his wings.
She woke, sobbing from fury and raw need.
xxx
After David found her throwing everything within reach that morning, he quietly removed what was breakable.
He swept up all the shards littering her floor. When he pulled glass from the bottoms of her feet, he let her pretend it was that pain that was making her weep.
xxx
It was punishment, she supposed. For seeking release instead of staying the strong, pure heroine. For every time she'd tied off in preparation for a syringe, every stranger in a strange bed. If she had suffered quietly, none of this would be happening.
But she had needed something, anything, to distract her.
She was careful. Usually. She never took a hit on duty, never shared a needle unless she was drunk, never forgot a condom unless she was too frayed to care.
It had been necessary. Something dark and craven kept trying to claw its way out from inside her, and she simply redirected that black energy. Left to bottle up, she knew it would have been disasterous. He was a friend. They all were. She was responsible for them, their subtle protector in a world which would never entirely be their own. She couldn't afford to feel anything but protectiveness, trust, loyalty.
She had to chase away the dreams of wings. Of being wrapped in impossibly powerful arms, knowing how gentle they could be, knowing they could crush her in an instant. Of whispers and skin and pleasure-pain.
There was a definite similarity in the men she chose. She never did it conciously, but they always seemed to be tall, powerful. Broad shoulders and dark hair. She knew why she always turned off the lights. She knew exactly who she was pretending to hold inside her.
She always ran her flattened hands over their shoulders when she climaxed, and let herself imagine she was touching leathery wings.
Sometimes, depending on the drug, she went hysterical. Laughing until it became pain, and beyond. At herself, her own pathetic situation. She had always been strong, before. She had never had lust shake her down to her toes, or felt the golden heat that she finally admitted was love pooling in her chest.
Friends would send her on dates, dress her up to visit bars. No one was close to good enough. No one came close to matching his quiet intensity, the strength in his hands, the guarded warmth of his smile, or the impossibly low voice that caressed her skin like a tangible thing. There was a betting pool at the office by now, everyone waiting to see when she would come out the closet.
She didn't want women. She didn't want men. She didn't want anything human. She wanted what she knew she could never come close to having, and that knowledge reveled in tearing her apart.
It was punishment, she supposed. She had tried to take the edge off, find enough release to get her through the day.
It was punishment. And now she was dying.
xxx
She had been carrying the disease for years now, it seemed, had undoubtedly recieved it several times over from different sources. Now it was manifesting itself.
Attempting to keep it quiet hadn't held for long. One day she was so drained from vomiting that she couldn't make it to her feet. She missed a meeting at the tower. She expected to see a dark silhouette glide past her window, expected to hear the snap of wings. Even now, feeling like she was more dead than alive, the thought caused an involuntary thrill. But Goliath didn't come.
David Xanatos did.
He knocked. Waited. The thought of the smug billionaire wasn't nearly enough to drag her to the door, so she remained with her forehead pressed against porcelain. Her fingers fluttered on the steel handle, but she was unable to summon the strength to flush away the vomit. The acrid smell was happily shooting its way up her nostrils, and she rolled onto her back on the floor to escape it.
However David got in, she didn't hear. But next she knew he was filling up the bathroom doorway. He was silent as he washed her face. Even as he filled the tub with warm water, as he stripped her and settled her in, his disapproval was palpable.
"Better than pity," she murmured. The hands that were lowering her back into the water stilled before gliding back into efficient motion, sign enough that he had heard. He was gentle, showing no sign of embarassment. Another woman might have been insulted at such a lack of response in a man, given the situation. Elisa was grateful. Asexual was sounding pretty good right now.
"This doesn't make us friends, you know," she said bluntly as he dried her.
Immaculate brows arched in a polished, habitual expression. The gleaming smile was just short of condescending, and familiar enough to be of comfort. "Of course not, detective. I would expect nothing less." There were no more words until she was in her bed, heavy blankets pulled up to her chin.
"I assume, then, that you don't plan on telling Goliath and the others?"
She blinked a few times before answering, wondering if her plans made any difference. Then again, if David hadn't called a doctor by now, he probably didn't intend to rat her out. "Course not."
"Given your habits - and yes, I know plenty about them; I have years of your exploits on file - this all seems rather inevitable. Your doctor tells me they're estimating less than a year. The only thing that surprises me is that you aren't using what time is left to you. Do you really intend to die alone, Elisa?"
His use of her given name jolted her more than the sentiments expressed.
"What would you advise?" she murmured harshly, feeling that the hoarseness left in her voice suited the bitterness of the words themselves. "Throw my rotting self at him? Even if something did form, out of whatever sense of duty Goliath has in him, it would be a joke. I'll get out of town when it's close to over. He doesn't have to know."
xxx
They had talked for hours. An understanding had been reached, though neither of them was pleased. Since Elisa refused to see her doctor regularly, or seek more intensive treatments, David would check on her every day, and was allowed to take care of her in whatever way he saw fit. She saw an endless sea of mandatory naps looming ahead, and they made her scowl. In return for her cooperation, however, David would help her keep her condition a secret.
She still went to work, but didn't go out of her way. No more volunteering for extra shifts, no ambitious chases down alleys.
When she visited the clan, she kept things short. Hudson had his television to return to, and Lex was kept busy playing with Alex. She thought she felt an unsettling knowledge in Fox's stare, but if David had told her what was going on, the woman wasn't about to leak any information.
Bronx seemed to smell the sickness on her, so she was careful to maintain a subtle distance. Brooklyn was out more than usual, devoting himself to his latest in an increasingly long line of modern fixations. Broadway and Angela seemed to be constantly disappearing into the nearest cozy nook. She tried not to hate them for being happy.
Goliath said nothing aloud, of course, but she could sense a bit of hurt. Expected, of course. His friend was avoiding him more and more, stopping by just long enough to say hello and offer a few moments of bright, false smiles. She knew him well enough to know that he was searching for the right words, trying to find an explanation for the change. She loved him every instant, watching him try, as always, to frame the intensity of what he felt with flimsy, insubstantial words.
She wasn't touching her drugs anymore, and she certainly wasn't fucking. So the dreams were back, making themselves as comfortable as if they had never left her.
She dreamt of firm lips on her skin, teeth latched into her neck. Of bruising hands on her arms, on her breasts. Of hard, hot weight grinding her hips to powder. She dreamt of climaxing wrapped in his wings.
She woke, sobbing from fury and raw need.
xxx
After David found her throwing everything within reach that morning, he quietly removed what was breakable.
He swept up all the shards littering her floor. When he pulled glass from the bottoms of her feet, he let her pretend it was that pain that was making her weep.