word 136 challenge response
Jan. 21st, 2006 05:15 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
chanter1944My OTP is showing again...! :) Written for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
15minuteficlets, but it took longer than fifteen minutes let me tell you! :)
Title: Division
Author: Chanter
Series: TNG, season 6-ish
Rating: R for references to domestic abuse and intimacy
Pairings: Leah/Richard, Geordi/Leah
Summary: He needed a wife. She needed a soul mate. Leah and Richard divorce. Song! Fic, with lyrics borrowed from Edna Swap -- Back On The Sun.
1000 words
Heavy instruments
down below my depth
There exactly in the wrong arms of the wrong one
Leah had known she’d wanted to go through with it years before. Vodka and lemonade hadn’t triggered it, being soaked and bleeding on a New York City street hadn’t triggered it--hell, a giant space baby imprinted to a galaxy class starship hadn’t entirely done that. At least... not consciously. Sure that day had been the catalyst for conscious thought, painting her inner eyelids with distracting fleeting images of his warmth and her logic and the life they could make together, a life meant to be enjoyed, a life where engineering was tangled up with the cycles of the day and those were tangled up with ship time and personality and loving the situation you were in. A life after Richard. A life with Geordi.
That day had been the catalyst, explosive, confusing, hysterical... perfect. But it wasn’t the start of things. At least not on a level Leah would admit to.
Every honest word
does more harm than good
She’d known things were less than ideal a long time before that trip out to the Enterprise, a long time before subspace messages became the primary method of communication between husband and wife, before the last threads of cautiousness had forced her to pretend she was happy with her fidelity, even with that amiable, firelight and gold friend/companion/not-yet-realized dream of something more sitting in the chair next to hers and inviting confidences like no one else she’d known. Things had been slipping long before then--no children, her choice. No conversation, his choice. No sex; not between her schedule and his schedule and her really having no desire for him and not having done for who knew how many months, years? And hiding that fact in preoccupation with her workload. Things had been less than ideal for a long time before the explosion on the upper east side, the unintentional bombshell dropped in the bedroom, that pair of messages sent long-range and only wanting one thinly veiled thing. Long before the visible, there had been the invisible. Or the less visible. But Leah had seen.
To defy, to decide to ever cross alone
The alcohol had started in the making it visible part, the drinks on the night when he’d reconciled with her and she’d only half attempted to reconcile with him--not really wanting to but giving it a go for the sake of… something. Desperation. Not wanting to be party to another crumbling marriage, at least not outwardly. Something. She wasn’t sure. And the red wine on the night she’d tumbled over the edge with a name on her lips that wasn’t Richard’s, earning his wrath, fueling her subconscious desire. And the glass full of absolutely nothing when she’d asked him for a divorce, in the middle of the day, in the middle of their apartment because really, what chance did they have?
And the last, shaky attempt at civility (his choice) where it had been one round, two rounds, three rounds and more trouble than she’d ever expected from him, ending in one torn sleeve, one eventual scar, and one agreement to dissolve their wedding vows. Alcohol had triggered things but even without it, she’d wanted. She’d needed.
Clear a little space in your mind
I saw infinity between us
Because really, what chance did they have, anyway? She wanted more; life tangled up with theoretical design and practicality and true love based on actually knowing a person inside and out, what made them laugh, what made them melt, what made them bawl, personal history and quirky habits and embarrassing stories and them knowing exactly the same about you and accepting everything right down to the gritty details and the socks on the floor.
And he wanted less; a woman who didn’t challenge him like Leah did, who didn’t need to be touched or argued with or to know all his visceral details and share his breathing space willingly. He didn’t need to laugh. She didn’t need to be second class. He didn’t need to stay up long nights just talking. She didn’t need to be forgotten. He needed a wife.
She needed a soul mate.
Another revolution
It’s pure friction
love is the cure and the affliction
She was damned if she didn’t, trapped in a marriage that was going nowhere except straight to hell on a one-way journey determined to end in a fiery crash and then where would they be? If, of course, it hadn’t crashed already, when she’d landed with the just-healed scar under her sleeve, landed babbling in the transporter beam, landed sobbing in the shower and then hung over and sniffly on a moth-eaten sofa.
But was she damned if she did? No, not considering what was on the other side of broken vows and lawyers and signatures--not considering she could fly back, run back, walk back the distance between the stars and maybe rekindle--kindle? something between herself and Geordi, if there was anything there. If he’d have her. Not considering what she was leaving behind.
I’m tumbling backwards
Spinning now that the earth has begun
To turn her back on the sun
And the fact remained that Richard had hit her, drawn blood from her, laid open flesh from her and violence was still domestic, still unforgivable. And that she wanted a soul mate. And that things had been slowly falling apart for a long, long time. And that she loved Geordi.
No, she wasn’t damned.
Leah had known she’d wanted to go through with this long before, years before, who knew how soon after her blushing bride phase was over and now... with her signature added next to his... and the divisions third and fourth parties and legal advisors had sorted out for them--house, money and God knew what else...
She’d keep the name. But not the bond. She’d wanted this for a long time.
And now she’d gotten it.
Dang, but I've missed those muses! Glad they're back.
15minuteficlets, but it took longer than fifteen minutes let me tell you! :) Title: Division
Author: Chanter
Series: TNG, season 6-ish
Rating: R for references to domestic abuse and intimacy
Pairings: Leah/Richard, Geordi/Leah
Summary: He needed a wife. She needed a soul mate. Leah and Richard divorce. Song! Fic, with lyrics borrowed from Edna Swap -- Back On The Sun.
1000 words
Heavy instruments
down below my depth
There exactly in the wrong arms of the wrong one
Leah had known she’d wanted to go through with it years before. Vodka and lemonade hadn’t triggered it, being soaked and bleeding on a New York City street hadn’t triggered it--hell, a giant space baby imprinted to a galaxy class starship hadn’t entirely done that. At least... not consciously. Sure that day had been the catalyst for conscious thought, painting her inner eyelids with distracting fleeting images of his warmth and her logic and the life they could make together, a life meant to be enjoyed, a life where engineering was tangled up with the cycles of the day and those were tangled up with ship time and personality and loving the situation you were in. A life after Richard. A life with Geordi.
That day had been the catalyst, explosive, confusing, hysterical... perfect. But it wasn’t the start of things. At least not on a level Leah would admit to.
Every honest word
does more harm than good
She’d known things were less than ideal a long time before that trip out to the Enterprise, a long time before subspace messages became the primary method of communication between husband and wife, before the last threads of cautiousness had forced her to pretend she was happy with her fidelity, even with that amiable, firelight and gold friend/companion/not-yet-realized dream of something more sitting in the chair next to hers and inviting confidences like no one else she’d known. Things had been slipping long before then--no children, her choice. No conversation, his choice. No sex; not between her schedule and his schedule and her really having no desire for him and not having done for who knew how many months, years? And hiding that fact in preoccupation with her workload. Things had been less than ideal for a long time before the explosion on the upper east side, the unintentional bombshell dropped in the bedroom, that pair of messages sent long-range and only wanting one thinly veiled thing. Long before the visible, there had been the invisible. Or the less visible. But Leah had seen.
To defy, to decide to ever cross alone
The alcohol had started in the making it visible part, the drinks on the night when he’d reconciled with her and she’d only half attempted to reconcile with him--not really wanting to but giving it a go for the sake of… something. Desperation. Not wanting to be party to another crumbling marriage, at least not outwardly. Something. She wasn’t sure. And the red wine on the night she’d tumbled over the edge with a name on her lips that wasn’t Richard’s, earning his wrath, fueling her subconscious desire. And the glass full of absolutely nothing when she’d asked him for a divorce, in the middle of the day, in the middle of their apartment because really, what chance did they have?
And the last, shaky attempt at civility (his choice) where it had been one round, two rounds, three rounds and more trouble than she’d ever expected from him, ending in one torn sleeve, one eventual scar, and one agreement to dissolve their wedding vows. Alcohol had triggered things but even without it, she’d wanted. She’d needed.
Clear a little space in your mind
I saw infinity between us
Because really, what chance did they have, anyway? She wanted more; life tangled up with theoretical design and practicality and true love based on actually knowing a person inside and out, what made them laugh, what made them melt, what made them bawl, personal history and quirky habits and embarrassing stories and them knowing exactly the same about you and accepting everything right down to the gritty details and the socks on the floor.
And he wanted less; a woman who didn’t challenge him like Leah did, who didn’t need to be touched or argued with or to know all his visceral details and share his breathing space willingly. He didn’t need to laugh. She didn’t need to be second class. He didn’t need to stay up long nights just talking. She didn’t need to be forgotten. He needed a wife.
She needed a soul mate.
Another revolution
It’s pure friction
love is the cure and the affliction
She was damned if she didn’t, trapped in a marriage that was going nowhere except straight to hell on a one-way journey determined to end in a fiery crash and then where would they be? If, of course, it hadn’t crashed already, when she’d landed with the just-healed scar under her sleeve, landed babbling in the transporter beam, landed sobbing in the shower and then hung over and sniffly on a moth-eaten sofa.
But was she damned if she did? No, not considering what was on the other side of broken vows and lawyers and signatures--not considering she could fly back, run back, walk back the distance between the stars and maybe rekindle--kindle? something between herself and Geordi, if there was anything there. If he’d have her. Not considering what she was leaving behind.
I’m tumbling backwards
Spinning now that the earth has begun
To turn her back on the sun
And the fact remained that Richard had hit her, drawn blood from her, laid open flesh from her and violence was still domestic, still unforgivable. And that she wanted a soul mate. And that things had been slowly falling apart for a long, long time. And that she loved Geordi.
No, she wasn’t damned.
Leah had known she’d wanted to go through with this long before, years before, who knew how soon after her blushing bride phase was over and now... with her signature added next to his... and the divisions third and fourth parties and legal advisors had sorted out for them--house, money and God knew what else...
She’d keep the name. But not the bond. She’d wanted this for a long time.
And now she’d gotten it.
Dang, but I've missed those muses! Glad they're back.
