Faye (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
said_scarlett) wrote2006-09-13 02:50 pm
said_scarlett) wrote2006-09-13 02:50 pm
Like Ashes We Scatter - Zack/Lyta - R
Internet has been wonky and I have been busy cleaning. But I'm waiting for things to be ready to scrub, so I finished up a fic I've been poking at for a while now. There's something seriously nostalgic about writing B5 fic while listening to Heart. Heart was, for some reason, my B5 music. Anyway....
Title: Like Ashes We Scatter
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
theladyfeylene
Fandom: Babylon 5
Pairing: Zack/Lyta (mentions of G'Kar/Lyta and Byron/Lyta)
Rating: R
Word Count: 3065
Spoilers: Spoilers for everything. Full series and EU.
Warnings: Slightly AU. Thirdspace never happened, and certain events during TTW have been altered.
Summary: It had been ten years, and she was still ignoring the pieces she most needed to pick up and put back together.
Time, despite popular belief, doesn’t change everything. There are those things, those places, that remain as they ever were despite the marching of years. The sights, the sounds, the smells - all of them the same even after decades of absence.
Babylon 5 was one such place. Lyta Alexander shouldered her small rucksack as she stepped into the security checkpoint, the familiarity of the place hitting her like a physical blow. How long had it been? Ten years? It was difficult to judge time after so long beyond Alliance space and so much death and destruction. But ten years seemed about right.
She hadn’t planned on returning, not after the wars. She was needed out there, needed to lead her people to their ultimate goal. Even if Byron had long since been forgotten - how soon martyrs faded from memory - his dream had lived on. And it was her dream now.
And now, with Psi-Corp in ruins and telepaths scattered and confused in the wake of the upheaval, Lyta found herself returning to the place where it had all begun. Someone needed to pick up the pieces - and she had been the one who broke the Corps. Oh, there was the Psionic Monitoring Commission of course, but with the Psi Cops scattered across the known universe she could hardly expect them to be offering succor to those that were left without knowing where to turn.
Kosh had once said that time was like a wave - surging forward and rushing back, but always returning to either the land or the sea. This place, battered and bruised and a beacon still, was the land to which time always returned her.
Despite the sameness, there were differences. Too few familiar faces, too many strangers in places where allies had once been. But it didn’t matter. Not now, not when there was so much to be done.
It was easy enough to settle in, to walk the same corridors she’d walked as a Psi-Corp aide, as an ambassadorial attaché, as a soldier, a weapon, a revolutionary.
She was surprised at the nostalgia she felt. What did this place hold for her other than cold memories and loss? But Lyta knew she was being purposefully cold and distant in her recollections. It was easier that way. She didn’t have time for sentiments and regrets and walks down memory lane.
But she didn’t have much of a choice.
***
The Zocalo was the same as it had always been, busy merchants hawking their wares and crowds of humans and aliens jostling and hustling in the open marketplace. Lyta squeezed her way through, looking for an open communications terminal. She had a list of names and contacts, gathered by her agents back on Earth. Telepaths that were tired of organizations, that shied away from even benevolent ones. She would take them in, as she had all the others.
Lyta felt him before she heard or saw him. A small part of her couldn’t help but wonder if she’d been mentally listening for him, searching the market and surrounding area for his mental signature. It had always been strong, bright and loud and pulsing like a lighthouse. For a mundane, he’d projected his thoughts and feelings remarkably strongly.
“Lyta!”
She had stopped before he’d spoken. Her steps had faltered to a cautious halt, her hands tightening without any signal from her brain. She turned, her lips set in a thin line. Different but the same, so many gone, but some still remained. And there he was.
“Hello Zack.”
She met his eyes, taking stock of him. Like the station itself, he was different but the same. Steel gray hair, rather than the sandy brown of her memories. His face still boyish, despite the lines of age and hard times. Broad shoulders, rumpled uniform, hands that could never remain still…
“I didn’t think I’d be seeing you again.”
“I know.”
The sensations radiating off of him were the same. Even after so long, they felt as they always had. A mix of apprehension, joy, nervous fear and the other. That thing that Lyta had once longed for, had returned in part, before everything went to hell. It was still there, burning beneath everything else and touching her mind without her needing to seek it.
“What brings you back here?” His hands were clasped behind his back now. She could remember him standing like that, watching her earnestly and eagerly.
“Picking up the pieces,” she said, glancing down at the space between them. His thoughts and feelings overrode the background buzz of the market place.
“I’d think those’d be back on Earth.”
“Well, that’s the thing about pieces, Zack. They scatter.” The words were more bitter than she’d intended, and she felt as well as saw him flinch. She couldn’t afford this. There was too much to do, too much she needed to do. She carefully arranged her features into a polite smile.
“It was nice running into you,” she offered. “I didn’t think there’d be anybody left around here. Maybe I’ll see you around.”
She didn’t wait for a response - he’d never been good at them, anyway - before turning away. How many times had she walked away from him like this before, leaving him struggling for words and calling after her with nothing but raw emotion?
“Lyta, wait.”
The hand on her wrist surprised her. She froze, her head jerking around angrily at being restrained. It didn’t matter that it was Zack, it didn’t matter that she could feel him pleading with her to listen, that he meant her no harm.
“Let go of me.”
“Oh, come on.” He dropped her hand with a frustrated sigh. “I couldn’t get your attention any other way. Look… you’re here, I’m here… have dinner with me. You know, for old time’s sake?”
“There are no old times, Zack.”
“Then let’s make some.”
He wasn’t backing down. Lyta frowned, looking at him once more. No, he was different. Harder, rougher. There was a determination to him that hadn’t been there before. He’d never pushed her before, never done more than flounder and stammer and half-articulate himself to her before.
“I don’t think that would be a good idea.” What would they say to each other? It would be awkward and stilted and painful for them both. And he’d want her to stay, and he’d have a million and one reasons why she could. And she’d have the same arguments as always as to why she couldn’t. He was a mundane…
“I’m just asking for dinner.” He offered a weak, hopeful smile. “It doesn’t even have to be a big deal - I can bring a pizza by your quarters.”
He was a mundane who had never cared what she was. He’d never cared she was a telepath, never cared when she was Psi-Corps, never cared when the truth was exposed as to what telepaths were. He hadn’t even cared about the alterations the Vorlons had made to her, as though it was nothing.
“Okay. But… just dinner. And just the once - I mean it, Zack.”
“Just dinner,” Zack agreed, and the wide grin that split his face paled in comparison to the exuberance and relief that poured off of him. It was almost embarrassing. She hardly heard him when he offered details, the shift in his emotions overwhelming her momentarily.
It was just dinner. Nothing more. And she couldn’t compromise her own rules - she wouldn’t.
Even if a part of her wanted to.
***
“… she picks up the ambassador, throws him over her shoulder, and walks right out of the Zocalo! I tell you, I wouldn’t believe it if I hadn’t seen it myself.”
They were sitting on the floor, a box of pizza open between them. Lyta found herself laughing, despite herself, as Zack told story after story. She hadn’t wanted to slip into this comfortable companionship, but it had happened anyway. She hadn’t wanted to smile whenever Zack smiled at her. She hadn’t wanted to want this. She couldn’t have it. Maybe, once upon a time she could have, but not now.
“This place never really changes,” she said, shaking her head, wanting to fill the silence with idle chit chat.
“Nope. We might come and go, but Babylon 5 always stays the same. I don’t think we’d want it any other way, though.”
“No. I don’t think we would.”
“I, uh, I spent some time on Centauri Prime a few months ago, actually,” Zack went on, running a hand through his face. “Vir goes back and forth now, you know, and there was some concern about safety and all that so he asked me - you know, as a favor. I tell you, coming back here was like coming home. You know that feeling? Even with Sheridan and Stephen and Michael and everybody else gone, it still feels like home.”
“For you.” They were venturing into dangerous territory here, the kind she’d wanted to avoid.
“It was home for you for a damn long time, Lyta.”
“It was,” she said, more forcefully than she’d intended. “But it isn’t anymore.”
“So where is home for you? You go off with G’kar, you head off into unknown space, you come back and take down the Corps and then go out again… where’s home?”
“I’ll know when I find it.” She looked down, trying to block out what he projected. Hope, want, need, fear…
“This could be home again.”
“Zack…” Damn it, she’d known this was going to happen! She clenched her fists on her thighs, her teeth snapping together tightly.
“What? You know I have to try.”
“I know. You always have.” A small smile cracked Lyta’s frustrated mask, almost sad. “I can’t stay Zack. I’m sorry, but I can’t. I have responsibilities to my people…”
“What about you?” Zack was looking at her intently now. “What about your responsibility to you? You took down the corps. You made Earth a safe place for telepaths. For Chrissakes, Bester’s in jail, Lyta. It’s over. There’s other people who can pick up the pieces.”
“It’s my responsibility!” Lyta sighed and struggled to gain composure. “Look, I wish things had been different as much as you do. I’m sorry for a lot of how things went between us. But we can’t change what happened, and we can’t just act like none of it did.”
“I’m not trying to tell you to forget about the past. Just… lay it to rest. What’s so important that it has to be you that does it?” Zack shifted, leaning closer to her. “Give me a reason, Lyta. A real reason. You never have before, I think it’s about time.”
“I knew this was a bad idea.” Lyta got up, standing quickly and angrily. Why had she ever agreed to this? She’d known it was going to turn into an argument - him pleading and her protesting and them parting in anger yet again. Zack was on his feet a split second later, his hand on her arm once more.
“I’m not gonna let you walk out of my life without an explanation again.”
“I’ve given you reasons!” Lyta didn’t turn. Zack’s hand gripped her upper arm and she could feel the heat of his body against her back.
“You gave me reasons for running away. You gave me ideals and excuses. And that’s all you’re doing again. I… damnit, Lyta!”
“You what?” Lyta remained still, her eyes on the door, waiting. She could feel it, had always been able to feel it, but she wanted to hear it. She may have offered excuses and protests, but he’d never offered much better.
“You know.”
“Do I, Zack?” She gave a small, short laugh. “If you have something to say, just say it. Because maybe I have shut you out, and maybe I have run away, but you haven’t given me any reason not to.”
Zack didn’t say anything. He didn’t really need to. She felt his regret and his anger and his desperation. She lowered her head and his hand loosened on her arm. But he didn’t let go. Instead, his other hand came around them both, his rough and calloused fingers tilting her chin up and her head back.
“I’ve never been too good with saying stuff,” he mumbled, a moment before his lips brushed against hers. She froze one more, then sagged against him as he kissed her, all protests and arguments dying in her throat. He held her gently, the hand on her arm moving as his arm encircled her. She could feel everything, a red-gold wave of sensation that reached into her nerves. She felt her own apprehension and desire and regret, and over it she felt his. And she knew he couldn’t feel anything that all, because he was mind-deaf and lived only half a sensory life. But he held her and deepened the kiss and clung to her desperately even so.
There was a need in his touch that had never been there before. It was different than Byron, who’s touch had been gentle and reverent. It was different than G’kar, who had taken pleasure in her body but never felt more than friendship for her, who’s touch had been easy and empty. It was a hungry, desperation that sank into her and caught her up in a tidal wave of emotion.
“Zack…”
She broke away, shoulders heaving not from the physical but the mental.
“I know.” He rested his head against hers, eyes closed. “I know you can’t stay. You won’t stay. But… I can. For the night. Just….I…”
He’d never say it. Lyta knew that the same way she knew what the Vorlons had done to her. It was there, in his mind, hovering on the surface as though he knew she could sense it. He couldn’t say it, he knew it wouldn’t change anything. He could tell her that he loved her, and it would be out there, and then she’d leave anyway. As long as he kept it to himself, as long as he didn’t give it voice, he could pretend it didn’t hurt that badly.
“I know,” Lyta said, turning in his arms, pressing her face against his broad chest. “I told myself I wouldn’t let this happen.”
“You don’t listen to anyone else, why’d you think you’d listen to yourself?” The lightness in the words was forced, but Lyta laughed some anyway.
“This is a mistake.”
“Yeah, well, we’ve both made a hundred mistakes before. What’s one more?”
The need, the want, the burning longing overpowered everything else. She had felt acceptance, she had felt love, she had felt kinship. But this raw and unbridled need was unfamiliar and crippling. Here and now, in his arms, his want for her washing over every facet of her senses, she couldn’t deny him. She couldn’t deny herself.
“What’s one more?” she repeated, and he kissed her again before the words were even finished, crushing her against him. It was hot and hungry and rough and she arched against him as though she could pull all of his need into her. She felt what he felt, each sensation and emotion turned back onto her, like a mirror facing a mirror. They didn’t even make it to the bed, the want and need overpowering them. There weren’t any words to describe the crescendo of everything that had Lyta in its grip. She felt Zack’s hands on her skin, his lips, his body pressed against hers as though they were made for one another. But through it all she was wrapped in the golden-red embrace of their shared thoughts and emotions and caresses. He shouted her name out loud and in her mind when he climaxed, gripping her sweat slicked body as though afraid she would fade away as soon as it was over.
Afterwards, they lay together on the floor, legs twined together and heads resting against bare skin. Zack stroked her hair, his breathing heavy and shallow. She moved away first, not speaking, heading to the shower. He was in bed when she was done, on his side. A smile graced Lyta’s lips as she watched him, basking in the warm glow of his sleep-dulled emotions. Gone was the need, the hunger, the desperation. She let his peace and contentment wash over her in their stead, holding them gently in her mind.
After a few minutes, she got dressed - quietly, as not to disturb him. The quarters sang with the resonating echoes of their lovemaking, lapping across her mind like gentle waves. She packed her bad and slung it across her shoulder, pausing once more to look at her occupied bed.
I can’t stay, she projected, slipping the words into the threads of Zack’s dreams. Not now. But maybe next time.
With one last kiss to his sleeping forehead, Lyta slipped out of her quarters and booked a late night shuttle to Earth. Once she had picked up the pieces of the war, she’d see about picking up the pieces of her own life.
Some pieces wouldn’t scatter.
Title: Like Ashes We Scatter
Author:
theladyfeyleneFandom: Babylon 5
Pairing: Zack/Lyta (mentions of G'Kar/Lyta and Byron/Lyta)
Rating: R
Word Count: 3065
Spoilers: Spoilers for everything. Full series and EU.
Warnings: Slightly AU. Thirdspace never happened, and certain events during TTW have been altered.
Summary: It had been ten years, and she was still ignoring the pieces she most needed to pick up and put back together.
Time, despite popular belief, doesn’t change everything. There are those things, those places, that remain as they ever were despite the marching of years. The sights, the sounds, the smells - all of them the same even after decades of absence.
Babylon 5 was one such place. Lyta Alexander shouldered her small rucksack as she stepped into the security checkpoint, the familiarity of the place hitting her like a physical blow. How long had it been? Ten years? It was difficult to judge time after so long beyond Alliance space and so much death and destruction. But ten years seemed about right.
She hadn’t planned on returning, not after the wars. She was needed out there, needed to lead her people to their ultimate goal. Even if Byron had long since been forgotten - how soon martyrs faded from memory - his dream had lived on. And it was her dream now.
And now, with Psi-Corp in ruins and telepaths scattered and confused in the wake of the upheaval, Lyta found herself returning to the place where it had all begun. Someone needed to pick up the pieces - and she had been the one who broke the Corps. Oh, there was the Psionic Monitoring Commission of course, but with the Psi Cops scattered across the known universe she could hardly expect them to be offering succor to those that were left without knowing where to turn.
Kosh had once said that time was like a wave - surging forward and rushing back, but always returning to either the land or the sea. This place, battered and bruised and a beacon still, was the land to which time always returned her.
Despite the sameness, there were differences. Too few familiar faces, too many strangers in places where allies had once been. But it didn’t matter. Not now, not when there was so much to be done.
It was easy enough to settle in, to walk the same corridors she’d walked as a Psi-Corp aide, as an ambassadorial attaché, as a soldier, a weapon, a revolutionary.
She was surprised at the nostalgia she felt. What did this place hold for her other than cold memories and loss? But Lyta knew she was being purposefully cold and distant in her recollections. It was easier that way. She didn’t have time for sentiments and regrets and walks down memory lane.
But she didn’t have much of a choice.
The Zocalo was the same as it had always been, busy merchants hawking their wares and crowds of humans and aliens jostling and hustling in the open marketplace. Lyta squeezed her way through, looking for an open communications terminal. She had a list of names and contacts, gathered by her agents back on Earth. Telepaths that were tired of organizations, that shied away from even benevolent ones. She would take them in, as she had all the others.
Lyta felt him before she heard or saw him. A small part of her couldn’t help but wonder if she’d been mentally listening for him, searching the market and surrounding area for his mental signature. It had always been strong, bright and loud and pulsing like a lighthouse. For a mundane, he’d projected his thoughts and feelings remarkably strongly.
“Lyta!”
She had stopped before he’d spoken. Her steps had faltered to a cautious halt, her hands tightening without any signal from her brain. She turned, her lips set in a thin line. Different but the same, so many gone, but some still remained. And there he was.
“Hello Zack.”
She met his eyes, taking stock of him. Like the station itself, he was different but the same. Steel gray hair, rather than the sandy brown of her memories. His face still boyish, despite the lines of age and hard times. Broad shoulders, rumpled uniform, hands that could never remain still…
“I didn’t think I’d be seeing you again.”
“I know.”
The sensations radiating off of him were the same. Even after so long, they felt as they always had. A mix of apprehension, joy, nervous fear and the other. That thing that Lyta had once longed for, had returned in part, before everything went to hell. It was still there, burning beneath everything else and touching her mind without her needing to seek it.
“What brings you back here?” His hands were clasped behind his back now. She could remember him standing like that, watching her earnestly and eagerly.
“Picking up the pieces,” she said, glancing down at the space between them. His thoughts and feelings overrode the background buzz of the market place.
“I’d think those’d be back on Earth.”
“Well, that’s the thing about pieces, Zack. They scatter.” The words were more bitter than she’d intended, and she felt as well as saw him flinch. She couldn’t afford this. There was too much to do, too much she needed to do. She carefully arranged her features into a polite smile.
“It was nice running into you,” she offered. “I didn’t think there’d be anybody left around here. Maybe I’ll see you around.”
She didn’t wait for a response - he’d never been good at them, anyway - before turning away. How many times had she walked away from him like this before, leaving him struggling for words and calling after her with nothing but raw emotion?
“Lyta, wait.”
The hand on her wrist surprised her. She froze, her head jerking around angrily at being restrained. It didn’t matter that it was Zack, it didn’t matter that she could feel him pleading with her to listen, that he meant her no harm.
“Let go of me.”
“Oh, come on.” He dropped her hand with a frustrated sigh. “I couldn’t get your attention any other way. Look… you’re here, I’m here… have dinner with me. You know, for old time’s sake?”
“There are no old times, Zack.”
“Then let’s make some.”
He wasn’t backing down. Lyta frowned, looking at him once more. No, he was different. Harder, rougher. There was a determination to him that hadn’t been there before. He’d never pushed her before, never done more than flounder and stammer and half-articulate himself to her before.
“I don’t think that would be a good idea.” What would they say to each other? It would be awkward and stilted and painful for them both. And he’d want her to stay, and he’d have a million and one reasons why she could. And she’d have the same arguments as always as to why she couldn’t. He was a mundane…
“I’m just asking for dinner.” He offered a weak, hopeful smile. “It doesn’t even have to be a big deal - I can bring a pizza by your quarters.”
He was a mundane who had never cared what she was. He’d never cared she was a telepath, never cared when she was Psi-Corps, never cared when the truth was exposed as to what telepaths were. He hadn’t even cared about the alterations the Vorlons had made to her, as though it was nothing.
“Okay. But… just dinner. And just the once - I mean it, Zack.”
“Just dinner,” Zack agreed, and the wide grin that split his face paled in comparison to the exuberance and relief that poured off of him. It was almost embarrassing. She hardly heard him when he offered details, the shift in his emotions overwhelming her momentarily.
It was just dinner. Nothing more. And she couldn’t compromise her own rules - she wouldn’t.
Even if a part of her wanted to.
“… she picks up the ambassador, throws him over her shoulder, and walks right out of the Zocalo! I tell you, I wouldn’t believe it if I hadn’t seen it myself.”
They were sitting on the floor, a box of pizza open between them. Lyta found herself laughing, despite herself, as Zack told story after story. She hadn’t wanted to slip into this comfortable companionship, but it had happened anyway. She hadn’t wanted to smile whenever Zack smiled at her. She hadn’t wanted to want this. She couldn’t have it. Maybe, once upon a time she could have, but not now.
“This place never really changes,” she said, shaking her head, wanting to fill the silence with idle chit chat.
“Nope. We might come and go, but Babylon 5 always stays the same. I don’t think we’d want it any other way, though.”
“No. I don’t think we would.”
“I, uh, I spent some time on Centauri Prime a few months ago, actually,” Zack went on, running a hand through his face. “Vir goes back and forth now, you know, and there was some concern about safety and all that so he asked me - you know, as a favor. I tell you, coming back here was like coming home. You know that feeling? Even with Sheridan and Stephen and Michael and everybody else gone, it still feels like home.”
“For you.” They were venturing into dangerous territory here, the kind she’d wanted to avoid.
“It was home for you for a damn long time, Lyta.”
“It was,” she said, more forcefully than she’d intended. “But it isn’t anymore.”
“So where is home for you? You go off with G’kar, you head off into unknown space, you come back and take down the Corps and then go out again… where’s home?”
“I’ll know when I find it.” She looked down, trying to block out what he projected. Hope, want, need, fear…
“This could be home again.”
“Zack…” Damn it, she’d known this was going to happen! She clenched her fists on her thighs, her teeth snapping together tightly.
“What? You know I have to try.”
“I know. You always have.” A small smile cracked Lyta’s frustrated mask, almost sad. “I can’t stay Zack. I’m sorry, but I can’t. I have responsibilities to my people…”
“What about you?” Zack was looking at her intently now. “What about your responsibility to you? You took down the corps. You made Earth a safe place for telepaths. For Chrissakes, Bester’s in jail, Lyta. It’s over. There’s other people who can pick up the pieces.”
“It’s my responsibility!” Lyta sighed and struggled to gain composure. “Look, I wish things had been different as much as you do. I’m sorry for a lot of how things went between us. But we can’t change what happened, and we can’t just act like none of it did.”
“I’m not trying to tell you to forget about the past. Just… lay it to rest. What’s so important that it has to be you that does it?” Zack shifted, leaning closer to her. “Give me a reason, Lyta. A real reason. You never have before, I think it’s about time.”
“I knew this was a bad idea.” Lyta got up, standing quickly and angrily. Why had she ever agreed to this? She’d known it was going to turn into an argument - him pleading and her protesting and them parting in anger yet again. Zack was on his feet a split second later, his hand on her arm once more.
“I’m not gonna let you walk out of my life without an explanation again.”
“I’ve given you reasons!” Lyta didn’t turn. Zack’s hand gripped her upper arm and she could feel the heat of his body against her back.
“You gave me reasons for running away. You gave me ideals and excuses. And that’s all you’re doing again. I… damnit, Lyta!”
“You what?” Lyta remained still, her eyes on the door, waiting. She could feel it, had always been able to feel it, but she wanted to hear it. She may have offered excuses and protests, but he’d never offered much better.
“You know.”
“Do I, Zack?” She gave a small, short laugh. “If you have something to say, just say it. Because maybe I have shut you out, and maybe I have run away, but you haven’t given me any reason not to.”
Zack didn’t say anything. He didn’t really need to. She felt his regret and his anger and his desperation. She lowered her head and his hand loosened on her arm. But he didn’t let go. Instead, his other hand came around them both, his rough and calloused fingers tilting her chin up and her head back.
“I’ve never been too good with saying stuff,” he mumbled, a moment before his lips brushed against hers. She froze one more, then sagged against him as he kissed her, all protests and arguments dying in her throat. He held her gently, the hand on her arm moving as his arm encircled her. She could feel everything, a red-gold wave of sensation that reached into her nerves. She felt her own apprehension and desire and regret, and over it she felt his. And she knew he couldn’t feel anything that all, because he was mind-deaf and lived only half a sensory life. But he held her and deepened the kiss and clung to her desperately even so.
There was a need in his touch that had never been there before. It was different than Byron, who’s touch had been gentle and reverent. It was different than G’kar, who had taken pleasure in her body but never felt more than friendship for her, who’s touch had been easy and empty. It was a hungry, desperation that sank into her and caught her up in a tidal wave of emotion.
“Zack…”
She broke away, shoulders heaving not from the physical but the mental.
“I know.” He rested his head against hers, eyes closed. “I know you can’t stay. You won’t stay. But… I can. For the night. Just….I…”
He’d never say it. Lyta knew that the same way she knew what the Vorlons had done to her. It was there, in his mind, hovering on the surface as though he knew she could sense it. He couldn’t say it, he knew it wouldn’t change anything. He could tell her that he loved her, and it would be out there, and then she’d leave anyway. As long as he kept it to himself, as long as he didn’t give it voice, he could pretend it didn’t hurt that badly.
“I know,” Lyta said, turning in his arms, pressing her face against his broad chest. “I told myself I wouldn’t let this happen.”
“You don’t listen to anyone else, why’d you think you’d listen to yourself?” The lightness in the words was forced, but Lyta laughed some anyway.
“This is a mistake.”
“Yeah, well, we’ve both made a hundred mistakes before. What’s one more?”
The need, the want, the burning longing overpowered everything else. She had felt acceptance, she had felt love, she had felt kinship. But this raw and unbridled need was unfamiliar and crippling. Here and now, in his arms, his want for her washing over every facet of her senses, she couldn’t deny him. She couldn’t deny herself.
“What’s one more?” she repeated, and he kissed her again before the words were even finished, crushing her against him. It was hot and hungry and rough and she arched against him as though she could pull all of his need into her. She felt what he felt, each sensation and emotion turned back onto her, like a mirror facing a mirror. They didn’t even make it to the bed, the want and need overpowering them. There weren’t any words to describe the crescendo of everything that had Lyta in its grip. She felt Zack’s hands on her skin, his lips, his body pressed against hers as though they were made for one another. But through it all she was wrapped in the golden-red embrace of their shared thoughts and emotions and caresses. He shouted her name out loud and in her mind when he climaxed, gripping her sweat slicked body as though afraid she would fade away as soon as it was over.
Afterwards, they lay together on the floor, legs twined together and heads resting against bare skin. Zack stroked her hair, his breathing heavy and shallow. She moved away first, not speaking, heading to the shower. He was in bed when she was done, on his side. A smile graced Lyta’s lips as she watched him, basking in the warm glow of his sleep-dulled emotions. Gone was the need, the hunger, the desperation. She let his peace and contentment wash over her in their stead, holding them gently in her mind.
After a few minutes, she got dressed - quietly, as not to disturb him. The quarters sang with the resonating echoes of their lovemaking, lapping across her mind like gentle waves. She packed her bad and slung it across her shoulder, pausing once more to look at her occupied bed.
I can’t stay, she projected, slipping the words into the threads of Zack’s dreams. Not now. But maybe next time.
With one last kiss to his sleeping forehead, Lyta slipped out of her quarters and booked a late night shuttle to Earth. Once she had picked up the pieces of the war, she’d see about picking up the pieces of her own life.
Some pieces wouldn’t scatter.