DS9 Fanfic: "I've Seen Everything"

Fri, 06 Mar 2009 11:32:10 GMT

Title: I've Seen Everything
Author: Baby Wolverine (Logan V.)
Rating: PG
Archiving: LJ via "Doctor, Tailor" comm, and eventually the Weapon-Wolverine archive. Eef yoo wants eet, yoo askie first, yes yes?
Disclaimer: Even Garak knows there is no loquacious dancing around the sad fact that none of this is in any way mine. The Obsidian Order, in conjunction with Paramount, sees all, spies all, and owns all. Between the two of them, their evilness puts Q to shame.
Summary: An old friend of Dr. Bashir's recounts some fond and semi-fond memories. Three guesses who, and the first two don't count. ;) Humour and slight angst with a dash of slash.

A/N: This was sort of inspired by a monologue I memorised in high school, spoken by a ragdoll who's been left to gather dust as the child he's come to love starts to play with 'better' toys.

Feedbacks here or to Baby-Wolverine@lycos dot com. Give them to me and I luff you forevah.
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I've seen everything.

From countless, nameless passers-by on the outer side of a thick glass window, to the most minute, intimate details of a very specific, very special man's life.

I've heard that special man muse, once or twice, of an alien acquaintance by the name of 'Morn'. It's said that this Morn, nearly permanently attached to his barstool by way of habit, has a simplistic grace about the way he merely sits, perched in the same spot most days, observing the hubbub swirling about him with nary a condescending judgment concerning the abundant debauchery of the place that is Quark's. Morn's been there from the very beginning, knows it all, but gossips little.

I like to think that such a comparison could be made of me. I sit on the same flat plane day after day, occasionally finding myself moved to a different spot, but inevitably making my way back beside a familiar bronze charm shaped to emulate a pair of ballet slippers. In recent months, a pocket-sized plastic case has made a home on my opposite side; a case recently revealed to hold a numerous array of needles and colourful threads. I know the story of how each of them got here, the metallic, shining dance shoes, and the useful mending supplies.

I remember some time ago, when I sat somewhere different but very much the same. It was a flat plane like this one, but in another room, on another world, and in what my Special One almost deems another lifetime. The breeze was fresher there, natural and rich. The sunlight rotated in twenty-four hours, not twenty-six, although that was before I could read Human time. I wasn't in much position to see a chronometer until years later.

But, back to the point.

It's always been arranged that I could see the bed. Even now, I have a clear view even when I'm not on the bed myself. Back then, in that place with the fresh air and the chirping morning birds, the one I know so well was sharing his life - and his bed - with a slim, athletic Human sporting a long, smooth mane of blonde head-fur. She loved him, or so she said. She made him happy, to a point. She wasn't appropriately upset about their impending split when he wasn't in the room.
She wore the same dance shoes.

The hypospray on a desk across the room, I also know about. If it weren't for a high security clearance from Starfleet, or a prescription in the absence of that, such a thing wouldn't be here. Before the ballet slippers, I've entertained the company of many hyposprays. Only, years ago, they were paired with relating data-Padds filled with complex text. A similar desk was covered, every inch of it, with far more information than was likely to be needed for any upcoming quizzes or tests. All of it had been memorised by a brilliant student of Starfleet Medical, and was reviewed periodically despite the need for review being nil.
Although, his memory wasn't always so perfect.

Other hyposprays, long, long ago, frightened my Special One immensely. Strangers he nor I will ever miss came with them daily, injecting things even my brilliant Jules couldn't identify then. His nightmare was mine, though less so, because his fear was my inability to assuage it; he had the harder end, no matter how you slice it. Some of the hypos helped with that, momentarily, or sometimes for a few hours, but I think that fact frightened him all the more when such effects wore away. In those days, Jules was different but the same. He says he's all different now, but he still holds me the same way. I can tell.

Back in the sterile place of fear, sitting on a bunk and poised to access his latest test score, lying in decadently soft sheets with his back turned to a blonde-maned lover, shivering against the odd night chill of a lonely station out in space, and still to this day, I know and he knows the comfort he feels in squeezing my matted, worn hide.

Nowadays, thankfully, the squeezes and hugs are not wet and salty, nor can they be interpreted as bouts of fearful clutching. Now, it's all nostalgia, and gratefulness, and memories of the togetherness of the old days.

And, lest I forget while I'm still running this line of discussion, I know exactly where that box of sewing implements comes from. A big, gray beast that isn't very frightening anymore left it here. I'll be the first to admit I was worried when the scaly thing, as big as Jules himself, followed my special Human in one night. Turns out I had nothing to get my stuffings in a clump over - au contraire, as the ballerina would say, but the owner of the needle-and-thread box has brought my Jules nothing but delight. Not to say there haven't been a few rough patches, but, overall, things look quite promising.

Speaking of looking, I'm indebted to that angular gray enchanter for being able to see the bed again. Enough nights spent dozing beneath a full-sized Human isn't easy on the eyes. Especially when the eyes get caught on said Human's pajama buttons.

Jules apologised profusely for my loss of sight the next morning, but was obviously distressed and unsure of what to do. Blinded, still half sleep-squished, and rather miffed, I could do nothing but hope he'd be able to sew my eyes back on straighter than the last time this happened. When I heard him leave, I assumed it was because our replicator refused to produce the necessary tools to fix my face. When I heard the scaly monster's voice upon his return, I additionally assumed that this evil fiend had come to take advantage of my Special One while I was oh-so-conveniently put out of commission.

I needn't have worried, as I mentioned earlier. When the annoyingly repetitive stabbing ceased and my peepers were reattached, I found myself staring up at the Gray One, who was smiling down at me, and then at Jules, who smiled back. That's when I knew this one was a keeper.

The gray thing, I mean, not the sewing-and-sight-repair box. Granted, I've needed the box more frequently in my old age. That's why it's next to me, I suppose.

Now, as I watch them touch and grope and fondle each other through my good eye, my other having popped off again and now hanging, literally, by a thread, I hope with all that is in me, every fibre, literally, of my being, that the Gray One will finally be the love that will not hurt Jules.

Yes, the Gray One's plenty rough when he wants to be, but so far, never when Jules doesn't want him to be. That's comforting to know, that should my eyes both fall off and be forgotten for a while, any panting, thrashing, or wailing I might hear isn't likely to be caused by Jules' distress. And even if it seems like distress, he's usually feigning it. The Gray One's taught him to be quite the naughty tease in bed - trust me, as a teddy bear, I've witnessed enough of their bedtime activity to know. As a matter of fact, too close a view was the reason my right eye came off again so soon. If I could, I'd grumble audibly about the constant dilapidation of my preganglionic threads.

Observational abilities aside, I'm glad I'm on a shelf and not a barstool. I do think a barstool would be too much like being behind a shop window, stuck on display as the world passes you by. Morn may like it, but I could never give up my exclusivity to Jules after all we've been through. I may have to share him a little, but it's worth it.

Because there's nothing like knowing you bring your Special One a deeply familiar reassurance, like knowing you'll always be old friends above all, and there's absolutely nothing in the world - or on this space station - like knowing that every time your heart's treasure accidentally rips your eyes off, he has a mate who is ready and willing to do anything he can to restore you to full health.

Through these old eyes, I've seen everything. Thank the Prophets I'm not a security blanket.

Thank the Prophets we found Elim Scaly Gray Garak.

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Random Quiz - I'm Uke!

Wed, 19 Mar 2008 11:54:36 GMT

You are an Innocent Uke!

Cute and sweet, and most gentle of all uke, whips and chains are not for you - you just want someone to love you. You are often spotted in candy shops wearing furry kitty ears, where you are sure to be noticed by the Romantic Seme, whose protective instincts will kick in and will only want to take you home and love and protect you. And you, of course, will be more than happy to spend the rest of your life baking cookies for your seme.

Most compatible with: Romantic Seme

Least compatible with: Sadistic Seme, Don't Fuck With Me Seme

What seme or uke are you? Take the experience at SemeUke.com, or find merchandise here.

Long Time No Account!

Thu, 27 Dec 2007 23:14:35 GMT

Duuude. It's so weird how I was away from Gaia for almost 4 years and could hardly recognise it, and now that I've come back to LJ, not much has changed.
Heh. If anybody remembers a Sean Astin RP-ing account that died in 2004 or so, scream in my ear and I'll check it out; I'm really curious to see if it survived.

Well, this time around, I've joined not for LotR slash, but for other slash! (Wow, I know, big change. XP )
"Other" now being Van Helsing and The Prestige, mainly.

Yyyep, this first post'll probably never be read, but I was gettin' really sick of seeing that default message stuck here. O.o
--

In other news, X-Mas was decent. I finally got my tewtally awesurme movie replica Wolverine dogtag!!!! *lurve*
And, I gave my sis Newsies on DVD. We ended up watching it - I kid you not - 5 times on Christmas day, and she played it again so she could listen to it while she fell asleep. We could all hear it down the hall.

Did bring back memories, though. Junior year Showcase Choir, when we did "Carrying the Banner" and a few numbers from West Side Story. *happy sigh*
--

Oh, and as long as I'm randomly switching topics, I'm pissed at afore mentioned sister for evilly and blatantly trying to squeeze a 10-page fic outta me in two hours. Needless to say, the half-page I'd already had was promptly deleted. She can go from sociable to utter-and-complete bitch in a matter of seconds, and I'm hoping to get the mesage across that I'm not gonna let her control me. Quite the matriarch, she's becoming, though. So I don't think the message got through at all. -_-;

Ahh. Feels good to rant.

The Amazing Journal of...

DS9 Fanfic: "I've Seen Everything"

Random Quiz - I'm Uke!

Long Time No Account!