Work Text:
Status: Completed 10/8/2009
Season: 4
Spoilers: Double or Nothingness
Archive Permission: Ask first.
Disclaimer: Andromeda and its characters are the property of Andromeda Productions Ltd., MBR Productions Inc, Tribune, and whoever else has a claim to 'em. No copyright infringement intended.
Word Count: 569
"Shig, Lipp-Sett, I've got to tell you, the attempt to confuse is really well done."
I walk a few steps, unsure of they might throw at me next, tense and ready for anything.
"Dylan?"
Almost anything. I know that voice. This isn't possible. She can't be here. It simply isn't possible. I pivot quickly, force lance drawn, and see an empty space. Just as I begin to think I've imagined the voice, she steps into view.
"Mom?"
Or is it?
Even in the shadows, I know exactly who it is. I'd know her anywhere. Even after more than three hundred years, I remember every detail about her. After all, for me it's only been about five years since I've seen her.
She steps forward and smiles. I remember her smile. Until now, I didn't realize just how much I've missed it. My Mom had the most beautiful smile. I'm speechless. All I can do is stare in shock. Then I turn around, not really sure what I'm looking for. Dad maybe?
For the briefest moment, this one split second in time, I want to believe it's real, that she's real. I want to believe that the woman standing in front of me really is my mother. I turn back around and she's gone. It's just a game. Just. A. God. Damn. Game.
The funny thing is, if they hadn't had her disappear like that, I think I would actually have believed that she was real. She seemed so real. The wave of her hair.... The sound of her voice.... I'm almost ready to swear I even caught a whiff of her perfume, even though I know it's impossible. Just my mind playing tricks on me.
Just those bastards messing with my head.
I did Special Ops for a while before I became captain of the Andromeda, so mind games are nothing knew to me. This, however, pushes my buttons worse than anything I've experienced in the past for reasons that aren't completely clear to me right now. My anger is not only directed at the Nietzcheans. I should have seen through it from the second I heard her voice, shouldn't have allowed myself to believe even for that brief second.
"How lame is that?" I ask no one in particular as I start to pace around. Makes me wonder though, what I'm really calling lame. Is it Shig's and Lipp-Sett's attempt to mess with my head even more, or that moment when I let myself believe she was really here? The anger in my voice is unmistakable and I make no attempt to hide it. Right now, I'm so far past angry it's ridicules. Pissed is more like it. No, that doesn't even really begin to describe what I'm feeling either.
"How lame is that? You think you know me so well?" I ask as I walk. "Well, how about the guys in black who appear out of nowhere; they steal anything you got, they knock you flat, and then they disappear again? Now, that, that would be a challenge!"
That doesn't make much since, even to me, but I'm past the point of caring. And what the hell, it sounded good.
"You wanna impress me? Well then impress me!" I throw my hands up in the air as I speak. Not in retreat or surrender; it's a challenge, a dare.
You think you can break me? Think again.
THE END