non omnis moriar

[madimpossibledreamer]

Main Points:
Buffy/Blake's 7 (Place in the Universe)
Chapter Summary: Blake's hold on reality is slipping.
Word Count: 970
Rating: Teen

 

Change is not always a positive, but without change, there is only stagnation. Change is an integral part of life.

        Blake tries his best to claw his way back to consciousness, but the proposition is a difficult one. He screams when touched, but has no way of communicating the problem. The pain is artificial, induced, but even knowing that doesn’t allow him to simply ignore it. Usually, there’s somewhere you can go, detaching yourself from the pain and present, but he’s fairly certain he’s completely dissociated, and even his grasp on his reality and identity is growing shaky, the longer he stays here, but there’s absolutely nothing he can do to break free. Any moment he even so much as approaches the wall of pain, he’s repulsed back to a corner of his own mind.
        Raised voices. He’d vaguely recognize them if he was capable of focussing on much of anything at the moment.
        And then, all of a sudden, he is not alone. Cally is standing there, a little more relieved when he glances up to look at her vaguely. It’s so improbable he just stares for a moment, and then just stares further, vague and confused. She doesn’t feel real, exactly. Not that any of this feels real or normal. Quite frankly he’s not even certain if he’s still alive.
        “Blake, we’re trying to counteract what Travis did. You’ve been teleported out of the warehouse. I need you to hold on.”
        “Could you always project your mental image like that?” he asks curiously, distantly aware that he is doing absolutely nothing to assuage her fears, but unable to muster the effort to do much else.
        “I have help,” she responds, projecting more than just those words. The true answer is something along the lines of ‘no longer alone’ and also ‘fellow telepath’, but despite the remark it still feels surreal, out of reach.
        Perhaps it’s not her. Perhaps it’s him who doesn’t belong. But that doesn’t feel right either.
        “Blake, please.” Nothing feels right, but then, how can it, with affairs as they are?
        “Spike told us about the serum. We’re doing our best to find something to fix it.”
        That breaks through the unnatural calm and distance. He bursts out, like a petulant child. “And what if I don’t wish to live with the consequences?”
        “Then maybe you should have thought about your choices before you offered yourself up to Travis,” she counters, implacable, and for a moment he is almost convinced that she is actually Cally and all of this is actually happening.
        She seizes on the uncertainty. “Avon left Willow and hasn’t been seen since.” From anyone else, it would be judgmental. From Cally, she judges but doesn’t take it personally. She’s certainly fond of all of them, no matter what, say, Vila or Jenna might think.
        He shivers again. “I’m certain he hasn’t abandoned us.” It would have been useful if he’d had any idea of why he trusted the other man so much, but his brain’s always been a little vague on the point and he had better things to be getting on with than interrogating his own mind. “I’d be happy to be anywhere else, other than my own brain. I suspect this may have triggered some underlying remnants of programming. However, I don’t think it’s wise to let me out just yet.” Like he’s a prisoner in his own mind. It wouldn’t be the first time, unfortunately. He continues, not waiting for Cally’s question. “Travis seemed so certain this would kill me, and he didn’t stick around for long. If his plot wasn’t quite as deadly, he would have bothered to torture me further. From the sounds of it, he wanted you to save me, and for that to be the cause of my demise.” He swallows. The memories are unpleasant, but he doesn’t flinch away from them as he would have not mere minutes ago. They feel unreal after his recovery of them, and still there’s a haze there weaker than whatever happens to be interfering with his perception of Cally. Still, that practically confirms his theory. The green glow from her using her powers to project herself into his mind probably isn’t helping; it’s not like, on average, her abilities are usually quite so flashy. Rather the contrary, actually.
        “We’d had raids before. None quite so disastrous, but we had lost members before Travis made his move. One of the younger members of the Freedom Party, recently joined, full of enthusiasm. Hit in the leg, and she should have lived, but the pain was too much. The best guess anyone could offer was it’d damaged her circulation in a fatal way. I’m afraid I don’t know the specifics, but…” If he’d had the Liberator at the time, or better resources, she might have been saved, but.
        Fortunately, Cally seems more familiar than he with such things. She looks at him, a little horror mixed with practical calculation. One of her best characteristics. “That sounds like circulatory shock, though under normal circumstances it’d require an actual wound and blood loss as well. This is something entirely new, though.” It might not be; he’s not altogether certain Travis hadn’t been lying about making ‘history’ and had, in fact, tested the serum on other unfortunates first. It’s the type of thing that could easily inspire an impassioned speech if he had any remaining energy with which to give one. He’d had a bit of a surge just now, but is feeling quite drained again. “Very well, we’ll keep you here until it’s safe to let you out.”
        “Thank you,” he tells her, settling back down. “If you contact Avon again, try to be discreet. I wouldn’t want to interrupt anything delicate. News of my situation can wait.” Cally doesn’t voice her disbelief.