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Title:
Malignant
Author: Bennie
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I own nothing Roswell.
Character Focus: Isabel POV, Isabel, Liz
Spoilers: Well, late S2. CYN, anyway.
Author's Note: Um, kinda depressing. I like the
imagery, though. And several people have mentioned that
they think it might lose something if I tried to draw it
out into a story. So ... would this be a vignette? Cool,
lol.
Two things happened
tonight.
First of all, I realized
something. It's me. I'm the cancer here, not the Skins,
not some seriously fucked up dupes, not the humans that
fascinate and frighten me. It's my fault; they died
because they knew me. I'm the jinx that doomed them.
Grant was an innocent,
and he was so solid, and he could have cared for me so
much, except something in my DNA, something that made me
live, killed him. Alex loved me so much it took my breath
away, and he was coming to see me, because I asked him
to, and he died. Then I found out that he didn't die
because I asked to come to me, he died in service to a
cause that was never his to begin with, by my queen's
hand. And in my mind, he died all over again.
Of course, they're just
the latest statistics in my killing spree, aren't they?
Let's not forget my brother, the fiancé I have no memory
of, and my sister-in-law. Or the countless - oh god, how
could I ever count the numbers - people who must have
died in a senseless war that I had no small role in
creating.
I'm a cancer, a
malignancy that grows dark and dangerous amidst the
healthy, normal tissue, surviving because the cells
around me, that are supposed to be there, don't recognize
me for the evil I am. Not an evil of spirit, but of
being. I am not evil by design, but by fact of existence.
Of course, that's not
the whole story.
That's the second thing
that happened tonight. I had a very important discussion.
I learned some very important things. I learned that I'm
only part of the cancer; it grows much larger, much
darker. But I learned that I'm not alone in this cancer,
in this darkness. There's someone else as lost and
powerless as I to stop what is coming, who is just as
desperate but just as clueless.
And frankly, I feel much
better. I'm so glad Liz told me all the crap she's been
through this past year.
It gives me something to
think about other than my own pain.
I'm going back to her
now. I want to hear more. I can't hurt her, because in
her own way, Liz Parker is a cancer too; she just doesn't
know it yet. But I know it, and I don't feel so alone
when I'm with her. I don't have to worry about what the
consequences will be, because she's already got her
cancer, I can't give her mine.
Or maybe I already have.
Maybe her cancer is mine. Maybe she's one of my victims,
and I just won't realize it until she dies too.
But when I'm with her,
it's like we're tucked away in a corner, away from
everyone else, (because she avoids them too sometimes,
even if she doesn't know why). Liz doesn't know why she
doesn't push me away, but she doesn't question it. She
just accepts it. But I won't tell her why it feels so
right that the two of us sit here in her room while the
others sit in a booth downstairs, laughing and talking.
Because I'm afraid she might push me away then too, and I
like it, I like being here. It's comfortable. It's
comforting.
It's too late for us.
But if I'm here, I'm not
with them. And if I can keep us - both of us - away from
them, maybe none of them die.
Maybe no one else will
catch the cancer that is Isabel.
Continue to Cure
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