Still Breathing Hope
by Kathryn A
| Fandoms: | Blake's 7/ST:TNG |
| Summary: | A dying Cally is offered a choice. AU for "Terminal". |
| Rating: | PG |
| Wordcount: | 900 |
| Author's Note: | I thought I wouldn't be able to do this, but I did! More notes at the end. |
It should have hurt to breathe. The beam that had her pinned had surely broken her ribs when it knocked her down. But she felt no pain. In fact, she felt nothing at all; nothing below her neck. That's when Cally realized she was as good as dead. A broken back wasn't something that they could fix, even with the resources of the Liberator. And the Liberator was gone.
She hoped Vila had made it out of the complex alive. She doubted very much that anyone would be able to make it back inside; the destruction was too great. A tear trickled down the side of her face; this was the worst kind of death: purposeless, silent, and alone.
She kept breathing. She could hear the creak and rumble of aftershocks; the underground complex moaned and twisted in pain, as she could not. She wondered if she would bleed to death before she was no longer able to breathe. She blinked as grit and dust drifted in the air.
One more breath. And another. She closed her eyes. Time passed, slow as a glacier. It was minutes or hours later when she heard the footsteps. She opened her eyes, but all she saw was the cracked roof. She licked her cracked lips, and tried to call out, but all that came out was a moan. But it was enough; the footsteps turned in her direction.
A shadow over her, a hand checking the pulse on her neck.
"Cally?"
She recognised the voice. Avon!
"How badly are you hurt?"
I am dying.
"Not yet," Avon said. It was hard for her to tell whether it was a denial or a statement of fact; his voice would have been just as flat in either case.
My back is broken; that's not something I can recover from.
"Probably not," he said dryly.
Don't leave me.
"It looks like you're the one who is leaving." Nonetheless, he cradled her cheek in his hand, a touch too tentative to be called a caress.
They were silent.
Suddenly, Cally felt a presence that hadn't been there a moment ago.
"How touching."
The dim light illuminated a figure dressed in flowing crimson robes, in the form of a man with a sardonic smile and very short hair. He wasn't a man, of course. His presence was much more powerful than any human or Auron.
Avon! Behind you!
"He can't hear you at the moment," the figure said. "Much more convenient to have our little chat without interruptions."
She realized that Avon hadn't moved or reacted to the presence of the other.
What have you done to him?
"Nothing... permanent," the figure said.
Let him go!
"Or you'll - what? Punch me in the nose? You can't even stand up."
I will not cooperate with you.
"Please yourself," he said. "You can call me Q."
Q? What sort of name is that?
"It's my name."
You are not one of the gods.
"Me? One of those frauds like the Thaarn? Of course not."
What do you want with me, Q?
"I want to make you an offer."
An offer I can't refuse? I refuse.
Q laughed. "Oh, you remind me of Jean-Luc; so self-righteous, the both of you." He stepped closer, and crouched down beside her. "Do you want to die?"
Not pointlessly. Do you?
"Q can't die, not in the way you mean. But I can get you out of this..." He waved his hand over her still body.
What is your price?
"My price?"
These kind of bargains usually have a price.
Q smirked. "Well, there would have to be somebody else lying here instead of you."
No.
"No?"
I will not buy my life with another's.
"Not even an enemy's life?"
Servalan is dead.
"No she isn't."
Even if I believed you, my answer is still no.
"Why?"
I told you I would refuse.
Q smiled. "Oh, I so like it when they're a challenge." He put a hand on his chin. "Hmmmm. You want do destroy the Federation don't you? I could give you that power."
Really? And your price for this offer?
"You would never be able to see your friends again. In return, I would give you the power of the Q. You could reshape the Federation in your own image."
That would make me a worse tyrant than Servalan. No. I refuse.
Q frowned. "I offer you the power of a god and you refuse?"
It gets easier with practice.
"Not even a little tempted?"
It is not the temptation, but the action, that matters.
"So you are tempted," Q crowed.
Who would not be? But I do not want to become like you, toying with mortals for your own amusement. Leave me. Let me die in peace.
"No, I don't think I will," Q said slowly. He snapped his fingers, and pain like fire burned through her nerves. She gasped. He snapped his fingers again, and the pain vanished, but she could feel her limbs, pinned beneath the fallen girder. He snapped his fingers a third time, and the weight pressing her down became lighter. Q leaned forward and whispered in her ear, "Good luck, daughter of Auron; you're going to need it."
Then he vanished.
Cally blinked and stared at where he had been.
"Cally, what is it?" Avon said.
Cally cautiously moved her fingers, then her arm. There was no pain, but she could feel, she could move.
"It looks like I'm going to live after all," she said.
Author's Note:
The prompt for this was ST:TNG/Blake's 7: Q with any combination of Blake's 7 characters or universe.
This is a completely different story than what I had intended when I claimed the prompt. It was going to be crack!fic with Avon and Q, but then when I was listening to the song "Don't Cry" by Hayley Jensen, my muse waved a flag in front of my face and said "This! This! Doesn't this song remind you of Cally's death?" and I listened.