Bone of Contention

[writedragon]

Title: Bone of Contention, by WriteDragon

Rating: T

Word Count: 347

Relationships: Margaret Thatcher/Benton Fraser, Benton Fraser/Ray Kowalski

Characters: Margaret Thatcher

Warnings: No warnings apply

Tags: prose poem, complicated relationships, Margaret Thatcher’s POV

Summary: And you grabbed it by the hand, And he pulled and pulled 'till someone pushed him and he fell.

Notes:

Title and summary lyrics are from the song “Bone of Contention”, by Spirit of the West.

Written for the ds_flashfiction community on Dreamwidth, “due South Soundtrack Challenge”. April, 2019.

Thank you Bluehaven4220 for beta.

——————-

A train. A roar. A moment of heat and confusion, locked in a captive embrace with Death (and you — same thing, perhaps).

Do you even know?

You fell. You died. It was my fault, my responsibility.

You lived. You always do. I’ve learned not to ask.

A kiss. A mistake. A rumbling, thundering, runaway — hurtling towards disaster.

I wanted to be liked, even loved, which is something I cannot afford.

There’s no room in this serge for two.

Damn my ego.

—————---

I hear you.

You say things, innocent and forbidden: “Red suits you,”; “It brings out the green of your eyes,” and “Sirloin.” (Good grief, pull yourself together, man.)

I see you.

Your nervous stammer. Your cheeks, flushed crimson. Your stupid tennis shoes. Waves of raven hair, thick as seal-fur. Wolf’s eyes, blue and luminous as sea-ice, and just as cold. I wonder what they see in me.

I know you.

You are a feral thing. A changeling, fae creature, not quite of this world. You patrol the edges, stalking the veil, the whisper-thin line between seen and unseen, between life and eternity. The voices speak to you. Sometimes, late at night, I hear them too (but I will never tell).

Another misunderstanding … so many.

Damn your uncertainty. And mine.

——————--

I am your superior officer.

You, Ice King, dare call me Queen behind my back. But I am heat and fire, red as the uniform I wear (occasionally) — trapped behind a wall, a fortress built of necessity (always).

I am a bitch, a whore; too hard, too soft; too hot, too cold.

I am tired of losing, no matter what I do.

An impossible wall. An impossible choice.

Damn it all to Hades.

__________

A ruse. A rush. A spiky-haired, peroxide-blond, electric-raw punk.

Everything changed that day, scorched in fire, house burned to ash.

You fell (for him). You lived (for him).

I’d learned not to ask.

We said goodbye, without words, beneath a silent ocean of stars.

It hurt.

It was for the best.

The End (I wish you well).

Comments

[juniperberry]

Oooh, this is nice! I like a lot of the repeated imagery, and I especially like Thatcher's voice when it comes to the double standards she deals with. ♥ Thank you, this was awesome!

[writedragon]

Ah!! I'm so glad you liked it. Your comments about wanting to see a bit more gen/het due south fic got me thinking along those lines. When this prompt came up, I listened to a ton of DS music and the lyrics of this particular song spoke to me, and, well, here we are. :)

[ride_4ever]

I <3 that you have done Meg POV -- there needs to be lots of good Meg POV, especially to make up for how TPTB often undervalued her in canon.

I've read this several times over the course of two days and I get something more out of it each time I read it. I'm looking forward to reading it and saving it when you post it to AO3.

More comments when I've read it some more times.

[writedragon]

\0/ I'm glad you like it. There are many layers to the poem (several stanzas can be read more than one way, and that was intentional). I've posted it over on A03 at https://archiveofourown.org/collections/due_South_flash_fiction_by_lightspire/works/18559807