Fandom: Dark City
Characters/Pairing: John Murdoch, Daniel Schreber (implied)
Summary: You didn't think all Daniel would do was watch the bus leave, did you? Implied slash.
It didn't occur to him until minutes after the bus had left, until the light started to spread over the city and he saw sun, until he knew exactly what the words 'Shell Beach' meant to John (and wasn't that a grandiose folly of forgetting, when he had been the one to put those meanings into the man's head?) and what they meant, now, to everyone.
They meant choice, and real decisions, and thoughts conceived in the light of day, and there wasn't going to be one bus, there would be another, and still another, and it was his decision whether he got onto one, his decision with no repercussions.
Everyone had to make their own choices, now.
Everyone, including him.
He paid his quarter, and took his seat, and closed his eyes as they turned the corner to drive straight into the sun, into light and heat that did not come from remembered radiators or pipes that led nowhere.
He closed his eyes, and thought of possibilities.
He thought of Shell Beach, and of what John's eyes would look like in the sun. Of the fact that Anna would not know, and he did. Of what memories could truly contain.
It's beautiful, John, and you made it.
Those words that no-one else would understand.
You made it.
When he got off the bus, stumbling a little in the unfamiliar dazzle of sun and pavement and sea, he looked up to see them walking towards him.
And the smile that lit John's face was worth every scar, every second of blurred sight, every second spent penned in a metal cage that did what others willed and controlled his volition.
I have a choice.
He could have pulled John to him with a blank face and remembered foreboding. He could have controlled him with past fear as much as the imprints would have ever done.
But he had a choice, and so instead he smiled, and lifted his hand in greeting, and watched as John hurried ahead of Anna, seeing for the first time not the smooth blankness of skin that came from false light, but the myriad imperfections and incipient lines and the faint pallor of effort that made up a memory of who John Murdoch would be.
"Daniel!" he shouted, and broke into a run. "Daniel, look! It's beautiful!"
And Daniel laughed, and gasped out – "Yes – congratulations –" even as John swept him into an embrace that was all of choice and promise and possibility – and light.