Author: Afroza-IX PM
Martha-centric fic. 'Her heart sank, and she realised, for the first time, that creating the Identity unit was just a way of distraction, a way of trying to escape the dark cloud which loomed constantly over her.' T for sensitive issuesRated: Fiction T - English - Angst/Drama - Martha L. - Chapters: 21 - Words: 9,814 - Reviews: 46 - Favs: 4 - Follows: 5 - Updated: 03-03-12 - Published: 10-03-10 - id: 6370341
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Disclaimer: I do not own Identity or any of the related characters.
A/N: This is just a quick one-shot I decided to write. It could be turned into something a bit more substantial but I thought I'd submit it as is for now. Do tell me if you'd like to see some more added. Reviews and crits are welcome.
Who knew that a smile could hide such pain and sorrow? She hid it well, masked it with laughs and grins – all those little things that display happiness so effectively. But she couldn't hide it, not truly, not forever. Everything had to come out sooner or later. She couldn't escape the inevitable. The moment she was alone it was there, taunting, mocking. 'Do it.' the little voice in her head told her, 'No one will miss you.' She argued against it. There was the Identity unit, she reasoned, that team she had put together, they would miss her... wouldn't they? The voice persisted, 'Bloom wouldn't miss you.' It told her, 'To him you're no more than a thorn in the backside; and that's what this is all about isn't it Martha? Bloom.' She remembered when she had been kidnapped, when they had tried to torture her. She remembered how her captor had known that she had already given up the fight, considered ways to end it. Her heart sank, and she realised, for the first time, that creating the Identity unit was just a way of distraction, a way of trying to escape the dark cloud which loomed constantly over her. She also realised that particular plan of getaway had, ultimately, failed quite miserably. No matter where she was she breathed in the depression as though it were a thick smog hanging over her, ever present, it was as much a part of her as her heart and brain, both of which she scolded regularly, and it followed her everywhere she went. It was in the air she breathed, the food she ate, the water she drank. Everywhere; and it was slowly eating away at her. She could neither hide from it nor hide it for much longer. The smog was growing ever thicker, the clouds ever darker and her resistance ever weaker. Sooner or later they would find out. Sooner or later her cover would be blown and she would be exposed for all the world to see.