Intro and fic
I have only recently discovered the wonderfulness of Equilibrium (not to mention Christian Bale), and was pleased to find some fellow fans on LJ.
So I offer this little fic that came to me sometime during my umpteenth viewing of the movie. No slash, sorry. (I like a bit of slash, but as my aunt fancies Sean Bean, it feels weirdly incestuous for me to write smut about one of his characters. Ah well.)
It would be easier if I didn't like him.
The first time I looked into John Preston's eyes after ceasing my dose, I knew I couldn't kill him.
The unspoken secret of Prozium is that it does not entirely erase personality. Whatever a human being might have been is still there, hidden, surpressed by the drug, but not destroyed. Never entirely destroyed.
Killing is an inescapable part of being a Cleric. Some clerics are born killers; somewhere deep inside they revel in the violence. The training of the Tetragrammaton only gives them means and excuse. Others truly feel nothing. Perhaps the Prozium affects them more deeply, or perhaps they simply have no feeling toward fellow humans. They are living killing machines.
John Preston is not one of those men.
He was born into this life; he does not remember anything else. Everything he has been taught, he has taken into himself, made his purpose. You can see in John Preston's eyes that he does not enjoy what he does. Everything he does, every book he burns, every life he takes, is done because he truly believes he is saving Libria. He has devoted his life to serving his fellow human beings, with all the heart left to him. Despite all he has done, he is fundamentally innocent.
In another life he might have been a hero, some great savior, a shining light of humanity. Instead he is reduced to the weapon of corrupt and hypocritical men, his inherent nobility stifled, ignored, unknown even to him.
It's heartbreaking to watch.
Every time I see him, I wish I could make him understand what he has lost, how much greater he could be than what he has been made. But he does not understand. Indeed, he cannot, for if he ever learned what I truly am, he would have to see me dead. And because somewhere inside him he does not want that to happen, he remains blind to my hints. So we are left, two men so alike in purpose, yet forever seperated by a chasm of deceit and misunderstanding not of our making. It has even crossed my mind to take away his Prozium and introduce him to the wonders he is denied, but I cannot do it. To make a good man face the fact that he has done terrible things in service to a lie could destroy him.
I cannot do that to him.
I know that someday, he will no longer be able to safely ignore it. Eventually I will say or do something that he cannot overlook or explain away, and then he will do his duty and see me punished. I can only hope that if he is ever able to break out of the chains of that wretched drug, that he will not hate himself for what he has done.
If you ever read this, John, it will mean I am already dead. I ask you, as one last favor to me, to forgive yourself for the end that I know is coming.
I have already forgiven you.
Your partner,
Errol Partridge
So I offer this little fic that came to me sometime during my umpteenth viewing of the movie. No slash, sorry. (I like a bit of slash, but as my aunt fancies Sean Bean, it feels weirdly incestuous for me to write smut about one of his characters. Ah well.)
It would be easier if I didn't like him.
The first time I looked into John Preston's eyes after ceasing my dose, I knew I couldn't kill him.
The unspoken secret of Prozium is that it does not entirely erase personality. Whatever a human being might have been is still there, hidden, surpressed by the drug, but not destroyed. Never entirely destroyed.
Killing is an inescapable part of being a Cleric. Some clerics are born killers; somewhere deep inside they revel in the violence. The training of the Tetragrammaton only gives them means and excuse. Others truly feel nothing. Perhaps the Prozium affects them more deeply, or perhaps they simply have no feeling toward fellow humans. They are living killing machines.
John Preston is not one of those men.
He was born into this life; he does not remember anything else. Everything he has been taught, he has taken into himself, made his purpose. You can see in John Preston's eyes that he does not enjoy what he does. Everything he does, every book he burns, every life he takes, is done because he truly believes he is saving Libria. He has devoted his life to serving his fellow human beings, with all the heart left to him. Despite all he has done, he is fundamentally innocent.
In another life he might have been a hero, some great savior, a shining light of humanity. Instead he is reduced to the weapon of corrupt and hypocritical men, his inherent nobility stifled, ignored, unknown even to him.
It's heartbreaking to watch.
Every time I see him, I wish I could make him understand what he has lost, how much greater he could be than what he has been made. But he does not understand. Indeed, he cannot, for if he ever learned what I truly am, he would have to see me dead. And because somewhere inside him he does not want that to happen, he remains blind to my hints. So we are left, two men so alike in purpose, yet forever seperated by a chasm of deceit and misunderstanding not of our making. It has even crossed my mind to take away his Prozium and introduce him to the wonders he is denied, but I cannot do it. To make a good man face the fact that he has done terrible things in service to a lie could destroy him.
I cannot do that to him.
I know that someday, he will no longer be able to safely ignore it. Eventually I will say or do something that he cannot overlook or explain away, and then he will do his duty and see me punished. I can only hope that if he is ever able to break out of the chains of that wretched drug, that he will not hate himself for what he has done.
If you ever read this, John, it will mean I am already dead. I ask you, as one last favor to me, to forgive yourself for the end that I know is coming.
I have already forgiven you.
Your partner,
Errol Partridge