Da Man 'N His Woman (UC, Adult), Important AN 10/20 [WIP]
Posted: Sun Aug 27, 2006 3:32 pm
A/N 1: Hey, just a little teaser on the good things to come! I've combined the first two chapters, just to give you a little taste
Working Title: Da Man n’ His Woman
Author: Kristin aka Kiara Alexis Klay
Genre: Roswell
Rating: Mature, Adult for graphic language and situations
Pairing: Zan/Liz, Rath/Lonnie, Ava/?
Summary: Tragedy sends Liz on an errand to warn the New York gang about a traitor in their midst. Trouble is, after she does, will the da Man let her go?
Disclaimer: Roswell and the characters associated with the show are not mine, but Melinda Metz, Jason Katims, WB, Sci-Fi, and whoever else. The title for chapter 1 was a quote I read from a Roswell/Supernatural fanfic whose name eludes me at the moment. Just know it’s not mine and if it’s yours, please let me know, so I can properly credit you.
The Antarian words I use are Vulcan words used first appearing in the Star Trek movie Star Trek: The Final Frontier. Star Trek and all things associated with the franchise (such as the Vulcan language I’m borrowing) belong to Gene Roddenbury and company.
There is one part at the very beginning where I use the whole Liz journal entry from the pilot, ‘My name is Liz Parker and five days ago I died.’ No copyright infringement is intended, though it has to probably be one of the most used starts in Roswell fanfic.
This story idea was taken from a challenge issued by iRuletheWorld on the Zanatiks challenge forum, posted 5.23.2002, and I have not seen that anyone has taken it up, nor have I been able to successfully contact the issuer.
A/n 2: This is a sort of what if kind of story. The terms of the challenge are as follows.
What if…
1. The Roswell Gang get’s killed, but not Liz…
2. Tess was the bad guy…
3. Zan and his gang are all alive and kicking it…they are not evil…
4. Liz finds out about the NY group…she goes.
5. Liz does not plan on staying. All she wants to do is tell them like it is and get the hell out of the frying pan…
6. Liz has power because of Max…she just wants to get the hell away from everything alien…
7. Seeing Liz for the first time, Zan falls in love…
8. Liz does not want to have anything to do with him or the rest of them…
9. Zan being ‘da Man’ and all, he does not see it that way.
The challenger issuer also stated that she really wants Zan to have to fight for Liz and to make Liz play hard to get.
So this is what came out of that! Hope you all enjoy cause Zan is da Man!
Da Man ‘n His Woman
~~~
Black.
Empty.
Void.
Numb.
Nothingness.
There are probably several other descriptive words that mean the same thing that I could use and I’m missing, but I can’t find it in myself to care. That whole black, empty, void, numbly nothingness thing going on and all.
My name is Liz Parker and five days ago I died.
Again.
~~~ One Breath at a Time ~~~
A rough hand clamping down upon her shoulder jarred Elizabeth ‘Liz’ Claudia Parker from the onrush of unwanted memories that plagued her while awake or dreaming. It was such a relief to be forced from the nightmare, which was certainly more horrible to deal with while sleeping than awake that she didn’t mind the grubby hand, or the bored, angry, disgusted, and uncaring glare of the man before her.
“We here, now git.”
“Sure,” she rumbled back, her voice thick and hoarse from being screamed raw, sleep, and lately, nonuse. She uncurled and rose from her awkward position against the window.
She didn’t even wince at the ache left from leaning on her duffel, which she’d wisely and thoughtfully placed between her and the side of the bus for safekeeping. She slipped her arm through the sling, and shouldered her way past Grumpy, not caring what he thought of her.
Liz stepped off the bus and didn’t stop to stare until after she was out of Grump’s line of sight. Her first view of the City didn’t impress her as much as it would have five days prior, and she was certain that had the City been sentient, the feeling would have been mutual.
She looked like every other down on their luck seen better kind of days sorta gal. Her jeans were worn and wrinkled from days of wear and use, her tank top ruffled and her overshirt faded and hanging off gaunt shoulders that had seen better days.
There were deep, dark circles under her eyes that hadn’t been there until recently, and no make up touched her features. Her hair was still long but dank and limp, not having had time or energy to mess with it more than run a brush through.
But the most notable difference was in her eyes. Huge, doe-like, mocha colored eyes which had once stared at the world in awe and eagerness, who’s every thought, feeling, hope, and dreams were once laid bare in their dark depths now held a weariness and wariness of life in general. They were the eyes of a refugee, of a person who’d seen and done too much, who only survived one breath at a time, for the entire world like a soldier newly returned from a battlefield.
If you’d known her life up to this point, you’d have to admit she was.
At least she had been.
Yeah, keep telling yourself that Parker, she tossed her head, flinging her hair over her shoulder and adjusting the weight of her duffel once more.
But the one thing that hadn’t changed in those innumerable depths was the determination. There was still the fire of an implacable will that refused to keel over and die just yet.
She’d always been stubborn: once she’d analyzed and cross-examined her analysis and gathered the evidence to her satisfaction, she’d come up with a plan of action that she followed wholeheartedly, no inhibitions. Now that stubbornness was tempered through the fire of the circumstances she found herself in, and stoked until there was nothing but unyielding steel left.
Which brought her to the present situation.
She had a plan.
As soon as she finished, she was through with Czechs once and for all, and she would vanish to live the rest of her life as she could.
New York and Destiny needed to watch out, Liz Parker had a mission.
~~~ Sha-ka-ri ~~~
Completion.
It glimmered just in front of him, teasing him, taunting him. Always it was so close, close enough to touch, to feel, and yet so far, untouchable.
A jolt of awareness ran through the center of his entire being and he knew, he knew.
Completion.
It was here.
Close enough to touch.
He only had to reach out…
Zan shot straight up, jolted to wakefulness with a start. He was in his bedroom, the only light coming from the soft glow cast from the two cyan colored lava lamps. He ran a hand through hair, damp enough that the usually stiff crimson and violet tipped spikes were almost soft and pliant to his touch.
Sweat beaded his forehead, rolling down his neck, across his heaving, pierced pecs, snaking in rivulets through the canyons of his rippled, defined abs, pooling in his belly button to catch on the piercing nestled between the small fold before continuing on down to catch and absorb into the silky fabric of the sheet tightened across his lap and lower body.
Only one phrase made it through the confusion of a sleep-induced haze, and it flashed before his eyelids as if he could actually see it, like the afterburn image of a neon sign you stared at too long.
Reach out.
He didn’t even hesitate. If there was one thing that Zan had learned to rely on, it was instinct. Instinct had served to keep him and his own alive more times than he cared to admit and keep track of, so he went along with it.
Taking a deep breath, he closed copper eyes tinged with amber, and sought out that side that was definitively Other, his ‘alien’ side. That half of him that was the essence of a mighty ruler of an alien planet long past sprang forward like a beast set loose from shackles, flooding him, taking over, and filling him up so that he wondered briefly if this was the completion that he had been seeking.
No, he knew as soon as the thought hit that this wasn’t it.
Zan opened his eyes, eyes that had bled to burning black gold, the black iris starbursting on an amber field, the alien knowing just what to do, what was needed. He was exposed in a way that was difficult to put into words.
It was more sensation than actual coherency; he was alert to everything around him, a sort of hyperawareness, every heartbeat, every cry, and every moan of pain or pleasure in the people surrounding him. As if he were attuned into the heartbeat and pulse of the City.
As if on some sort of homing device, he ‘felt’ himself pulled along, blurring past people but seeing streets and places and landmarks he recognized, until he zeroed in on what had been his destination all along.
Large, mocha colored eyes laced with pain and sorrow whipped up to meet his, startled, a connection immediately fusing them together, their pulses and hearts beating in time, and for a moment, Zan and his alien half knew a moment of pure bliss.
Sha-ka-ri <Heaven>
K’fai <Complete>
Those self same eyes that had ensnared the core being of a King widened in surprise and recognition, fear and panic flashing for an instant before they hardened, a mental Get out! shouted his way, and then the link was abruptly and forcefully shut down.
While stunned she could eject him from that semi dream state it was okay, Zan felt a slow smile spread across his lips, it didn’t matter. He knew exactly where to find her, and how. That bond still pulsated, like a tattoo upon their souls, a living cord binding them together.
“Sha-ka-ri ha’su,” he whispered reverently, the powers of the King still riding him, curling his lips back in a feral, open toothed grin. Heaven’s angel.
<Katelau> his other side insisted, but the part that was human Zan pushed that away. It was too soon to tell, and the scent and memory of her fear and panic was too near, too imprinted in his memory.
She wasn’t exactly afraid of him, not exactly. But he intended to find out.
Several blocks and an alley away, tucked up high where no one would see or bother her, Liz Parker jerked straight up from her semi reclined position. The dream that was not a dream gripped her still, and she knew, knew that it had been no dream. He had been real. If he had, then that meant that the feelings were real as well, that she was in the right place, and that was something she didn’t want to think about.
She wanted, no needed, to be stern, unemotional, unaffected.
A stonewall, she smiled bitterly at the recollection.
She looked down in an attempt to distract herself from the past and gasped in horror. She stared in some fear and apprehension at her shaking hand, gazing almost mesmerized at the dance of whitish-green color playing beneath her skin, tracing patterns through her veins and arteries, making her seem almost translucent, the physical manifestation of the power that she could still feel surging through her veins.
A power she neither wanted nor wished for.
“K’fai,” she trembled, and this time, it wasn’t from the cold.
He would come for her.
“Damn Czechoslovakians,” she swore with fervently, and closed her eyes once more to concentrate, trying desperately to stem the flow of power.
But even after she had dimmed the outward glow, she could still feel it, feel him, and all she could see was the soft green and white of her power, and the vague outline of a familiar stranger who would come.
Working Title: Da Man n’ His Woman
Author: Kristin aka Kiara Alexis Klay
Genre: Roswell
Rating: Mature, Adult for graphic language and situations
Pairing: Zan/Liz, Rath/Lonnie, Ava/?
Summary: Tragedy sends Liz on an errand to warn the New York gang about a traitor in their midst. Trouble is, after she does, will the da Man let her go?
Disclaimer: Roswell and the characters associated with the show are not mine, but Melinda Metz, Jason Katims, WB, Sci-Fi, and whoever else. The title for chapter 1 was a quote I read from a Roswell/Supernatural fanfic whose name eludes me at the moment. Just know it’s not mine and if it’s yours, please let me know, so I can properly credit you.
The Antarian words I use are Vulcan words used first appearing in the Star Trek movie Star Trek: The Final Frontier. Star Trek and all things associated with the franchise (such as the Vulcan language I’m borrowing) belong to Gene Roddenbury and company.
There is one part at the very beginning where I use the whole Liz journal entry from the pilot, ‘My name is Liz Parker and five days ago I died.’ No copyright infringement is intended, though it has to probably be one of the most used starts in Roswell fanfic.
This story idea was taken from a challenge issued by iRuletheWorld on the Zanatiks challenge forum, posted 5.23.2002, and I have not seen that anyone has taken it up, nor have I been able to successfully contact the issuer.
A/n 2: This is a sort of what if kind of story. The terms of the challenge are as follows.
What if…
1. The Roswell Gang get’s killed, but not Liz…
2. Tess was the bad guy…
3. Zan and his gang are all alive and kicking it…they are not evil…
4. Liz finds out about the NY group…she goes.
5. Liz does not plan on staying. All she wants to do is tell them like it is and get the hell out of the frying pan…
6. Liz has power because of Max…she just wants to get the hell away from everything alien…
7. Seeing Liz for the first time, Zan falls in love…
8. Liz does not want to have anything to do with him or the rest of them…
9. Zan being ‘da Man’ and all, he does not see it that way.
The challenger issuer also stated that she really wants Zan to have to fight for Liz and to make Liz play hard to get.
So this is what came out of that! Hope you all enjoy cause Zan is da Man!
Da Man ‘n His Woman
~~~
Black.
Empty.
Void.
Numb.
Nothingness.
There are probably several other descriptive words that mean the same thing that I could use and I’m missing, but I can’t find it in myself to care. That whole black, empty, void, numbly nothingness thing going on and all.
My name is Liz Parker and five days ago I died.
Again.
~~~ One Breath at a Time ~~~
A rough hand clamping down upon her shoulder jarred Elizabeth ‘Liz’ Claudia Parker from the onrush of unwanted memories that plagued her while awake or dreaming. It was such a relief to be forced from the nightmare, which was certainly more horrible to deal with while sleeping than awake that she didn’t mind the grubby hand, or the bored, angry, disgusted, and uncaring glare of the man before her.
“We here, now git.”
“Sure,” she rumbled back, her voice thick and hoarse from being screamed raw, sleep, and lately, nonuse. She uncurled and rose from her awkward position against the window.
She didn’t even wince at the ache left from leaning on her duffel, which she’d wisely and thoughtfully placed between her and the side of the bus for safekeeping. She slipped her arm through the sling, and shouldered her way past Grumpy, not caring what he thought of her.
Liz stepped off the bus and didn’t stop to stare until after she was out of Grump’s line of sight. Her first view of the City didn’t impress her as much as it would have five days prior, and she was certain that had the City been sentient, the feeling would have been mutual.
She looked like every other down on their luck seen better kind of days sorta gal. Her jeans were worn and wrinkled from days of wear and use, her tank top ruffled and her overshirt faded and hanging off gaunt shoulders that had seen better days.
There were deep, dark circles under her eyes that hadn’t been there until recently, and no make up touched her features. Her hair was still long but dank and limp, not having had time or energy to mess with it more than run a brush through.
But the most notable difference was in her eyes. Huge, doe-like, mocha colored eyes which had once stared at the world in awe and eagerness, who’s every thought, feeling, hope, and dreams were once laid bare in their dark depths now held a weariness and wariness of life in general. They were the eyes of a refugee, of a person who’d seen and done too much, who only survived one breath at a time, for the entire world like a soldier newly returned from a battlefield.
If you’d known her life up to this point, you’d have to admit she was.
At least she had been.
Yeah, keep telling yourself that Parker, she tossed her head, flinging her hair over her shoulder and adjusting the weight of her duffel once more.
But the one thing that hadn’t changed in those innumerable depths was the determination. There was still the fire of an implacable will that refused to keel over and die just yet.
She’d always been stubborn: once she’d analyzed and cross-examined her analysis and gathered the evidence to her satisfaction, she’d come up with a plan of action that she followed wholeheartedly, no inhibitions. Now that stubbornness was tempered through the fire of the circumstances she found herself in, and stoked until there was nothing but unyielding steel left.
Which brought her to the present situation.
She had a plan.
As soon as she finished, she was through with Czechs once and for all, and she would vanish to live the rest of her life as she could.
New York and Destiny needed to watch out, Liz Parker had a mission.
~~~ Sha-ka-ri ~~~
Completion.
It glimmered just in front of him, teasing him, taunting him. Always it was so close, close enough to touch, to feel, and yet so far, untouchable.
A jolt of awareness ran through the center of his entire being and he knew, he knew.
Completion.
It was here.
Close enough to touch.
He only had to reach out…
Zan shot straight up, jolted to wakefulness with a start. He was in his bedroom, the only light coming from the soft glow cast from the two cyan colored lava lamps. He ran a hand through hair, damp enough that the usually stiff crimson and violet tipped spikes were almost soft and pliant to his touch.
Sweat beaded his forehead, rolling down his neck, across his heaving, pierced pecs, snaking in rivulets through the canyons of his rippled, defined abs, pooling in his belly button to catch on the piercing nestled between the small fold before continuing on down to catch and absorb into the silky fabric of the sheet tightened across his lap and lower body.
Only one phrase made it through the confusion of a sleep-induced haze, and it flashed before his eyelids as if he could actually see it, like the afterburn image of a neon sign you stared at too long.
Reach out.
He didn’t even hesitate. If there was one thing that Zan had learned to rely on, it was instinct. Instinct had served to keep him and his own alive more times than he cared to admit and keep track of, so he went along with it.
Taking a deep breath, he closed copper eyes tinged with amber, and sought out that side that was definitively Other, his ‘alien’ side. That half of him that was the essence of a mighty ruler of an alien planet long past sprang forward like a beast set loose from shackles, flooding him, taking over, and filling him up so that he wondered briefly if this was the completion that he had been seeking.
No, he knew as soon as the thought hit that this wasn’t it.
Zan opened his eyes, eyes that had bled to burning black gold, the black iris starbursting on an amber field, the alien knowing just what to do, what was needed. He was exposed in a way that was difficult to put into words.
It was more sensation than actual coherency; he was alert to everything around him, a sort of hyperawareness, every heartbeat, every cry, and every moan of pain or pleasure in the people surrounding him. As if he were attuned into the heartbeat and pulse of the City.
As if on some sort of homing device, he ‘felt’ himself pulled along, blurring past people but seeing streets and places and landmarks he recognized, until he zeroed in on what had been his destination all along.
Large, mocha colored eyes laced with pain and sorrow whipped up to meet his, startled, a connection immediately fusing them together, their pulses and hearts beating in time, and for a moment, Zan and his alien half knew a moment of pure bliss.
Sha-ka-ri <Heaven>
K’fai <Complete>
Those self same eyes that had ensnared the core being of a King widened in surprise and recognition, fear and panic flashing for an instant before they hardened, a mental Get out! shouted his way, and then the link was abruptly and forcefully shut down.
While stunned she could eject him from that semi dream state it was okay, Zan felt a slow smile spread across his lips, it didn’t matter. He knew exactly where to find her, and how. That bond still pulsated, like a tattoo upon their souls, a living cord binding them together.
“Sha-ka-ri ha’su,” he whispered reverently, the powers of the King still riding him, curling his lips back in a feral, open toothed grin. Heaven’s angel.
<Katelau> his other side insisted, but the part that was human Zan pushed that away. It was too soon to tell, and the scent and memory of her fear and panic was too near, too imprinted in his memory.
She wasn’t exactly afraid of him, not exactly. But he intended to find out.
Several blocks and an alley away, tucked up high where no one would see or bother her, Liz Parker jerked straight up from her semi reclined position. The dream that was not a dream gripped her still, and she knew, knew that it had been no dream. He had been real. If he had, then that meant that the feelings were real as well, that she was in the right place, and that was something she didn’t want to think about.
She wanted, no needed, to be stern, unemotional, unaffected.
A stonewall, she smiled bitterly at the recollection.
She looked down in an attempt to distract herself from the past and gasped in horror. She stared in some fear and apprehension at her shaking hand, gazing almost mesmerized at the dance of whitish-green color playing beneath her skin, tracing patterns through her veins and arteries, making her seem almost translucent, the physical manifestation of the power that she could still feel surging through her veins.
A power she neither wanted nor wished for.
“K’fai,” she trembled, and this time, it wasn’t from the cold.
He would come for her.
“Damn Czechoslovakians,” she swore with fervently, and closed her eyes once more to concentrate, trying desperately to stem the flow of power.
But even after she had dimmed the outward glow, she could still feel it, feel him, and all she could see was the soft green and white of her power, and the vague outline of a familiar stranger who would come.