Fandom: Cable/Cowboy Bebop/Farscape/Stargate You decide. HEE! 
Spoilers: Nary a single one. Just the guys doin some hard livin. 
Rating: PG 
Summary: Mornings suck... 
Note: This was something of an experiment to see just how similar my boyz are. Amusingly 
enough, this actually works. Plus, it's all short. 
 
*** 
 
Parallels 
by A.j. 
 
*** 
 
It was morning. 
 
Not that he could exactly tell that from where he lay, collapsed under a heap of blankets. It was 
just a feeling ingrained from the thousands of mornings that had come before. Eyes snapping 
open, and for that split second completely and totally aware of everything. Soft humming. The 
movement of air in vents. 
 
All before everything shoved into abeyance by sleep collapsed kicking and screaming down his 
nerve endings. 
 
Oh, yeah. He was getting too old for this shit. Well, his body was at any rate. 
 
He could remember a time when getting out of bed hadn't been that complicated. Open eyes, roll 
over, stand up, walk to bathroom. Simple. Clean. Unpainful. 
 
Glowering at the low darkened ceiling, he took a deep breath only to hiss and stop part way 
through. Right. Deep lungfuls of air equals bad when ribs are cracked. He knew this. He'd 
*known* this for years. 
 
A rather large portion of his brain - well the bit not dealing with the sudden pain spots dancing in 
front of his eyes - was laughing at him right now. Things were bad when you were laughing at 
yourself for being an idiot. That or years of subtle - okay not at all subtle - mocking was finally 
catching up. 
 
He could do this. He'd *done* this. Right. Arms under body. Push up to vertical position. Pause. 
Wait for back and arm muscles to stop screaming. Gently shuffle legs out from under the blanket 
onto the floor without whimpering. Almost there. Now scoot to the edge of the bed and not fall 
off. Ahhh, done. 
 
All of this wasn't really very fair. He hadn't asked for all the physical injuries or years of hard 
living. It had all just sort of happened, and the seriously horrid bit was that he had to deal with it 
now. In the mornings. Well, the ones where there wasn't some kind of alarm going off, or person 
aiming some type of weapon at him. 
 
No, those mornings he was up and out the door without so much as a pause to complain about 
aching knees. 
 
Oh, hello. Yeah, they weren't real happy with him either right now. But. Standing now. Kind of. 
 
God, he was getting entirely too old for this. So what if he wasn't seventy? His body didn't appear 
to know that. And who was he to argue logic with observance. He knew better than that. Didn't 
mean he liked it. 
 
Taking a short breath, he shuffled in the direction of the bathroom, trying desperately not to 
curse.
-fin-