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no-i-didnt-notice-im-short · 6 years

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Heyy,, I don’t know if you’re taking writing prompts at all so if you’re not just discard this? I couldn’t help but wonder how the team would’ve reacted if Red hadn’t gotten to Lance in time in s7? Like how when Adam’s team was fighting and when they died their lines went red on screen, like that for Lance? Maybe some Shklance or Klance because I’m weak? Love your writing though!!!!

I am so sorry this took so long. Also, i chose Sklance cz i am weak too.

Hope you like this ❤ Ao3

Lance’s reunion with his family was so pure to the pointthat Shiro was afraid of his own envy. He secretly hoped for Adam’s presence,though they were not together anymore, to welcome him back to his home planetinstead of it being Iverson. Keith was standing next to him smiling fondly atthe Cuban boy. Sadness plagued his eyes if you knew where to look but wasultimately completely drowned with fondness towards their boyfriend.

Lance had spoken for hours on end about his family and howmuch he missed them. The other two males having come from a much smallerfamilies and could do nothing to relate but gladly offered an ear to theirthird partner. Looking at him now, how much his family cried over their lostmember and how much emotion was displayed infront of them, they were thankingthe heavens for every second Lance was able to avoid death.

The Sendak incident, the Sven incident, the… Omega Shieldincident.

There had been way too many times where it seemed like Lancewas cursed to get hurt, which made their anxiety over their lover’s possibledemise weigh over them, keeping them up at night. They’ve talked about it, whenLance would have his headphones on and loud to calm his thoughts and soothe himto sleep when not even Shiro and Keith can help, on what they would do or howthey would react. How the universe was intent on throwing hardships at Lanceevery step of the way.

They could never fully imagine.

Not even during the omega shield incident, neither of themwere really there. They found out long after it happened and were alwayssoothed by Lance that he was fine and that it didn’t have any lasting effect onhim. Of course, the two black paladins still insisted he took things slowerthan usual and not jump into things head on. Keith’s two years of maturitytrumping Lance’s argument that hot-headedness was Keith’s thing.

After Hunk settled in his given room, Pidge left with herfamily and the Alteans were given their own double suite. Shiro asked commanderabout his old quarters considering he used to be a high ranking pilot.

“The one you shared with Captain Adam.” Iverson looked atShiro with unreadable eyes. He thought he saw sadness but dismissed it as atrick of lighting.

“Yeah… I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t mind if I crashed withhim for a while. It was my apartment too.”

The older male looked at the other two males in the roombefore training his gaze back at Shiro.

“You might want to sit down for this.”

Keith and Lance each stood next to a shoulder showing theirfull support to their partner no matter what. After Iverson delivered the news,Shiro stared at his hands for a few seconds before droplets of salty tearsfell, staining his pants. He didn’t realize he was crying until his upper kneearea was completely soaked. Lance sat down next to Shiro and held him into hischest as sobs rattled his entire body.

Despair and hopeless shocked hissystem. He knew this was a military base and death was inevitable as someonewho signed up for this. But he never thought it would be so soon for hisex-lover. It brought back his small pinches of fear towards his current lovers,so he reached for Keith and brought him down to their level and held him close.He wanted to be surrounded by as much of them as possible. He needed to feeltheir heartbeats against him, even if faint. He will do whatever he can to keepthem safe.

After deciding to split up for the 6 bases, the Voltron teamand MFE pilots and Shiro stood to say their final thoughts to each other.

“Everyone keep your coms ready and open.” Shiro urged theyounger pilots. “I want to be able to hear everything and have the ability totalk to you no matter what, okay?”

A series of affirmatives rounded from everyone.

“So here is the full plan, again.” Shiro spent the next tenminutes revising the details to make sure things will go as smoothly aspossible. He couldn’t afford mistakes. These were the lives of his friends andlovers, not just his colleagues.

“Lastly, Lance.” Grey eyes met striking blue. “You andVeronica will go the one closest to here. She will drive you while you try toconnect with Red.”

“Do I have to go with Veronica?” Lance said, his voiceetching with concern and worry. Shiro understood what he must be going through.Lance had told them of his worries about his sister being a part of this, eventhough she was a Garrison officer long before he left Earth in the first place.

“Calm down, Lancelot!” She said smiling at her youngerbrother. Their dynamic was always so light-hearted but never lacked the seriousundertone. They both had mad respect for the other’s abilities in theirspecific forts.

“You can’t blame me for worrying.” Lance said defensively.

“I don’t. It’s sweet, but misplaced. We’ll be fine. Besides,according to my calculations, the other bases have a much higher chance ofbeing attacked due to the higher concentration of Galra camps surrounding them.So, this is going to be easy-peasy.”

Shiro stepped forward and put his hand of Lance’s shoulder.

“Don’t worry. I believe in you.”

Worry lines smoothed on his tanned face as he broke into agrin. Lance had shared with him what the clone had done and said to him. Hisself-esteem was shot to the ground and he was in a bad mental place. RealizingShiro was dead the whole time also gave him abandonment issues as he didn’tunderstand why Keith had left him for the Blade – which he later said was dueto his extremely poor hold on his emotions and believed that way he was helpingLance after their talk - and Shiro retuned with a colder, meaner attitude withno real explanation. He was extremely lonely and left with his thoughts. Itdidn’t end well.

It took the whole ride back to Earth to ease his mind andtry to fix what was broken between them. It worked for the most part.

They separated into their designated jets and car and tookoff.

Lance and Veronica were bickering about an old prank theyplayed a long time ago, James and Keith were adding jabs to see which one ofthe Cubans could actually be right and Pidge and Hunk were laughing ateverything as they knew what actually happened in that event, especially Hunkas he was there. Allura kept asking for clarifications on certain phrases thesiblings were using and were causing all this laughter; She wanted to take partas much as possible.

Shiro smiled fondly at their images on his screen. They werethe ones from back in the Garrison days, except for Allura who took a fastimage before the mission to add her to the database. Keith’s scar-less face andLance’s younger, softer features next to their frequencies was sendingbutterflies down his stomach as if he was fifteen again.

He missed this primal, innocentfeeling too much sometimes.

He signalled the Paladins when it was time for them to reachout for their lions. Keith and Allura gave their confirmations at the sametime, followed by Hunk and Pidge a few minutes later.

“Lance. Status?”

“Red’s not responding to me.”

Shiro’s wide eyes stared at the screen.

“What do you mean, he’s not responding? Are youconcentrating?”

“I am!”

“Well, keep trying!”

He ran to Coran’s screen to make sure of the surroundings oftheir car. He was so dependent that the Lions will respond to the Paladins thathe didn’t plan for back up in case they don’t respond.

The blinking light of an incoming ship was damning.

“Veronica, you have incoming. 6 o’clock.”

He heard her confirmation before he moved to Iverson demandingto know the fastest squad he could send in their direction.

A pained grunt filled his ears and then dual screamed beforecomplete silence. Everyone aboard the Atlas stared in horror at the screenshowing the images. Shiro couldn’t tear his eyes from Lance’s.

“Lance. Lance, come in.”

He could faintly hear the other’s panic induced worriedyells on the coms, but the blood pounding in his ears was getting too much. Hisbrain filtered only Keith’s voice.

“Shiro did his coms cut?”

It took him a minute before he found his voice again.

“No, he is still online.”

“Will I be able to make it in time?!”

Shiro didn’t comprehend what Keith had said before Iversonwas yelling at him to not change his location.

“We have to strike the bases at the same time, anyways. If Lancecan’t strike his, then what’s the point of this?” Keith yelled back.

“Keith. Stay where you are. We have to believe Lance isokay.” Shiro said calmly struggling to hide the internal panic from his voice.

A familiar groan draws his attention.

“Lance!”

“Yeah… I’m here.”

Shiro released a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“Shiro, Veronica’s hurt.” Lance’s voice was too small tocome out of the loud Cuban.

“Check on her first.”

Soldiers around Shiro looked at him. He knew asking asolider to check on his teammate before asking for a full status report waswrong. But he also knew Lance. If he asked him to put anything before hisfamily, and having to follow the order since Shiro is his superior, Lance wouldnever forgive him.

“She’s… She’s breathing.”

“That’s good. Now, give me a status report.”

“The car is in compete ruins, we are approximately 6.3 milesaway from destination, Veronica… she’s bleeding from her forehead and breathingshallowly.”

“And you?”

“Me?” it seemed to take him a while to answer. “I have atwisted-

Lance didn’t get to finish his sentence before he yelpedloudly as he was caught by surprise by whatever was around him.

“Coran?”

“There is not a thing on our radars.”

“Lance talk to me.”

“Galra… Ship.” Lance said between pained pants. A thunderous,roaring hit way too close to Lance.

“Lance try to get out of there!!”

“I am on my way.” Keith’s voice came out of nowhere. Wherethe hell was Red? He wanted to tell Keith to stay where he was for the mission,but couldn’t. He wanted him to reachLance and make sure their partner was okay, even if he was here… helpless.Again.

Another mechanical noise made it way, Lance was close totheir ruined car and was trying to start it despite his previous report. Aresounding metal on metal clunk goes on for some time before deafening silence.

“Lance…” Shiro’s voice was unsure and small.

“Baby…” His eye widened at the raw emotion in his voice.“Veronica is under… the bent hood of the car… she is probably concussed so gether medical attention straight away, okay?”

A tear makes its way down. Lance can’t give up. He can’t…

“I am sorry I couldn’t do more… I am sorry I didn’t finishthis mission, it was so so simple.” Shiro’s hands were shaking distractingly.His vision was starting to blur. Lance’s helplessness mirrored Shiro’s toomuch. Lance was not allowed to feel this helpless. He was powerful and loud andtoo big of a soul to be reduced to… this.

“LANCE! I AM ON THE WAY, PLEASE, BABY DON’T DO ANYTHING”

The background noise was getting progressively louder thanKeith’s shouts. The Galra ship was getting closer. The ex-black paladin heardthe charging sound of Lance’s blaster and knew he was preparing.

An ear splitting blast hit close to Lance causing a staticin his coms. He barely heard Lance groan before another hit his proximityagain. and again. Fire was raining on Lance and he couldn’t even get a visualon the situation.

He couldn’t decide whether that was good or bad.

A shocked gasp came from their communications before anothershrill and then silence. Awful, deafening, ear splitting silence. Everyoneseemed to be holding their breaths. Eyes stared at the screen, at the changedcolour infront of them.

Red.

Where Lance’s bright and colourful image was, a red aura wasupon it. Shiro was not oblivious or stupid; he knew what it meant. But never…in the past years would he have ever thought that he would lose Lance afterreaching Earth. It seemed like a cruel joke the universe was playing on him.

The fast moving blinking dot indicating Black stopped on thescreen.

“Please don’t… he can’t…”

And it might have been the broken sound in Keith’s voicethat released him from his shocked state; he was on the ground, on his knees,seconds later. His hands pulling at his hair as his physically felt himselflose part of his heart. The cracks of his mind were expanding, oozing away hissanity.

They were too late.

No amount of late night talks could have ever prepared himand Keith for the real thing.

I haven’t written a prompt in a while. Sorry if it was shit, blame it on the fact that i am a bit rusty.

Have y’all seen that S8 trailer?!

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ecotone99 · 4 years

Text

[MS] Cothrom

The studio apartment, where Jeffrey McHahan found himself sitting, was filled with post-modern pieces of art. Some of which looked like it had been through a giant blender, then pasted back together with melted crayons and bubblegum. He did not bother trying to see any significance or symbolism in the piece. He had seen cold bowls of oatmeal that have had more charm. The man who lived here had an expensive taste, but not much reason to stay longer than a night at a time. The artwork did little more than fill the room, and that was about it. Sketches of barfed out figures but no pictures of family or friends. Sculptures that resemble busted machinery glued together in a macramé hammock, but no big screen TV or stools at the kitchenette.

Jeffery was not a smoker, at least not since his time in Eastern Europe. The room was dark, but the orange glow from a burning cigarette was not going to be accompanying the foreboding of his task. The task he appointed to himself, and was obligated to take on from several parties of grief-stricken parents, was not going to be an uncalculated robbery. It was going to have a purpose. It was going to provide cothrom. The room already smelled like toxic glue and cleaner, from the art pieces, and Heaven only knew what the smell of second-hand smoke would have added.

"Why?" Jeffery muttered to himself looking through the glass table at his light brown work boots. Above sat a manila folder, a black pen, and a suppressed CZ-75 Automatic which he understandably almost always had set on "semi-automatic". He could not quite understand why people insisted on eating at glass tables, and the thought became the most apparent with the unsettling "clang" from placing his gun there earlier. “...why have one this flimsy?” He stayed cool, but perplexed, with no reason to be fidgety or paranoid. The alarm was deactivated, his spandex gloves were on, and the place was swept for weapons. In the hour he had been there, waiting for Mark Laughlin to come home, he had only been sitting for ten minutes. Waiting is not the hardest part when you know the social patterns and routines. It's everything that comes after they walk through the door that makes the difference between zen and bedlam.

Mark Laughlin, a Caucasian man in his early 20s, strolled into his apartment whistling an indistinct tune and tossing his keys into a porcelain bowl by the front door. His attitude was casual, in a good mood from beating some of his drinking buddies in a game of racquetball. When he tossed his keys, over-head into the bowl, he noticed his alarm panel was off. He grunted quizzically as he opened a small cabinet to retrieve a Glock 19, he kept in a lockbox. To his dismay the box had already been opened and the gun was missing. Keeping his bravado, he cautiously walked into his apartment dialing "911" on his cell phone.

"Good afternoon Mr. Laughlin..." Jeffery said holding up his CZ-75, elbow resting on the table. Mark panicked and put up his hands. "Hey man easy..." "Put down the phone." "I didn’t push 'Send'..." "Unplug from your tech ways Mr. Laughlin. I won't ask again." Jeffery’s tone stayed calm and official; but he did pull back the hammer to let Mark know he would be shot if there was no compliance. Mark tossed the phone onto the kitchenette counter. "Listen I have money, there's..." "$6,435 American, 800 Euros, and a big diamond ring in your bedroom safe. I know, I helped myself to it, you can keep the passport.” He pointed, with the gun, at a nearby seat of the table. “Now sit down please Mr. Laughlin." "Can I get you a drink?" It was the only other thing he could offer his intruder, perhaps picking up on the Irish accent, and assuming he could bribe him with the age-old cliché. He made his way toward the mini-bar, motioning toward the bay windows, with an appealing raise of the eyebrows. "No thank you. I don't drink on Thursdays. By the way I cut the wire on that panic button of yours." Jeffery’s Irish accent went gruff, with his tone at the end of his sentences being absolute rather than ending with a stereotypical high pitch. Mark stopped in his tracks and lowered his head defeated. "Can I get some ice?" "If by 'ice' you mean the unregistered .38 snub in your mini-fridge..." Jeffery pulled the gun in question out of his satchel, and gently placed it on the table. "...then no... you may not. Sit down Mark, I'm getting tired of askin'." Though annoyed his tone was still calm, but more demanding.

Mark frowned, he opened his mouth to say something, but refrained and settled for a shrug of the shoulders instead. He walked over to the table and sat down; his situation was bleak but his body language was reinforcing his false sense of confidence. Jeffery de-cocked the hammer on his pistol sitting it down gently.

“Are you familiar with the name Linda Velicia?” Jeffery opened the folder like a lawyer beginning a line of questioning. Mark looked up surprised, like the name DID bring up a tragic memory. “No…” “’No’? Ok, what about Brandon Welsh?” Mark’s eyes grew wide. “No…” “Rebecca Zenburg, Dillon Roacheque?” Mark rolled his hands, through his dark blonde hair. He grew anxious. "Are you sure Mr. Laughlin? I'm getting the impression I’m hittin’ a wall here..." "I... What the fuck do you want!?" "I'm trying to be civil and give you the opportunity of being honest with me." Jeffery stayed calm, but his tone was getting louder as he placed a photograph in front of Mark. "Linda Velacia?"

Mark glanced at the picture and quickly looked away; he was becoming increasingly uncomfortable. The picture was a printout photo, most likely from a social media page, of a young blonde-haired Caucasian woman, smiling at a college party, with a red disposable cup in her hand.

Jeffery raised his eyebrows quizzically looking at Mark's reaction. "The name match the face?" “I don’t recall…” Mark replied with an ounce of shame in his tone trying, but upspeaking in the form of a question. “How about this one?” Jeffery laid out a Poloroid of Linda in a hospital bed. The left side of her face badly cut and bruised. Her mouth covered in medical tape with a breathing tube. “Christ…” Mark whispered shaking his head. Jeffery put out another picture; one of a young Caucasian man, with brown hair, by a pond, smiling with a pair of black Labrador retrievers. “Brandon Welsh?” Mark looked at the picture, then looked up at Jeffery with tears starting to form. Jeffery squinted menacingly putting out an eight-by-ten forensic photo of Brandon crushed by his steering wheel, face covered in windshield glass. “Don’t look at me boy! Look at the picture!” He was slowly getting angry. Mark looked down, covered his eyes, and began to sob. “Fuck you...” “This is Rebecca Zenburg before…” He presented a slightly grainy print out of a light skinned black girl smiling, with her parents, at her high school graduation. “…this one here is her after she met you. I don’t know how pertinent it may be for your recollection.” He slid another forensic eight-by-ten across the table. “As you can see her head’s a bit obscured in this one.” Mark leaped up from the table. “Look, I need a drink ok!?” Jeffery leaped up and grabbed him by the left shoulder, pushing him back down into the chair. “Drinking put you in me crosshairs, taking another sip will cause a pull of the trigger…” He grabbed the back of Mark’s head, forcing a tilt toward the table. “Easier for you to remember when you’re sober? She’s a bit hard to make out in that one!? Steel beams tend to do that...”

Mark looked at the CZ-75, “business end” pointed toward him despite it resting on the table. He wiped his tears, took a deep breath, and considered trying to get to the root of what Jeffery wanted.

“How much money do you want?” Mark said getting right to business, silver spoon providing whatever pay could get himself out of his present situation. Jeffery let go of Mark’s head and sat back down with a smirk. “First maybe you can tell me what the hell is the matter with you.” “I like to party sometimes. I’m really a good driver....” “Obviously not...” Jeffery interrupted him swiftly already knowing what kind of man he was, motioning at the pictures on the table. “...but you know that’s what taxis are for. Judging by your design choices I’d say you have the money for them.” He looked around the room and sighed. “No... I know you’re an irresponsible drunk. Take this glass table as sort of an example.” “What?” “Why do people buy glass tables? You can’t put a hot pot on it, you can’t stand on it to fix your ceiling fan, and you can’t exactly bang a cute girl from the bar on it… That is if they made it here alive... So, what’s the point of it? Is it cheaper than wood? Is it a ‘fengsuai’ thing maybe?” Mark sat in his chair with a quizzical look on his face, trying to follow the line of questioning. He never expected to be held at gunpoint for his decorating decision. “Well... would you rather we talked about the lives you ruined while driving drunk?” Jeffery shrugged his eyebrows and sat back in his chair, trying to mess with Mark’s head. “I was acquitted of those accidents!” Mark sat forward and said with a stern voice. Jeffery slapped Mark across the face. “You got off! There’s a difference boy! Insanity, or after a botched 28 days in rehab, or your daddy being the honorable Judge Laughlin!? The ‘honorable’ part being questionable. There ain’t a court in the world that would have acquitted you otherwise! No jury would have let you just walk away from this!” “Just tell me what you want! I can get you money!” Mark blocked his face from another strike. Jeffery smacked him anyway hitting his left forearm. “The problem with you is your daddy didn’t do that enough.” He grabbed a legal document from the file and slid it in front of Mark. “You don’t have to pay me a dime, I already helped myself to your safe, but you didn’t give your victims one penny.”

Jeffery sat back in his chair and waited for the young man to read the document in full. He had no empathy for Mark, or what he had done. Reading his face, he could tell that being forced to finally pay damages wasn’t going to be an issue, but was he going to learn from his mistakes? Some people don’t have the sense to stay from behind the wheel after getting wasted, but most learn from their first accident. Mark Laughlin was a man who was made abandoned yet cuddled by his rich parents. While his sister Kelly went off to be a future starving artist, Mark got lucky investing in his college friends’ real estate and freemium mobile apps. His problems could be solved with a checkbook, and a written note from his Judge father, but Jeffery clenched his fist knowing none of it could bring back the victims.

Thinking of their families he breathed deeply and placed a pen on the table. “I don’t really care what YOU think of the terms. Sign the paper Mr. Laughlin. You owe much more than what it states.” His shoulders sank and tone grew dim. The clack of the plastic pen, on the glass table, sounded like a boulder crashing into a deep chasm. Mark started to shake, his eyes grew buggy, looking at the pictures of his former friends.

“How did it go?” A burly bald man with a Boston accent and grey beard, asked looking in a manila folder. “Not the way I would have expected, but I’m not saddened by the results.” Jeffery replied exhaustingly leaning against a tree in Palmer Park. “Was he sick with anything?” “Give them a different folder for appearances sake.” Jeffery hadn’t noticed the small blood smear on the corner. “You’ll be fine though. The only thing he was sick with was poor decision makin’.” “Is it all on the up?” The burly man, Ray Starks, shook the folder giving Jeffery a look of concern. “Just give the document to the attorney, she’ll see it through.” He walked toward his car, a 2008 Dodge Charger. “I already got me pay, so tell them to save my cut.” “How much he have?” Not considering it a shakedown Jeffery gave the man a sly look. “Anniversary coming up?” “Yeah...” Jeffery tossed the diamond ring. “Give your old lady that.” Ray caught it with one hand and looked at his palm, eyes lighting up. “You beautiful son-of-a-bitch. You know Christmas ain’t for another seven months?” “You’re welcome asshole.” Jeffery got into his car. “Hey...” Ray tapped on the driver-side window. “...seriously. You’re a wicked pissahJeffy.” He continued after the power window went down. “Thanks, is what I’m tryin’ to say. Not just cause of the ring. Fuck that Laughlin guy, the families will appreciate what you did for them.”

Jeffery nodded approvingly, with a stern look and a half smile, before driving off. What he did most wouldn’t consider “right”, but he was a professional. He was someone that provided cothrom, to those who don’t have time to inform or trust the police. Or in Mark Laughlin’s case those who slip past “Lady Justice”. No matter which side of the law his results went he didn’t do it for the money or the glory. He had his reasons, a long history of why’s and when's. Ray, like a lot of his friends, was someone who could be trusted with this knowledge. A former member of an outlaw biker gang, he spent most of his time as a courier up and down the east coast. Transporting discrete documents for Jeffery and others who needed his services.

As Jeffery drove up North Front Street his cell phone rang to life.

“Hey Jeffy can you get over to The Arch Apartments? Kidnapping took place this morning, it’s the usual M.O., but something’s hanky about it. I’ll give you the details when you arrive.” A man with a Dominican accent said quickly but quietly over the phone, not giving Jeffery a second to say “Hello?” “I’ll be there in 15. What’s the apartment number?” “Apartment 12D. The front desk will buzz you up, I told them to expect you. This place is classy, make sure you dress appropriately. They might not let you in.”

A kidnap and ransom case? How Victor got word wasn’t important to him, he being in the Philadelphia Police Department had its perks with information gathering. In the trunk of his car he kept a dark blue blazer, among other things, that he swapped with his brown leather jacket. He sprayed on some deodorant and rushed into the lobby of the old apartment complex. The outside of the building was of a 1920s design and the lobby had been renovated to make it reflect that. The front desk, not saying a word, waved Jeffery up. In the corridor on the twelfth floor the door for apartment D swung open after a swift knock. Victor Guzman, stood in the doorway wearing a dark grey pants suit. He stood with a look of subdued shock at the sight before him.

"It's the first sign of the apocalypse!" Victor said with a chuckle at Jeffery's outfit. “You said dress properly so I threw on me best jacket.” He replied with a grin. He looked down at his faded jeans and brown boots. “It’s a nice effort but I said wear a suit.” “No, you didn’t you said ‘dress appropriately’.” “No, I sent you a text message after you hung up saying ‘that means wear a suit.’” Jeffery pulled out his cell phone, from his jeans pocket, and browsed through his texts. “Ah… had me phone on vibrate so I wouldn’t crash and die.” He put away the phone and reached into his left inner jacket pocket. “Don’t worry I figured this wouldn’t be enough.” He produced a black clip-on tie which he proceeded to put on the collar of his t-shirt. “God help me…” Victor replied in his native Spanish. “Come on get in here.” Jeffery tugged at Victor’s shirt color. “If I knew we were going to a GQ photoshoot I would have made a better effort.” “Hey! I got this at Men’s Warehouse, not that fruity shit. The guy was right, I like the way I look, but my wallet thinks I’m an asshole.”

Jeffery laughed and made his way into the apartment; the suite had a gloomy atmosphere to it. A pale and dark foreboding was in the air and it was reflected by the lighting. It could either be a sign of the case to come, or it was just the way it shined through the beige curtains, it was not a pleasant setting. The apartment had a long corridor that lead to several other rooms, all of which about the size of a whole cheaper apartment in New York City. This was most certainly a high-end complex, “you could fit six families in here” he thought to himself “what a waste of space”. “What’s going on Vic?” He said with a sense of uneasiness in his voice. Victor frowned and turned to face Jeffery. “Kidnapping, six years old, name’s Tyler Bloom.” Jeffery hung his head in regret and yanked his tie off, the moment for humor had passed. “How long ago?” “This morning, 7:32AM, somewhere near the corner of Westmoreland and 17th.” “Where are the parents?” “The mother is crying her eyes out in his bedroom and his step father is watching the game in the living room.”

Jeffery made his way down the corridor trying not to look at the pictures that covered the wall on the right. Birthdays, summer vacations, Christmases, Halloweens, trips to the mall, even a few pictures of Tyler as a baby in the maternity ward, every angle and crack of his smile documented. Holding back tears wasn’t a hard thing to do at this point in his life. “Never distant, but never involved.” He knew better than to look at the wall of family photos but he couldn’t help it. They told him time and time again in the Philly P.D. not to look at photos of happier times, not to get involved emotionally with a case. Just as soon as you look at the smile of such a child’s face the grim reality of finding their lifeless body suddenly makes the meeting disappointing. Having to tell the parents, having to describe how you found them in the sincerest way possible, while clutching onto a professional tone and not letting your emotions show, although on many occasions Jeffery wanted to cry right along with them.

He made a left into the living room; the décor was postmodern with industrial style settings. Light gray walls with bright colored furniture that matched the modern paintings. The furniture helped brighten up the gloomy mood of the apartment’s atmosphere, but Martin Swanson looked like a black hole of hope in the middle of the couch. On the 65” HDTV was a St. Lois Cardinals and Washington Nationals baseball game. Martin was very subdued, not even paying attention, or rooting for either side.

Lauren Bloom sat in Tyler’s bedroom, staring off into space, tears in her eyes, clutching a stuffed cheetah toy. She was a young black woman with a frizzy natural afro. She looked as if she had got dressed in a hurry but was wearing expensive tight legged jeans, boots, and a Kashmir sweater. She had on no makeup but was a young attractive woman, this was a blessing he thought “she probably would have cried it all off by now.”

“Miss. Bloom this is my associate Jeffrey McHahan.” Victor said with an era of sympathy and professionalism. Lauren glanced up and looked down quickly. “Hello.” She said her voice cracking through her tears. “Ma’am.” Jeffery replied remorsefully with a nod toward her, and then retreated with Victor back into the corridor. “Is he the father?” Jeffery asked referring to Martin. “He died last year from heart complications. He ain’t mine.” Martin spoke up bluntly replying with his eyes fixated on the baseball game. “Lauren is currently engaged to... Mr. Swanson. This is his place.” Victor said with a sigh. “And what is it you do for a living Mr. Swanson?” Jeffery asked aggressively walking into the middle of the living room. Martin got up from his chair, uncomfortable by the advancement, and made his way to the kitchenette. “I’m a stock broker.” “So, I imagine you have a long list of enemies?” “Yeah! You know sometimes I imagine unicorns and Santa Clause too!” He walked toward the kitchenette to grab a beer from the refrigerator. “I imagine if I didn’t put a ring on that woman’s finger I wouldn’t be in this fucking mess!” He shouted in the direction of Tyler’s bedroom.

Lauren slammed the bedroom door causing Victor to roll his eyes. Jeffery grabbed him by the arm and motioned for them to head back into the corridor.

“Thanks... I’ve had me fill of dealing with spoiled yuppies today Vic.” “Yeah and about that, the Laughlin thing came over the radio while you were on your way here.” Jeffery looked shocked. “Let me guess. cleaning lady found him?” “Yeah... Nice mess you left behind.” “I didn’t mean for it to go down like that. I swear I was just gonna scare him, you know? Beat him up a bit?” “What the hell happened then?” “I’ll tell you later! Did the kidnappers make any demands yet? Contact the family?” Jeffery was trying to get the case back on track. He knew Victor didn’t like hearing about his “messes” since it went against a long-standing agreement, they set years ago. “The old cliché'; ‘don’t call the cops or we’ll kill the boy’ you know? Lauren called the district, L.T. got wind, made it confidential, and I thought of you.” Victor shrugged his shoulders giving Jeffery the short version. “You like ‘Quicksilver’ for this?” “I’m getting a bad vibe from him, yeah.” “Me too...” Jeffery walked back toward the kitchenette. “Who was the last person to see the boy, I mean apart from the kidnappers?” “The fam…” Jeffery interrupted Martin to clarify what he meant. “Were there any witnesses?” “Yes! Jamie Williamson, I hired that hood rat to be Tyler’s driver.” He took a long swig of his beer. Jeffery rolled his eyes over to Victor. “Was there any blood at the scene?” It was a question that he didn’t want to ask, but was an important detail that had to be clarified regardless. The question wasn’t for Martin, but he stopped drinking and grew a guilty look on his face. As if he suddenly gave a damn about Tyler’s life. “No, thank God, it seemed like a simple ‘crash and grab’.” Victor replied sighing with relief. “L.T. reported the crime scene to the traffic division, as of now they’re treating it like a simple fender bender.” “But that won’t last for long.” Jeffery shook his head.

Knowing that wasn’t the case in reality, he figured the kidnappers were amateurs. He wasn’t certain if that was a blessing or a curse for Tyler.

“Why does Jamie Williamson sound familiar?” Victor said with a quizzical expression. “He couldn’t be related to Cyrus, could he?” “The drug dealer? No, the world can’t be that small.” “Drug dealers!? Oh, that’s cute!” Martin quipped heading back to the couch. Victor pulled out his police issued smart phone and began searching for the name Jamie Williamson. “So, what was it Mr. Swanson took too big of a laundering fee?” Jeffery asked flippantly knowing guys like Martin could get involved with the wrong clientele.

Victor looked up for a second, from his case searching, waiting for Martin’s reply. He had a feeling of a confrontation about to begin. Martin, a man of smaller stature compared to Jeffery’s nearly six-foot frame, tossed his nearly empty bottle at Jeffery. In his eyes it seemed like a smart offensive move. Jeffery, in turn, smacked the bottle to the side of the room without a shatter. Victor rolled his eyes and got between Martin and Jeffery.

“Martin sit down!” Victor pushed him back, knocking him off his feet into the couch. “We’re here to help you, but you need to tell us everything!” Jeffery shouted backing away from Victor’s intervention. ”Who the fuck is this any way!? I’m gonna sue you AND the city!” Martin shouted, leaping up, pointing at Jeffery. “I want my lawyer present!” “I’m the man who’s gonna save your fiancé’s boy.” Jeffery replied sternly. “IF you let me.” Martin took a deep breath. “I want my lawyer.” “You only need a lawyer if you talk to a cop.” Victor smiled passing Jeffery his phone. “I’ll be outside until you’re done. Don’t kill this one ok?” He walked down the corridor nonchalantly. Martin looked at Victor, then looked at Jeffery confused. “I’m not a cop Mr. Swanson, I’m a K&R specialist.” Jeffery pulled the right side of his jacket, showing his HK USP, in a three-o'clock position inside the waistband holster, but no badge. “Everything you tell ME is confidential, and will NOT be used against you in a court of law, but if you’ve messed up, you’ll need to come clean. Every detail helps my investigation and the more you impede it, the less likely we’ll find Tyler alive.”

Jeffery clenched his fists. Lauren walked out of the bedroom, staring at Martin infuriated. Martin’s shoulders dropped, face frowned, and overall demeanor changed. No longer was he looking to fight, he now was using every ounce of strength just to keep from dropping to his knees with guilt. Jeffery looked down at Victor’s phone, Jaime Williamson’s police record in blue and white colors with a mugshot from when he was a teenager back in the early 2000s. He browsed the page, occasionally looking up at the domestic stare down between Martin and Lauren. He sarcastically wanted to speak up with a “well?” to move things along but instead he’d rather have a proverbial “knife” to cut the tension. Jaimie didn’t have much of a record; little misdemeanors here and there. Under “known associates” was his more criminally-hardened brother Cyrus Williamson, a.k.a. T-Bone, a.k.a. Muhammad Abdul Hamar, a.k.a. Charles Williamson III. His aliases changed about as often as an egotistical hip hop artist’s title; though his creativity was violence and drug smuggling rather than rhythm and lyrics. “It’s a small world after all.” He already knew his usual location, his mother’s tavern in Germantown.

He looked over at Lauren, approaching her slowly, blocking her line of sight from Martin. He frowned, raised his eyebrows, and took a deep breath. “Miss. Bloom I swear to you that you’ll see Tyler again.” He reached into his right jacket pocket, gently grabbed her right hand with his left, and placed a clean folded handkerchief in the palm with his right hand. She looked down smiling gratefully at the gesture, the daggers in her eyes subsided as she gave a short laugh. “I didn’t know anyone still carried these.” He glanced back at Martin then guided her away into the kitchenette. “I didn’t know I had it either, it must have come with the jacket.” Jeffery replied jokingly patting around the pockets for other trinkets. It was just part of shtick to alleviate anxiety. He lifted her chin up and looked into her wet green eyes. “You WILL see Tyler again, and I swear to God if anyone...” Jeffery looked over at Martin. “ANYONE. Gets in the way of that...” He looked back in Laura’s eyes. “They will feel pain, I promise, but certainly nothing like what you’re feeling now.” There was not an ounce of flare or falsity in his eyes, with small tears developing in both of his ducts as well. “No weapon has that kind of power.” Lauren slowly nodded in agreement; she knew what he meant. “Get back to your game Mr. Swanson and sit down!” He said aggressively to Martin, bulging his eyes and facing away from Lauren, to let him know there would be physical violence if he didn’t. “Could you show me Tyler’s room please?” He faced Lauren, now with a calmer tone and a smile.

Over the next twenty minutes Lauren showed Jeffery various toys and interests Tyler had. He had an entire shelf filled with animal books and magazines. Almost all of them marked with a page of information on African species. She continued to clutch the stuffed animal cheetah that was apparently his favorite. It reminded Jeffery of a time when he himself had a stuffed animal as well as the “battles” he and his siblings would have with their respective toys. It alarmed him to find out Tyler would sometimes punch his stuffed animals muttering Martin’s name, but not the cheetah. The reminiscing was bitter sweet. Every time Lauren would bring up a favorite past time of Tyler’s she would stutter then hold back crying.

“I’m sorry I have to ask you this, and you don’t need to hold back, but has Martin been abusing Tyler?” Jeffery asked while Lauren cried into her shoulder. “No. Thank God. This is the most he’s been home in weeks. He’s never here...” She looked toward the door with anger. “He doesn’t love him like his father did.” He nodded understandingly and sighed. He sucked in the emotion with a clearing of the throat and left her be. “You’ll see your son by tonight Miss. Bloom. I just need you to stay strong.”

Jeffery knew there was no time to lose, taking the time to get to know what kind of kid Tyler was may have seemed like a waste of time to most people, but it for him it was motivation. He wasn’t just trying to save someone’s child; his mission was now to save a friend. He glanced at Martin disapprovingly as he stormed up the hallway. For his sake it was best that he never laid a finger on Tyler, or else Martin would never walk again. Not that Jeffery had the time to dish out that level of retribution under the current circumstances. Victor stopped him in the hall.

“Just got off the horn with the L.T, they couldn’t stall Jamie any longer. He ain’t saying anything helpful anyway.” Victor sounded more defeated at knowing Jeffery would have to head down to Germantown, wasting precious time, rather than weary of the fact no one likes to corporate with the police. “That doesn’t surprise me, the only ‘legal advice’ he gets is from his hood rat brother. I know he’ll run to momma. They always do when the law’s involved.” Jeffery said with a confident tone, smiling with glee as he exited the apartment. He was for certain he would go to her tavern to “lay low.”

TO BE CONTINUED

This isn’t the whole story because I didn’t know there was a 40,000 character limit on Reddit. Would like to get this published but not sure where to go. If there’s any interest I’ll post the rest here in a comment.

submitted by /u/Wilmore99 [link] [comments] via Blogger https://ift.tt/2RNi7La

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inglourious-imagines · 4 years

Text

Missing Piece (Andrew "Ack Ack" Haldane)

Requested by: @wardley10

Summary: The end of the war is here. You are waiting for your boyfriend Andrew but the knock on your door isn't him. The upcoming events are gonna take quite a turn.

Author's Note: I really don't know how I feel about this one... I apologise for the beginning but I think you can say already that I'm a sucker for angst. Also sorry for not posting lately, I was on a vacation but don't worry. Jules is back on her shit!

Taglist: @alienoresimagines @floydtab @eugenesmorphine @real-fans @meteora-fc @not-john-watsons-blog @band-of-brothers-cz @tealaquinn @ok-roemanov @mrseasycompany @punkgeekchic @wexhappyxfew @hellitwasyoufirstsergeant @rarmiitage @hihosilvers @mavysnavy @easynix

"Those who escaped hell, however, never talk about it, and nothing much bothers them after that."

Y/N kept on visiting the train station for one week straight. Every single day, she was sitting on a wooden bench - from the early morning until the last train left - waiting for her fiancé who was supposed to come back to her from the hell in Pacific.

But no one came.

Soldiers who got off the trains seemed so unfamiliar, and it only added to her grief seeing them reunite with their friends, family, lovers.

Her Andy was still out there. Y/N refused to believe any other possible variants. But her hope and excitment from the end of the war quickly fell off.

The engagement ring was shining in the light of the lamp as she was trying to read her favourite book. Across from her on the table there was a framed photo of her and her fiancé laughing together on a blanket in the middle of a poppy field. It was taken by their friend Eddie just a moment after she said 'yes' to Andy's proposal.

Y/N was left with painful memories.

She just flipped another paper of the book when a bell rang. Her heart skipped a beat. She threw the book on the couch and rushed to the front door. A vase fell behind her and crashed on the ground but she couldn't care less.

Y/N opened the door and in all his glory was standing not her fiancé but his best friend, Eddie Jones.

Her heart sung even deeper and a single tear rolled down her cheek. It was too much for her to bear.

Edward smiled warmly at her and embraced her in a long tight hug that said more than a million of words could. Y/N was quietly sobbing into his shoulder not being able to move.

•••

It's been another week from the first Eddie's visit and he's been stopping by to keep an eye on her ever since. Y/N was grateful that she had him by her side but every time she looked at the former soldier, her Andy was there. Edward reminded her of the prewar relationship she and Andrew shared so much, she had to excuse herself sometimes during their conversation.

Eddie told her about the time how he got wounded and was taken to hospital where he stayed until the end of the war. When his friends from K Company, Eugene Sledge and Snafu Shelton, put him on a stretcher it was the last time he saw Andrew Haldane. He hadn't heard a word about him since then. Eddie's heart broke when he said those words to Y/N who already looked like a ghost. He would do anything to see her smile like she used to before the war. Little did he know that this grin was taken with Andy.

•••

Edward left Y/N's house half an hour ago and she was just baking a cake when she heard a car on the road and then how it stopped in front of her front door. Y/N glanced out of the window and saw two young men dressed in uniforms. She wasn't quite sure what to think of it.

"May I help you somehow, gentlemen?" Y/N asked once she walked out of the house while wiping her hands in an apron. Her voice was weak and her eyes empty.

The taller one approached her and blocked her view from the other soldier who was trying to do something in the car. "My name's Eugene Sledge, miss, and that guy back there is Merriel Shelton. Our captain Andrew Haldane ordered us to pay you a visit after the war."

No sooner had he said those words than the apron fell out of her hands. The red-headed soldier was grinning from ear to ear, it didn't look like he's missing his lost officer and a very dear friend. Y/N was confused and hurt beyond words.

"Could you please do me a favour, miss?" Eugene asked looking at her with so much sympathy and kindness in his eyes.

Y/N nodded slowly not entirely sure about what's going on at the moment but she did as she was asked.

"Why is that pretty young lady standing there alone?" a way too familiar voice spoke up out of the blue and Y/N felt like she has a heart attack. In front of her, in his Marine uniform with scratches all over his body and a big grin on his face, was standing in the sunlight Andrew Haldane.

"Oh God," Y/N breathed out blinking a few times to make sure she's not hallucinating. He was really here.

"Do I get a kiss for coming back?" Andrew smiled sweetly spreading his arms for her. Y/N's eyes began to water and she ran to him hugging him tightly.

"You scared me so damn much." she cried kissing him desperately. Tears were running down her cheeks but the sparkle that was missing came back. It was her again. Andrew Haldane completed her like no one else could.

Y/N placed little wet kisses all over his face while Andy was pulling her closer to him even though there was no place left.

"I'm sorry. They didn't want me to leave the hospital earlier." he explained taking her face in his hands gently to force her to look at him. At this point, a single tear rolled down his cheek but his face was lightened by his typical smile.

"I'm never letting you go, you hear me? I can't live without you." Y/N whispered as she kissed him one more time. She put everything she'd felt during the last two weeks - loss, grieve, pain, love, hope. They were together again.

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