#tw: MCD

[medieshanachie]

Bobby absolutely has a recipe book for Buck.

(re: the Buck would die for Eddie post) I had a thought about how Buck would die for one of Bobby's recipes and then I thought about how actually Bobby might die for him to get them (maybe a cookbook in Bobby's will?) and then I got sad

oops, I wrote something...

Buck and Tommy were sprawled out on the couch, a movie playing that neither of them were paying attention to.

They'd been attached to one another for days now. Buck had taken some extra time off work, and Tommy was still in his first week of a two week suspension. Turns out, stealing a helicopter for a second time does not get you a second medal.

They were both recovering from the funeral. Two days had passed but it felt like they were still in the middle of it. The procession, the burial, the reception afterward. It had all been so much, so overwhelming, that they both felt like they'd been hit by a Mack Truck.

Buck nuzzled further into Tommy's chest, letting the feeling of Tommy's hand running up and down over his back lull him in and out of sleep.

A sudden knock on the door had him jerking up, nearly elbowing Tommy's chest in the process.

"I'll get it," Tommy offered, pressing a kiss to Buck's temple before scooting out from underneath him.

Buck sat up, straightening out his shirt as Tommy went to to the door.

"Athena," Tommy greeted, surprised. "Hi. Come in."

Buck was jumping up at the sound of Athena's name. He walked straight to her as she entered the house, wrapping her up in a hug. "H- Hi, Athena. A- Are you okay?" he asked, going straight into protective mode. "Did something happen? Do you-"

"Buck, Buck," she held up a hand, stopping him. "I'm okay." She took a deep breath. "Well, maybe okay's not the right word, but I... I just needed to bring you something."

"Come in," Buck said, moving to the side and motioning toward the couch. "Have a seat, I- I'll get you something to drink."

"No, Buck, I- I can't stay. Harry and May are waiting in the car. We're, um... we're going to go check on Bobby," she said, her voice breaking. She cleared her throat. "I can't... I'm not going through his things. I don't know when I'll be ready for that, but this," she held up a book that Buck hadn't even noticed before, "was on our kitchen counter and I knew I needed to bring it to you."

Buck took the book, staring at it curiously before opening it up. IT felt like all the air had been knocked out of him. Tears welled up in his eyes.

"He was making this for you, Buck," Athena continued. "All his best recipes are in there. He didn't quite finish, but he was nearly done. Maybe... Maybe you can add some of your own recipes in the blank pages. I- I think Bobby would like that."

Buck nodded. He felt his whole body trembling. Tommy moved beside him, placing a gentle hand on the small of his back. "Th- Thank you, Athena," he managed, swallowing down the lump in his throat. "This is... thank you."

"Just bringing you what's yours, Buck."

Athena glanced out the door, a quick check on Harry and May. "I need to get going." She eyed them both, putting on her most serious face. "You two take care of each other, alright?"

Tommy nodded. "We will. If you need anything, let us know. Please."

"I'll do that." She stepped forward, giving Buck one more hug before turning for the door.

"This..." Buck's voice drifted, his lip trembling. "This is all I- I have of him, Tommy." He held the book tight against his chest and, as Tommy wrapped him up in his arms, he began to cry. "It's n- not fair. I- It's not fair."

"I know, Evan," Tommy agreed, wishing more than anything he could take the pain away. "I know."

[1thesewordsaremyown1]

Inspired by the snippet in the promo of Buck in the hallway in 8x15, I present to you this ficlet.

Buck froze in his tracks, the words over the radio halting his momentum, leaving him stunned.

Robert Nash was dead.

Bobby. Dead.

In an instant, Buck felt his frozen body melt, his legs turning to jelly, and he fell to his knees. A pain deep in his gut rose up within him, a loud ringing in his ears deafening him. It took him a few moments before he registered the screams that were echoing through the hall and a few moments more before he realised they were coming from him.

He hadn't been fast enough. And now the man who had been more of a father to him that his own biological father was gone and the pain was immeasurable. How the hell was he supposed to go through life now without Bobby there to guide him?

Buck slumped against the wall, his body wracked with heaving sobs. He didn't hear the footsteps as they rushed towards where he lay slumped in the middle of the hallway. He didn't notice the pair of legs that stopped by his side, not until he felt the warm hand land gently on his shoulder.

Looking up, through a haze of tears, Buck saw Tommy's concerned face looking down on him. Tommy, who had been waiting back at the helicopter as Buck had raced inside to save his family. Who, judging by the grief filling his eyes, had heard the same call over the radio and immediately came looking for Buck.

Tommy knelt down in front of Buck, and Buck, without thought, immediately sought the comfort of the other man's arms. Tommy shifted his legs so they were on either side of Buck's body so that he could pull him closer, his arms holding Buck tightly as Buck's body shook with uncontrollable sobs.

Tommy didn't say a word. Instead, he rocked Buck back and forth, offering what support he could. Alone in the hallway, the pair had each other tightly as they mourned the loss of a man who had shaped their lives in different but equally impactful ways.

[loopstagirl]

God Complex

For @febuwhump day 9: necromancy

TW: almost-major-character-death

-x-

Ash stirred under Virgil’s boots as he picked his way through the debris. 

“Scott? You in here?” 

There was no reply to his call. 

“Are you sure this is the place, Thunderbird Five?” 

“Yes,” John’s voice came floating through his comms. “This is where I last got a signal from him.” 

“F.A.B. I’ll keep looking.” 

Virgil stared around. The factory had been abandoned long before the latest fires, thank goodness. There wasn’t much left now, just a shell of a building that had withstood ravaging conditions for a couple of years. Virgil was starting to know how that felt. 

This was the fourth time this week they’d been called to this area for forest fires. The dry heat had caused a catastrophic toll from the first fire and the death count had been high by the time the blaze was under control. Now, they were called as soon as a spark was reported rather than the locals waiting to realise they couldn’t fight it back on their own. It made sense, but damn, Virgil was sick of this place. 

The last thing he needed was for his big brother to go AWOL just as they were ready to head for home. 

He picked through the building but there was no Scott. Just as Virgil turned to leave, something metal caught his eye. He bent down, frowning, and gently picked up his brother’s watch, blowing the ash from it. 

“Well, that’s not good,” he muttered. He stared around again. 

This time, it had only been him and Scott out here. There were so many firebreaks in position and the ground had been thoroughly saturated that they’d agreed Gordon and Alan should get some rest and sit this one out. They’d both protested but he’d seen the exhaustion in their eyes. Now, though, he could’ve done with the extra set of eyes. 

“What is it?” 

“I’ve got his-,” Virgil trailed off. “Hang on.” 

He’d heard something. Another set of footsteps picking their way through the ash. 

“Scott? That you?” 

He couldn’t pinpoint where the sound was coming from. Just as he made to ask John, he sensed a presence behind him. He spun, but it was too late. 

The person was standing directly behind him. He had a helmet on, obscuring his face. As Virgil turned, he lashed out, pushing the engineer in the chest and forcing him to take a step back. Virgil stumbled, off-balance, but the figure was on him before he could figure out what to do next. 

“John-,” 

His movements were clumsy, hindered by being caught off-guard. It didn’t take his assailant long to get him on his knees. Virgil tried to free the hand twisted behind his back, anxious to ensure the line was still open to Thunderbird Five even if he couldn’t get out of the hold. 

But before he could call John for help, something sharp scratched against his neck. 

Virgil swore, pulling away. This time, his attacker let him go. There was no questioning why: Virgil wasn’t going anywhere. Not with the drug coursing through his body, limbs going slack as he tried to stand. Even as he collapsed back into the ash, the figure stepped closer, looming over him. That blank helmet, staring down at him with who-knew-what expression was the last thing that Virgil saw before darkness consumed him. 

Virgil woke with a groan. His head was resting on his chest and the stiffness of his neck told him he’d been out for a while. He made to rub it, only to freeze. 

He couldn’t move his arm. Jolting back to alertness, he found he was sitting in a chair, with his hands lashed to the arms. One shift of his body told him his ankles were also tied. He lifted his head, wincing as his neck protested, and looked around. 

He wasn’t in the dilapidated factory anymore. Not that his current surroundings looked any better. He was in a large space, empty from what he could see. The walls were intact though: he’d been moved. 

But all thoughts of his location fled his mind when his vision focused on what was in front of him. 

“Scott.” Virgil jolted, straining against the ropes holding him down. 

His brother was lying on a table barely a few paces away. The upper part of his uniform had been removed, making the padded cuffs around his wrists all the more apparent. Virgil’s gaze followed the restraints, releasing Scott had been firmly tied down. His face was angled towards Virgil, pale, his eyes closed. 

“Scott!” 

Fighting his own restraints, Virgil growled in frustration. He wasn’t getting free. Whatever he’d been drugged with was making his movements sluggish, lacking his usual strength. Even if he could get a grip on the rope, he wasn’t sure he currently had enough dexterity to undo a knot; his fingers felt thick and clumsy. 

Taking a breath, he forced himself to focus. He stared at his brother, watching... There! Yes. Scott’s chest was rising and falling. He was unconscious, but alive. 

“Scott, wake up!” Virgil called. Not that he had any idea what would happen when Scott did: his brother was more secured than he was. 

“Oh, we’re not ready for him to wake yet.” 

The voice came from behind Virgil. He jumped, twisting as best he could. A figure moved out of the shadows, pulling free the helmet as he did so. He stepped into the light, moving slowly past Virgil, smiling at him as he did so, before coming to a stop next to the table. He rested it against it casually. 

“I know you,” Virgil said slowly. He didn’t know a name, but he’d seen that face. Recently. More than once, and in person as well, not on the news or-, 

“You’ve been helping with the fires,” he said, realisation dawning on him. “You’re a- a paramedic.” 

“Surprised you remember me. Big shot hero like yourself.” 

“What? What is this? What are you doing?” Virgil twisted his arm, trying to see if there was any give in the ropes, but the man had tied him tightly. 

“I’m getting my win,” the man said with a shrug. 

“What?” 

“My win. You remember what happened, right? That woman we – okay, you – pulled out of the house. How she was barely breathing from the smoke inhalation. We couldn’t find a pulse. I was about to save her when-,” 

He held up his hands in a helpless gesture. “You shoved me out of the way. Took the credit for yourself.” 

Virgil stared at him. He did remember. He also remembered what the paramedic was about to do would’ve pushed her closer to the brink of death than she already was. That had been when he’d acted: pushed the man out of the way and immediately got her on oxygen. She’d had a pulse, just weak. 

“You were going to give her-,  you would’ve killed her if you’d given her that shot! She didn’t need it.” 

“Then I would’ve saved her. She would’ve been grateful. The entire town would’ve been grateful. For all the years of service, for risking my life helping with those fires. But no! You weren’t satisfied with your fancy equipment and the adulation of the world. You had to take my save. She was mine to save. Mine!” 

Virgil stared at him. The gleam in his eye was beyond excitement or passion. It was maniacal. 

“You wanted to save her,” he repeated. 

“Damn right I did!” 

Virgil watched him closely. It was mania in his expression, but there was something familiar, something he’d seen much closer to home on a regular basis... 

Adrenaline. 

The sheer rush of adrenaline that came with defying the odds. It struck all the Tracys at multiple times and they all handled it in different ways. But Scott and Gordon thrived off, buzzing for hours after something impossible had happened. 

There was something about adrenaline no one told you though. It was like a drug. And, like a drug, you had to go to further extremes each time to get the rush. 

He suddenly understood. The paramedic was the type to get a thrill from saving a life. God knows how long he’d been putting people in danger just to be able to get a high from it. 

“How did you know we’d be called out here today? How did you know where to wait for us?” 

He twisted his hand again as he spoke. Not to free himself (that seemed impossible right now), but to feel... Just as he suspected. His watch had been left behind. With Scott’s, no doubt. 

The man saw his action and grinned. 

“I saw your buddy speaking into his on your second trip out here. Wasn’t sure if any of you other fellas were out here, so figured it was best to leave them behind. How did I know where to find you? I called you, of course.” 

Virgil lent back in his chair, shutting his eyes for a couple of seconds. “You set the fire.” 

“Yep.” The man sounded far too cheerful. He moved around the table, dragging something into the light. 

Virgil went cold. It was a defibrillator. Scott was helpless on the table, unconscious. 

“Look, Billy – it is Billy, right?” Now he could place the man, he could remember the badge on his uniform. “No one doubts that you were a hero: you were there, helping-,” 

“It’s not the same! No, you stole my save. Now I’m going to prove to you that I know what I’m doing.” 

“What are you going to do?” Virgil asked quietly.  

Billy just smiled that same insane smile. He refused to answer any of Virgil’s increasingly desperate questions as he attached wires to Scott’s chest and switched a monitor on. Virgil had spent a long time at various brothers’ bedsides watching heart monitors: between their work and Gordon’s accident, he was all too familiar with them. But there was nothing reassuring about the rhythmic beat this time. 

He set up a line into Scott’s arm, then pushed something through it. After a long moment, Scott’s eyes fluttered and he looked around, disorientated. 

When his gaze fixed on Virgil, he tried to rise, only to be jerked back by the chains holding him to the table. 

“What the-,” he saw Billy. “Who are you? What are you doing? Let us go!” 

Billy ignored him, his gaze fixed on Virgil as he held up another syringe. 

“Don’t,” Virgil pleaded. “Please, don’t.” 

He didn’t know what was in it, but knew it wasn’t anything good. Billy busied himself inserting it into the line. 

Scott looked between the two of them. “What’s going on?” 

“Save number one,” Billy said. He kept his gaze locked on Virgil as he pressed the plunger. 

“No!” 

For a second, nothing seemed to happen. Then Scott arched in pain, before collapsing back on the table. Unconscious. No. Not unconscious.... 

The warning sound from the heart monitor screamed in Virgil’s ears. All he could see was the flatline spreading across the scene. His brother’s heart had stopped. 

Billy gave a delighted cry. 

“Let’s wake him back up!” He grabbed the paddles and stepped right up to the table. “Charging to 200. And... shocking!” 

He pressed them against Scott’s chest. Virgil watched, horrified, not daring to look away as Scott’s body jerked again. It was only when a rhythmic beeping filled the air that he closed his eyes for a second. His hands were clenched into tight fists. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to release his grip and open his eyes. 

Scott’s own eyes were flickering open, pain-filled, confused. 

“V’rg?” 

“You’re okay, Scott. You’re okay.” He switched his gaze to Billy. “Well done, you saved him. You’ve made your point. Now let us go!” 

Billy made a show of slowly replacing the paddles. 

“How many people do you think you’ve saved?” 

“What?” Virgil couldn’t tear his gaze away from his brother. Scott had sagged back against the table, chest rising and falling rapidly. Virgil didn’t need the heart monitor to know the strain Billy had just forced Scott’s heart to go through. 

“I... I don’t know. Let him go, please. Your argument is with me, not him.” 

Anything to get Billy’s attention away from Scott. But the man didn’t move. 

“You take it for granted that your machinery is just going to swoop in and save the day. So much so that you don’t even keep count.” 

“I-,” 

“No. No, one save isn’t enough. Not when you don’t keep count.” 

“Don’t do this!” Virgil cried. He barely spared Billy a second glance; his attention was focused on Scott. His eyes were shut but Virgil could tell by the tension in his body that he was still conscious. 

“I have to be the hero.” 

He wasn’t sure if Billy was talking to himself or not but Virgil forced his attention back on the paramedic. 

“You are the hero,” he said, hearing the desperation in his voice. “You’ve still helped loads of people, saved their lives before we turned up-,” 

“It’s not enough. No. Not nearly enough. I need another save.” 

“No!” Virgil yelled as Billy inserted another needle into Scott’s line. “Don’t - don’t do this, please. You’ll kill him!” 

“That’s the idea.” Billy shot him a grin, and shot the contents of the syringe into Scott’s line. 

Virgil thrashed, losing all sense and reason as Scott once again flatlined. 

“Shocking...” He heard the charge go off, heard Scott’s body move, but the alarm continued to sound. Virgil fell still, staring at Scott as Billy laughed, preparing to shock him again. 

“C’mon, Scott,” he muttered.  

“Shocking again.” 

Beep....beep...beep. 

Scott was back. 

He coughed as his eyes opened again. Virgil sagged in relief, tears spilling down his cheeks. Scott didn’t attempt to talk this time. He seemed to focus on remembering how to breathe. 

Virgil looked at Billy. “You’ve made your point,” he said quietly. “Please. Please, let us go. Look at him! We have to get him to a hospital.” 

Scott was pale, an unhealthy tinge to his skin that made Virgil feel nauseous. He wasn’t sure his brother could survive another round of this. 

Billy ignored him. “Two charges that time. We can probably go another round: three times is the charm, right?” 

“Don’t,” Virgil begged. His wrists were burning from where he was twisting in the ropes, straining to get to Scott. But as his gaze flicked between his brother and this madman, a subtle movement drew his eye. 

Scott was awake. He was lying very still, apart from the arm on the far side of the table. Billy had come round it, standing between the two brothers. His back was to Scott. He couldn’t see what Virgil could: that Scott was slowly but surely working his hand loose. No doubt Billy hadn’t been too worried about Scott’s restraints given what he’d had planned. 

“What’s your plan?” Virgil said. “You’ve clearly got one, unless you are planning to just kill us?” 

He figured a split second later that putting ideas in Billy’s head probably wasn’t the best idea. Billy narrowed his eyes, but Virgil tried not to glance at Scott. He couldn’t give away his brother’s movements. 

“I’m going to be the hero, of course. The first responder on the scene, arriving just in time to revive the Field Commander of International Rescue. Unfortunately, I wasn’t in time to stop the bad guy. You were too traumatised by what you saw: the only face you could remember seeing was mine, even though I got there almost too late.” 

Virgil shook his head mutely. “There’s two of us. Two against one. Who will believe you?” 

“Everyone, of course. Your friend will be in no condition to give an account and after what you’ve seen, it’s not going to be hard to make you sound unhinged. By the time you regain consciousness in the hospital, no one will question that you aren’t thinking straight.” 

Virgil stared at him. He couldn’t let Billy drug him again. While he was no use to Scott tied to a chair, he owed it to his brother to stay conscious for whatever was about to happen. 

“Or you could untie me. Let me get him help. Take your chance to get out of here while I do so.” 

It was the wrong thing to say. Billy glared at him, then turned back to the table. 

“I will be the hero.” 

He stalked back, picking up another phial.  

“Don’t do it!” Virgil all but screamed. He wasn’t sure if Scott’s heart could handle being stopped again. It had already taken two attempts to revive him before: what if Billy overestimated his skills and couldn’t bring him back? 

The man just sneered and made to pick up the line. But a hand caught his, holding his wrist tight. Virgil could only watch, helpless, as Scott tried to force the needle away from him. He was weak, but Billy hadn’t been expecting a fight. Scott managed to twist Billy’s hand until he dropped the needle with a cry. Growling, Billy dropped to a crouch to try and pick it up. 

Scott’s hand shot to his restrained wrist, trying to free himself. 

“Behind you!” Virgil gasped, twisting his wrists, trying to find some way of slipping free. Scott rolled, crashing off the table with a thud, one hand still restrained. Virgil stared in horror as Billy charged up the defibrillator again, the paddles in his hand. He wasn’t going to wait to stop Scott’s heart to shock him this time. 

“Scott!” 

From somewhere, Scott found the strength to plant his feet and shove backwards. The entire table moved, sending Scott sprawling, one hand suspended. 

But Billy wasn’t expecting it. He stumbled, tripping over his own feet as he tried to regain his balance. He crashed into the cart, the entire thing falling with him. Virgil didn’t see when he dropped the paddles, but he heard a yell of agony as the charge dissipated.  

Virgil suddenly realised he was panting.  

“Scotty?” 

Scott was lying on his back, still, one hand above his head from where it was still tied to the table. From this angle, Virgil had no idea if his brother was conscious. He refused to think that he had no idea whether Scott was even alive. 

But as he watched, Scott’s free hand moved just enough to give him a thumbs up before it fell limply back to his side. Virgil’s laugh was lost in a sob as he struggled against the restraints. 

 Before he could start to figure out how the hell he could get them out of here, loud sirens and a screech of tyres came from nowhere. He could hear voices shouting, running footsteps, and the sound of a door being forced open. 

He lent his head back against the chair, closing his eyes. He didn’t know how, but somehow, they were getting out of here after all. 

-x- 

“You can’t get out of bed, Virgil, they still aren’t sure what he drugged you with.” 

Virgil glared at the bed next to his. Scott was still deathly pale, with various monitors hooked up to keep an eye on what his vitals were doing after what they’d been through. Virgil just had an IV line as they flushed through whatever Billy had drugged him with. He was fine. 

“Your heart stopped. Twice. Don’t tell me I can’t get up.” 

“Neither of you can,” a familiar voice said as their father strode into view. He made sure to shut the door behind them, maintaining their privacy. “So don’t even try.” 

“What have the doctors said? Is Scott-?” Virgil didn’t know how to ask if Scott was going to be okay. He’d seen his brother flatline twice, then be shocked back into life. How could anyone be okay after that? 

“They’re monitoring him. They’re monitoring both of you.” 

“I’m fine,” Virgil protested. Scott gave a snort of amusement and Virgil shot him a glare. The fact his brother wasn’t also fighting his confinement to a bed showed just how weak he was currently feeling. 

Their rescue had been the local authorities: a mixture of police and (real) paramedics. Billy had been pulled out, unconscious but alive, and Virgil figured he was somewhere in this hospital as well. Just under guard. 

Then again, looking at his father’s stern expression, maybe he was under guard as well. 

He glanced at the door. 

“How did John find us?” 

His dad sat down, looking between the two of them. 

“That man didn’t take you far. Just away from the danger zone. For a disused factory, it suddenly started kicking out power. Not enough that he’d usually notice, but with you two off comms...” 

He trailed off. Their watches had been found in the original structure. Virgil touched his, grateful to have it back on his wrist.  

“He made contact: made himself heard. Convinced them to send a team out. I’m only sorry they didn’t get their sooner.” 

“We were fine,” Scott said. But it wasn’t the same dismissive tone that Virgil was used to. He sounded exhausted. It was only that tone that stopped him from immediately refuting his brother’s words. Scott wasn’t up for an argument right now. 

“You’re here how?” Virgil asked, eyeing the shut door. They had been rescued as members of International Rescue. Jeff Tracy didn’t have any business being in their hospital room. 

“Agents being worth every cent,” his dad murmured. “Alan and Gordon came with me, but headed out to the danger zone in uniform. They’re taking the ‘birds home.” 

Virgil hid a smile. He had a feeling both family jets would soon be in the area: he doubted their grandmother would have the power to stop the two youngest from flying back out once their secrets were securely stashed. 

“We got you both into a private room and have some strongly worded NDA’s going around this hospital. But the sooner I can get you boys home, the better.” 

“I’m fi-,” Virgil began but his father tilted his head towards Scott. Virgil smiled. Scott’s eyes were closed but he couldn’t tell if his brother was asleep or not. 

“I feel like I do need to rest up a bit,” Virgil said. 

“We’re not going anywhere until Virgil is cleared,” Scott murmured sleepily. 

Virgil grinned at his father. He had a feeling he had already been cleared only the staff had realised that forcing him to stay in bed was an easy way of keeping Scott where they could keep an eye on him. While Virgil might’ve been cleared, Scott hadn’t been. 

Given what his body had been through, Virgil figured it was going to take a few days before they were happy with Scott’s condition. Knowing Scott was awake, he didn’t want to ask the question out loud but looked pointedly between his brother and his father, asking without words how Scott really was. 

His dad followed his gaze and sighed. But he gave a small smile and a tiny nod. Scott wasn’t well but he was alive. 

All Virgil needed was for that heart monitor to keep up its steady beat. 

[erulasse23]

my captain, my king

a double drabble.

two povs of boromir’s death.

[aragorn/boromir, angst, mcd]

His heart stopped.

Boromir.

The man was kneeling, head bowed, looking utterly defeated in a way that did not belong on his bright, brave captain.

The creak of the Uruk’s bow, arrow pointed directly between Boromir’s closed eyes.

Aragorn screamed.

His body shook with impotent rage as he charged recklessly at the Uruk chief.

No, no, no. His thoughts played on a loop. It can’t be, he isn’t—

He flung himself into the fight, striking at his enemy as if it could turn back time, seeking preemptive revenge for the loss he knew was inevitable.

His Boromir was already gone.

****************************

He fell to his knees as the third arrow pierced his flesh, bringing with it fresh agony. Every last drop of his strength and skill was spent, yet still the little ones had been stolen from him.

He bowed his head and waited for death.

A hoarse cry rang out.

Aragorn.

Boromir opened his eyes and watched his king attack the Uruk with fury and fire in his eyes.

All of that breathtaking power brought to bear for Borormir. To defend him. A faint smile curved his lips. Nothing could save him now, but to know Aragorn’s heart was enough.

[idontknowreallywhy]

(Explanation for this reposting spree here)

Presence (MIA Series Part 2)

Chapter 1 - Presence

Facing his worst nightmare and a promise he never expected to have to keep, Virgil finds an unusual way to hold on to what he’s lost.

💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚

It was an unexpected thing that finally broke Virgil:

The smell of washing powder.

An odour none of them ever noticed, because it was everywhere. A background chord running through all the linen in the place, over which all the other scents of the household were layered like a complex symphony. Until some of those more discordant scents became too loud and overpowering at which point the item was laundered, and a new score was opened beginning only with that familiar chord as a canvas.

By unspoken agreement, his room remained as he’d left it. Perhaps none of them had truly accepted he wouldn’t return to fill it with life again. Perhaps it just wasn’t necessary to thrust the knives of practicality into that particular wound yet… they weren’t short of space at the ranch.

Virgil would visit, once or twice a week, usually late at night when the effort of holding everything and everyone together had drained the last drop of his resolve and he needed to renew his vow to his big brother.

It required preparation though. He would shower, thoroughly, using a fragrance free soap he had ordered especially. Only when he was positive that all traces of his own cologne, hair products, coffee, his own smell were washed away would he open the door. He didn’t want to add anything to the faint music that persisted inside.

The bed had only been slept in three nights, on that brief visit home before he was deployed for the last time and so nobody had thought it worth stripping the sheets and laundering them. There was a light gloss of super-shiny gel on the pillow and the quiet but unmistakeable melody of his brother lingered.

The blue fluffy dressing gown on the back of the door had been worn longer and played the more powerful tune of his cologne, with a harmony of pancake batter, coffee and, on one cuff, a hint of whisky from the evening he and Virgil had sat on the back porch exchanging dad jokes and Scott had laughed so hard he’d sloshed his drink all over his hand.

He would check everyone else was asleep, then slip to his brother’s door, enter quietly and reverently remove the robe from its hook to wrap around his shoulders, lifting the outsized hood to cover his head. The intense familiarity was always a shock and so he’d stand there for a moment, surrounded by his brother’s song to catch his breath. Then, slowly he would kneel by the side of the bed, his face resting on the edge of the pillow and he would rest for a while and imagine his big brother’s arms around him. He could almost feel Scott’s forehead pressed against his own, or maybe his cheek resting on the top of his head. He’d promise again that he would look after the others. He’d be big brother as long as he had strength left in his body. And somehow, some strength would return. He’d made it through nearly three months now. He could keep going. He could do it for Scott.

He couldn’t linger there for too long. He couldn’t fall asleep here, couldn’t risk a sweaty nightmare eradicating all he had left.

He’d replace the robe and close the door, sneak back down the hallway and return to his own room. Then, and only then, could he allow the tears to fall.

One night he missed a step.

He didn’t check on the others. Maybe he also messed up the stealth part as he was jolted out of his bedside reverie by his youngest brother’s gasp:

“Scotty??!!”

He spun to face the doorway and was able to see Alan’s heart break all over again as the wrong brother looked out from under the hood.

That had been a long night. He’d done his best to explain what he’d been doing and held back his tears as he confessed he didn’t think Scott would come back as a ghost to visit them. He held the devastated child as they both wept and lay awake until the birds signalled another day to survive through was moments away from dawning.

He’d thought little more of it until one evening, well after the kid’s bedtime, Alan burst into the kitchen in a terrible panic and seized grandma by the hand, dragging her upstairs. Curious, Virgil followed and paused at the top of the stairs as he heard Grandma’s low comforting voice interspersed with hiccuppy sobs. They were coming from Scott’s room.

Virgil peered around the half open door to see his grandmother and brother crouched together on the floor, Alan clutching his empty hot chocolate mug and sobbing his heart out. He caught grandma’s eye and she indicated with a look that she had things under control. She’d handle this. He wasn’t needed this time. Virgil nodded and was about to back out when his gaze fell on the bed. And Scott’s robe in a heap by the pillows. And the marshmallows on that robe, surrounded by a spreading brown stain.

Virgil lied and said he had a migraine the following day. He shouldn’t be angry with an 8 year old for wanting to drink his bedtime cocoa with the ghost of his big brother. But he was. Because he, Virgil, was a terrible big brother. Scott wouldn’t have been angry. He’d have laughed and said it was cute and ruffled Allie’s hair and that was why Scott should still be here and Virgil couldn’t do this. They left his food outside the door, with a little get well soon card drawn in a rare fit of cooperation by Gordon and Alan. Alan had surrounded his name in hearts and kisses. He didn’t deserve it.

Late that night, after his usual shower he crept back along the corridor to Scott’s room, quietly opened the door and shut himself inside. Grandma had, indeed, handled it. The bed was neatly made again with freshly laundered sheets and the robe was hung back on its hook, fluffier than ever from the dryer. A new score was opened, only the starting chord could be heard.

Virgil took a deep breath in through his nose and tears filled his eyes.

He was gone.

💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚

Previous story - Bearded (Scott in Bereznik)

Next Chapter

[sorinethemastermind]

Whumpuary 2025 | Prompt: Impaled | TW: MCD & Blood

 Claudia jerked her head to the side just in time, the blade just grazing her cheek, leaving a small slash of red across her otherwise grey skin, scarred with deep violet. She spun away, a counter already on her lips.

 “Umbra dolor!” violet particles gathered at her fingertips to form the blade, seemingly appearing out of thin air. But Soren’s sword knocked it from her hand almost immediately, sending it clattering across the ground before it disappeared in a burst of purple light.

 “Why couldn’t you just leave well enough alone!” she hissed, turning on her brother. He was panting, tunic singed from her last attack. But his grip on the blade was unwavering, his stance firm.

 “You’re my sister,” he said, twirling the sword in his hand. “You’re my responsibility.”

 “So you’re going to, what?” she asked, taking a moment to catch her breath. “Kill me? You know you wouldn’t.”

 It was more a plea than anything else.

 “You’re not-” he swung the blade in a high arc down towards her and she leapt out of the way, rolling before launching herself back on her feet “-leaving me much of a choice!”

 “You always have a choice!” she shouted, raising her hands into a casting position as she spun to face him again. She stopped, eyes going wide as she found the blade held level with her chest.

 Soren stared at her, eyes cold. Slowly they softened, but the blade didn’t waver. “Yeah. You do.”

 She met his gaze, and for a moment, thought he might have looked at her like he used to. Then it hardened again, and her eyes narrowed. 

 “You never left me any,” she stepped forward, letting the tip of the sword press against her chest. She felt it tear the fabric of her shirt, a small bit of red seeping to the surface. “So go ahead. Make it for me.”

 “Clauds, I-” 

 Her eyes stung at the old nickname, something tugging in her chest, but she pushed it down, “Make it.” 

 The blade wavered, and she smiled. “See? I knew you were too weak.”

 Soren’s eyes narrowed, “Stop this.”

 “Stop what? I’ve already stopped.”

 “Stop trying to- to do whatever it is you’re doing! To bring him back!”

 “Aaravos will return with or without my help,” Claudia said. “Your time’s almost up. Killing me won’t change that.”

 “But it will make it harder for him to win,” Soren said, grip on the sword tightening. 

 “Maybe,” she admitted. “But you’ll still lose. Because you’re always going to lose, Soren. You’re not willing to do what has to be done.”

 “You’re wrong.”

 “What? Is the power of love going to save the day again?” she mocked.

 “I will do whatever needs to be done," his voice dropped to a whisper. "However dangerous, however vile."

 Her eyes widened with understanding as the blade sank into her chest. Claudia gasped, looking down as the red seeped through her tunic, spreading in a great patch across her front.

"It's my blood as much as yours," he said, hands shaking slightly as they went to withdraw the blade. She grabbed it, metal digging into her palms, and channeled the pain into her casting.

 “𝕰𝖌𝖓𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖗 𝕷𝖆𝖓𝖎𝖋!”

 She let out a hiss at the sudden surge of heat, the blood on the blade evaporating. Soren’s eyes widened.

 The blast was so loud as to be barely audible, leaving Claudia’s ears ringing as she lay on her back, sprawling across the rocky ground. She rolled over onto her side, gasping at the pain in her abdomen. The blade had gone deep. Blinking spots from her vision, she glanced about for Soren, finding him crumpled against the far wall.

 There was a tug in her chest, the sight of him horrifying despite the blade he’d driven into her chest. She took a wavering breath, tasting copper. She had, what, a few minutes at best? Seconds? Her vision swam.

 Still, she used what strength remained in her arms to drag herself towards him. 

 “Soren?” he didn’t stir, and she called out again, voice weak and losing strength with every second. “Soren!”

 His eyes fluttered open and she let out a sob of relief, blood speckling her lips. She reached for him, but her arms gave out and she flopped forward onto the cold stone. Her eyes drifted shut, opening again as something jostled her. 

 “Clauds?” his voice rasped from beside her. He clasped one of her outstretched hands in his. “I’m here.”

 She took a shaky breath, body going numb except for the burning in her chest. “I’m sorry,” she managed.

 “It’s okay,” she heard him take a wheezing breath that became a cough. “Me too.”

 She almost laughed at the absurdity of it all, “I forgive you.”

 “I… forgave you… a long time ago,” Soren managed as Claudia’s eyes closed once again. He squeezed her hand. “Clauds?”

 “Hm?” his voice came to her as though from far away, through deep water.

 “On the mountain… you asked if I was going to go through with it… kill you… my sister. I said I didn’t know. I know, now,” Soren coughed again, “I wasn’t gonna do it.”

 She raised her head marginally to stare up at him. He was bleeding, she couldn’t tell from where. But it was a lot of blood. Probably too much.

 “What… change?” she choked out.

 He stared down at her, taking a shaky breath, “You. Me. Us.”

 She clutched his hand tighter as the darkness seeped in, “Don’t go.”

 “I’m here for you. I’m not going anywhere.”

 She sighed, letting her eyes fall shut again, “Thank you.”

 “I’ll see you there, too.”

[watchyourbuck]

𖤓 Tease Tidbit Tuesday 𖤓

tagged by @diazsdimples @daffi-990 @theotherbuckley @jesuisici33 @hippolotamus @exhuastedpigeon @wildlife4life @malewifediaz & @jeeyuns thank you!! I’ll read your works tonight💗

here’s more of the fic now called Dear Maddie. I’m sorry it’s so sad lmao, but it’s gonna get worse SHDJD

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

"Dear Maddie (...),

He made me feel new. He made me feel seen. Do you think Buck held the promise ring and briefly thought of me before the building collapsed? Chris said that the other day.

Anyway, after we became friends, my days were never whole again if I didn't get to spend time with him. Sometimes it was at work, sometimes over here. I genuinely believe Buck became a dad before he became my love. Maybe that’s one of the reasons he became my love. I could’ve never been with someone who didn’t love my kid as much as I love him. Sometimes I think Buck loved him in times where I didn't know how, since I could barely love myself.

He held me through the pain.

It's selfish and ridiculous to pin it on him, but he said he’d never become my pain. And now he has. I wish I wasn’t mad at him. I wish I could rationalize it and simply move on, or deal with grief the way every other human does, but how could I? He promised me forever. I promised him forever."

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

tagging in return @lover-of-mine @bucksbirthmark @eddiebabygirldiaz @honestlydarkprincess @your-catfish-friend @buckleyobsessed @smilingbuckley @steadfastsaturnsrings @honestlyeddie @evanbegins @puppyboybuckley @thewolvesof1998 @fionaswhvre & @cal-daisies-and-briars (let me know if you wish to be removed from this AU’s snippets!)✨

[mizjoely]

Molly Hooper Appreciation Week Prompt #2 - "I'm so sorry."

Dark, sad, not my usual sort of story but sometimes you just go where the evil Muse leads you. And this time it led to Molly Hooper being a lifesaver.

Just not for her own life. TW: MCD

(I did write a much happier version of this story, How To Save A Life, if you'd rather read that one)

Everything

… And I would give anything I own

I'd give up my life, my heart, my home

I would give everything I own

Just to have you back again

-Everything I Own by Bread

What would you give to save the life of another? What would you be willing to sacrifice?

With trembling fingers, Molly traced the words written on the flyleaf of her great-great-grandmother’s diary. “Anything,” she whispered. “Everything.”

Silence filled the world, and darkness, and suddenly Molly Hooper was no longer alone.

“What would you give to save the life of another?” The formless Entity whispered in her mind, repeating those words aloud. “What would you be willing to sacrifice?”

Terrified and elated, Molly managed to square her shaking shoulders, to raise her quivering chin and stare steadily into the faceless face before her. “Anything,” she repeated firmly. “Everything.”

“Your life?”

Molly swallowed a sudden surge of bile, burning her throat and churning her gut. “Yes,” she whispered. Because it was true, it had always been true; she would give anything, up to and including her own life, to save his.

According to plan, Sherlock Holmes now lay on a slab in the St. Bart’s morgue.

What wasn’t according to plan was the fact that he was actually, truly dead. And all Molly Hooper had to save him was a desperate hope that her great-great-grandmother had been half the Witch she’d been reputed to be.

The Entity - whose very presence showed that her hope hadn’t been so desperate after all - spoke again.

“Done.”

The word echoed, echoed, echoed through her mind, the last thing Molly Hooper would ever hear.

oOo

When Sherlock Holmes found himself on his feet, he had no idea how he’d come to be standing in the St. Bart’s morgue; his last memory had been of falling from the hospital roof, his last thought, This isn’t how it was supposed to go.

“This isn’t how it was supposed to go.” 

He murmured the words aloud, shock writ large on his face, as he stared down at the body lying so peacefully on the morgue slab. Reaching out with trembling fingers, he traced the faint smile on Molly Hooper’s lips, his last words to her a whispered, "I'm so sorry."

Then he turned with what might have been a sob to begin his solitary crusade to bring down Jim Moriarty’s criminal empire and save the lives of others who suddenly seemed to count far less than they had before.

[firewasabeast]

Tags: MCD (based off of spoilers), hurt/comfort. Just some Tommy comforting Evan in the direct aftermath of losing Bobby.

They didn't have time to talk about what they were, or what they wanted to be. There was too much going on, danger all around them, federal agents and military personnel willing to shoot them out of the sky.

There was a moment, briefly, where Buck cleared his throat and said, "I know now's not the time, but I- I wasn't saying I didn't have feelings for, um, for you... Just thought you should know that." Tommy had nodded, but didn't have time to respond. He was a little busy evading the law.

And then Bobby. Bobby didn't make it out of the building with everyone else. Bobby came out later, in a body bag, with Buck still screaming and sobbing and begging for it to be a dream.

Please don't be real!

Please don't be real!

They were there for hours, government officials each wanting a turn to speak with them-- yell at them. Buck's screams died down, his voice shot.

Finally, someone had mercy. Saw the vacant stare in Buck's eyes and told them to go home, get some rest, they'd set up a meeting sometime in the next couple of weeks.

Tommy ordered an Uber. He buckled Buck in once they'd gotten situated in the back seat. He didn't keep his eyes off of Buck for more than a few seconds the entire drive. When he noticed his hands shaking, fingers picking at the skin around his nails, Tommy reached over and intertwined their hands.

Buck didn't say anything. Tommy wasn't even sure he noticed. But the shaking died down, and the picking stopped. They made it to Buck's place without speaking a word.

Tommy guided Buck to the door. He hoped the spare key that Eddie kept under a fake rock was still there. He left Buck at the door long enough to look for it, sighing in relief when he found it.

He led them inside and closed the door behind him.

Buck stood, unmoving, in the living room.

Carefully, Tommy placed a hand at the small of his back, "Evan?"

No response.

"Baby?" The pet name came out before he could stop himself.

Buck blinked. "Huh?" he breathed out, showing the first signs of being alert since Bobby was taken away.

"You want something to eat or drink?" Tommy asked. "I know it's been a while."

Buck shook his head. "N- No. I... no."

"Okay. You want to sit on the couch? Or go lay down?"

"I, um, I-" Buck brought a hand to his chest. "I don't-"

"Okay, okay," Tommy soothed, hand rubbing up and down his back. "Whatever you need, Evan. Whatever you need."

"I don't, um, I haven't-" he paused, glancing down at his clothes. "I'm dirty. I- I need to, um, I... shower, I think."

Tommy nodded. "Okay. Let's go to the bathroom, I'll get the water started."

When they got into the bathroom, Tommy turned on the shower before returning his attention to Buck, who was simply standing there, making no effort to get undressed.

"Um, Evan, I'm gonna go get you some clean clothes, okay? I'll just lay them on the counter, then I'll wait for you to get done."

He went to leave, but as he walked by, Buck grabbed onto his wrist. Tommy froze.

"Evan?"

"Tommy."

One word, that was it, but it told Tommy everything he needed to know. "You want me to stay?"

A nod.

So Tommy stayed. He helped Buck out of his clothes, then stripped himself down so he could help him in the shower. Once they were in, he got behind Buck and grabbed the shampoo. He washed Buck's hair gently, rinsing all the dirt and sweat out from the day. He moved onto his body after that, making sure he was all clean.

He wiped over Buck's face last, and as he stared into Buck's eyes he wished more than anything that he could hug and kiss the pain away.

Instead, he made sure to wipe the dirt out of his eyebrows and off his eyelids. He cleaned around his ears, and over his nose. Brushed over his chapped lips, and chin. Then did a final scrub over his neck.

"All done," he said softly, turning off the water. He stepped out first, quickly grabbing a towel to wrap around himself before getting another one for Buck. He helped Buck out of the tub, drying him off before leading him to the bedroom.

He noticed Buck shiver as he walked to the closet, so he chose a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie for him to wear. But first, he pulled on a t-shirt and an extra pair of sweats, knowing Buck wouldn't mind if he borrowed from him for now.

Buck held onto Tommy's shoulder as he stepped into the pants, then Tommy guided them up his legs until they rested on his hips.

It wasn't until Tommy pulled the hoodie over his head that Buck spoke again.

"I don't, um, I don't remember getting home."

"We took an Uber," Tommy reminded him, pulling his arm through the first sleeve.

"I- My Jeep-"

"We can pick it up tomorrow," Tommy replied, getting his hoodie the rest of the way on, "or the next day. Whenever."

Buck stared at Tommy, wide and teary-eyed. His lip trembled. "I'm su- supposed to be on shift still."

"The 118 was taken offline for the rest of today." Tommy brought his hands up to Buck's face, wiping away a couple stray tears as they fell down his cheeks. "You finished your shift, Evan."

"Oh." He gaze shifted until he was vacantly staring at the wall just past Tommy's head.

"Evan, why don't you lie down for a little bit," Tommy suggested, already taking his hand and walking him to the bed. He slung the covers back, then tucked them around him once Buck laid down. "I'm gonna get you some water, okay?"

"'Kay."

Only two minutes had passed when Tommy came back into the room, and Buck was turned on his side, staring at nothing, with tears dripping down his eyes and over his nose.

"Can you sit up for a second?" Tommy asked, keeping his tone low. "I brought you some ibuprofen too."

Buck pulled himself up and took the pills without argument, drinking down half the glass of water with them. He placed the cup on the nightstand and, just as Tommy was about to ask if he'd like for him to go, Buck reached over and tossed back the covers on the other side of the bed.

A silent invitation.

Tommy walked around the bed and climbed in. Buck didn't hesitate to meet him in the center. He gripped onto Tommy's shirt and rested his head on Tommy's chest. "Please, just... just stay, Tommy," he whimpered, his voice breaking. He sniffed, and Tommy could feel tears already soaking through his shirt. "I know I... but, I- I can't lose you too, not- not again. Not... please, not now. I-"

Tommy wrapped Buck up in his arms, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. "I'm here, Evan," he assured him. "I'm not going anywhere."

[1thesewordsaremyown1]

I Know Wherever You Are, You're Watching Over Me

In the face of a devastating loss, Buck realises that life is too short to not face how he really feels

Read here on ao3 or below

Buck sat on the park bench, watching the little girl being pushed on the swing by her father.  She was squealing in delight, urging him to push her higher and higher.  After a few more pushes, Buck watched as the girl braced herself, and once she reached her peak the tiny girl launched herself from the seat, long hair flying behind her, as she landed on her feet in the sand with all the grace of a gymnast making a successful dismount from the vault.  Buck smiled as the girl whooped and cheered, her father applauding and grinning proudly.

“She’s got a daredevil streak in her that one,” Bobby said from next to Buck.  “Just like her father.”

“God, I hope not,” Buck replied immediately.  “The amount of scrapes I got into – I’ve spent enough times in hospital waiting rooms, thank you very much.”

The little girl raced back to her father and Tommy scooped the girl up and spun her around with a laugh before placing her back on the swing so she could go again.

Buck sighed as he watched them.  “This is all I have ever wanted,” he admitted to Bobby.  “Kids, a family – to be happy.”  Buck swallowed thickly, a lump forming in his throat.  “But I know this isn’t real.  That this can never be real.”

“Why do you think that?”

Buck continued to watch his family for a few more precious seconds.  “Because that gorgeous little girl doesn’t exist.  Because Tommy and I aren’t together anymore.”  Buck finally turned to look at Bobby, tears glistening in his eyes.  “Because you’re gone.  Because no matter how my future goes, I’ll never have you officiating my wedding like you did for Chim.  I’ll never be able to introduce my kids to their Grandpa Bobby.  I won’t have you anymore.”

“But you can still have all of this Buck,” Bobby said gently, gesturing towards the two in the playground without taking his eyes off Buck.  “She may not be here now, but I have no doubt that one day you’ll be cradling that little girl in your arms.  And Tommy?  You two were meant to be together.  That man came racing to help you, breaking God knows how many laws all because you asked, and you weren’t even together at the time.  There’s no denying that he still cares for you – and you for him.  And as for the last thing…” 

This time Bobby tore his eyes from Buck and looked over at Tommy and his daughter laughing over at the swing set.  “Well, you’re right – I won’t be able to officiate at your wedding or be able to hold your kids.  But there is one thing that you’re wrong about.”  Bobby placed a hand on Buck’s shoulder and squeezed, his eyes back on Buck, his gaze intense and full of love.  “You will always have me, Buck.  You may not see me, but I’ll be there.  And know that I will be so proud of you kid.  No matter what, I will always be with you.  Always.”

******

Buck jerked awake, Bobby’s voice still echoing through his head.  For just the briefest moment he was confused before reality came crashing back down.  He touched a shaky hand to his cheeks and when he pulled them away and looked at his fingers, he found them damp from the tears that had fallen in his sleep.

Glancing around, Buck realised he wasn’t in his bedroom, and it took him a moment to recognize that he was lying on his couch in the living room.  Frowning, he tried to remember how he got there.  Oh, that’s right – after the funeral service, Buck had invited the 118 and their families to his house for an informal wake to celebrate Bobby’s life.  He had offered to host so that Athena didn’t have one more thing on her plate to deal with – ever since Bobby’s death, he had taken his Captain’s last words to heart and had been doing everything he could to be there not only for Athena and the kids but for the rest of the 118.  However, that, coupled with his inability to get a decent night’s sleep since the incident, meant that at this point Buck had been running on fumes.  When Tommy saw Buck swaying on his feet in the kitchen as he prepared to bring out more food, he insisted Buck get some rest.  While Buck had refused to go lie down on his bed (he couldn’t look after everyone if he was asleep, could he?) he had acquiesced into taking a few minutes to rest on the couch.  Clearly his body had agreed with Tommy’s initial suggestion because he had obviously fallen asleep, long enough for someone to throw a blanket over him at some point.

Throwing the blanket off his legs, Buck sat up and stretched.  He had to admit, Tommy was right – he had needed that rest.  He felt, well, not better, but at least more rejuvenated than he had in days.  The ache in his chest that had been present ever since Bobby had died was still there, but at least he didn’t feel like he was dead on his feet anymore.

Buck froze mid-stretch, his arms still above his head, and he cocked his head to the side to listen.  It was quiet – far too quiet for the amount of people that had still been in his house when he had sat down.  Glancing out the window, he noticed that the sun was far lower in the sky than when he last saw it.  How long had he been asleep?

A soft clinking sound from the kitchen drew his attention.  Rising, Buck headed to the source of the noise and was greeted by the sight of Tommy with his back to him.  The man had shed his suit jacket, and his shirt sleeves were rolled up as he finished washing up some dishes.

“How long was I asleep?” Buck finally asked the question aloud in a voice gravelly from sleep, and Tommy turned his head to look at him.  “Where is everyone?”

“A few hours,” Tommy answered, placing the last dish in the drying rack and draining the water.  “Everyone has gone home.”

“Some host I am, falling asleep on my guests,” Buck said wryly.

Tommy turned his body to fully face Buck, grabbing a hand towel and drying his hands as he leaned against the counter.  “No one minded Evan,” Tommy said.  “We could all see how exhausted you were – everyone was fine with you getting some rest.  And the last person only left maybe twenty minutes ago.”

“You stayed,” Buck said softly.

“Of course,” Tommy replied.  He tossed the towel onto the counter and grabbed a few containers full of leftovers and went to put them into the fridge.  “I thought I’d tidy up for you.  You’ve been working so hard doing everything for everyone else, I figured it was the least I could do to make sure you didn’t wake up to a mess.”

Evan felt something bloom within his heart as he looked at the man in front of him, something that for once wasn’t the familiar presence of sorrow that had been lingering for days, and he once again heard the echo of Bobby’s voice in his head, this time repeating something he had told Buck a year ago.  “Tommy’s good people, he’s good for you.”  And Bobby was right – Tommy was good for him, a good man.  And he had never felt for anyone the way that he felt for Tommy.

“I love you,” Buck said as Tommy closed the fridge, his voice soft but firm.  Sure.

Tommy froze and turned to face Buck, his blue eyes pained but holding a glimmer of hope.  “Evan, I know you’re grieving…”

“The way I feel has got nothing to do with me grieving Tommy,” Buck said.  “I’ve felt this way about you for months, I’ve just been too afraid to admit it to you.  Or to myself.”  Buck stepped closer.  “Bobby’s death isn’t clouding my judgment, if that’s what you’re worried about.  It’s made it clearer.”  

Buck took a deep breath, trying to process his thoughts and Tommy stood there patiently, waiting for Buck to say what he needed to say.  “Bobby’s death… it was a reminder of how dangerous this job is.  In the years since I’ve become a firefighter, I’ve had a truck land on me, been caught in a tsunami and struck by lightning.  I’ve seen my friends get stabbed and shot, contract dangerous diseases and get rebar through the brain.  And every time we have all come out the other side – until now.  We finally ran out of luck and I…”  Buck swallowed thickly.  “I watched Athena bury her husband today.  And I can’t even imagine what that’s like.  But she at least got to spend seven years with the man she loved.  And if something were to happen to you Tommy…”  Buck’s voice cracked.  “And I – I never told you how I felt, I would never… I couldn’t…”  Buck’s restraint broke and he couldn’t stop the tears from falling once again.  “I can’t lose you too Tommy, I can’t –”

“Hey, shhh, it’s okay,” Tommy said, immediately pulling Buck into his arms and holding him tightly.  “I’m here Evan, I’m not going anywhere.  It’s okay, you can let go.”

And Buck did.  For so long he had been keeping it together, trying his hardest to be strong for everyone like they needed, like Bobby had wanted.  Now that he was finally allowing himself to feel for the first time since Bobby had died it was like his own personal tsunami of grief was washing over him.  And he knew it would have overwhelmed him too, if it hadn’t been for Tommy’s strong arms around him, anchoring him, keeping him safe.  He grasped onto that feeling of security, letting the emotions overwhelm him, knowing that Tommy would be there to catch him if he fell – like he always did.  His body shook with violent sobs as he finally allowed the grief that he had been hiding from everyone to emerge, and he gripped Tommy’s shirt tightly in his fists like a lifeline, as he buried his head into the other man’s neck and cried long and hard until the tears would no longer come.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured.

After what felt like a lifetime, and Buck’s cries had eventually subsided, Buck stepped back just a fraction to give them some space but not enough that Tommy’s arms didn’t leave Buck’s waist.  Keeping one hand wound n Tommy’s shirt, Buck raised the other to his face to roughly scrub away the tears.

“You have nothing to be sorry about Evan,” Tommy insisted softly.

“But your shirt,” Buck said numbly, looking at the tear stains marring the pristine, white shirt.

“It’s just a shirt, it doesn’t matter.  You matter.”  Tommy moved one of his hands up to Buck’s face and gently swiped away one last tear that fell before cradling it in his palm.  “I love you Evan.”

A watery smile slowly appeared.  “You do?”

“Yeah, I do.”  Tommy’s thumb began caressing Buck’s cheek.  “I’ve felt this way for a while too.  And you’re right – life’s too short for us not to be together.”  Tommy smiled fondly, a twinkle in his eye.  “You know, this great guy once said to me “why be apart when we can be together”, and I feel like he made a very valid point, one that I wish I had listened to earlier.”

Buck let out a watery laugh.  “You don’t say?  He sounds like a smart guy.”

“He really is, one of the smartest I know.”  Tommy’s smile dropped and his gaze turned serious.  “Evan, are you absolutely sure that this is what you want?  I don’t want to be taking advantage of you if this really is your grief talking.”

“I am 100% sure,” Buck said firmly.  “Trust me when I say you are absolutely not taking advantage of me, just like I am not using you to make myself feel better.  I love you.”  Buck looked up through his eyelashes at Tommy, and in a flash of déjà-vu, he was transported back in time to another moment in this kitchen where he had asked a very similar question to the one he was about to ask.  “And what about you?  Can you believe me?  That I know how I’m feeling and that this, that you, are what I really want?”

“Honestly?” Tommy asked.  “I may need you to confirm it for me every now and then.  I do believe you Evan, but I have years’ worth of self-doubt that has a bad habit of rearing it’s head every now and then.”

Buck slipped his arms around Tommy’s waist and tucked his head back into the other man’s neck.  “That’s ok, I think I can manage that,” Evan murmured.  “As long as you keep promising to stay.”

“I’ll always be with you baby,” Tommy murmured back, unknowingly echoing Bobby’s words from Buck’s dream, and Buck smiled, seeing it as a sign that Bobby was indeed watching over him.

The pair of them stood in the empty kitchen, content with simply holding each other, a source of comfort in these dark times.  The pain of losing Bobby was still so very raw, and Buck knew it would be a long time before that pain would even begin to fade, but as long as he had Tommy by his side, to help shoulder that burden?  Well, he just might be able to get through this after all.

And he also knew that wherever he was, Bobby would be smiling at him. 

[lennjamin-o7]

Space au (mcd)

Techno and Tommy are in an escape pod waiting for rescue.

Unfortunately, they’re running out of oxygen.

Techno’s species doesn’t need oxygen, but they still do need some.

Tommy is human, he won’t last as long as Techno.

As oxygen runs out, Tommy becomes hypoxic.

Techno tries his best to comfort Tommy as Tommy becomes confused and eventually loses consciousness.

Techno’s heart is breaking the whole time, he puts on a brave face for Tommy, though.

Techno holds unconscious Tommy in his arms.

Techno can’t find a pulse. (Either Tommy is dead or Techno is also starting to experience the confusion stage of hypoxia)

Eventually, Techno also looses consciousness, still holding Tommy in his arms.

(Maybe they both died, maybe they were found and now there’s a recovery arc because hypoxia is no joke)

I guess I can let this ask out of the inbox. Its been suffocating in here for like 6 months so I SUPPOSE I can free it.

This is fun. I never play much with lack of oxygen in fic but it is SUCH a good trope. I especially love how this has that helplessness. Nothing to do but watch. And it is SOOO fun with Bedrock Bros. Suffer bois!!!!!

I am so sorry I have kept this hostage so long. Just had to chew on it omnomnomnim. Tasty Alien Au, friend.

[laughroditee]

Survivor's Prayer

Characters: Simon “Ghost” Riley Summary: Simon during The Cliff Scene™. CW: canonical major character death, implied/referenced major character death, grief Word Count: 100 The prompt for this 100-word drabble challenge (organized by @farahfriday) is excerpted from "Summer Song," a poem by George Barker: "Great summer sun, great summer sun, Turn back to the never-never Cloud-cuckoo, happy, far-off land Where all the love is true love, and True love goes on for ever."

The orange sun blazed in the sky, painting the world with fiery hues as it sank below the sea, extinguished. 

Simon’s grip on the urn was tight, but it felt like he wasn't holding anything at all.

Not even a heartbeat.

He longed to feel the heat of the Sun on his face, to bask in his warmth, like in those days of neverending summer.

But he couldn't. The Sun set, and his world grew dark.

He gripped the urn again, the grave chill making him shiver.

Shine your light on me again, bright Sun, and burn me to ash.

[tirsynni]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Major Character Death Relationships: Leon S. Kennedy/Piers Nivans Characters: Piers Nivans, Leon S. Kennedy, Claire Redfield Additional Tags: Post-Resident Evil 6, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Hurt/Comfort, Getting Together For @fonulyn. Happy holidays! Summary:

Before everything went to hell, Chris Redfield told Piers that life was short and they only had one life to live. Now that everything is said and done, Piers is finally going to take his advice.

[withacapitalp]

What Happens Next?

Link to ao3 I'm....sorry (canon compliant!!)

“What do you think happens when we die?” Eddie asked. 

Steve furrowed his brow, keeping his eyes shut. He and Eddie were just sitting in the backyard enjoying a rare afternoon alone when the question floated through the air; it was tiny, but heavy, like a stone falling in a pond, ruining the serenity of the surface. 

“What do you mean?” Steve replied, a strange uneasy feeling beginning to creep up his spine, taking the soft summer moment and slowly poisoning it with fear, “Like do I think some big guy in robes with a white beard is waiting to bring me to heaven?

“Just in general,” Eddie shot back from somewhere above, that strange detached tone still marring his normally bright and emotionally charged voice. 

Steve wanted to open his eyes, wanted to gauge the look on his love’s face before he answered, but he found that he simply couldn’t no matter how hard he tried. It was like they were welded shut, some outside force keeping him blind to what was happening around him. 

“Steve,” Eddie pressed when Steve had finally taken just a shade too long mulling it all over. 

“Geez, Eds, I don’t know!” Steve snapped, trying to lift his arms to rub at his eyes, but finding that the same unknown force was holding his entire body stiff and rigid. It even felt like his jaw was stuck still, but he knew he could hear himself speaking, so that couldn’t be right, “Maybe it is some guy in robes with a beard, maybe it’s a lake of fire with a devil and pitchforks, fuck maybe it just nothing. Nothing at all. Would you please just drop this?!” 

He was trying to come across as bitchy, make Eddie tease him about acting like an ass over a dumb question so they could both just move past the weird and deeply unsettling conversation. 

Instead, it felt like the entire world shifted on its axis. Instead of sitting up with his back against a tree, Steve was lying flat in a sea of black, knowing that Eddie was close, but also knowing that he was as far as far could be. 

“Nothing, huh?” Eddie’s voice whispered from directly above Steve’s head. He didn’t just sound detached anymore. No, it was something worse than that, something Steve couldn’t put a word to, even though he instinctively knew it was sitting at the tip of his tongue.

He didn’t want to hear anymore. He wanted to be able to move. He wanted to be able to see Eddie, and to know he was okay, and to know he was alive-

Oh. 

Steve knew now what he actually wanted. 

He wanted to wake up. 

And as he opened his eyes, tears already marking the pillow under his head, it was like that detached (dead) voice was still whispering right in his ear. 

“You’re absolutely right,” 

[songsformonkeys]

Saying I love you with a letter (Ezra x reader)

Month: May

Word count: ~900

Warnings: ANGST, mcd

Notes: You receive a letter from Ezra.

I don't know exactly what happened here. I was in the grumpiest of moods and needed to write something before the end of June. And I did...technically. Oh well... everyone needs something to be the laziest and worst thing they've written. This is probably mine.

The rest of the Year of Creation stories

@yearofcreation2023

~~~~~~

My dearest,

It's been a month since we parted ways. And I ache with every inch and second of that distance, lover.

I dreamt of you last night and I woke up this morning to the phantom sensation of your arm around my waist. I reached for your hand but ended up grasping at nothing but air. I begged for sleep to take me right back to dreamland, but she is a cruel bed companion, I'm afraid, and once I found myself awake, it was impossible to go back.

I'd like to think it was the real you. In the dream, I mean. That you dreamt of me too last night and that somehow that was enough for us to find each other. Is that foolish of me? Distance makes the heart grow fond, and drives the brain a little crazy, I think.

The moon we're at is beautiful like you wouldn't believe, sweetheart. They call her The Green Moon. A very apt name. She looked like an emerald in the void when our ship approached. She's hiding the largest treasure of Aurelac in the system, and guarding it with a deadly fierceness.

There's this... dust of sorts, some kind of spores, I believe. It's everywhere. Captain showed us pictures on the way over of different gruesome ways it can mess up the human body. I'll spare you the details. But don't you worry, lover, I'm careful, and this trusty suit ain't giving up on me anytime soon.

There are ten of us here, practically living in each other's pockets. And let me tell you that after a long day of harvesting, I'd just about be willing to trade one of my limbs for a reprieve from the unpleasantly potent smell of myself and my crewmates.

The crew is about as interesting as a crew of money-hungry desperate bastards can get. Not sure I trust any of them further than I can throw them. Except for maybe the one that doesn't speak. I dropped my rationed bits bar on the floor the other day, and couldn't eat it out of fear of dust contamination. Now, I was prepared to accept my fate and I even laughed along with the others at my misfortune. This guy, however, he doesn't laugh – not sure he even can – just breaks his own bar in two and hands me half. Says a lot about a man's character, that. Still don't know his name.

The work itself is not so bad. By no means the hardest I've labored. Harvesting Aurelac requires more finesse than brute force, which is a nice change of pace.

Some of the others are unhappy with the cut we're getting of the profits. Mostly the new recruits. I think the pay is decent enough, compared to what gigs such as these usually pay. Or perhaps me and the others who've been around know there's little to gain from complaining. Voice your displeasure enough and you'll soon find yourself overlooked when the next job rolls around. No one claims it's fair but them's the rules, and no one's ever heard of anybody getting rich off of prospecting.

How are things back home? I'm itching to hear some gossip about the new neighbors. Did you end up taking them up on their offer to help with the roof? I do feel bad for leaving you to deal with it all on your own. But you know I couldn't turn this job down. Not with all things considered.

I promise I'll make it up to you a thousand times over as soon as I am back! Not too long now, and I'm counting down the days.

I love you, sweetheart. More than words could possibly convey. Can't wait to be back in your arms again.

Yours forever,

Ezra

~~~~~~

You smooth your fingers lovingly over the familiar handwriting and only just resist the urge to bring the letter up to your face. It wouldn't smell like him anyway. Written a month after he left. Exactly one month after he left. You knew because you too had been counting the days, starting from the morning when he hugged and kissed you goodbye at the hangar.

You smooth your fingers over the paper. It's worn like it's been folded and unfolded countless times along the same creases.

One month after he left.

Three weeks before he was supposed to come back.

Your hands begin to tremble.

The young girl across from you at the table speaks up, voice a bit guarded like she's expecting you to lash out at her. Like perhaps that had been the default reaction of someone before you.

”I found this among his stuff... after...” she tells you. ”He never got a chance to send it, but I found it and I thought you deserved to have it.”

And with that, the last glimmer of hope flickers and dies in your heart, replaced in an instant by the cold hard truth.

Ezra isn't coming home.

[guraiuna]

Broken

Warning: MCD, blood

Things were not supposed to go like this. She expected any other outcome, any other ending. She was prepared for them too; both body and soul, after all the pep-talks she gave herself throughout this journey.

After all the scolding she did to herself.

Her resolve was strong; she was ready to face any outcome. Anything...

... Anything but not... this.

But when she woke up from the blast, it was too late.

She opened her eyes and the first thing she noticed was that the red, dusty light above made her dizzy.

Lumine winced. Her eyes hurt, her head hurt. Her entire body hurt, she later realised when she tried to move her arm and it felt like a thousand needled pierced her skin and muscles.

She groaned as she tried to clench her fist. She was hurt and covered in blood...

No... everything smelt like blood.

Her clothes.

The ground below.

The man laying next to her that she caught a glimpse of through her periferic vision–

Her eyes widened and she snapped her head in that direction.

And her heart churned at the sight in front of her. Another pain added to the hurt she was enduring, but this rendered her unable to breathe.

Laying next to her was Tartaglia–

... Or what was left of Tartaglia, as Lumine would then notice, golden eyes riddled with horror.

She ran her gaze over him.

There were holes in his clothes. There were holes in him.

His abdomen, his legs.

His chest.

Gaping wounds gushing blood out. Old blood turned dark as it pooled beneath him. And there was so much, it made her sick to her stomach.

And Lumine wasn't one to get sick from seeing blood– she knew that...

She knew that and yet her stomach was flipping over in itself as she took in her enemy's wounded figure.

The corners of her eyes stinging her so badly, she almost couldn't keep them open...

In the end she gave in to the urge and squeezed her eyes shut, her entire face hot from all the emotions and feelings overwhelming her.

She gritted her teeth and urged herself to get up.

She had to get up–

Get up and call out to him–

Her eyes started to sting again.

Get up and–

A strained cough yanked her out of her thoughts.

With her heart in her throat, Lumine's head snapped in that direction. Golden eyes wide as she watched the Eleventh Harbinger cough up some more blood next to her.

His face covered in deep-red blood.

His eyes squeezed shut in pain.

"Oh– H-hey there, comrade..." Was the first thing he said when he opened his eyes and they met her wide, horrified ones.

Another cough overtook him and Lumine's arm twitched, instinctively reaching for him. Until the pain seared through her and cut her movements short.

He took a deep breath after it was over and turned towards her, fresh blood trickling down the sides of his chin. Each drop cutting through what was left of her hope that he would make it out alive.

"What's with that face, comrade...?" Tartaglia asked with a small voice.

Almost a whisper.

Then he chuckled, the sound coming out as if it was cutting through his heavily maimed body.

Lumine's first instinct was to tell him to not force himself. But her voice wouldn't come out...

He gave her a weak smile– a ghost compared to the usual warm, lively ones she received from him in the past. When there was still color in his cheeks...

"Come on..." He mumbled, blue lips stained with dark blood.

There was acceptance in those dull blue eyes she grew to cherish despite knowing she shouldn't.

And all Lumine wanted was to slap it out of his eyes.

For she couldn't accept it–

And she didn't want him to accept it, either.

Accept it and give up on his–

"Don't look at me like that, Lumine..." Her heart skipped a painful beat. She almost didn't hear his weak whisper.

"You knew this will happen eventually..." He added, heavy eyelids closing down on his eyes.

And something inside Lumine broke. Something buried in the depths of her being. Something hidden. Something she guarded throughout the entirety of her journey–

And it broke for eternity.