The Rockford Files (Ginger Townsend & Lou Trevino)
Title: Try to Find Your Way Home
Fandom: The Rockford Files (based on The Queen of Peru episode)
Pairing: Ginger Townsend & Lou Trevino
Theme: #21 - Dream
Rating: T/PG-13
Words: 500
Warnings: Mentions of an airplane crash, presumed character death, grieving, possible supernatural elements
Notes: I love oneshot characters. Ginger and Lou intrigued me (due in part to Ginger being played by someone I have a crush on ...) and I've been writing about them for a month or so. I decided these themes were intriguing for some more practice with writing for them (and possibly with other characters in the future).
By Lucky_Ladybug
Lou hadn’t slept well since that night.
His days were wrapped up in work-which he had been doing very badly, according to his boss-and his evenings revolved around looking for Ginger. Of course, he never found any trace of his missing friend, and he always returned home in sadness and despair.
Mike was worried about him. “Lou, you have to give it up,” he said more than once. “Ginger’s gone. You know that plane went down with no survivors. And it went down in the ocean, but you keep looking for Ginger like you’re going to find him somewhere in the city! Lou, the only way you’ll find him is if you hire some diver to keep looking for his body. If there’s anything left to find.”
Lou always glowered at his younger brother. He knew Mike was right, but he had no intention of admitting it. He still struggled, still tried, to believe that Ginger had somehow survived the crash, possibly swimming to shore, maybe being washed ashore. Maybe he was wandering around Los Angeles, hurt and sick and in need of his best friend. And that thought, that hope, kept Lou searching everywhere.
The day Lou found the tattered remains of a black trenchcoat among the scattered rocks near the shoreline, it nearly broke him. It was Ginger’s. He was absolutely certain it was. And it was the first physical evidence of any of the people aboard that airplane.
He should have turned it in to the police, he supposed. But instead he took it home, grief-stricken, and let it dry out in front of the fire.
Ginger could never leave home without a trenchcoat. And he had been wearing a black one the day of the airplane crash. Finding it, however, was a harsh blow. For the first time, Lou really stared in the face the idea of Ginger being dead.
He collapsed into bed deeply troubled. And as he tossed and turned, he found himself being dragged out of his unrestful sleep by a familiar British voice.
“Lou.”
He opened his eyes. Ginger was standing at the foot of the bed, transparent, the dark coat around his shoulders the way he always wore those coats.
“Lou, you’ll have to accept that I’m gone.”
Lou’s eyes widened. “Ginger . . . I don’t want to accept it,” he argued.
“I don’t either, but there’s not a bloody thing we can do about it.” Ginger turned, the coat slightly moving in the breeze.
“Ginger, wait.” Lou sat up, reaching for the other man and touching only cold air. He shivered. “Where are you?”
“Where do you think someone like I would go?” Ginger replied.
Then he was gone and Lou was left staring after him, stunned and in heartbroken disbelief.
He tried to tell himself it was only a dream, that it was brought on by his stress and wasn’t proof that Ginger was dead (and quite possibly in Hell).
But the trenchcoat was gone the next morning.
Fandom: The Rockford Files (based on The Queen of Peru episode)
Pairing: Ginger Townsend & Lou Trevino
Theme: #21 - Dream
Rating: T/PG-13
Words: 500
Warnings: Mentions of an airplane crash, presumed character death, grieving, possible supernatural elements
Notes: I love oneshot characters. Ginger and Lou intrigued me (due in part to Ginger being played by someone I have a crush on ...) and I've been writing about them for a month or so. I decided these themes were intriguing for some more practice with writing for them (and possibly with other characters in the future).
By Lucky_Ladybug
Lou hadn’t slept well since that night.
His days were wrapped up in work-which he had been doing very badly, according to his boss-and his evenings revolved around looking for Ginger. Of course, he never found any trace of his missing friend, and he always returned home in sadness and despair.
Mike was worried about him. “Lou, you have to give it up,” he said more than once. “Ginger’s gone. You know that plane went down with no survivors. And it went down in the ocean, but you keep looking for Ginger like you’re going to find him somewhere in the city! Lou, the only way you’ll find him is if you hire some diver to keep looking for his body. If there’s anything left to find.”
Lou always glowered at his younger brother. He knew Mike was right, but he had no intention of admitting it. He still struggled, still tried, to believe that Ginger had somehow survived the crash, possibly swimming to shore, maybe being washed ashore. Maybe he was wandering around Los Angeles, hurt and sick and in need of his best friend. And that thought, that hope, kept Lou searching everywhere.
The day Lou found the tattered remains of a black trenchcoat among the scattered rocks near the shoreline, it nearly broke him. It was Ginger’s. He was absolutely certain it was. And it was the first physical evidence of any of the people aboard that airplane.
He should have turned it in to the police, he supposed. But instead he took it home, grief-stricken, and let it dry out in front of the fire.
Ginger could never leave home without a trenchcoat. And he had been wearing a black one the day of the airplane crash. Finding it, however, was a harsh blow. For the first time, Lou really stared in the face the idea of Ginger being dead.
He collapsed into bed deeply troubled. And as he tossed and turned, he found himself being dragged out of his unrestful sleep by a familiar British voice.
“Lou.”
He opened his eyes. Ginger was standing at the foot of the bed, transparent, the dark coat around his shoulders the way he always wore those coats.
“Lou, you’ll have to accept that I’m gone.”
Lou’s eyes widened. “Ginger . . . I don’t want to accept it,” he argued.
“I don’t either, but there’s not a bloody thing we can do about it.” Ginger turned, the coat slightly moving in the breeze.
“Ginger, wait.” Lou sat up, reaching for the other man and touching only cold air. He shivered. “Where are you?”
“Where do you think someone like I would go?” Ginger replied.
Then he was gone and Lou was left staring after him, stunned and in heartbroken disbelief.
He tried to tell himself it was only a dream, that it was brought on by his stress and wasn’t proof that Ginger was dead (and quite possibly in Hell).
But the trenchcoat was gone the next morning.