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Title: Stages
Author: hawkeyecat
Fandom: Law & Order: Special Victims’ Unit
Medium: Television
Genre: Slash
Pairing: Don Cragen/George Huang
Theme: K is for Kaboom: An exclamation representing an explosive sound or event.
Word Count: 910
Rating: Teen-ish
Warning: Character death
Disclaimer: Made it all up, thank goodness. (Well, not all-the characters are not mine. The rest is, though.)
Author's Notes: I have what some may call a “bad habit” of using my Friends list. I say it gets them fic. This prompt was chosen by teapot_yo. Sorry it’s sad, sweetheart. First sentence is from amazonqueenkate, and the beta was by the ever-lovely sarcasticsra.
The sun was blisteringly hot.
That was George’s first thought when he opened his eyes slowly against the glare. People rushed past, shouting, and someone knelt beside him.
“You okay, Doc?” Elliot sounded far away. George could barely hear him over the ringing in his ears.
“What happened?” George didn’t know if he’d said the words, or just mouthed them. His head pounded, and his leg felt…funny. Numb.
Rather than answering, Elliot ran his eyes over George’s body, and then turned his head and shouted for help. When George tried to sit up, a big hand landed gently on his chest, just firmly enough to get the message across-“Stay still. You’re hurt.”
George forced himself to speak again, louder this time, enough so he could hear himself. “Elliot. What happened?”
“We don’t know,” Elliot hedged. “There was an explosion, and…” He stopped talking when an EMT dropped down beside them.
“Was he near the blast?” She directed the question at Elliot, who shrugged.
“Don’t know. You’ll have to ask him.”
The woman turned her attention to George. She looked warm, like she belonged with a classroom of small children instead of at the scene of whatever had happened. “Were you near the explosion, honey?”
“Don’t know,” George managed.
She nodded. “My name’s Erica. What’s yours?”
“George Huang.”
A blood pressure cuff fastened around his arm. “George, can you tell me the date?”
“July seventh, 2006,” George replied. “President is still George W. Bush.” He knew this was all procedure, but couldn’t someone tell him what was going on?
She nodded approvingly. “Any pain?”
“My head…” George nearly lifted his hand to touch the back of his head, show her where the pounding seemed centered, but caught himself. “Back aches, and my right leg is numb. Oh, my ears are ringing, too.”
Erica pursed her lips and motioned someone over. Two men bearing a backboard and C-collar stopped beside George, and he groaned inwardly. More procedure.
Before the slid the board beneath him, George sent Elliot a beseeching look. True, they didn’t get along all that well, but he was a familiar face. Elliot nodded.
“I’m riding with him.” One of the men looked ready to argue, but Elliot’s hard glare silenced him before he could get the words out.
In the emergency room at Saint Vincent’s, once the doctors had determined that George’s spine was intact, his internal organs were safe, and orders were written for an MRI and chest and leg X-rays, George was left to relative silence with Elliot. The heart monitor beeped steadily, and George kept glancing at his own vital signs and IV fluid drip rate. The ringing had lessened significantly, and George looked at Elliot. “What happened?” he asked, his voice quiet.
“Like I said, there was an explosion in the parking lot.” Elliot shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Earlier, while doctors were prodding George, a grim uniform had waved Elliot out into the hallway. George had watched through the glass as Elliot closed his eyes before nodding.
“Was anyone else hurt?” George tried to remember what he’d been doing in the parking lot. They’d been going to lunch… “Don,” George demanded. “Is Don all right?”
Elliot leaned forward in his chair, awkwardly covered George’s hand with his own. Before Elliot could say a word, George turned his head away. He didn’t want to hear it, the words were too final…
The department held Captain Donald Cragen’s funeral on a Wednesday afternoon-light crime time, George thought emotionlessly. He attended on crutches, ribs still sore, leg encased from hip to toes in plaster that had once been white but now was covered in signatures. Olivia, Elliot, Casey, Munch, and Fin had claimed a pew near the front, and Casey brooked no argument when she realized George was planning to sit in the back. She “invited” him to sit with them, and with Elliot backing her up, George gave in easily. It didn’t matter to him either way; he hadn’t felt strongly about much since the explosion.
The investigation had that revealed a poorly wired car bomb on some detective’s SUV was to blame, and the man’s wife had been indicted on first-degree murder charges. Jack McCoy was prosecuting personally. All George knew was that Don hadn’t even been the target of the shrapnel that shredded his carotid and damaged his spine. A conviction wouldn’t bring Don back.
They buried Don next to Marge’s empty plot, after an amazingly long procession to the cemetery. A man George distantly recognized as a former homicide detective under Don-back in his two-seven days-was a pallbearer, along with Elliot, Munch, Fin, and two others George didn’t recognize, a black detective with some sort of beard and a big, nervous-looking white detective. George didn’t pay much attention to either. Casey and Olivia flanked him beside the grave during the service, as though they were worried he’d pass out or do something stupid, maybe scream or throw himself on the solid cherry casket. George had paid for that, instead of letting the department buy a cheaper veneered version.
When George got home to that empty dead feel, after a taxi had dropped him off, it was too much for him. In a fit of disbelieving rage, he hurled a lamp into the bedroom wall before collapsing on their bed. He curled as best he could around Don’t pillow, letting it absorb his tears.
The pillow still smelled like Don.
Author: hawkeyecat
Fandom: Law & Order: Special Victims’ Unit
Medium: Television
Genre: Slash
Pairing: Don Cragen/George Huang
Theme: K is for Kaboom: An exclamation representing an explosive sound or event.
Word Count: 910
Rating: Teen-ish
Warning: Character death
Disclaimer: Made it all up, thank goodness. (Well, not all-the characters are not mine. The rest is, though.)
Author's Notes: I have what some may call a “bad habit” of using my Friends list. I say it gets them fic. This prompt was chosen by teapot_yo. Sorry it’s sad, sweetheart. First sentence is from amazonqueenkate, and the beta was by the ever-lovely sarcasticsra.
The sun was blisteringly hot.
That was George’s first thought when he opened his eyes slowly against the glare. People rushed past, shouting, and someone knelt beside him.
“You okay, Doc?” Elliot sounded far away. George could barely hear him over the ringing in his ears.
“What happened?” George didn’t know if he’d said the words, or just mouthed them. His head pounded, and his leg felt…funny. Numb.
Rather than answering, Elliot ran his eyes over George’s body, and then turned his head and shouted for help. When George tried to sit up, a big hand landed gently on his chest, just firmly enough to get the message across-“Stay still. You’re hurt.”
George forced himself to speak again, louder this time, enough so he could hear himself. “Elliot. What happened?”
“We don’t know,” Elliot hedged. “There was an explosion, and…” He stopped talking when an EMT dropped down beside them.
“Was he near the blast?” She directed the question at Elliot, who shrugged.
“Don’t know. You’ll have to ask him.”
The woman turned her attention to George. She looked warm, like she belonged with a classroom of small children instead of at the scene of whatever had happened. “Were you near the explosion, honey?”
“Don’t know,” George managed.
She nodded. “My name’s Erica. What’s yours?”
“George Huang.”
A blood pressure cuff fastened around his arm. “George, can you tell me the date?”
“July seventh, 2006,” George replied. “President is still George W. Bush.” He knew this was all procedure, but couldn’t someone tell him what was going on?
She nodded approvingly. “Any pain?”
“My head…” George nearly lifted his hand to touch the back of his head, show her where the pounding seemed centered, but caught himself. “Back aches, and my right leg is numb. Oh, my ears are ringing, too.”
Erica pursed her lips and motioned someone over. Two men bearing a backboard and C-collar stopped beside George, and he groaned inwardly. More procedure.
Before the slid the board beneath him, George sent Elliot a beseeching look. True, they didn’t get along all that well, but he was a familiar face. Elliot nodded.
“I’m riding with him.” One of the men looked ready to argue, but Elliot’s hard glare silenced him before he could get the words out.
In the emergency room at Saint Vincent’s, once the doctors had determined that George’s spine was intact, his internal organs were safe, and orders were written for an MRI and chest and leg X-rays, George was left to relative silence with Elliot. The heart monitor beeped steadily, and George kept glancing at his own vital signs and IV fluid drip rate. The ringing had lessened significantly, and George looked at Elliot. “What happened?” he asked, his voice quiet.
“Like I said, there was an explosion in the parking lot.” Elliot shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Earlier, while doctors were prodding George, a grim uniform had waved Elliot out into the hallway. George had watched through the glass as Elliot closed his eyes before nodding.
“Was anyone else hurt?” George tried to remember what he’d been doing in the parking lot. They’d been going to lunch… “Don,” George demanded. “Is Don all right?”
Elliot leaned forward in his chair, awkwardly covered George’s hand with his own. Before Elliot could say a word, George turned his head away. He didn’t want to hear it, the words were too final…
The department held Captain Donald Cragen’s funeral on a Wednesday afternoon-light crime time, George thought emotionlessly. He attended on crutches, ribs still sore, leg encased from hip to toes in plaster that had once been white but now was covered in signatures. Olivia, Elliot, Casey, Munch, and Fin had claimed a pew near the front, and Casey brooked no argument when she realized George was planning to sit in the back. She “invited” him to sit with them, and with Elliot backing her up, George gave in easily. It didn’t matter to him either way; he hadn’t felt strongly about much since the explosion.
The investigation had that revealed a poorly wired car bomb on some detective’s SUV was to blame, and the man’s wife had been indicted on first-degree murder charges. Jack McCoy was prosecuting personally. All George knew was that Don hadn’t even been the target of the shrapnel that shredded his carotid and damaged his spine. A conviction wouldn’t bring Don back.
They buried Don next to Marge’s empty plot, after an amazingly long procession to the cemetery. A man George distantly recognized as a former homicide detective under Don-back in his two-seven days-was a pallbearer, along with Elliot, Munch, Fin, and two others George didn’t recognize, a black detective with some sort of beard and a big, nervous-looking white detective. George didn’t pay much attention to either. Casey and Olivia flanked him beside the grave during the service, as though they were worried he’d pass out or do something stupid, maybe scream or throw himself on the solid cherry casket. George had paid for that, instead of letting the department buy a cheaper veneered version.
When George got home to that empty dead feel, after a taxi had dropped him off, it was too much for him. In a fit of disbelieving rage, he hurled a lamp into the bedroom wall before collapsing on their bed. He curled as best he could around Don’t pillow, letting it absorb his tears.
The pillow still smelled like Don.