What a lovely comm...
'Ello. Saw the movie and fell in love with it, and Max/Jude. :D
Title: Six Thoughts in a Hospital Bed
Author: tiredraven
Rating: PG-13... to be safe, but it's really more PG
Character/Pairings: Max/Jude intended
Word Count: Roughly 550.
Summary: SPOILERS. But... what are you doing here if you haven't seen it and loved it? >> In the hospital, Max is plague with thoughts of Jude.
Author's Notes: That movie... was so inspiring. *adores*
Disclaimer: I don't own these pretty boys. If I did, I'm sure the movie would have turned out quite differently.
Did I stand a fucking chance against Jude? he asks himself, lying awake in the hospital with a pain in his leg and his head and everywhere else he can actually feel. He listens in his brain for a response; there was always a response in ‘Nam. He gets static and he gets fragments of Jude’s voice, but he doesn’t get an answer.
Why isn’t Jude coming back? he asks, and it’s a whisper in his busy brain. He breathes harshly in the night because he thinks too hard about things he can’t have. He thinks he needs Jude to get through the night and the x-rays and the shots and the IVs and the crappy food and the lack of booze and weed, and he’s pretty sure he’s right. He listens for a response and gets only the shadow of Jude’s hand on his own and the glint of the oxygen canister across the room.
Lucy needs Jude too, he tells himself, and I can’t wallow like I’m the only one who misses him. He says this every night when he can’t sleep through the throbbing and the puking and the death all around him, but he never really listens, because he knows what he’s going through and what Lucy is going through are two completely different things. There is a response, he swears there is, but it’s just Johnson moaning in his sleep. After a moment there is nothing, not even the harsh breathing he’s become accustomed to across the room, and he wonders briefly if it is a sign that Johnson died while he was thinking about Jude. In the end, though, he can’t be bothered. If the world is against needing Jude, then fuck the world.
I am fucked up, he tells himself, and he waits all night for a response, but all he gets is resounding emptiness, a pounding headache, and Jude flashing through his head again and again and again, being his beautiful, wonderful self, and it’s all the answer he needs.
I don’t deserve him, he tells himself, and that’s why he was deported. They knew I was living through ‘Nam to get back to him, and they took him away so I’d have nothing to live for. But I’m here and I’m alive and damn it all if I don’t get Jude back to spite them. He doesn’t wait for a response this time because he’s used to the emptiness in his brain, but he curls his fingers around the side of the bed and thinks of Jude, Jude smoking fags and weed and Jude drinking beer and whiskey and absinthe. He thinks of Jude in the morning with sleepy eyes and at night with dopey ones. He thinks of Jude with charcoal on his hands and he thinks of Jude bent over his pictures. He thinks of Jude the first night he met him and he thinks of Jude the last time he saw him. He thinks of Jude’s lips on his and his body pressed against Jude’s and he falls into a restless sleep, Jude on his lips, on his mind, and always on his heart.
I think too much, he says to himself, and this time there is an answer.
You just think about Jude too much.
Title: Six Thoughts in a Hospital Bed
Author: tiredraven
Rating: PG-13... to be safe, but it's really more PG
Character/Pairings: Max/Jude intended
Word Count: Roughly 550.
Summary: SPOILERS. But... what are you doing here if you haven't seen it and loved it? >> In the hospital, Max is plague with thoughts of Jude.
Author's Notes: That movie... was so inspiring. *adores*
Disclaimer: I don't own these pretty boys. If I did, I'm sure the movie would have turned out quite differently.
Did I stand a fucking chance against Jude? he asks himself, lying awake in the hospital with a pain in his leg and his head and everywhere else he can actually feel. He listens in his brain for a response; there was always a response in ‘Nam. He gets static and he gets fragments of Jude’s voice, but he doesn’t get an answer.
Why isn’t Jude coming back? he asks, and it’s a whisper in his busy brain. He breathes harshly in the night because he thinks too hard about things he can’t have. He thinks he needs Jude to get through the night and the x-rays and the shots and the IVs and the crappy food and the lack of booze and weed, and he’s pretty sure he’s right. He listens for a response and gets only the shadow of Jude’s hand on his own and the glint of the oxygen canister across the room.
Lucy needs Jude too, he tells himself, and I can’t wallow like I’m the only one who misses him. He says this every night when he can’t sleep through the throbbing and the puking and the death all around him, but he never really listens, because he knows what he’s going through and what Lucy is going through are two completely different things. There is a response, he swears there is, but it’s just Johnson moaning in his sleep. After a moment there is nothing, not even the harsh breathing he’s become accustomed to across the room, and he wonders briefly if it is a sign that Johnson died while he was thinking about Jude. In the end, though, he can’t be bothered. If the world is against needing Jude, then fuck the world.
I am fucked up, he tells himself, and he waits all night for a response, but all he gets is resounding emptiness, a pounding headache, and Jude flashing through his head again and again and again, being his beautiful, wonderful self, and it’s all the answer he needs.
I don’t deserve him, he tells himself, and that’s why he was deported. They knew I was living through ‘Nam to get back to him, and they took him away so I’d have nothing to live for. But I’m here and I’m alive and damn it all if I don’t get Jude back to spite them. He doesn’t wait for a response this time because he’s used to the emptiness in his brain, but he curls his fingers around the side of the bed and thinks of Jude, Jude smoking fags and weed and Jude drinking beer and whiskey and absinthe. He thinks of Jude in the morning with sleepy eyes and at night with dopey ones. He thinks of Jude with charcoal on his hands and he thinks of Jude bent over his pictures. He thinks of Jude the first night he met him and he thinks of Jude the last time he saw him. He thinks of Jude’s lips on his and his body pressed against Jude’s and he falls into a restless sleep, Jude on his lips, on his mind, and always on his heart.
I think too much, he says to himself, and this time there is an answer.
You just think about Jude too much.