Seasons
Title: Seasons
Pairing: Josef/Mick
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: All publicly recognisable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: Written for the LAS TV Network 1 competition. Prompt: Autumn. Mick laments the fact that the seasons change while they do not, but eventually finds a glimmer of hope in Josef.
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“It’ll always be like this, won’t it?” Mick crumpled the dried leaf in his hand, and watched as the golden flakes were scattered by the night’s breeze.
“Probably,” Josef shrugged, “if I knew what the hell you were talking about.”
Mick snorted a brief note of contempt at Josef’s censure, and took a moment to focus his attention on an imaginary mark near his foot, scuffing the heel of his shoe along the ground.
The evening had begun with drinks, nothing fancy, just two old friends on a casual night out; hit the bars, and drink tumblers of whiskey chased blood, poured from a hip flask in Josef’s pocket. Now they sat together, side by side amidst the asphalt and grime of LA’s city streets, and watched as autumn leaves fell from the trees above.
“How many times have you seen the seasons change now?” Mick asked then, his brow furrowed in contemplation.
“Let’s see, four hundred and twenty, times four seasons,” Josef paused for a quick calculation, pretending to count on his fingers as he did so, “that would be…a lot, more than I can be bothered remembering.”
“In all that time, how much have you actually changed?” Josef felt Mick’s hand slip into his. Mick studied the texture of Josef’s skin, absentmindedly stroking Josef’s thumb with his own as he searched for newly developed imperfections where there were none to be found.
“Physically? Not at all. But then you knew that already.” Josef replied mildly.
Their fingers entwined Mick fell silent for a moment, lost in his own private reverie. All around the green of the leaves had turned to various shades of gold, and brown. They’d been that same colour last year as well, when she’d left.
“We’re exactly the same now as we were a year ago, and even a century from now neither of us will be any different,” Mick picked up another leaf, and studied its variations, “how do you stand not having anything to mark the passage of time?”
“A calendar helps.”
“Very funny.” Mick rolled his eyes, and shot Josef a look of annoyance. He wasn’t in the mood for Josef’s wisecracks.
“Well what else do you want me to say, Mick?” Josef was fast losing patience. The ground was becoming uncomfortable, and he was certain his thousand dollar suit was being ruined as they spoke.
“I don’t want you to say anything,” Mick threw a hand up, and blurted in frustration. “I just want you to tell me what to do, tell me how to get through this. She’s been gone a year, Josef, and nothing’s changed. I…haven’t changed.”
“I thought we didn’t give each other advice.” Josef chided gently.
“That never stopped you before.”
Josef stopped short of, “Touché.” His expression softened. “I spent more than three centuries fucking anything and everything I could; I amassed wealth, and power beyond most people’s wildest dreams. I lived like a King.” Josef paused, and focused his gaze on Mick’s own, “And then I fell in love. That’s what gets you through, Mick, you hold on to the idea that one day you will find someone, and you will spend the rest of eternity not having to feel so alone. And it will be perfect.”
“California dreaming,” Mick looked away for a moment, and muttered under his breath.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Nothing,” Mick smiled wanly, and waved a dismissive hand, “it just sounds like a nice fantasy.”
“Maybe you just need to start looking in the right places, quit chasing after ghosts and memories,” Josef got to his feet then, pulling Mick up along with him as he brushed the dirt from his suit pants. “Come on, I should take you home. I think I’ve given you enough to think about for one night. You look like you’re getting ready for one of those patented Mick St John skulking sessions. Sorry,” Josef paused, and affected a suitably contrite look, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, “I meant reflection.”
Their arms drawn loosely around each other’s waist, they walked together in silence for a while, enjoying the casual affection they shared. And then without warning, Mick stopped in his tracks.
“What about us?”
“Us?” Josef rounded a curious eyebrow, and proceeded to taunt Mick good naturedly, “What, are we California dreaming now too are we?”
“No, I meant…”
“Ball's in your court.”
Mick appeared to consider those words very carefully. “I guess you are taking me home,” he responded finally. No promises, nothing more than that.
Above them the autumn leaves still fell. Mick glanced up at an old maple tree as they passed it by, their arms drawn a little tighter around each other’s waists then.
All the leaves were brown…
Mick smiled. They’d be the same colour a year from now.
Pairing: Josef/Mick
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: All publicly recognisable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: Written for the LAS TV Network 1 competition. Prompt: Autumn. Mick laments the fact that the seasons change while they do not, but eventually finds a glimmer of hope in Josef.
-----------------------------------------------------------
“It’ll always be like this, won’t it?” Mick crumpled the dried leaf in his hand, and watched as the golden flakes were scattered by the night’s breeze.
“Probably,” Josef shrugged, “if I knew what the hell you were talking about.”
Mick snorted a brief note of contempt at Josef’s censure, and took a moment to focus his attention on an imaginary mark near his foot, scuffing the heel of his shoe along the ground.
The evening had begun with drinks, nothing fancy, just two old friends on a casual night out; hit the bars, and drink tumblers of whiskey chased blood, poured from a hip flask in Josef’s pocket. Now they sat together, side by side amidst the asphalt and grime of LA’s city streets, and watched as autumn leaves fell from the trees above.
“How many times have you seen the seasons change now?” Mick asked then, his brow furrowed in contemplation.
“Let’s see, four hundred and twenty, times four seasons,” Josef paused for a quick calculation, pretending to count on his fingers as he did so, “that would be…a lot, more than I can be bothered remembering.”
“In all that time, how much have you actually changed?” Josef felt Mick’s hand slip into his. Mick studied the texture of Josef’s skin, absentmindedly stroking Josef’s thumb with his own as he searched for newly developed imperfections where there were none to be found.
“Physically? Not at all. But then you knew that already.” Josef replied mildly.
Their fingers entwined Mick fell silent for a moment, lost in his own private reverie. All around the green of the leaves had turned to various shades of gold, and brown. They’d been that same colour last year as well, when she’d left.
“We’re exactly the same now as we were a year ago, and even a century from now neither of us will be any different,” Mick picked up another leaf, and studied its variations, “how do you stand not having anything to mark the passage of time?”
“A calendar helps.”
“Very funny.” Mick rolled his eyes, and shot Josef a look of annoyance. He wasn’t in the mood for Josef’s wisecracks.
“Well what else do you want me to say, Mick?” Josef was fast losing patience. The ground was becoming uncomfortable, and he was certain his thousand dollar suit was being ruined as they spoke.
“I don’t want you to say anything,” Mick threw a hand up, and blurted in frustration. “I just want you to tell me what to do, tell me how to get through this. She’s been gone a year, Josef, and nothing’s changed. I…haven’t changed.”
“I thought we didn’t give each other advice.” Josef chided gently.
“That never stopped you before.”
Josef stopped short of, “Touché.” His expression softened. “I spent more than three centuries fucking anything and everything I could; I amassed wealth, and power beyond most people’s wildest dreams. I lived like a King.” Josef paused, and focused his gaze on Mick’s own, “And then I fell in love. That’s what gets you through, Mick, you hold on to the idea that one day you will find someone, and you will spend the rest of eternity not having to feel so alone. And it will be perfect.”
“California dreaming,” Mick looked away for a moment, and muttered under his breath.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Nothing,” Mick smiled wanly, and waved a dismissive hand, “it just sounds like a nice fantasy.”
“Maybe you just need to start looking in the right places, quit chasing after ghosts and memories,” Josef got to his feet then, pulling Mick up along with him as he brushed the dirt from his suit pants. “Come on, I should take you home. I think I’ve given you enough to think about for one night. You look like you’re getting ready for one of those patented Mick St John skulking sessions. Sorry,” Josef paused, and affected a suitably contrite look, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, “I meant reflection.”
Their arms drawn loosely around each other’s waist, they walked together in silence for a while, enjoying the casual affection they shared. And then without warning, Mick stopped in his tracks.
“What about us?”
“Us?” Josef rounded a curious eyebrow, and proceeded to taunt Mick good naturedly, “What, are we California dreaming now too are we?”
“No, I meant…”
“Ball's in your court.”
Mick appeared to consider those words very carefully. “I guess you are taking me home,” he responded finally. No promises, nothing more than that.
Above them the autumn leaves still fell. Mick glanced up at an old maple tree as they passed it by, their arms drawn a little tighter around each other’s waists then.
All the leaves were brown…
Mick smiled. They’d be the same colour a year from now.