I seem to have this thing about blood and asphalt.
Today's TFR post stars the Reds! I wrote this one back in 2006 - sent it off to beta and everything - but it fell by the wayside and eventually I scrapped it. I was still working Brick out in my head, and it shows... his voice here isn't very strong and he doesn't really show a lot of personality (granted, it's a one-shot, but even so). Maybe someday I'll talk about all the different iterations of Brick that went through my head. This was the stage where I considered the Reds romance as mostly one-sided on Brick's part. Yeah, I was out-of-my-mind ridiculous back then. The setup for that sort of relationship is kinda boring and one-dimensional.
But back to this! I'm pretty sure I misused "whence" here. This was the story that was originally titled "Concessions." The one that actually became fic fic is much more deserving of the title.
---
Blossom awoke in a daze, blinking dust from her eyes and slowly becoming aware of the soreness of her muscles as she shifted against the unforgiving concrete. She’d forgotten how intense these battles could get-how many years had it been since the last? It couldn’t have been that long. Maybe college was just clouding her memories and training.
What happened? she thought fuzzily, as she painstakingly moved to stand. On the way up she did two things: First, she groaned, and second, she slipped a little, which prompted her to blink furiously and try to focus on the surface of the jagged ground.
A pool of dark red met her vision.
Instantly she scrambled to sit up, wincing at the screaming nerves in her body, and clumsily ran her hands over herself, trying to find the wound. After a few seconds of haphazard searching, she realized the blood wasn’t hers. Thank God.
But, then whose…
“You’re up,” a voice croaked faintly from behind her, and she turned around-too fast, she realized, as her body wailed in protest again, and she gasped. Her vision swam and she bent over to the ground to keep from passing out.
The silence was marred only by debris crumbling somewhere in the distance and heavy breathing that wasn’t hers. When the granite blurred and focused for the last time she took a deep breath and slowly stood, wobbling on her feet and eyes searching in the direction from whence the voice came.
Half-hidden in the shadow of a fallen building, Brick sat in an oddly calm position, bent with his elbows on his knees and his head pointed towards the ground. His hunched back rose and fell with the arduous act of breathing, and before the words “What are” formed on Blossom’s lips, she realized there was a steady drip drip dripping from his hands into the stream of red that pooled at her feet.
Her eyes widened and she shuffled forward, ignoring the miniature waves of pain in her legs. “What the hell happened?” she asked as she crouched beside him and reached for his face.
His hand fumbled up and stopped hers before she could touch him. It was a wonder he could hold onto her at all, what with all the blood on his hands. Up close now, she could see many of the shadows on his clothes were not actually shadows, but dark and soaking wet stains of blood.
“Oh my God,” she whispered, and reached with her other arm around his shoulders. “Get up, we need to go-”
“No,” he rasped, and clenched his hand over hers. “We need to stay here for a minute.”
“What are you talking about?!” she said desperately, visions of monsters and pincers and scales a hundred feet thick flashing in her brain. “Chemical X doesn’t stop you from bleeding to death, you idiot, we have to get you to the hospital!”
“Is this good enough for you?”
Blossom froze. “What?”
He slowly turned his head towards her, finally making eye contact. There was a nasty gash somewhere on his head; it was bleeding through his cap and down his face and she had to struggle with herself not to wipe the blood away.
“We were fighting about us,” he clarified. “Before the monster struck, anyway, we were fighting about us. And your standards, and mine. So me bleeding, maybe dying-am I worthy of Her Majesty’s Presence yet?” he snarled bitterly.
A silence stretched between them, marred only by his breathing.
“How can you possibly be thinking about this,” she finally whispered, seeing nothing but blood, blood, blood. His blood. “This doesn’t matter right now, what matters is-”
“If it didn’t matter then I wouldn’t be fucking bleeding in the first place,” he spat, then pulled back, hissing in pain. Blossom’s hands flew to his face, slipping against the blood on his skin.
“Listen to me-”
“Answer me. Does taking down a monster and bleeding for you make me a Goddamn hero?”
Her expression hardened, and she snapped, “Trying to impress a girl makes you no hero, it makes you selfish.”
“Oh, so me risking my life for you makes me an egotistical bastard?” he scoffed, face pointed at the ground. “You don’t want villains in your life, that makes sense, but you don’t want heroes, either.”
“Right now you aren’t any sort of hero, right now you’re just an idiot who’s too weak to move and won’t go to the hospital because you want some sort of concession from me that isn’t going to happen because you need to see a doctor!”
He gave a cynical laugh. “I fight for you, I bleed for you, and you can’t even give me one tiny part of yourself in return.”
She grit her teeth and tried to quell the anger welling up in her chest. “This isn’t the time to talk about us!”
“You never want to talk about us,” he retorted, meeting her eyes again. “All you do is fire rejection after rejection at me.” His eyes softened, a darkness washing over them, and the rage inside her stilled because his gaze sang of deep, irrepressible sadness. “A concession isn’t going to kill you, Blossom,” he whispered. “But every little ‘No,’ and ‘Sorry,’ and ‘Don’t ask me again, Brick?’ It’s like a little death, every time you look at me and say it.” (A/N: Okay, I do like this part.)
He raised his hand again to rest on her arm. His pupils were slowly dilating, and his hand slipped uneasily on her wrist. “Bleeding isn’t what’s going to kill me in the end,” he said quietly. (A/N: Aaaaand now we're back in the melodrama.)
Blossom stared at him, taking in his pupils as they expanded and began to glaze over, and shook her head and tried to shift her arms to lift him properly. But his hand suddenly clenched over hers, stopping her, and she looked at him again to see him trying vainly to focus on her face.
“Blossom,” he whispered, and she shut her eyes, as if that would make him sound less desperate. He was fighting for breath now. She opened her eyes and stared at him for a long moment, trying, really trying, because regardless of who he was he needed to be saved, and if she tried…
She took a deep breath, then slowly took his face back in her hands and leant in.
Once she began to move forward the dark cloud over him lifted, and he took a shuddering breath just before their lips met. She kissed him with open eyes so she could see him when his own shut, little by little. The soles of his shoes scratched against the gravel in an attempt to maybe push closer or pull away; she couldn’t tell which because his body was too weak to do either. Instead, the grip he held on her hand tightened briefly, then weakened, and began to drift down her arm.
The instant he went limp she pulled away, ignoring the taste of his blood in her mouth. There was a heaviness in her heart; there always was when she knew she couldn’t save someone. She could take him to the doctor, but save him? The way he wanted her to?
She couldn’t. She’d tried.
She hoped he didn’t hear her whisper, “I’m sorry, Brick,” as she gathered him into her arms and took off for the city hospital.
---
But back to this! I'm pretty sure I misused "whence" here. This was the story that was originally titled "Concessions." The one that actually became fic fic is much more deserving of the title.
---
Blossom awoke in a daze, blinking dust from her eyes and slowly becoming aware of the soreness of her muscles as she shifted against the unforgiving concrete. She’d forgotten how intense these battles could get-how many years had it been since the last? It couldn’t have been that long. Maybe college was just clouding her memories and training.
What happened? she thought fuzzily, as she painstakingly moved to stand. On the way up she did two things: First, she groaned, and second, she slipped a little, which prompted her to blink furiously and try to focus on the surface of the jagged ground.
A pool of dark red met her vision.
Instantly she scrambled to sit up, wincing at the screaming nerves in her body, and clumsily ran her hands over herself, trying to find the wound. After a few seconds of haphazard searching, she realized the blood wasn’t hers. Thank God.
But, then whose…
“You’re up,” a voice croaked faintly from behind her, and she turned around-too fast, she realized, as her body wailed in protest again, and she gasped. Her vision swam and she bent over to the ground to keep from passing out.
The silence was marred only by debris crumbling somewhere in the distance and heavy breathing that wasn’t hers. When the granite blurred and focused for the last time she took a deep breath and slowly stood, wobbling on her feet and eyes searching in the direction from whence the voice came.
Half-hidden in the shadow of a fallen building, Brick sat in an oddly calm position, bent with his elbows on his knees and his head pointed towards the ground. His hunched back rose and fell with the arduous act of breathing, and before the words “What are” formed on Blossom’s lips, she realized there was a steady drip drip dripping from his hands into the stream of red that pooled at her feet.
Her eyes widened and she shuffled forward, ignoring the miniature waves of pain in her legs. “What the hell happened?” she asked as she crouched beside him and reached for his face.
His hand fumbled up and stopped hers before she could touch him. It was a wonder he could hold onto her at all, what with all the blood on his hands. Up close now, she could see many of the shadows on his clothes were not actually shadows, but dark and soaking wet stains of blood.
“Oh my God,” she whispered, and reached with her other arm around his shoulders. “Get up, we need to go-”
“No,” he rasped, and clenched his hand over hers. “We need to stay here for a minute.”
“What are you talking about?!” she said desperately, visions of monsters and pincers and scales a hundred feet thick flashing in her brain. “Chemical X doesn’t stop you from bleeding to death, you idiot, we have to get you to the hospital!”
“Is this good enough for you?”
Blossom froze. “What?”
He slowly turned his head towards her, finally making eye contact. There was a nasty gash somewhere on his head; it was bleeding through his cap and down his face and she had to struggle with herself not to wipe the blood away.
“We were fighting about us,” he clarified. “Before the monster struck, anyway, we were fighting about us. And your standards, and mine. So me bleeding, maybe dying-am I worthy of Her Majesty’s Presence yet?” he snarled bitterly.
A silence stretched between them, marred only by his breathing.
“How can you possibly be thinking about this,” she finally whispered, seeing nothing but blood, blood, blood. His blood. “This doesn’t matter right now, what matters is-”
“If it didn’t matter then I wouldn’t be fucking bleeding in the first place,” he spat, then pulled back, hissing in pain. Blossom’s hands flew to his face, slipping against the blood on his skin.
“Listen to me-”
“Answer me. Does taking down a monster and bleeding for you make me a Goddamn hero?”
Her expression hardened, and she snapped, “Trying to impress a girl makes you no hero, it makes you selfish.”
“Oh, so me risking my life for you makes me an egotistical bastard?” he scoffed, face pointed at the ground. “You don’t want villains in your life, that makes sense, but you don’t want heroes, either.”
“Right now you aren’t any sort of hero, right now you’re just an idiot who’s too weak to move and won’t go to the hospital because you want some sort of concession from me that isn’t going to happen because you need to see a doctor!”
He gave a cynical laugh. “I fight for you, I bleed for you, and you can’t even give me one tiny part of yourself in return.”
She grit her teeth and tried to quell the anger welling up in her chest. “This isn’t the time to talk about us!”
“You never want to talk about us,” he retorted, meeting her eyes again. “All you do is fire rejection after rejection at me.” His eyes softened, a darkness washing over them, and the rage inside her stilled because his gaze sang of deep, irrepressible sadness. “A concession isn’t going to kill you, Blossom,” he whispered. “But every little ‘No,’ and ‘Sorry,’ and ‘Don’t ask me again, Brick?’ It’s like a little death, every time you look at me and say it.” (A/N: Okay, I do like this part.)
He raised his hand again to rest on her arm. His pupils were slowly dilating, and his hand slipped uneasily on her wrist. “Bleeding isn’t what’s going to kill me in the end,” he said quietly. (A/N: Aaaaand now we're back in the melodrama.)
Blossom stared at him, taking in his pupils as they expanded and began to glaze over, and shook her head and tried to shift her arms to lift him properly. But his hand suddenly clenched over hers, stopping her, and she looked at him again to see him trying vainly to focus on her face.
“Blossom,” he whispered, and she shut her eyes, as if that would make him sound less desperate. He was fighting for breath now. She opened her eyes and stared at him for a long moment, trying, really trying, because regardless of who he was he needed to be saved, and if she tried…
She took a deep breath, then slowly took his face back in her hands and leant in.
Once she began to move forward the dark cloud over him lifted, and he took a shuddering breath just before their lips met. She kissed him with open eyes so she could see him when his own shut, little by little. The soles of his shoes scratched against the gravel in an attempt to maybe push closer or pull away; she couldn’t tell which because his body was too weak to do either. Instead, the grip he held on her hand tightened briefly, then weakened, and began to drift down her arm.
The instant he went limp she pulled away, ignoring the taste of his blood in her mouth. There was a heaviness in her heart; there always was when she knew she couldn’t save someone. She could take him to the doctor, but save him? The way he wanted her to?
She couldn’t. She’d tried.
She hoped he didn’t hear her whisper, “I’m sorry, Brick,” as she gathered him into her arms and took off for the city hospital.
---