Seeking sanctuary, by raven_lore (Midnight challenge)
First post here and first NCIS ff. I hope you'll enjoy it.
Title: Seeking sanctuary
Author: Raven_lore
Challenge: Midnight
Rating: G (I think)
Pairing: None.
Disclaimers: Sadly they are not mine.
Summary: Everyone tries to cope in his/her way
Spoiler: for Twilight
Author's note: I owe a big thanks to crimsonquills for excellent beta-reading and, as usual, thanks to the_green_sheep for her support.
A quarter to midnight.
He sat in front of the table, his wallet and his badge set aside, forgotten alongside all his precious technological gadgets.
The blank sheet of paper stared at him impassibly, taunting him, surrounded as it was by the typewriter, enclosed in a prison of metal it could not escape and that was bending it, distorting it beyond the point of return.
He reached out.
Maybe it wasn't too late, maybe it could still be straightened. He could take it out, and press it, and the wrinkles would disappear, and…
He drew his hand back, letting it drop into his lap once more.
It wouldn't work. Some things couldn’t be mended. Either you never let them get broken in the first place, or, if you were too late, you just accepted it. And then you had to move on, turn the page, start a new chapter.
He lifted his hands and placed them on the keys.
Minutes later the twelve tolls of a distant bell penetrated the silence of the apartment, bringing the day to its end.
He stood up.
Maybe tomorrow he would think of something.
He walked to his bed and lay down upon the sheets.
Maybe he would feel better when he woke up the next morning. Maybe he would be able to take a breath without smelling sweat and gunpowder and, underneath it all, the bittersweet tang of blood.
Maybe.
He turned off the light, but as the darkness descended upon him, he could still feel the blank piece of paper taunting him, as immaculate as it had been the previous night.
***
Midnight.
He woke up with a start, almost falling from the seat, and immediately regretted the sudden movement; his body let him feel the whole range of pains provoked by his age and the inappropriate position he'd been sleeping in.
He sighed and closed his eyes, raising a hand to rub away some of the sleepiness in them, only to find its path obstructed by his glasses. With another sigh, he opened his eyes and stared at the fingerprints that blurred his field of view.
Behind them the clock mocked him, its hands marking just a couple of minutes after midnight.
Too early. He couldn't go to bed yet, couldn't give his body a chance at real sleep, at more than a couple of hours of uneasy slumber. With sleep would come the nightmares. Or worse, the dreams. And then he would wake up to be greeted by the truth, and the nightmares would be revealed as memories, and the dreams would shatter.
Slowly he shifted from one uncomfortable position to another. He took off his glasses and cleaned them. Then, his glasses back on his nose, he reached for the book that had fallen by his side when he had fallen asleep. He opened it and began to read, trying to ignore the pale faces, hers just one last addition to the ensemble, that watched him from beyond the black words.
***
Half past midnight.
234,429
234,440
234,451
The number on the screen kept growing, a silent testimony of the carnage she was committing. The sounds were for her ears only: the screams, the satisfying explosions of her weapons, the smacks of fists and kicks impacting with flesh, the continuous clunks of the escalating numbers.
Another kill, another eleven points.
She was close to a new level. It was only half past midnight; she had plenty of time to reach some new record, killing zombies and other monsters, while the rage for the real one, the monster who threatened and killed her friend, kept her going, pumping through her veins.
She could see his traits superimposed on those of her opponents. She could see him being hit, mutilated, killed. And every time her mind reminded her that she would never find it in herself to do it outside of videogame-land, not even after what he had done. And every time her next attack would be stronger, more brutal, as she tried to drown those thoughts in a shower of loud sounds.
Gibbs would do it. Or Tony. Maybe even McGee or Ducky. But she didn't want to think of them, any of them, too close to that bastard, so she raised the volume of the headphones and kept fighting, blinking now and then to clear her sight, ignoring the tears that rolled down her cheeks.
***
One a.m.
The office was dark and silent around him, the only other pool of light beyond his desk, the one surrounding his desk.
He had tried to send him home, like he had done with the others. He had told him that there was nothing more to be done, not that night, but to no effect. He suspected his attempt had suffered from his own lack of belief. There had to be something to do, some new lead to explore, some old one to look into from a different angle. They had to find a way. They had to catch. To stop him. And this time he'd make sure it was forever.
He looked at the other man and saw his own determination reflected in his beautiful features, while he typed something and then waited for his screen to give him what he was looking for. He seemed completely absorbed in his task, but at the same time, he was still there, on that roof. He could see it in the way his hands would rise to his lips, almost surprised, and then scrub at them, frantically, while he swallowed, as to try and erase a nasty taste. He knew the feeling.
They were both still there, on that damn roof, covered in blood and sunken in an unnatural silence. Her voice, her laughter, every single sound she had made going through her life around them and to which he had grown so accustomed were gone.
Turning back to his screen, he began to go through another old file, trying to find something. There was only one way to fill the unnatural silence that surrounded them and he was aware that the night had just begun.
The end.
Title: Seeking sanctuary
Author: Raven_lore
Challenge: Midnight
Rating: G (I think)
Pairing: None.
Disclaimers: Sadly they are not mine.
Summary: Everyone tries to cope in his/her way
Spoiler: for Twilight
Author's note: I owe a big thanks to crimsonquills for excellent beta-reading and, as usual, thanks to the_green_sheep for her support.
A quarter to midnight.
He sat in front of the table, his wallet and his badge set aside, forgotten alongside all his precious technological gadgets.
The blank sheet of paper stared at him impassibly, taunting him, surrounded as it was by the typewriter, enclosed in a prison of metal it could not escape and that was bending it, distorting it beyond the point of return.
He reached out.
Maybe it wasn't too late, maybe it could still be straightened. He could take it out, and press it, and the wrinkles would disappear, and…
He drew his hand back, letting it drop into his lap once more.
It wouldn't work. Some things couldn’t be mended. Either you never let them get broken in the first place, or, if you were too late, you just accepted it. And then you had to move on, turn the page, start a new chapter.
He lifted his hands and placed them on the keys.
Minutes later the twelve tolls of a distant bell penetrated the silence of the apartment, bringing the day to its end.
He stood up.
Maybe tomorrow he would think of something.
He walked to his bed and lay down upon the sheets.
Maybe he would feel better when he woke up the next morning. Maybe he would be able to take a breath without smelling sweat and gunpowder and, underneath it all, the bittersweet tang of blood.
Maybe.
He turned off the light, but as the darkness descended upon him, he could still feel the blank piece of paper taunting him, as immaculate as it had been the previous night.
***
Midnight.
He woke up with a start, almost falling from the seat, and immediately regretted the sudden movement; his body let him feel the whole range of pains provoked by his age and the inappropriate position he'd been sleeping in.
He sighed and closed his eyes, raising a hand to rub away some of the sleepiness in them, only to find its path obstructed by his glasses. With another sigh, he opened his eyes and stared at the fingerprints that blurred his field of view.
Behind them the clock mocked him, its hands marking just a couple of minutes after midnight.
Too early. He couldn't go to bed yet, couldn't give his body a chance at real sleep, at more than a couple of hours of uneasy slumber. With sleep would come the nightmares. Or worse, the dreams. And then he would wake up to be greeted by the truth, and the nightmares would be revealed as memories, and the dreams would shatter.
Slowly he shifted from one uncomfortable position to another. He took off his glasses and cleaned them. Then, his glasses back on his nose, he reached for the book that had fallen by his side when he had fallen asleep. He opened it and began to read, trying to ignore the pale faces, hers just one last addition to the ensemble, that watched him from beyond the black words.
***
Half past midnight.
234,429
234,440
234,451
The number on the screen kept growing, a silent testimony of the carnage she was committing. The sounds were for her ears only: the screams, the satisfying explosions of her weapons, the smacks of fists and kicks impacting with flesh, the continuous clunks of the escalating numbers.
Another kill, another eleven points.
She was close to a new level. It was only half past midnight; she had plenty of time to reach some new record, killing zombies and other monsters, while the rage for the real one, the monster who threatened and killed her friend, kept her going, pumping through her veins.
She could see his traits superimposed on those of her opponents. She could see him being hit, mutilated, killed. And every time her mind reminded her that she would never find it in herself to do it outside of videogame-land, not even after what he had done. And every time her next attack would be stronger, more brutal, as she tried to drown those thoughts in a shower of loud sounds.
Gibbs would do it. Or Tony. Maybe even McGee or Ducky. But she didn't want to think of them, any of them, too close to that bastard, so she raised the volume of the headphones and kept fighting, blinking now and then to clear her sight, ignoring the tears that rolled down her cheeks.
***
One a.m.
The office was dark and silent around him, the only other pool of light beyond his desk, the one surrounding his desk.
He had tried to send him home, like he had done with the others. He had told him that there was nothing more to be done, not that night, but to no effect. He suspected his attempt had suffered from his own lack of belief. There had to be something to do, some new lead to explore, some old one to look into from a different angle. They had to find a way. They had to catch. To stop him. And this time he'd make sure it was forever.
He looked at the other man and saw his own determination reflected in his beautiful features, while he typed something and then waited for his screen to give him what he was looking for. He seemed completely absorbed in his task, but at the same time, he was still there, on that roof. He could see it in the way his hands would rise to his lips, almost surprised, and then scrub at them, frantically, while he swallowed, as to try and erase a nasty taste. He knew the feeling.
They were both still there, on that damn roof, covered in blood and sunken in an unnatural silence. Her voice, her laughter, every single sound she had made going through her life around them and to which he had grown so accustomed were gone.
Turning back to his screen, he began to go through another old file, trying to find something. There was only one way to fill the unnatural silence that surrounded them and he was aware that the night had just begun.
The end.