ficlet #1 :: Mac, Flack, beating heart (pg)
This is called the "I need to write something" game. I'm using goddess-loki's prompt generator and running with what pings me. And I'm going to keep doing this until I fall asleep. Or something.
prompt: beating heart
with: Mac, Flack
rated: PG
Mac stands, body rigid, gun still aimed at the kid. His instincts had been wrong. His instincts had been startlingly wrong, and in the aftermath of gunfire the street is painfully quiet. Or maybe the silence is only in Mac’s head.
Then he hears Flack speaking tersely into the radio; then the world rushes back in. Flack steps closer, the movement oddly gentle, and Mac realizes he’s still gripping his weapon white-knuckle tight. The kid, Bobby, has dead eyes and a wound blooming from the center of his chest. Mac’s instincts were startlingly wrong. Flack has already retrieved the kid’s weapon, a .45.
Mac takes a deep breath to clear his head. Flack meets his eye, and Mac holsters his own weapon.
“You all right?” Flack asks.
“Yeah.” Mac nods. The adrenaline spike is already starting to fade. Flack’s gaze lingers as if he’s judging the truth of that, but a moment later he nods too.
The thought comes to Mac from nowhere, the thought that Flack is a very old soul.
prompt: beating heart
with: Mac, Flack
rated: PG
Mac stands, body rigid, gun still aimed at the kid. His instincts had been wrong. His instincts had been startlingly wrong, and in the aftermath of gunfire the street is painfully quiet. Or maybe the silence is only in Mac’s head.
Then he hears Flack speaking tersely into the radio; then the world rushes back in. Flack steps closer, the movement oddly gentle, and Mac realizes he’s still gripping his weapon white-knuckle tight. The kid, Bobby, has dead eyes and a wound blooming from the center of his chest. Mac’s instincts were startlingly wrong. Flack has already retrieved the kid’s weapon, a .45.
Mac takes a deep breath to clear his head. Flack meets his eye, and Mac holsters his own weapon.
“You all right?” Flack asks.
“Yeah.” Mac nods. The adrenaline spike is already starting to fade. Flack’s gaze lingers as if he’s judging the truth of that, but a moment later he nods too.
The thought comes to Mac from nowhere, the thought that Flack is a very old soul.