(no subject)
Unless I have a very early morning the following day (either 8 or 9am class), I can never go to bed at a decent hour. I can't. I can't. Unless I'm way too tired, that's for sure.
I wrote, finally. I wrote something I promised myself I wouldn't write. *sighs*
Because I'm bored and blah and god knows what else, a peak. *giggles*
Ryan shifts Sophie's lax limbs in his arms, already asleep, dead-- He coughs half a breath out, feels it tighten and catch in his throat. He shifts her again, settles her head on the crook of his left arm, her legs tucked against his stomach. He blinks, looks down at her. She's sleeping peacefully.
His right hand hovers over her face. There's still a nasty bruise over her eyebrow, a scratch down one cheek, and he knows the inside of her legs are bruised as well, from her pulling at the seatbelts of her
(Kirsten had giggled the first time Ryan had tried unlatch the seatbelts of the carseat. It's impossible, Ryan had said, and Kirsten had laughed even more and Sophie had seemed to gurgle at him, call him stupid or something like that. Kirsten had laughed. Sophie had been five weeks old)
carseat that day. His hand curls into a fist. He wants to touch her, but fears doing it. He knows he'd never hurt her, but it pains him, somewhere inside he thinks went cold eleven days ago.
He swallows again, places her slowly on her crib. She snuffles in, her nostrils seeming to close as the sound is heard. She had been crying -- not crying, not really, whimpering, like she knows something's wrong but doesn't know what that is -- for an hour before Ryan was able to get her to settle. Not many people had come back with them, or he would have kicked them out himself.
He shifts, and his hip hurts like a son of a bitch, and his leg has started itching again, and it's starting to throb along with his heartbeat. The medication has to be wearing off, and the doctor did tell him to not put too much pressure on the leg, it was a nasty break, he's lucky it didn't need pins. He's glad for that, in the small corners of his mind (where he's not pissed as hell for being here and not them) where he knows he's thankful he's mobile or Sophie would have been all alone.
His face falls into a grimace. She's not even two years old. She's two months short of two years.
She won't remember them. She won't remember a thing about them. Not even Kirsten's smell, or Sandy's voice.
He swallows, turns his face away, and closes his eyes as he breathes in. An immeasurable time later, he lets go of his hold on the crib's railing he hadn't noticed he'd been holding, and turns around. He makes sure the baby monitor is on, then closes the door after himself, letting it fall ajar.
He walks down the stairs, counts them, doesn't know why, doesn't want to ask himself why. Maybe because he's going one step down at a time, maybe not. The cast on his leg and around his feet makes a hollow sound as it comes down onto the wooden floor. He should be using the crutches they gave him, but he can't handle them and Sophie at the same time, and he asked for this cast because it'd allowed him to walk for a reason. He has a kid to look after now.
See? Weak, I tell you. *sighs* There's a bit more following that, and I know where I want to take it, but I also know that I'm not making this a long story. (HA! I know!), mostly because I can't, not right now. I'm gonna try my very best to keep it at scenes going through the years, because if I get too specific on it, I will never finish it, ergo, never post it, and I don't want that.
I wonder, am I gonna be giving up on this pairing anytime soon? I have no idea.
I'm getting NCIS Season premiere right about now. Criminal Minds tomorrow. God, I CAN'T WAIT! *bounces*
*yawns* Going to bed now.
I wrote, finally. I wrote something I promised myself I wouldn't write. *sighs*
Because I'm bored and blah and god knows what else, a peak. *giggles*
Ryan shifts Sophie's lax limbs in his arms, already asleep, dead-- He coughs half a breath out, feels it tighten and catch in his throat. He shifts her again, settles her head on the crook of his left arm, her legs tucked against his stomach. He blinks, looks down at her. She's sleeping peacefully.
His right hand hovers over her face. There's still a nasty bruise over her eyebrow, a scratch down one cheek, and he knows the inside of her legs are bruised as well, from her pulling at the seatbelts of her
(Kirsten had giggled the first time Ryan had tried unlatch the seatbelts of the carseat. It's impossible, Ryan had said, and Kirsten had laughed even more and Sophie had seemed to gurgle at him, call him stupid or something like that. Kirsten had laughed. Sophie had been five weeks old)
carseat that day. His hand curls into a fist. He wants to touch her, but fears doing it. He knows he'd never hurt her, but it pains him, somewhere inside he thinks went cold eleven days ago.
He swallows again, places her slowly on her crib. She snuffles in, her nostrils seeming to close as the sound is heard. She had been crying -- not crying, not really, whimpering, like she knows something's wrong but doesn't know what that is -- for an hour before Ryan was able to get her to settle. Not many people had come back with them, or he would have kicked them out himself.
He shifts, and his hip hurts like a son of a bitch, and his leg has started itching again, and it's starting to throb along with his heartbeat. The medication has to be wearing off, and the doctor did tell him to not put too much pressure on the leg, it was a nasty break, he's lucky it didn't need pins. He's glad for that, in the small corners of his mind (where he's not pissed as hell for being here and not them) where he knows he's thankful he's mobile or Sophie would have been all alone.
His face falls into a grimace. She's not even two years old. She's two months short of two years.
She won't remember them. She won't remember a thing about them. Not even Kirsten's smell, or Sandy's voice.
He swallows, turns his face away, and closes his eyes as he breathes in. An immeasurable time later, he lets go of his hold on the crib's railing he hadn't noticed he'd been holding, and turns around. He makes sure the baby monitor is on, then closes the door after himself, letting it fall ajar.
He walks down the stairs, counts them, doesn't know why, doesn't want to ask himself why. Maybe because he's going one step down at a time, maybe not. The cast on his leg and around his feet makes a hollow sound as it comes down onto the wooden floor. He should be using the crutches they gave him, but he can't handle them and Sophie at the same time, and he asked for this cast because it'd allowed him to walk for a reason. He has a kid to look after now.
See? Weak, I tell you. *sighs* There's a bit more following that, and I know where I want to take it, but I also know that I'm not making this a long story. (HA! I know!), mostly because I can't, not right now. I'm gonna try my very best to keep it at scenes going through the years, because if I get too specific on it, I will never finish it, ergo, never post it, and I don't want that.
I wonder, am I gonna be giving up on this pairing anytime soon? I have no idea.
I'm getting NCIS Season premiere right about now. Criminal Minds tomorrow. God, I CAN'T WAIT! *bounces*
*yawns* Going to bed now.