Envy by kodiak bear
Title: Envy
Author: kodiak bear
Pairing: Unspecified (for a reason!)
Word Count: 983
Envy
He’s running late. Traffic on the belt was a bitch, and no matter how many times you cussed at the cars in front, behind, and on the side, it didn’t get you there any faster.
At ten minutes after the scheduled time, he pulls into the parking lot, grabbing his brief case, jacket and bag with the presents. He’s fucking late, and it’s the worst day for it. Running into the building, he waves at the nurse.
She frowns, and looks pointedly at the institutional clock on the wall. “You’re late,” she shouts as he keeps jogging towards the elevator.
“I know,” he calls over his shoulder. “How is he?”
Folding her arms, she shakes her head and answers, “Grumpy. Good luck.”
He adjusts the brief case before he loses his grip, sliding the coat in his hand so he can hit the up button again. “Figures,” he mutters. The light drops from 12 to 11 to 10 to 9 and why is it that when you’re in a hurry it’s always at the god damn top and 3 and 4 then 2 and finally 1. He’s too close when the doors open, and has to step to the side, letting the nurses and residents exit before he can push through and in, hitting the button for the fourth floor.
Another woman calls for him to hold the car. “Lady, there’s only so much time in the world,” he says. But he holds the doors and she slides through, saying a breathless thank you.
“You visiting family?” she asks conversationally, still slightly breathless.
He glares through the lenses of his sunglasses. The bag of gifts is on the floor by his feet, and his arm holding the briefcase has his jacket folded over it. He moves his chin a little, because it’s kind of like that. Maybe. “Sure,” he says.
When the elevator dings on his floor, he lifts his bag, and leaves. She doesn’t say good bye, chance strangers passing in a moment, and she knows nothing of him and why he’s here. She wouldn’t want to know.
Walking towards the door, he can already hear the commotion. It’s all he can do to make his feet keep moving forward. The clock at the end shows he’s almost fifteen minutes late now.
“Where is he? Something happened to him and you aren’t telling me - where is he?”
“Looking for me?” he says, forcing a smile on his face.
The room smells old, and sick. Every day he visits. The man sitting in the wheelchair is wrinkled, tufts of white hair all that remain above his ears. There’s an IV running into his chest; for the chemotherapy. Any day, they say now. It doesn’t matter, if it wasn’t the cancer it would’ve been something else. Old age was ripe with possibilities for the grim reaper.
“I thought you’d forgotten -”
He smiles, and kisses the papery thin skin on the old man’s head. “I’d never forget; traffic was a real bitch.”
The nurse, a young woman, nods at him and says, “Not too long - he needs his rest.” She leaves quickly, thankful for the reprieve that his arrival has granted.
“Sleep,” the old man snarls. “It’s all I do.”
He doesn’t say anything. Instead, he pushes the wheelchair to the bed. He sits down beside him, and pulls out one of the presents from the bag. “This one is from someone special. They told me to tell you to open it last.” He pulls another and hands it to the old man. “This you can open now.”
The old man’s fingers are swollen and twisted with arthritis, and he fumbles with the paper. He reaches forward, and says, “Let me help.” He shouldn’t have wrapped any of it. It’s easy to forget sometimes.
“I can do it myself,” the old man objects.
But the old man can’t, and he helps, revealing what was inside. It’s a picture frame. Circular, with a group photograph in the middle. The man’s face tightens, and the wrinkles grow deeper. “It’s - beautiful,” the old man manages.
He takes it from the old man’s fingers and sets it on the dresser. They open a few others. There are books, and music, and a new sweater. Then the last package. When he helps the old man open it, he knows what’s in it.
“You got it,” the old man breathes.
“Not me, someone else pulled the right strings.”
In the old man’s hand is a duffel bag. It’s an ordinary bag - for overnight stays. It’s meant for short trips; non-permanent. And the old man knows he will be going on a very permanent trip. “When?”
“An airplane is being readied now.”
Envy has made the old man bitter. The vagaries of fate, and why was he chosen to be the one to endure this cursed end of life. He knows the man hates himself for the envy as much as he lives in it; day and night. He knows if it had been him, he’d feel the same. But now, he is the one who envies.
The old man’s back is bent, and curved, and his rheumy eyes want to close forever. “You’ll stay with me?”
He suffers a ghost of a smile. “Like always, McKay. Like always.”
OoO
“John, you must go now.”
He stares at the body of his friend, lying on the bench, the circular photograph frame clutched tight in his hands. He wants to stay, but he can’t.
“He won’t be allowed to visit me, will he?” he asks.
She shakes her head slowly; sadly. “I’m sorry, no. This is the only way.”
Staring at her, he envies. He leans in, and kisses again, softly on the old man’s head. “Take good care of him, Athar.” He turns, and walks away.
He envies.
The End.
Author: kodiak bear
Pairing: Unspecified (for a reason!)
Word Count: 983
Envy
He’s running late. Traffic on the belt was a bitch, and no matter how many times you cussed at the cars in front, behind, and on the side, it didn’t get you there any faster.
At ten minutes after the scheduled time, he pulls into the parking lot, grabbing his brief case, jacket and bag with the presents. He’s fucking late, and it’s the worst day for it. Running into the building, he waves at the nurse.
She frowns, and looks pointedly at the institutional clock on the wall. “You’re late,” she shouts as he keeps jogging towards the elevator.
“I know,” he calls over his shoulder. “How is he?”
Folding her arms, she shakes her head and answers, “Grumpy. Good luck.”
He adjusts the brief case before he loses his grip, sliding the coat in his hand so he can hit the up button again. “Figures,” he mutters. The light drops from 12 to 11 to 10 to 9 and why is it that when you’re in a hurry it’s always at the god damn top and 3 and 4 then 2 and finally 1. He’s too close when the doors open, and has to step to the side, letting the nurses and residents exit before he can push through and in, hitting the button for the fourth floor.
Another woman calls for him to hold the car. “Lady, there’s only so much time in the world,” he says. But he holds the doors and she slides through, saying a breathless thank you.
“You visiting family?” she asks conversationally, still slightly breathless.
He glares through the lenses of his sunglasses. The bag of gifts is on the floor by his feet, and his arm holding the briefcase has his jacket folded over it. He moves his chin a little, because it’s kind of like that. Maybe. “Sure,” he says.
When the elevator dings on his floor, he lifts his bag, and leaves. She doesn’t say good bye, chance strangers passing in a moment, and she knows nothing of him and why he’s here. She wouldn’t want to know.
Walking towards the door, he can already hear the commotion. It’s all he can do to make his feet keep moving forward. The clock at the end shows he’s almost fifteen minutes late now.
“Where is he? Something happened to him and you aren’t telling me - where is he?”
“Looking for me?” he says, forcing a smile on his face.
The room smells old, and sick. Every day he visits. The man sitting in the wheelchair is wrinkled, tufts of white hair all that remain above his ears. There’s an IV running into his chest; for the chemotherapy. Any day, they say now. It doesn’t matter, if it wasn’t the cancer it would’ve been something else. Old age was ripe with possibilities for the grim reaper.
“I thought you’d forgotten -”
He smiles, and kisses the papery thin skin on the old man’s head. “I’d never forget; traffic was a real bitch.”
The nurse, a young woman, nods at him and says, “Not too long - he needs his rest.” She leaves quickly, thankful for the reprieve that his arrival has granted.
“Sleep,” the old man snarls. “It’s all I do.”
He doesn’t say anything. Instead, he pushes the wheelchair to the bed. He sits down beside him, and pulls out one of the presents from the bag. “This one is from someone special. They told me to tell you to open it last.” He pulls another and hands it to the old man. “This you can open now.”
The old man’s fingers are swollen and twisted with arthritis, and he fumbles with the paper. He reaches forward, and says, “Let me help.” He shouldn’t have wrapped any of it. It’s easy to forget sometimes.
“I can do it myself,” the old man objects.
But the old man can’t, and he helps, revealing what was inside. It’s a picture frame. Circular, with a group photograph in the middle. The man’s face tightens, and the wrinkles grow deeper. “It’s - beautiful,” the old man manages.
He takes it from the old man’s fingers and sets it on the dresser. They open a few others. There are books, and music, and a new sweater. Then the last package. When he helps the old man open it, he knows what’s in it.
“You got it,” the old man breathes.
“Not me, someone else pulled the right strings.”
In the old man’s hand is a duffel bag. It’s an ordinary bag - for overnight stays. It’s meant for short trips; non-permanent. And the old man knows he will be going on a very permanent trip. “When?”
“An airplane is being readied now.”
Envy has made the old man bitter. The vagaries of fate, and why was he chosen to be the one to endure this cursed end of life. He knows the man hates himself for the envy as much as he lives in it; day and night. He knows if it had been him, he’d feel the same. But now, he is the one who envies.
The old man’s back is bent, and curved, and his rheumy eyes want to close forever. “You’ll stay with me?”
He suffers a ghost of a smile. “Like always, McKay. Like always.”
OoO
“John, you must go now.”
He stares at the body of his friend, lying on the bench, the circular photograph frame clutched tight in his hands. He wants to stay, but he can’t.
“He won’t be allowed to visit me, will he?” he asks.
She shakes her head slowly; sadly. “I’m sorry, no. This is the only way.”
Staring at her, he envies. He leans in, and kisses again, softly on the old man’s head. “Take good care of him, Athar.” He turns, and walks away.
He envies.
The End.