Fic: I'm Here Now
title: I'm Here Now
pairing: Reilly/Patrick, though I wrote it as a companion piece to this Monaboyd fic, just with different characters.
rating: PG-13
warning: implied death! what fun. do I need to mention angst as well?
a/n: In my mind, this is Billy's POV of that other fic. I might get around to rewriting it as such, but then again, I'm lazy, so I might not. This is for the prompt Last Lap.
The mirror rattled a bit on the wall, beyond the mere vibrations of the plane’s flight. Reilly twisted off the tap and gripped the edge of the sink tightly, though she cringed at the thought of all the germs it was probably layered with. When the plane rumbled again, it was more noticeable, and Reilly plastered herself to the skinny door for support.
Patrick, Patrick would be worried for her, she knew. It was only minor turbulence, but he was an oddly protective sort, and would worry over the smallest things that concerned her safety and comfort. She had to get back to her seat, between him and the window, and buckle in. The turbulence wasn’t letting up.
The door didn’t seem to want to open, either, which frightened her slightly. Reilly jiggled the handle, pushed at the sliding lock, and threw her weight against the door, but it didn’t budge. She checked the seam, to make sure the door opened outward and not in.
“Hello, is there someone out there?” she called, her voice raised in moderate panic.
From outside the door, someone screamed.
Reilly hoisted herself up onto the counter and kicked at the door. “Help, help me, let me out!” she cried.
The floor tilted dramatically, throwing her against the mirror. She felt a the warm stickiness of blood on the back of her skull, but she couldn’t quite feel the pain associated with the wound. After a few seconds, the plane hadn’t righted itself, and Reilly panicked.
“Patrick!”
Though the floor leveled out again after a moment, it was obvious, even from inside the tiny, windowless stall that it was heading down. Reilly wondered if they were over the ocean by now, of still above land.
It wasn’t fair, really, that this should happen now. She and Patrick had only just met up for a long holiday together in Europe. Patrick worked in the sunny south, while she mostly lived up north, in New York. It wasn’t often they had a lot of time together. Usually long weekends and short visits. This time was different. Was going to be different, anyway.
“Patrick!” Reilly screamed again and kicked with all her might at the door. This time, it splintered, the plastic seal around the edge falling off completely and leaving a gap between the door and the wall. Frantically, Reilly jabbed at the lock, willing it to come loose, and for a wonder, it did.
She burst out into the narrow aisle and immediately fell against the opposite wall; the plane had tilted severely in the other direction. Now sporting a bloody lip as well as an aching, throbbing head wound, Reilly scratched and clung to the wall for support.
“Patrick!” It was less a scream than a shout this time, but it was lost among the ten other shouts and five other screams and eight other frightened sobs.
Reilly wrenched open the curtain dividing the first class section and the toilets and scanned the rows for Patrick’s blonde-streaked hair. The floor was shaking badly and nearly impossible to stand on anymore; she held onto an armrest on either side of the aisle and couldn’t stay upright even then.
“Reilly, oh God, Reilly,” she heard, through the cacophony of destruction around her.
Patrick’s head and shoulders appeared through a gap in the seats and in his lap was a small child, a little girl. Reilly recognized her as the girl who’d been sitting across the aisle from Patrick, whom he’d entertained with goofy faces and animal noises. He held her tightly, now, and his eyes were closed, his face wet with tears.
With a sudden jolt, the plane tipped again. Blue water was the only sight outside the windows.
Reilly rushed forward and reached for Patrick’s hand. At her touch, he opened his eyes. “It’s okay, Amy,” she heard him murmur. He was so good with kids. They could have had an amazing life together. “I’m here.”
The words were spoken to the child, but he was watching Reilly as he said them. “I’m here,” she echoed tearfully. “I’m here, now.”
pairing: Reilly/Patrick, though I wrote it as a companion piece to this Monaboyd fic, just with different characters.
rating: PG-13
warning: implied death! what fun. do I need to mention angst as well?
a/n: In my mind, this is Billy's POV of that other fic. I might get around to rewriting it as such, but then again, I'm lazy, so I might not. This is for the prompt Last Lap.
The mirror rattled a bit on the wall, beyond the mere vibrations of the plane’s flight. Reilly twisted off the tap and gripped the edge of the sink tightly, though she cringed at the thought of all the germs it was probably layered with. When the plane rumbled again, it was more noticeable, and Reilly plastered herself to the skinny door for support.
Patrick, Patrick would be worried for her, she knew. It was only minor turbulence, but he was an oddly protective sort, and would worry over the smallest things that concerned her safety and comfort. She had to get back to her seat, between him and the window, and buckle in. The turbulence wasn’t letting up.
The door didn’t seem to want to open, either, which frightened her slightly. Reilly jiggled the handle, pushed at the sliding lock, and threw her weight against the door, but it didn’t budge. She checked the seam, to make sure the door opened outward and not in.
“Hello, is there someone out there?” she called, her voice raised in moderate panic.
From outside the door, someone screamed.
Reilly hoisted herself up onto the counter and kicked at the door. “Help, help me, let me out!” she cried.
The floor tilted dramatically, throwing her against the mirror. She felt a the warm stickiness of blood on the back of her skull, but she couldn’t quite feel the pain associated with the wound. After a few seconds, the plane hadn’t righted itself, and Reilly panicked.
“Patrick!”
Though the floor leveled out again after a moment, it was obvious, even from inside the tiny, windowless stall that it was heading down. Reilly wondered if they were over the ocean by now, of still above land.
It wasn’t fair, really, that this should happen now. She and Patrick had only just met up for a long holiday together in Europe. Patrick worked in the sunny south, while she mostly lived up north, in New York. It wasn’t often they had a lot of time together. Usually long weekends and short visits. This time was different. Was going to be different, anyway.
“Patrick!” Reilly screamed again and kicked with all her might at the door. This time, it splintered, the plastic seal around the edge falling off completely and leaving a gap between the door and the wall. Frantically, Reilly jabbed at the lock, willing it to come loose, and for a wonder, it did.
She burst out into the narrow aisle and immediately fell against the opposite wall; the plane had tilted severely in the other direction. Now sporting a bloody lip as well as an aching, throbbing head wound, Reilly scratched and clung to the wall for support.
“Patrick!” It was less a scream than a shout this time, but it was lost among the ten other shouts and five other screams and eight other frightened sobs.
Reilly wrenched open the curtain dividing the first class section and the toilets and scanned the rows for Patrick’s blonde-streaked hair. The floor was shaking badly and nearly impossible to stand on anymore; she held onto an armrest on either side of the aisle and couldn’t stay upright even then.
“Reilly, oh God, Reilly,” she heard, through the cacophony of destruction around her.
Patrick’s head and shoulders appeared through a gap in the seats and in his lap was a small child, a little girl. Reilly recognized her as the girl who’d been sitting across the aisle from Patrick, whom he’d entertained with goofy faces and animal noises. He held her tightly, now, and his eyes were closed, his face wet with tears.
With a sudden jolt, the plane tipped again. Blue water was the only sight outside the windows.
Reilly rushed forward and reached for Patrick’s hand. At her touch, he opened his eyes. “It’s okay, Amy,” she heard him murmur. He was so good with kids. They could have had an amazing life together. “I’m here.”
The words were spoken to the child, but he was watching Reilly as he said them. “I’m here,” she echoed tearfully. “I’m here, now.”