ugh
Head colds apparently lead to lounging around in bed, mainlining NCIS and Criminal Minds and coughing my head off. I think I told J at one point that I wished Gibbs was my dad. And I giggled. And then I snuggled him and said, or your dad, or my boss, or just around to give me hugs. Or kisses to the temple.
Here is something I wrote to be a sequel to The Hours Have Changed, centered around Victoria, that will probably never ever be finished:
It’s pouring.
Victoria’s skirt is plastered to her thighs, but she doesn’t bother hurrying - it’s a warm rain, and she’s completely drenched already anyway. She flicks her hair out of her eyes, licks water off the top of her lip, and tries to remember why she hadn’t just stayed at Travie’s.
William. Right.
He’d never actually told her what happened with Gabe, but she thinks she can figure it out - Gabe fucked off, and Victoria’s left to pick up the pieces. William’s doing a lot better - he really had never been doing bad, there’d just been a resigned sadness about him, like Gabe had eaten his puppy - but she doesn’t like to leave him alone all night.
Her fucking eyelashes are heavy, and she pauses to shuck off her heels, fingers caught in the sling backs, when the sky fucking-opens. Thunder, lightning, and then there’s an explosion in the sidewalk ten feet away from her - she flinches back, covering her face, feels grit pepper her bare arms and legs. When she lowers her hand, there’s a hole in the concrete. A giant fucking smoking hole. The rain slows to a trickle as she stands there, stunned - it’s late, the streets in this part of town are practically deserted because of the weather, but somebody other than her should have heard that, right?
Victoria can hear the subtle shift of concrete now, with the rain barely a hush, and because she’s obviously a god damn masochist, she takes a step toward the hole - there’s a groan, and then a hand, white-knuckled and bloody, curls over the edge. She notices the shadow of a wing.
“Fucking fuck,” she says, voice strangled.
There are wide and dazed brown eyes, curls flattened over a pale forehead - he manages to pull himself out of the crater before collapsing onto the sidewalk, panting. He rolls onto his back, and Victoria ends up hovering over him, unsure.
He says, “That wasn’t. That wasn’t supposed to happen.”
Victoria says, “No shit?” and fights off a hysterical giggle. Her life.
He presses his hands flat to his chest and says, “Oh no,” his eyes even wider with budding panic.
“Dude.” Victoria leans down and grasps one of his hands, and he lets her help him gain his feet. “What the fuck?”
“Um.” He overbalances and stumbles and his wings flare out; Victoria feels the whoosh of air along her entire body and ducks her head, mind’s eye painting them this shining pure white before she shakes it off - Gabe warned her about that, after meeting Michael.
“Um,” he says again.
She looks up at him; he’s still got panic written all over his face, but he squares his shoulders.
He says, “So, um, this probably attracted a lot of demons.”
“Awesome,” Victoria says. “I guess you want to see William?”
He tilts his head curiously. “Who?”
Victoria rolls her eyes. “C’mon, my apartment’s two blocks this way.” She hooks her thumb over her shoulder. It’s not like she can just leave him there.
*
The kid, angel, whatever, balks at the base of the front stoop. He steps back and Victoria doesn’t bother grabbing his wrist, because she’s pretty sure he could just tear her fingers off if he really wanted to get away. He says, “Demon,” in this breathless voice.
“Not anymore.” It’s been six months, but it figures that Gabe’s presence is still stamped all over this place; they’d had a long run. “Seriously, he’s gone, but he wasn’t that bad to begin with.”
He eyes her warily, biting his lower lip.
Victoria is wet, and exhausted, and there are too many fucking angels her life. She starts up the steps and tosses over her shoulder, “It’s not a trap, but do what you fucking want, okay?”
She really isn’t all that surprised when he hesitantly follows her inside.
Here is something I wrote to be a sequel to The Hours Have Changed, centered around Victoria, that will probably never ever be finished:
It’s pouring.
Victoria’s skirt is plastered to her thighs, but she doesn’t bother hurrying - it’s a warm rain, and she’s completely drenched already anyway. She flicks her hair out of her eyes, licks water off the top of her lip, and tries to remember why she hadn’t just stayed at Travie’s.
William. Right.
He’d never actually told her what happened with Gabe, but she thinks she can figure it out - Gabe fucked off, and Victoria’s left to pick up the pieces. William’s doing a lot better - he really had never been doing bad, there’d just been a resigned sadness about him, like Gabe had eaten his puppy - but she doesn’t like to leave him alone all night.
Her fucking eyelashes are heavy, and she pauses to shuck off her heels, fingers caught in the sling backs, when the sky fucking-opens. Thunder, lightning, and then there’s an explosion in the sidewalk ten feet away from her - she flinches back, covering her face, feels grit pepper her bare arms and legs. When she lowers her hand, there’s a hole in the concrete. A giant fucking smoking hole. The rain slows to a trickle as she stands there, stunned - it’s late, the streets in this part of town are practically deserted because of the weather, but somebody other than her should have heard that, right?
Victoria can hear the subtle shift of concrete now, with the rain barely a hush, and because she’s obviously a god damn masochist, she takes a step toward the hole - there’s a groan, and then a hand, white-knuckled and bloody, curls over the edge. She notices the shadow of a wing.
“Fucking fuck,” she says, voice strangled.
There are wide and dazed brown eyes, curls flattened over a pale forehead - he manages to pull himself out of the crater before collapsing onto the sidewalk, panting. He rolls onto his back, and Victoria ends up hovering over him, unsure.
He says, “That wasn’t. That wasn’t supposed to happen.”
Victoria says, “No shit?” and fights off a hysterical giggle. Her life.
He presses his hands flat to his chest and says, “Oh no,” his eyes even wider with budding panic.
“Dude.” Victoria leans down and grasps one of his hands, and he lets her help him gain his feet. “What the fuck?”
“Um.” He overbalances and stumbles and his wings flare out; Victoria feels the whoosh of air along her entire body and ducks her head, mind’s eye painting them this shining pure white before she shakes it off - Gabe warned her about that, after meeting Michael.
“Um,” he says again.
She looks up at him; he’s still got panic written all over his face, but he squares his shoulders.
He says, “So, um, this probably attracted a lot of demons.”
“Awesome,” Victoria says. “I guess you want to see William?”
He tilts his head curiously. “Who?”
Victoria rolls her eyes. “C’mon, my apartment’s two blocks this way.” She hooks her thumb over her shoulder. It’s not like she can just leave him there.
*
The kid, angel, whatever, balks at the base of the front stoop. He steps back and Victoria doesn’t bother grabbing his wrist, because she’s pretty sure he could just tear her fingers off if he really wanted to get away. He says, “Demon,” in this breathless voice.
“Not anymore.” It’s been six months, but it figures that Gabe’s presence is still stamped all over this place; they’d had a long run. “Seriously, he’s gone, but he wasn’t that bad to begin with.”
He eyes her warily, biting his lower lip.
Victoria is wet, and exhausted, and there are too many fucking angels her life. She starts up the steps and tosses over her shoulder, “It’s not a trap, but do what you fucking want, okay?”
She really isn’t all that surprised when he hesitantly follows her inside.