Holding On & Letting Go
Title: Holding On & Letting Go
Author: goodtwin
Pairing: Wordy/Greg
Rating: PG13
Summary: post 'The Fortress'
Disclaimer: None of the following is true in any way, and no profit is made from this work of fiction. Also I haven't written fan-fic in a long, looooooooong time.
Greg looked down at the file again, after Ed had gone, and rubbed his eyes. Ed was right. He could do without spending another night alone. It wasn't Sylvia that he called, though. Truth be told he probably wouldn't, not again. Too complicated, maybe even more complicated than who he did call.
+
Wordy watched Sam go, with a good idea of why. He laughed absently at something Spike said, but his phone was ringing and he was pretty sure he knew why, and who it was.
"Yeah, Sarge," he answered, even though he'd moved well out of earshot to take the call. He listened to the three words that Greg managed, and nodded. "On my way."
To a chorus of groans, Wordy informed the others that he wouldn't be going drinking with them, and that he'd see them bright and early in the morning instead. He went down to his car, digging in his pockets for the keys and knowing that Greg would be about ten minutes behind him. Gave him time to stop for food, and he was thinking something that could be fed from fingers.
+
By the time he made it to Greg's, the house was already lit up. He ran up the porch steps, bag of food in one hand and a six pack in the other, and the door opened even before he needed to juggle things to knock.
Greg said nothing, but Wordy was used to that. Too much time spent talking at work, he thought. Behind these doors, the world outside didn't need to exist.
Greg fetched plates and they piled the food onto just one and stood in half awkward silence for a minute before Wordy sat on the couch and offered space to Greg, who sank gratefully into it.
"A lot of crap you're carrying there. Need to offload some?"
Wordy was already uncapping a couple of beers, gave one to Greg who sighed, and drank.
"I guess it's harder when you can't see them face to face, isn't it?" Wordy knew he'd nailed it as soon as Greg put the bottle down on the floor and reached for food, silently pulling Wordy's arm across his chest. This was hard for Greg, and they both knew it. But it hadn't stopped them so far.
"Some days go that way. We control situations, not people."
"I'm supposed to at least-"
"Unless you're psychic, there's no way you can know for sure. You've said it yourself, handbook be damned, there are no hard and fast rules. Just people, and reasons - however twisted the reasons get sometimes. Now, we're going to eat and watch what's left of the game, and you're going to let it go."
Wordy felt Greg stroke the edge of his thumb, and relaxed.
"And here I thought I was the boss."
"Delusions of grandeur, Sarge." Wordy grinned, taking a piece of duck off the plate to offer to Greg's mouth.
"Seriously?"
"Seriously. Eat."
He managed to feed Greg only a few more pieces before they both started to squirm. Wordy laughed, refusing to pick off any more of the duck. "After the game, Sarge."
"Sure, sure. Appetizer?"
Wordy wondered then just how much hockey he'd actually get to see, but obliged anyway, turning Greg's head enough that lips could be reached, duck grease and all. Kissed him, trying to ease the last traces of the day from him through his mouth. It would take more than a kiss though, he knew that.
"Thanks for coming," Greg said quietly, picking again at what was on the plate.
"What else was I going to do? You needed me."
Author: goodtwin
Pairing: Wordy/Greg
Rating: PG13
Summary: post 'The Fortress'
Disclaimer: None of the following is true in any way, and no profit is made from this work of fiction. Also I haven't written fan-fic in a long, looooooooong time.
Greg looked down at the file again, after Ed had gone, and rubbed his eyes. Ed was right. He could do without spending another night alone. It wasn't Sylvia that he called, though. Truth be told he probably wouldn't, not again. Too complicated, maybe even more complicated than who he did call.
+
Wordy watched Sam go, with a good idea of why. He laughed absently at something Spike said, but his phone was ringing and he was pretty sure he knew why, and who it was.
"Yeah, Sarge," he answered, even though he'd moved well out of earshot to take the call. He listened to the three words that Greg managed, and nodded. "On my way."
To a chorus of groans, Wordy informed the others that he wouldn't be going drinking with them, and that he'd see them bright and early in the morning instead. He went down to his car, digging in his pockets for the keys and knowing that Greg would be about ten minutes behind him. Gave him time to stop for food, and he was thinking something that could be fed from fingers.
+
By the time he made it to Greg's, the house was already lit up. He ran up the porch steps, bag of food in one hand and a six pack in the other, and the door opened even before he needed to juggle things to knock.
Greg said nothing, but Wordy was used to that. Too much time spent talking at work, he thought. Behind these doors, the world outside didn't need to exist.
Greg fetched plates and they piled the food onto just one and stood in half awkward silence for a minute before Wordy sat on the couch and offered space to Greg, who sank gratefully into it.
"A lot of crap you're carrying there. Need to offload some?"
Wordy was already uncapping a couple of beers, gave one to Greg who sighed, and drank.
"I guess it's harder when you can't see them face to face, isn't it?" Wordy knew he'd nailed it as soon as Greg put the bottle down on the floor and reached for food, silently pulling Wordy's arm across his chest. This was hard for Greg, and they both knew it. But it hadn't stopped them so far.
"Some days go that way. We control situations, not people."
"I'm supposed to at least-"
"Unless you're psychic, there's no way you can know for sure. You've said it yourself, handbook be damned, there are no hard and fast rules. Just people, and reasons - however twisted the reasons get sometimes. Now, we're going to eat and watch what's left of the game, and you're going to let it go."
Wordy felt Greg stroke the edge of his thumb, and relaxed.
"And here I thought I was the boss."
"Delusions of grandeur, Sarge." Wordy grinned, taking a piece of duck off the plate to offer to Greg's mouth.
"Seriously?"
"Seriously. Eat."
He managed to feed Greg only a few more pieces before they both started to squirm. Wordy laughed, refusing to pick off any more of the duck. "After the game, Sarge."
"Sure, sure. Appetizer?"
Wordy wondered then just how much hockey he'd actually get to see, but obliged anyway, turning Greg's head enough that lips could be reached, duck grease and all. Kissed him, trying to ease the last traces of the day from him through his mouth. It would take more than a kiss though, he knew that.
"Thanks for coming," Greg said quietly, picking again at what was on the plate.
"What else was I going to do? You needed me."