Alverez/Bridge fic ahoy! W/ angst.
Title: If you find me (I'll be sitting by the water fountain)
Characters: Charlie Alverez, Jer Bridge, Sgt Jackson
Prompt: "Intuition" - 15-minute-fic
Word Count: 665
Summary: “Is that…” he trailed off, biting down on the name. The name of his partner, his friend.
Rating: PG-13 [implied slash, violence]
Notes: Obviously, I wrote this quickly. The title is from Yeasayer's "2080." And yes, I know the fic just kind of, ends. Abruptly. Sorry about that!
If you find me (I'll be sitting by the water fountain)
It’s the sinking feeling in his stomach, really, that tips him off. Not the years of training he’d spent out in the field, crawling underneath barbed wire and through dilapidated sand tunnels or into bogs where the swampy water’s eye-deep.
*
“Charlie!” Jackson shouted. “I got something here!”
Alverez whipped his head around in the direction he thought he heard the Army sergeant’s voice coming from. He peered into the smoke, but saw only shades of black and gray, the outlines of decrepit furniture, no human figures in the dark haze. “Where you at, Jackson?” he called loudly, his voice distorted by the gas mask.
“Next room!”
The Marine double-timed his way through what had once been the palace’s main sitting room, now a mass grave of smoldering furniture and bodies. He used the toes of his feet to guide him through, trying not to think when his boot sank into something spongy and soft, the squelch of what he’d stepped on sickly audible over the cracking of burning wood.
He stepped through the doorway and was momentarily dazed by the blast of heat that greeted him. His eyes watered and burned from it, though the mask protected his face, but he was flooded with relief when he saw his team across the way. “What do you got?”
“Over here,” Jackson said, waving towards him.
*
It’s the tingling sense you get when you’re about to trip and there’s no one or nothing around to catch you before you fall. It’s the gut-wrenching conclusion that the world’s spinning and spinning out of control and there’s not one thing you can do to stop it.
It’s the realization that something’s about to go very, very badly.
*
Alverez came over and skidded to a stop at Jackson’s side. He stared down at the helmet in Jackson’s hands. “Is that…” he trailed off, biting down on the name. The name of his partner, his friend.
“Yeah,” Jackson said, his voice sounding heavy with something not unlike grief. “Yeah, it is. Here.” And he handed the helmet off to Alverez and looked away, scrubbing a hand over his exposed hair.
The helmet was heavy in his hands, like the feeling in Alverez’s heart. He turned it over, almost laughing at the messy surname scrawled across the bridge. No name tape, just permanent marker. He ran his fingers over the frayed fabric, over the smudged letters that spelled out his other half.
“Charlie, we got to move out,” Jackson said from behind. “Eyes in the sky say they don’t know how long the structure is going to hold.”
“Alright, yeah,” Alverez said, holding the helmet close.
“We’ll find him,” the soldier said. “We’ll get him back, you’ll see.”
Alverez chose not to respond to that, too afraid his voice might break or his resolve, even. Constantly afraid of letting something slip, of allowing something to be exposed. He nodded to the two other Marines, then to Jackson, before falling in after them. First in, last out.
*
But even the most intuitive of people can be wrong.
*
His boots pounded against the floor tiles, loud and echoing in the night, almost as loud as the blood rushing through his ears. He ran through the maze of hallways, taupe-colored and empty and god, why was the room so fucking far away?! He felt like screaming, running and screaming like some dumbass recruit in boot. ‘Got me a lookin like Gomer Pyle…’ his racing mind whispered, and, ‘117 Charlie the room number is 117...’
The steel lever was cold under his sweaty palm, but the door opened easily, revealing a small room and one other person standing at the opposite end of the room, a slim figure backed by golden sunlight filling the small windows. He blinked rapidly against a suspiciously burning feeling. There was a deafening silence as the heavy door slammed shut, as Alverez took the first steps forward.
Characters: Charlie Alverez, Jer Bridge, Sgt Jackson
Prompt: "Intuition" - 15-minute-fic
Word Count: 665
Summary: “Is that…” he trailed off, biting down on the name. The name of his partner, his friend.
Rating: PG-13 [implied slash, violence]
Notes: Obviously, I wrote this quickly. The title is from Yeasayer's "2080." And yes, I know the fic just kind of, ends. Abruptly. Sorry about that!
If you find me (I'll be sitting by the water fountain)
It’s the sinking feeling in his stomach, really, that tips him off. Not the years of training he’d spent out in the field, crawling underneath barbed wire and through dilapidated sand tunnels or into bogs where the swampy water’s eye-deep.
*
“Charlie!” Jackson shouted. “I got something here!”
Alverez whipped his head around in the direction he thought he heard the Army sergeant’s voice coming from. He peered into the smoke, but saw only shades of black and gray, the outlines of decrepit furniture, no human figures in the dark haze. “Where you at, Jackson?” he called loudly, his voice distorted by the gas mask.
“Next room!”
The Marine double-timed his way through what had once been the palace’s main sitting room, now a mass grave of smoldering furniture and bodies. He used the toes of his feet to guide him through, trying not to think when his boot sank into something spongy and soft, the squelch of what he’d stepped on sickly audible over the cracking of burning wood.
He stepped through the doorway and was momentarily dazed by the blast of heat that greeted him. His eyes watered and burned from it, though the mask protected his face, but he was flooded with relief when he saw his team across the way. “What do you got?”
“Over here,” Jackson said, waving towards him.
*
It’s the tingling sense you get when you’re about to trip and there’s no one or nothing around to catch you before you fall. It’s the gut-wrenching conclusion that the world’s spinning and spinning out of control and there’s not one thing you can do to stop it.
It’s the realization that something’s about to go very, very badly.
*
Alverez came over and skidded to a stop at Jackson’s side. He stared down at the helmet in Jackson’s hands. “Is that…” he trailed off, biting down on the name. The name of his partner, his friend.
“Yeah,” Jackson said, his voice sounding heavy with something not unlike grief. “Yeah, it is. Here.” And he handed the helmet off to Alverez and looked away, scrubbing a hand over his exposed hair.
The helmet was heavy in his hands, like the feeling in Alverez’s heart. He turned it over, almost laughing at the messy surname scrawled across the bridge. No name tape, just permanent marker. He ran his fingers over the frayed fabric, over the smudged letters that spelled out his other half.
“Charlie, we got to move out,” Jackson said from behind. “Eyes in the sky say they don’t know how long the structure is going to hold.”
“Alright, yeah,” Alverez said, holding the helmet close.
“We’ll find him,” the soldier said. “We’ll get him back, you’ll see.”
Alverez chose not to respond to that, too afraid his voice might break or his resolve, even. Constantly afraid of letting something slip, of allowing something to be exposed. He nodded to the two other Marines, then to Jackson, before falling in after them. First in, last out.
*
But even the most intuitive of people can be wrong.
*
His boots pounded against the floor tiles, loud and echoing in the night, almost as loud as the blood rushing through his ears. He ran through the maze of hallways, taupe-colored and empty and god, why was the room so fucking far away?! He felt like screaming, running and screaming like some dumbass recruit in boot. ‘Got me a lookin like Gomer Pyle…’ his racing mind whispered, and, ‘117 Charlie the room number is 117...’
The steel lever was cold under his sweaty palm, but the door opened easily, revealing a small room and one other person standing at the opposite end of the room, a slim figure backed by golden sunlight filling the small windows. He blinked rapidly against a suspiciously burning feeling. There was a deafening silence as the heavy door slammed shut, as Alverez took the first steps forward.