real life and fandom always collide (in my mind)
You know what I want? An icon with the words “beneath the sky of lust” and a Supernatural video to Richard Marx’s “ Children of the Night”. *shrugs*
Also, are there any Supernatural videos to “Locking Up The Sun?”
Yes, I finally got my Poets of the Fall CD. *glee*
I have a new job, at my college’s bookstore. I get 20% off textbooks.
So, I know I ( Read more... )
“Grandpapa!” Annabell hollers, letting the door bang shut behind her. “You have a letter!”
Leonard turns his head to watch her trump through the den. “A letter?” he asks. Someone actually used paper for something? Odd.
“Who calls you Bones?” she demands, handing off the envelope. “I thought I know everyone you know.”
Yeah, thanks for that, Starfleet. Leonard doesn’t need a keeper, even if she is his favorite great-grandchild. “You do,” he answers quietly, tired all of a sudden.
Seventy-five years. His fingers curl around the fragile paper and he bows his head.
“Bellie,” he says, “I’m gonna go lay down now.”
His legs, the traitors, try to collapse beneath him, so he suffers the indignity of needing her help, and then he clutches the envelope to his face. If he pretends hard enough, he can still smell Jim.
He doesn’t want to open it, to read whatever Jim thought important enough to send today, on his birthday. He’s done a good job moving on-seventy-five years is a damned long time.
He hasn’t been to space since they got home from that last mission. Holding the envelope, he can imagine the sky as they soar through it, dark and deep and quiet.
“You stubborn bastard,” he mutters, carefully unsealing it. “You damned fool.”
He hasn’t been Bones in seventy-five years. Reading those words in that handwriting, he’s three-quarters of a century back, shaking his head in amazement as Jim Kirk waxes poetic about some stunt he just survived.
It hurts as much as he expected, but it also feels so good-young and alive, and smiling.
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