Redemption (1/1)
Title: Redemption
Author: WibbleyWobbley
Characters: Justin
Rating: PG
Summary: (noun) atonement for guilt
Spoilers: References various episodes from season 1-3.
Word Count: ~1,510
Disclaimer: Alas, still not mine.
Hi, my name is Justin, and I’m an addict. I’ve been clean for, uh, for just over a year now. Yeah. Um, I hope everyone here had a good Thanksgiving. I know a lot of people out there joke that they can’t get through the holidays with their families without a little chemical help. But I think we really know how that feels, huh? And I mean it when I say my Thanksgiving really sucked.
“Hey man. You listening to that tape again?”
Justin laughed self-consciously. “Yeah.”
“You gotta have that thing memorized by now.”
“Pretty close,” Justin replied as he ran his thumb over the play button of the recorder. “What are you up to?”
The other man shrugged. “Taking a walk. I need to get away from the others every now and then. Close quarters.”
“I hear you,” Justin nodded in agreement, kicking his heel against the tire of the truck he was sitting on.
With a noncommittal noise, the other man bent his head, cupping his hand around the cigarette he was lighting. Straightening again, and releasing a slow stream of smoke into the night air, he held up the pack in offering.
“No. Thanks, though. Nicotine was never my drug of choice,” Justin said, grinning slightly.
“Suit yourself. We’re heading out first thing in the morning, I hear.”
Justin slowly nodded. “Insurgents about 20 miles from here, I guess.”
“Mmm. So I’m going to get my vices in while I can.”
Justin laughed. “Good call.”
“See you.”
“Later, Joe,” Justin responded. As the other man walked away, Justin lifted the recorder again. He pressed play, smiling softly as he heard his mother’s voice begin to speak.
But there was no later for Joe, and almost not for Justin either. The mission went bad, fast. Justin did what he could, ignoring as much as possible the whine of grenades, the rat-a-tat of guns, the yelling, the dust in the hot air choking him as he hurried, crouched low, from injured soldier to injured soldier. Some he could fix; others were gone before he even got to them. But finally, finally, it was over. As the remaining surviving insurgents were subdued, Justin and the other medics worked their way through the camp. That was when Justin saw the man. He held tightly to the wound gurgling blood out between his fingers, legs squirming as he tried to find some comfortable position, some relief from the agony. Justin stopped in his tracks, and the other man looked up at him. He stared at Justin, and Justin could feel the language and culture barriers crumbling. This guy wasn’t some…he was just a guy, and he was dying. But at the same time, he was the enemy, and who knows how many of Justin’s friends he had taken with him that day. The man stared at him, pleading, begging, and Justin didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t move. And then the light went out of the man’s eyes, and he slumped down. Dead.
I wasn’t actually supposed to spend the holiday with my family this year. Everyone had made their own plans. My poor mother. Anyway, I was supposed to go to my girlfriend’s mom’s. Which kind of added insult to injury, because it wasn’t the first time a man neglected my mother for this woman. And anyway, ‘the in-laws’ - that’s bad enough, regardless, isn’t it?
Justin sat in the corner of the drunk tank, leg bouncing up and down restlessly. He looked around at the other occupants, hoping they wouldn’t take notice of him. All were burly bikers and could easily take him in a fight. He looked over at the toilet - he had already puked twice, but he certainly wasn’t going to do anything else in public.
At first, he had been too out of it to feel anything besides woozy. As he started to sober, he realized just how entirely screwed he was.
A cop walked down the aisle, stopping outside of the cell. “Kid, you can make your call now.”
Justin nodded. “’Kay,” he said quietly. He stood, wiping his hands on his thighs, and then squeezed in between a couple men standing between him and the exit. The cop gestured at them, and they moved away from the door. Justin waited as he let him out the cell, locking it behind him again, and then led him to the phone in the corner of the room. Justin took the receiver, took a deep breath. He steeled himself, then dialed a number he really didn’t want to. One ring. Two.
“Hello?”
“Kevin?”
“Justin! Where are you?! We’ve been looking all over for you.”
“Yeah…uh. Yeah, sorry, man.”
Kevin sighed. “Are you OK?”
“Yeah, I’m…no.”
“Where are you?” Kevin repeated.
“Oceanside.”
“What are you doing there?” Kevin asked in surprise.
“I’ve been arrested.”
There was a long pause.
“Kev?”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“Thanks, Kev. Can you not tell - ”
“Dream on. You think I’m covering for you when everyone’s worried out of their mind? I’m calling Kitty as soon as I hang up, and she’ll take care of the others while I go get bail money.”
Justin paused. “Fine. Whatever. I don’t care,” he lied angrily.
But it turns out we were all together anyway. My niece who…I can’t even tell you all what she means to me. There is no way to put it into words. She’s had some health problems. And she needed a liver transplant. God, she’s not even two. We got tested - a couple of us. In a way, I was relieved I wasn’t a match, if for no other reason then it’s not like I’ve taken good care of my liver, you know? Would it have even done her any good? But I would have done it in a heartbeat. She was supposed to be…she was born shortly after I got back the first time, and she was supposed to be my… I couldn’t save her life, and I hadn’t saved his. It turns out it wasn’t me, and this week, there could have been one, maybe even two more deaths on my tally, you know? And God, how selfish a thought is that? As if something that happened years ago to me even matters when she and my brothers are -
Justin finished folding his Army uniform, throwing it on the bed. He was packing relatively aimlessly, no plan in sight. He couldn’t think of anything besides what was happening at the hospital. All he could hear was the echo of his own voice, trying to be reassuring as he told Julia to breathe.
Then the phone rang. Justin stared at it. It rang once more before he finally forced himself to reach out and pick it up.
“Hello?”
“It’s Saul.”
“Hey Uncle Saul. Any news?”
“The girl is - Elizabeth, she’s doing…OK. They think she’ll make it.”
“That’s good,” Justin breathed out, relieved. There was a pause, and Justin finally asked, “William?”
“He…his organs failed. He died.”
“Oh no,” Justin replied, dazed, as he slowly sat down. He couldn’t think of what else to say. He didn’t quite realize he was even talking as he added, “OK. Thanks for calling.”
“Justin?”
He didn’t answer. He simply hung up the phone and lowered it to his lap. When his brain finally started working again, he couldn’t let himself think of Tommy or Julia. He just couldn’t. So he focused on what had happened the previous day instead. Was there something he could have done differently? Would William have survived if he had just…been better? Faster? Smarter?
But she’s going to be fine, I guess. But now we know for sure. And I don’t know if I’m happy or sad or - or jealous or relieved that she isn’t mine. That it turns out I didn’t make up for…things after all. All I know is…I want to use so badly. And frankly, it’s not because I’m confused about how I feel. And it’s not even because my niece who I love almost died. It’s not for some easy “it’s the holidays” or “my in-laws are crazy” excuse. I just want to use because I’m an addict, and I don’t need a reason. And all this…this growth that I thought I’ve gone through might not be real.
But maybe it is. Because when I get home, I have to find some medals from the Army. I gotta go to my nephew’s show-and-tell which just makes me wonder…maybe I’m pretty even after all. I watched a lot of people die, but I saved a lot of people, too, you know, and maybe I just gotta remember that. I still want to use, but I’m starting to realize I’m stronger than I think I am. It’s a struggle every day, even now, but what Elizabeth has gone through has helped me realize what real strength is. So I’m going to go home, and I’m not going to use. Not today. And for that knowledge, I’m thankful.
The End
A/N: I threw in a little nod/inside joke that some astute reader of my stories might pick up on. My eternal shock and awe for whoever figures it out first. :)
Author: WibbleyWobbley
Characters: Justin
Rating: PG
Summary: (noun) atonement for guilt
Spoilers: References various episodes from season 1-3.
Word Count: ~1,510
Disclaimer: Alas, still not mine.
Hi, my name is Justin, and I’m an addict. I’ve been clean for, uh, for just over a year now. Yeah. Um, I hope everyone here had a good Thanksgiving. I know a lot of people out there joke that they can’t get through the holidays with their families without a little chemical help. But I think we really know how that feels, huh? And I mean it when I say my Thanksgiving really sucked.
“Hey man. You listening to that tape again?”
Justin laughed self-consciously. “Yeah.”
“You gotta have that thing memorized by now.”
“Pretty close,” Justin replied as he ran his thumb over the play button of the recorder. “What are you up to?”
The other man shrugged. “Taking a walk. I need to get away from the others every now and then. Close quarters.”
“I hear you,” Justin nodded in agreement, kicking his heel against the tire of the truck he was sitting on.
With a noncommittal noise, the other man bent his head, cupping his hand around the cigarette he was lighting. Straightening again, and releasing a slow stream of smoke into the night air, he held up the pack in offering.
“No. Thanks, though. Nicotine was never my drug of choice,” Justin said, grinning slightly.
“Suit yourself. We’re heading out first thing in the morning, I hear.”
Justin slowly nodded. “Insurgents about 20 miles from here, I guess.”
“Mmm. So I’m going to get my vices in while I can.”
Justin laughed. “Good call.”
“See you.”
“Later, Joe,” Justin responded. As the other man walked away, Justin lifted the recorder again. He pressed play, smiling softly as he heard his mother’s voice begin to speak.
But there was no later for Joe, and almost not for Justin either. The mission went bad, fast. Justin did what he could, ignoring as much as possible the whine of grenades, the rat-a-tat of guns, the yelling, the dust in the hot air choking him as he hurried, crouched low, from injured soldier to injured soldier. Some he could fix; others were gone before he even got to them. But finally, finally, it was over. As the remaining surviving insurgents were subdued, Justin and the other medics worked their way through the camp. That was when Justin saw the man. He held tightly to the wound gurgling blood out between his fingers, legs squirming as he tried to find some comfortable position, some relief from the agony. Justin stopped in his tracks, and the other man looked up at him. He stared at Justin, and Justin could feel the language and culture barriers crumbling. This guy wasn’t some…he was just a guy, and he was dying. But at the same time, he was the enemy, and who knows how many of Justin’s friends he had taken with him that day. The man stared at him, pleading, begging, and Justin didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t move. And then the light went out of the man’s eyes, and he slumped down. Dead.
I wasn’t actually supposed to spend the holiday with my family this year. Everyone had made their own plans. My poor mother. Anyway, I was supposed to go to my girlfriend’s mom’s. Which kind of added insult to injury, because it wasn’t the first time a man neglected my mother for this woman. And anyway, ‘the in-laws’ - that’s bad enough, regardless, isn’t it?
Justin sat in the corner of the drunk tank, leg bouncing up and down restlessly. He looked around at the other occupants, hoping they wouldn’t take notice of him. All were burly bikers and could easily take him in a fight. He looked over at the toilet - he had already puked twice, but he certainly wasn’t going to do anything else in public.
At first, he had been too out of it to feel anything besides woozy. As he started to sober, he realized just how entirely screwed he was.
A cop walked down the aisle, stopping outside of the cell. “Kid, you can make your call now.”
Justin nodded. “’Kay,” he said quietly. He stood, wiping his hands on his thighs, and then squeezed in between a couple men standing between him and the exit. The cop gestured at them, and they moved away from the door. Justin waited as he let him out the cell, locking it behind him again, and then led him to the phone in the corner of the room. Justin took the receiver, took a deep breath. He steeled himself, then dialed a number he really didn’t want to. One ring. Two.
“Hello?”
“Kevin?”
“Justin! Where are you?! We’ve been looking all over for you.”
“Yeah…uh. Yeah, sorry, man.”
Kevin sighed. “Are you OK?”
“Yeah, I’m…no.”
“Where are you?” Kevin repeated.
“Oceanside.”
“What are you doing there?” Kevin asked in surprise.
“I’ve been arrested.”
There was a long pause.
“Kev?”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“Thanks, Kev. Can you not tell - ”
“Dream on. You think I’m covering for you when everyone’s worried out of their mind? I’m calling Kitty as soon as I hang up, and she’ll take care of the others while I go get bail money.”
Justin paused. “Fine. Whatever. I don’t care,” he lied angrily.
But it turns out we were all together anyway. My niece who…I can’t even tell you all what she means to me. There is no way to put it into words. She’s had some health problems. And she needed a liver transplant. God, she’s not even two. We got tested - a couple of us. In a way, I was relieved I wasn’t a match, if for no other reason then it’s not like I’ve taken good care of my liver, you know? Would it have even done her any good? But I would have done it in a heartbeat. She was supposed to be…she was born shortly after I got back the first time, and she was supposed to be my… I couldn’t save her life, and I hadn’t saved his. It turns out it wasn’t me, and this week, there could have been one, maybe even two more deaths on my tally, you know? And God, how selfish a thought is that? As if something that happened years ago to me even matters when she and my brothers are -
Justin finished folding his Army uniform, throwing it on the bed. He was packing relatively aimlessly, no plan in sight. He couldn’t think of anything besides what was happening at the hospital. All he could hear was the echo of his own voice, trying to be reassuring as he told Julia to breathe.
Then the phone rang. Justin stared at it. It rang once more before he finally forced himself to reach out and pick it up.
“Hello?”
“It’s Saul.”
“Hey Uncle Saul. Any news?”
“The girl is - Elizabeth, she’s doing…OK. They think she’ll make it.”
“That’s good,” Justin breathed out, relieved. There was a pause, and Justin finally asked, “William?”
“He…his organs failed. He died.”
“Oh no,” Justin replied, dazed, as he slowly sat down. He couldn’t think of what else to say. He didn’t quite realize he was even talking as he added, “OK. Thanks for calling.”
“Justin?”
He didn’t answer. He simply hung up the phone and lowered it to his lap. When his brain finally started working again, he couldn’t let himself think of Tommy or Julia. He just couldn’t. So he focused on what had happened the previous day instead. Was there something he could have done differently? Would William have survived if he had just…been better? Faster? Smarter?
But she’s going to be fine, I guess. But now we know for sure. And I don’t know if I’m happy or sad or - or jealous or relieved that she isn’t mine. That it turns out I didn’t make up for…things after all. All I know is…I want to use so badly. And frankly, it’s not because I’m confused about how I feel. And it’s not even because my niece who I love almost died. It’s not for some easy “it’s the holidays” or “my in-laws are crazy” excuse. I just want to use because I’m an addict, and I don’t need a reason. And all this…this growth that I thought I’ve gone through might not be real.
But maybe it is. Because when I get home, I have to find some medals from the Army. I gotta go to my nephew’s show-and-tell which just makes me wonder…maybe I’m pretty even after all. I watched a lot of people die, but I saved a lot of people, too, you know, and maybe I just gotta remember that. I still want to use, but I’m starting to realize I’m stronger than I think I am. It’s a struggle every day, even now, but what Elizabeth has gone through has helped me realize what real strength is. So I’m going to go home, and I’m not going to use. Not today. And for that knowledge, I’m thankful.
The End
A/N: I threw in a little nod/inside joke that some astute reader of my stories might pick up on. My eternal shock and awe for whoever figures it out first. :)