Tin Man Blues (6/6)
dawn / morning / midday / afternoon / evening / dawn redux
(16)
There is a high pitched whistle in the distance, faint. The wind ebbs round him, warm and dry, tinged with blood and ash and oil. Under it though, is the sweet clean smell of earth. The city beneath him rolls with the grinding of gears.
He aches, but he feels safe; head nestled in someone’s lap. His body throbs, slick from cuts that are too neat, too perfect. Promises kept. Jeff’s barcode has no meaning now.
Jensen looks up and overhead, eyes of worn dirt, is Jeff. Vision clearing, Jensen can see the dawn breaking behind Jeff; the dark twilight swirls of indigo sinking into ripples of molten mercury. Jeff’s hands are sticky, covered in blood, my blood Jensen thinks, but he still threads their fingers together, and it feels like absolution. Eyes sliding shut, Jeff bends, so their foreheads touch.
Jeff says, “Collins did it.”
Says, “I thought I lost you.”
Jeff chuckles, the sound lost in Jensen’s hair. But Jensen doesn’t miss the hitch in Jeff’s breath and the tightening twitch of fingers. Instinctively Jensen reaches out and touches Jeff’s face, leaving red smudges. Jeff makes a noise, low in the throat, and shifts impossibly closer. Dirt and dust scatters onto the colossus head they’re resting on, rough soft beneath Jensen and stained with his blood.
Together, high up on the stone giant and surrounded by the twisted remains of Parliament, they watch the sun rise over the wrecked city and the now still colossi scattered throughout P-7. The soft light glints off the debris of chrome and glass, refracting the world in silver-gold hues as MCG lurches across the desert, steam engines smoking away.
And Jensen says -
wallpaper by acquiescence_
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