[Original: Drabble] "Never Alone" [Zeke Jones, G]
Title: Never Alone
Prompt: writerverse challenge #03 march mini table of doom, prompt #12 ‘single and alone’
Word Count: 555
Rating: G
Original/Fandom: original ( Zeke Jones ‘verse)
Summary: Zeke asks a drunken question and gets a sobering answer.
Note(s): originally posted to the writerverse wv_library
Never Alone
As a rule, I didn’t drink.
I didn’t like the feeling it gave me, not the floaty tipsiness, not the lurching brain sluggishness, not the horrible achy hangover I’d gotten that one time in college and vowed never to do again.
For a moment, I thought I’d gotten there anyway, but then I realized that I’d listed forward to bang my forehead against the sturdy wooden door. I managed to get upright enough to knock properly, but the door was already opening, to reveal Howell’s scowling face.
“Hi, sir!” I said. “What are you doing here?”
“I live here,” my partner said. “And you look like hell, Jones.”
“You’re mean,” I pouted.
“You’re drunk,” he countered. “Get in here before you fall down.”
I did try, but Howell grabbed my arm to keep me upright and hauled me inside. My partner was a big guy, not overweight or even especially muscular, just broad and sturdy, but he could be incredibly gentle when he needed to be, even in wolf form. It was hard to remember that those teeth and claws could kill when he had his head in my lap, listening to me read.
“I’ll give you a demonstration, next full moon,” he said, dryly, because I must have said at least some of that out loud.
Howell steered me into chair at the kitchen table and started making coffee. We were both quiet until he set two mugs in front of us and said, “To what do I owe this drunken visit, Jones?”
I took a long slug of coffee. “I don’t know, sir,” I said, on a sigh. “My life’s going fine. I love my job. My partner’s an okay guy-” He raised his own mug in a sarcastic salute “-and really, my life is pretty good right now.”
“But…?” Howell prompted.
I’d drunk about half my coffee and he put a glass of water in front of me, so I drank half of that, too. “Everyone I knew from high school has gotten married,” I said in a rush. “And even before I became a vampire and a cop, I wasn’t exactly the kind of girl that boys asked out, you know? I wasn’t exactly the kind of girl that boys even noticed.”
I folded my arms on the table, somehow managing not to knock over the half-full mug and glass, and put my head down. “I’m twenty-eight years old, sir. Am I going to spend the next several hundred years single and alone?”
“I don’t know,” said Howell, seriously, “and absolutely not.”
“Sir…” I began, because that probably wouldn’t have made any sense even if I wasn’t drunk.
“Hezekia,” he said, still serious. “I can’t know if you’ll find love. I haven’t, and I’ve had a century head start. But you won’t be alone. I promise.”
Howell didn’t promise things lightly, and I looked up at him. “Does this mean you’ll be nicer to me when I wake up with a hangover tomorrow?”
“You mean later today,” said Howell, nodding toward the dawn light creeping into the kitchen. “And no.”
But I woke up the next morning in Howell’s guest room, to a raging hangover and the smell of my partner cooking, and I smiled.
Then, I groaned and took the two aspirin he’d left on the bedside table.
THE END
Current Mood:
mellow
Prompt: writerverse challenge #03 march mini table of doom, prompt #12 ‘single and alone’
Word Count: 555
Rating: G
Original/Fandom: original ( Zeke Jones ‘verse)
Summary: Zeke asks a drunken question and gets a sobering answer.
Note(s): originally posted to the writerverse wv_library
Never Alone
As a rule, I didn’t drink.
I didn’t like the feeling it gave me, not the floaty tipsiness, not the lurching brain sluggishness, not the horrible achy hangover I’d gotten that one time in college and vowed never to do again.
For a moment, I thought I’d gotten there anyway, but then I realized that I’d listed forward to bang my forehead against the sturdy wooden door. I managed to get upright enough to knock properly, but the door was already opening, to reveal Howell’s scowling face.
“Hi, sir!” I said. “What are you doing here?”
“I live here,” my partner said. “And you look like hell, Jones.”
“You’re mean,” I pouted.
“You’re drunk,” he countered. “Get in here before you fall down.”
I did try, but Howell grabbed my arm to keep me upright and hauled me inside. My partner was a big guy, not overweight or even especially muscular, just broad and sturdy, but he could be incredibly gentle when he needed to be, even in wolf form. It was hard to remember that those teeth and claws could kill when he had his head in my lap, listening to me read.
“I’ll give you a demonstration, next full moon,” he said, dryly, because I must have said at least some of that out loud.
Howell steered me into chair at the kitchen table and started making coffee. We were both quiet until he set two mugs in front of us and said, “To what do I owe this drunken visit, Jones?”
I took a long slug of coffee. “I don’t know, sir,” I said, on a sigh. “My life’s going fine. I love my job. My partner’s an okay guy-” He raised his own mug in a sarcastic salute “-and really, my life is pretty good right now.”
“But…?” Howell prompted.
I’d drunk about half my coffee and he put a glass of water in front of me, so I drank half of that, too. “Everyone I knew from high school has gotten married,” I said in a rush. “And even before I became a vampire and a cop, I wasn’t exactly the kind of girl that boys asked out, you know? I wasn’t exactly the kind of girl that boys even noticed.”
I folded my arms on the table, somehow managing not to knock over the half-full mug and glass, and put my head down. “I’m twenty-eight years old, sir. Am I going to spend the next several hundred years single and alone?”
“I don’t know,” said Howell, seriously, “and absolutely not.”
“Sir…” I began, because that probably wouldn’t have made any sense even if I wasn’t drunk.
“Hezekia,” he said, still serious. “I can’t know if you’ll find love. I haven’t, and I’ve had a century head start. But you won’t be alone. I promise.”
Howell didn’t promise things lightly, and I looked up at him. “Does this mean you’ll be nicer to me when I wake up with a hangover tomorrow?”
“You mean later today,” said Howell, nodding toward the dawn light creeping into the kitchen. “And no.”
But I woke up the next morning in Howell’s guest room, to a raging hangover and the smell of my partner cooking, and I smiled.
Then, I groaned and took the two aspirin he’d left on the bedside table.
THE END
Current Mood:
mellow