fic: uninspired by events
originally, this was going to be a lot longer. but i have a gazillion half-done fics on my desktop and i needed to post something before new years.
uninspired by events
spooks jo, adam (jo/adam) pg
afterwards, he looks at her and tries to smile
“You can smile, you know.”
“I’m nervous.”
He grins, “You should be. Doesn’t mean you can’t smile, though.”
When he walks away she shakes her head. Bites her lip.
Afterwards, he looks at her and tries to smile when he reaches for her hand.
“I’m so sorry.” She says and tries to breathe, curling her fingers around his. His hand is soft, warm, over hers, and it’s almost familiar.
He lets the silence settle for a second, folding the post-it note in his fingers.
“It wasn’t your fault,” he starts, “You were good.”
She shakes her head, scoffs. “Someone died. That’s good to you?” It feels unfinished, but she can’t think of anything more to say. She stares, glassy-eyed, at the table. The wood’s shiny, reflecting the dull lights. The phone blinks red light in the centre of the table, the dot blurred by the tears she won’t let fall.
“You saved hundreds of innocent people. Hundreds. People with friends, children,” he pauses and swallows, “mothers.”
Jo looks away, biting her lip hard and tasting something like karma, she’d like to think.
But she doesn’t move her hand.
end.
uninspired by events
spooks jo, adam (jo/adam) pg
afterwards, he looks at her and tries to smile
“You can smile, you know.”
“I’m nervous.”
He grins, “You should be. Doesn’t mean you can’t smile, though.”
When he walks away she shakes her head. Bites her lip.
Afterwards, he looks at her and tries to smile when he reaches for her hand.
“I’m so sorry.” She says and tries to breathe, curling her fingers around his. His hand is soft, warm, over hers, and it’s almost familiar.
He lets the silence settle for a second, folding the post-it note in his fingers.
“It wasn’t your fault,” he starts, “You were good.”
She shakes her head, scoffs. “Someone died. That’s good to you?” It feels unfinished, but she can’t think of anything more to say. She stares, glassy-eyed, at the table. The wood’s shiny, reflecting the dull lights. The phone blinks red light in the centre of the table, the dot blurred by the tears she won’t let fall.
“You saved hundreds of innocent people. Hundreds. People with friends, children,” he pauses and swallows, “mothers.”
Jo looks away, biting her lip hard and tasting something like karma, she’d like to think.
But she doesn’t move her hand.
end.