Blade Runner drabble written for consci_fan_mo 200 words, Rating PG13
Title: Still Right Here
Fandom: Blade Runner
Pairing: Deckard/Gaff (mention of Deckard/Rachel)
Rating: PG13
Notes: Written for consci_fan_mo from the lyric prompt:
Beneath the stains of time
The feelings disappear
You are someone else
I am still right here
What have I become
My sweetest friend
Everyone I know goes away
In the end.
Gaff was right.
He and Rachel could run, but time caught up with them and Deckard wasn’t ready to become one of the little people.
Back to the City, and the rain, and the filth, this time with a partner who wouldn’t leave his side, despite obscenity in every language he could muster and displays of behavior that would have him on a retirement list of his own if Bryant ever got wind of it, but somehow he never did.
One night, after retiring two pleasure models and their clients, who refused to believe they’d paid good money and ended up with skin-jobs instead of real women, the question came back.
“Why?” he asked, morosely, through a haze that was equal parts alcohol and barely sated blood-lust.
Gaff started folding, but this time bits of paper no matter how intricately constructed weren’t enough of an answer.
He snatched the paper away and crumpled it in a compact ball, but there was no velocity to be had in something so light and the fight went out of him as quickly as it had come.
Deckard put his head down on the bar.
His partner would get him home safely, once again.
Fandom: Blade Runner
Pairing: Deckard/Gaff (mention of Deckard/Rachel)
Rating: PG13
Notes: Written for consci_fan_mo from the lyric prompt:
Beneath the stains of time
The feelings disappear
You are someone else
I am still right here
What have I become
My sweetest friend
Everyone I know goes away
In the end.
Gaff was right.
He and Rachel could run, but time caught up with them and Deckard wasn’t ready to become one of the little people.
Back to the City, and the rain, and the filth, this time with a partner who wouldn’t leave his side, despite obscenity in every language he could muster and displays of behavior that would have him on a retirement list of his own if Bryant ever got wind of it, but somehow he never did.
One night, after retiring two pleasure models and their clients, who refused to believe they’d paid good money and ended up with skin-jobs instead of real women, the question came back.
“Why?” he asked, morosely, through a haze that was equal parts alcohol and barely sated blood-lust.
Gaff started folding, but this time bits of paper no matter how intricately constructed weren’t enough of an answer.
He snatched the paper away and crumpled it in a compact ball, but there was no velocity to be had in something so light and the fight went out of him as quickly as it had come.
Deckard put his head down on the bar.
His partner would get him home safely, once again.