Lost Voice
Title: Lost Voice
Author: paracaerouvoar
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: CSI: Miami
Pairing: Speed/someone
Summary: He's gone, and he's never coming back, and you'll never hear his voice again.
Warning: Death. Buckets of depressing.
You were composed at the funeral, but on the inside you were hollow, grief eating at your insides like a cancer, destroying you slowly, ravaging your heart, your lungs, until there is nothing left, a torn and tattered hole in your chest, like the bullet wound who claimed your love's life.
Later, in your apartment, the one you had shared with him, you let the grief out, wanting to shed a tear for your lost love's voice. Never again would you hear his deep gravely tone waking up next to him, his rumbling laughter spreading through the crime lab like wildfire. Never again will you hear him singing in the shower to some God awful rock band, his baritone voice audible even outside on the balcony.
But no tears come. It's as if this cancer has eaten them as well, leaving you a shell.
The phone rings, out of the shadows. You ignore it, trying to summon up one tiny shred of sadness, one visible sign of mourning instead of the dull look in your eyes. The machine picks up, and a lump appears in your throat as you listen to the message. 'Hey, you've reached Speed and-' A choking sob rips through you, an empty sound in a suddenly too big apartment. You dive for the phone, tearing the plug out of the socket, halting the message, pausing his voice indefinitely. You hug the machine to your chest, crouched in the corner, slumping against the wall.
A solitary tear drips its way down your face. The grieving has begun. Now you can begin to heal, and maybe someday you'll hear something that fills the hollow left by your love's lost voice.
Author: paracaerouvoar
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: CSI: Miami
Pairing: Speed/someone
Summary: He's gone, and he's never coming back, and you'll never hear his voice again.
Warning: Death. Buckets of depressing.
You were composed at the funeral, but on the inside you were hollow, grief eating at your insides like a cancer, destroying you slowly, ravaging your heart, your lungs, until there is nothing left, a torn and tattered hole in your chest, like the bullet wound who claimed your love's life.
Later, in your apartment, the one you had shared with him, you let the grief out, wanting to shed a tear for your lost love's voice. Never again would you hear his deep gravely tone waking up next to him, his rumbling laughter spreading through the crime lab like wildfire. Never again will you hear him singing in the shower to some God awful rock band, his baritone voice audible even outside on the balcony.
But no tears come. It's as if this cancer has eaten them as well, leaving you a shell.
The phone rings, out of the shadows. You ignore it, trying to summon up one tiny shred of sadness, one visible sign of mourning instead of the dull look in your eyes. The machine picks up, and a lump appears in your throat as you listen to the message. 'Hey, you've reached Speed and-' A choking sob rips through you, an empty sound in a suddenly too big apartment. You dive for the phone, tearing the plug out of the socket, halting the message, pausing his voice indefinitely. You hug the machine to your chest, crouched in the corner, slumping against the wall.
A solitary tear drips its way down your face. The grieving has begun. Now you can begin to heal, and maybe someday you'll hear something that fills the hollow left by your love's lost voice.