Dark Blue Fic: Future Dust [Dean/Jaimie]
Author: 
siricerasi
Fandom: Dark Blue
Characters/pairings: Jaimie/Dean
Rating: T
Word count: 1116
Warnings: none
Spoilers: none
Summary: "I thought we agreed no disasters outside of work."
Author's Notes: Written for my hc_bingo prompt "Fire"
Title etc from Spanish Sahara by Foals
He gets the call in the middle of the night, waking him from his precious few hours of sleep. He growls something into the phone, rubbing at bleary eyes, but Jaimie’s words snap him fully awake in an instant.
Her place is still burning when he pulls up twenty minutes later, the entire apartment complex a bizarrely beautiful blaze of red and orange and yellow. There’re fire trucks there, at least three of them, with men in bright yellow suits crawling around like ants spraying water and how the hell do they expect to do a damn thing against that monstrosity?
He parks on autopilot, runs to the huddled mass of people milling around the trucks and ambulances, illuminated by flashing red lights. He hunts around frantically for Jaimie, calling her name, until he hears her tired response.
She’s sitting on the back of an ambulance, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders as an EMT bandages a burn on her arm. She’s pale, covered in ash and coughing, but looks to be intact other than the burn. He wants to hug her, kiss her, hold her until the pounding in his chest disappears. Except the goddamn medic is in the way.
“You okay?” he asks instead, hears his panic in the tightness of his voice. She nods wearily. He shifts around the EMT, sits beside her with a hand on her shoulder. “What the hell happened?”
She shrugs. “Kid next door was freaking out, I went in to get him and the ceiling fell on me.”
“The ceiling fell on you,” he repeats, stupidly. “Right.” He realizes her hair is singed, and his grip tightens. A few inches to the right… “You sure you’re okay?”
She smiles, a sad stretch of lips. “I’m fine, Dean. Really. Just a little burned.”
“Jeezus.” He slips his arm around her shoulders, kissing the side of her head as he holds her tightly to his side. “I thought we agreed no disasters outside of work.”
She turns her face a little into his shoulder, closing her eyes. “Yeah. Sorry about that.” Dean sighs, rubbing her arm through the blanket. The medic finishes bandaging her forearm with a smile.
“There you go. That kid is lucky you were there.” Jaimie makes a noise that sounds vaguely agreeing as he leaves.
With the EMT gone, Dean turns a little toward Jaimie, touching the white gauze carefully. “Always the hero, hmm?”
She winces, although his fingers skim too lightly to cause any pain. Mutters, “Occupational hazard,” and coughs. He laughs harshly.
“Sure it is. Carter’s really rubbing off on you.” He shouldn’t’ve said it, but it’s late (early?) and he’s more pumped up on adrenaline than he is on a case and he’s scared and worried and dammit.
She pulls away, huddled in the dark blanket that brings out the ash on her skin. “You can go,” she tells him, voice disturbingly steady. “I’m fine.”
He snorts. “Sure you are. Where’re you planning on staying?” It comes out harsher than he’d meant, and her shoulders slump even more.
Dammit.
“It’s not like I haven’t been homeless before,” she states dully. It stops his heart for a moment, lodges in his throat and makes it difficult to breathe. She must see something on his face, because she shrugs. “I’ll stay at a hotel or something. Don’t worry about it. Go.” She waves a hand, white bandage glimmering red in the flashing lights, and he snaps.
“You’re kidding, right?” He almost growls it. “Jaimie, you called me. You’re not gonna stay at a fucking motel.”
Why the hell are they arguing, of all things?
She glares, opens her mouth to say something, and he kisses her. She tastes like smoke and embers and he has an irrational desire to suck it all away, breathe clean air into her lungs.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, tracing his lips along her jaw. “I’m sorry, baby.” He wraps his arms around her huddled form, tucks her under his chin like he’s needed to from the moment she called. “I’m just worried,” he murmurs, combing his fingers gently through her tangled hair. “You probably saved that kid’s life, but I only care about yours.”
She shudders, pulls back with a small smile. “You sure you’re a cop?”
“You first, then everyone else.” He doesn’t hesitate, and she blushes. With the smudges on her face and the red siren lights cycling across her skin, she almost looks like she’s on fire, and it wrenches his gut. “C’mon, sweetheart, let’s get back to my place. Clean you up. You can stay as long as you need, you know that.” She nods absently, staring back at the burning building with such sad eyes that he can’t help tugging her back to his chest.
“Everything I had was in there,” she mumbles into his shirt. He feels his throat close over, shuts his eyes in an attempt to push back the flood of emotion.
“I know.” He starts to rub her back, feels her trembling a little as the initial adrenaline starts to wear off. “Deep breaths, honey,” he murmurs. She obeys, fingers clenching unconsciously in his jeans. “Besides, not quite everything. I’m sure there are a few bras on my floor somewhere.” She tries to laugh, a choked little sound that tears at him in ways he doesn’t even try to understand. All he knows is he needs to get her away from this wreck.
“Come on, sweetheart,” he prods gently. “There’s nothing you can do here tonight, let me take you to my place. Please.” She nods against him, but doesn’t move. With a small sigh he gives in, kisses the top of her head as he tightens his arms around her. “You’re gonna be okay,” he whispers. “You have a place with me, whatever happens. You know that, right?
“I know,” she mumbles into his shirt. Her nails scratch his skin as her fingers tighten their grip. “I know.”
She coughs, a horrible rasping sound he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget. He soothes his fingers along her spine, whispers, “Breathe.” Behind her the fire still blazes, a terrifying mass of writhing flames so strong he can hear them crackle, can feel the heat. He thinks of Jaimie in the middle of that and feels a rush of panic; it’d been close, too damn close.
“Let’s go,” he chokes, pleadingly. “Please, Jaimie, let’s go.” She must hear the terror in his voice because she nods, slowly lifts her head and slides off the edge of the ambulance. When she turns to stare back at the blaze he grabs her arm, shakes his head. “Don’t,” he murmurs. “Come on.”
They don’t look back.
now the waves they drag you down
carry you to broken ground
though i'll find you in the sand
wipe you clean with dirty hands
so god damn this boiling space
siricerasi
Fandom: Dark Blue
Characters/pairings: Jaimie/Dean
Rating: T
Word count: 1116
Warnings: none
Spoilers: none
Summary: "I thought we agreed no disasters outside of work."
Author's Notes: Written for my hc_bingo prompt "Fire"
Title etc from Spanish Sahara by Foals
He gets the call in the middle of the night, waking him from his precious few hours of sleep. He growls something into the phone, rubbing at bleary eyes, but Jaimie’s words snap him fully awake in an instant.
Her place is still burning when he pulls up twenty minutes later, the entire apartment complex a bizarrely beautiful blaze of red and orange and yellow. There’re fire trucks there, at least three of them, with men in bright yellow suits crawling around like ants spraying water and how the hell do they expect to do a damn thing against that monstrosity?
He parks on autopilot, runs to the huddled mass of people milling around the trucks and ambulances, illuminated by flashing red lights. He hunts around frantically for Jaimie, calling her name, until he hears her tired response.
She’s sitting on the back of an ambulance, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders as an EMT bandages a burn on her arm. She’s pale, covered in ash and coughing, but looks to be intact other than the burn. He wants to hug her, kiss her, hold her until the pounding in his chest disappears. Except the goddamn medic is in the way.
“You okay?” he asks instead, hears his panic in the tightness of his voice. She nods wearily. He shifts around the EMT, sits beside her with a hand on her shoulder. “What the hell happened?”
She shrugs. “Kid next door was freaking out, I went in to get him and the ceiling fell on me.”
“The ceiling fell on you,” he repeats, stupidly. “Right.” He realizes her hair is singed, and his grip tightens. A few inches to the right… “You sure you’re okay?”
She smiles, a sad stretch of lips. “I’m fine, Dean. Really. Just a little burned.”
“Jeezus.” He slips his arm around her shoulders, kissing the side of her head as he holds her tightly to his side. “I thought we agreed no disasters outside of work.”
She turns her face a little into his shoulder, closing her eyes. “Yeah. Sorry about that.” Dean sighs, rubbing her arm through the blanket. The medic finishes bandaging her forearm with a smile.
“There you go. That kid is lucky you were there.” Jaimie makes a noise that sounds vaguely agreeing as he leaves.
With the EMT gone, Dean turns a little toward Jaimie, touching the white gauze carefully. “Always the hero, hmm?”
She winces, although his fingers skim too lightly to cause any pain. Mutters, “Occupational hazard,” and coughs. He laughs harshly.
“Sure it is. Carter’s really rubbing off on you.” He shouldn’t’ve said it, but it’s late (early?) and he’s more pumped up on adrenaline than he is on a case and he’s scared and worried and dammit.
She pulls away, huddled in the dark blanket that brings out the ash on her skin. “You can go,” she tells him, voice disturbingly steady. “I’m fine.”
He snorts. “Sure you are. Where’re you planning on staying?” It comes out harsher than he’d meant, and her shoulders slump even more.
Dammit.
“It’s not like I haven’t been homeless before,” she states dully. It stops his heart for a moment, lodges in his throat and makes it difficult to breathe. She must see something on his face, because she shrugs. “I’ll stay at a hotel or something. Don’t worry about it. Go.” She waves a hand, white bandage glimmering red in the flashing lights, and he snaps.
“You’re kidding, right?” He almost growls it. “Jaimie, you called me. You’re not gonna stay at a fucking motel.”
Why the hell are they arguing, of all things?
She glares, opens her mouth to say something, and he kisses her. She tastes like smoke and embers and he has an irrational desire to suck it all away, breathe clean air into her lungs.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, tracing his lips along her jaw. “I’m sorry, baby.” He wraps his arms around her huddled form, tucks her under his chin like he’s needed to from the moment she called. “I’m just worried,” he murmurs, combing his fingers gently through her tangled hair. “You probably saved that kid’s life, but I only care about yours.”
She shudders, pulls back with a small smile. “You sure you’re a cop?”
“You first, then everyone else.” He doesn’t hesitate, and she blushes. With the smudges on her face and the red siren lights cycling across her skin, she almost looks like she’s on fire, and it wrenches his gut. “C’mon, sweetheart, let’s get back to my place. Clean you up. You can stay as long as you need, you know that.” She nods absently, staring back at the burning building with such sad eyes that he can’t help tugging her back to his chest.
“Everything I had was in there,” she mumbles into his shirt. He feels his throat close over, shuts his eyes in an attempt to push back the flood of emotion.
“I know.” He starts to rub her back, feels her trembling a little as the initial adrenaline starts to wear off. “Deep breaths, honey,” he murmurs. She obeys, fingers clenching unconsciously in his jeans. “Besides, not quite everything. I’m sure there are a few bras on my floor somewhere.” She tries to laugh, a choked little sound that tears at him in ways he doesn’t even try to understand. All he knows is he needs to get her away from this wreck.
“Come on, sweetheart,” he prods gently. “There’s nothing you can do here tonight, let me take you to my place. Please.” She nods against him, but doesn’t move. With a small sigh he gives in, kisses the top of her head as he tightens his arms around her. “You’re gonna be okay,” he whispers. “You have a place with me, whatever happens. You know that, right?
“I know,” she mumbles into his shirt. Her nails scratch his skin as her fingers tighten their grip. “I know.”
She coughs, a horrible rasping sound he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget. He soothes his fingers along her spine, whispers, “Breathe.” Behind her the fire still blazes, a terrifying mass of writhing flames so strong he can hear them crackle, can feel the heat. He thinks of Jaimie in the middle of that and feels a rush of panic; it’d been close, too damn close.
“Let’s go,” he chokes, pleadingly. “Please, Jaimie, let’s go.” She must hear the terror in his voice because she nods, slowly lifts her head and slides off the edge of the ambulance. When she turns to stare back at the blaze he grabs her arm, shakes his head. “Don’t,” he murmurs. “Come on.”
They don’t look back.
now the waves they drag you down
carry you to broken ground
though i'll find you in the sand
wipe you clean with dirty hands
so god damn this boiling space