The Unit fic: Second Guesses and Fools' Errands (pg-13)
Title: Second Guesses and Fools' Errands
Author: sabaceanbabe
Rating: PG-13 for language
Word count: 950
Character: Charles “Betty Blue” Grey
Spoilers: for 3.7 “Five Brothers”
Author’s note: Unbetaed. If anyone wants to take a stab at it, feel free. I’m always open for suggestions and improvement. This was written for jebbypal, ‘cause she’s awesome.
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Walking After Midnight
Patsy Cline
(Don Hecht/Alan Block)
I go out walking after midnight
Out in the moonlight just like we used to do
I'm always walking after midnight searching for you
I walk for miles along the highway
Well that's just my way of saying I love you
I'm always walking after midnight searching for you
I stopped to see a weeping willow
Crying on his pillow maybe he's crying for me
And as the skies turn gloomy
Night blooms will whisper to me I'm lonesome as I can be
I go out walking after midnight out in the moonlight
Just hoping maybe you're somewhere walking after midnight searching for me
I stopped to see a weeping willow
Crying on his pillow maybe he's crying for me
And as the skies turn gloomy
Night blooms will whisper to me I'm lonesome as I can be
I'm out walking after midnight out in the moonlight
Just hoping maybe you're somewhere walking after midnight searching for me
-----------------------
The key turned in the lock, then stuck fast. Grey jiggled it back and forth, up and down then up again, turning it one more time as he performed that last part of the dance. With a soft click, the lock surrendered and he was able to swing the door to the apartment open wide. Leaning down to grab the strap of his duffle, he very carefully avoided looking at the names on the mailbox beside the door.
Muscles flexed and stitches pulled at still-raw skin as he lifted the bag and shuffled through the door. He let the bag slip from his fingers and flipped the switch, turning on the overhead light in the living room. Light flooded the small apartment, chasing away the shadows.
"Damn, Hector! What'd you put in there? A 1500 watt flood light?"
Hector laughed as Grey slipped his shades over his eyes again. Throwing the box the bulb had come in at his head, he retorted, "Quit whining, Betty. You're just not used to real light after that girly pink bulb you had in it."
Grey read the box he'd caught -- 100 watts, natural light -- and fired it back at Hector, aiming straight between his eyes. "It wasn't 'girly pink.' It was supposed to be tinted to be better for reading."
Hector batted the box away at the last second, still laughing. But he sobered abruptly. "Wait a minute. You can read?"
Grey closed his eyes tightly for a second, ignoring the burning behind them, then he tossed the keys into the little bowl of pennies and nickels that sat a bit off-center on the table beside the door. There was a stack of envelopes next to the bowl, bills waiting for stamps so they could be mailed out.
Leaving the duffle where it lay, he shrugged out of his jacket and hung it on its accustomed peg, again doing his best to ignore the empty peg where Hector's jacket would normally hang. His shoulder felt like it had ignited with the movement, but he welcomed the distraction the pain provided.
The kitchen was just as they'd left it, clean dishes in the rack beside the sink, newspaper strewn in sections across the table. He pulled the section with the half-finished crossword puzzle toward him.
"Man, why do you do those things in ink?"
Grey looked up at Hector, standing over his shoulder, dishtowel in hand. "Why do you ask me that every time I do a puzzle?"
Despite his constant bitching at Grey doing the crosswords in ink, Hector had finished this one off in ink. Grey’d left it here deliberately to give himself something to do when he got back from their last mission.
Their last mission. He laughed, a little bitter, a lot heart sore. Who knew it would really be their last?
“Dammit, Hector,” he said aloud and turned away, leaving the newspaper sections where they lay.
He opened the refrigerator door and grabbed a beer. He didn’t really want the thing, but he didn’t know what else to do. Twisting the top off, he tossed it into the recycle bin by the back door to join the others already there, the metallic jingle as it hit too cheerful for his current mood.
Everything in the apartment’s small living room was just as they’d left it, not that Grey expected anything else. He dropped into the overstuffed recliner where he usually sat and took a swig from the bottle. Maybe he hadn’t consciously wanted the beer when he’d take it from the fridge, but it was definitely welcome, sliding down his throat, cold and a little scratchy from the carbonation. He set the bottle down on the table, taking up the universal remote instead and flicking on the stereo.
There was a brief delay and then music blasted into the room. If he wasn’t sitting, he would’ve jumped.
I go out walking after midnight / Out in the moonlight just like we used to do
Patsy Cline’s dulcet tones swirled around him as he hit the down-volume button, taking the sound to a human level.
Grey heard the strains of Patsy Cline’s Walking After Midnight long before he reached the front door. Hector’d had the day off and had clearly beat him home. Grey opened the door and switched on the light, but before he could say anything about the volume, Hector said, “God, man, don’t you just love her voice?”
He was sitting in Grey’s chair, feet up on the raised footrest, a contented smile covering his face.
“I might love it if I could actually hear it,” Grey shot at him, sifting through the mail on the hall table. “Why you gotta play it so loud, man?”
Hector laughed. “You sound like my grandmother.”
Gripping the beer bottle tightly, Grey whispered, “Oh, God. What am I gonna say to Grandmother Williams?” Yeah, the military brass would actually notify her as Hector’s next of kin, probably had already, but how was he going to explain to her that her beloved grandson was dead because of him? If he hadn’t been in that truck, bent over Grey, making sure that his bandage was tight or whatever the fuck he’d been doing, he wouldn’t have been in the path of that sniper’s bullet.
Grey closed his eyes against the renewed burning, and as he did he heard Hector’s voice, just as clearly as if he’d been standing beside that chair. “Betty, man, you stop that shit right now, you hear me?”
“Second guessing is a fool’s errand,” he whispered in tandem with Hector’s voice in his head. “Yeah, man, I know you’re right, but…
“It should’ve been me.”
Author: sabaceanbabe
Rating: PG-13 for language
Word count: 950
Character: Charles “Betty Blue” Grey
Spoilers: for 3.7 “Five Brothers”
Author’s note: Unbetaed. If anyone wants to take a stab at it, feel free. I’m always open for suggestions and improvement. This was written for jebbypal, ‘cause she’s awesome.
-----------------------
Walking After Midnight
Patsy Cline
(Don Hecht/Alan Block)
I go out walking after midnight
Out in the moonlight just like we used to do
I'm always walking after midnight searching for you
I walk for miles along the highway
Well that's just my way of saying I love you
I'm always walking after midnight searching for you
I stopped to see a weeping willow
Crying on his pillow maybe he's crying for me
And as the skies turn gloomy
Night blooms will whisper to me I'm lonesome as I can be
I go out walking after midnight out in the moonlight
Just hoping maybe you're somewhere walking after midnight searching for me
I stopped to see a weeping willow
Crying on his pillow maybe he's crying for me
And as the skies turn gloomy
Night blooms will whisper to me I'm lonesome as I can be
I'm out walking after midnight out in the moonlight
Just hoping maybe you're somewhere walking after midnight searching for me
-----------------------
The key turned in the lock, then stuck fast. Grey jiggled it back and forth, up and down then up again, turning it one more time as he performed that last part of the dance. With a soft click, the lock surrendered and he was able to swing the door to the apartment open wide. Leaning down to grab the strap of his duffle, he very carefully avoided looking at the names on the mailbox beside the door.
Muscles flexed and stitches pulled at still-raw skin as he lifted the bag and shuffled through the door. He let the bag slip from his fingers and flipped the switch, turning on the overhead light in the living room. Light flooded the small apartment, chasing away the shadows.
"Damn, Hector! What'd you put in there? A 1500 watt flood light?"
Hector laughed as Grey slipped his shades over his eyes again. Throwing the box the bulb had come in at his head, he retorted, "Quit whining, Betty. You're just not used to real light after that girly pink bulb you had in it."
Grey read the box he'd caught -- 100 watts, natural light -- and fired it back at Hector, aiming straight between his eyes. "It wasn't 'girly pink.' It was supposed to be tinted to be better for reading."
Hector batted the box away at the last second, still laughing. But he sobered abruptly. "Wait a minute. You can read?"
Grey closed his eyes tightly for a second, ignoring the burning behind them, then he tossed the keys into the little bowl of pennies and nickels that sat a bit off-center on the table beside the door. There was a stack of envelopes next to the bowl, bills waiting for stamps so they could be mailed out.
Leaving the duffle where it lay, he shrugged out of his jacket and hung it on its accustomed peg, again doing his best to ignore the empty peg where Hector's jacket would normally hang. His shoulder felt like it had ignited with the movement, but he welcomed the distraction the pain provided.
The kitchen was just as they'd left it, clean dishes in the rack beside the sink, newspaper strewn in sections across the table. He pulled the section with the half-finished crossword puzzle toward him.
"Man, why do you do those things in ink?"
Grey looked up at Hector, standing over his shoulder, dishtowel in hand. "Why do you ask me that every time I do a puzzle?"
Despite his constant bitching at Grey doing the crosswords in ink, Hector had finished this one off in ink. Grey’d left it here deliberately to give himself something to do when he got back from their last mission.
Their last mission. He laughed, a little bitter, a lot heart sore. Who knew it would really be their last?
“Dammit, Hector,” he said aloud and turned away, leaving the newspaper sections where they lay.
He opened the refrigerator door and grabbed a beer. He didn’t really want the thing, but he didn’t know what else to do. Twisting the top off, he tossed it into the recycle bin by the back door to join the others already there, the metallic jingle as it hit too cheerful for his current mood.
Everything in the apartment’s small living room was just as they’d left it, not that Grey expected anything else. He dropped into the overstuffed recliner where he usually sat and took a swig from the bottle. Maybe he hadn’t consciously wanted the beer when he’d take it from the fridge, but it was definitely welcome, sliding down his throat, cold and a little scratchy from the carbonation. He set the bottle down on the table, taking up the universal remote instead and flicking on the stereo.
There was a brief delay and then music blasted into the room. If he wasn’t sitting, he would’ve jumped.
I go out walking after midnight / Out in the moonlight just like we used to do
Patsy Cline’s dulcet tones swirled around him as he hit the down-volume button, taking the sound to a human level.
Grey heard the strains of Patsy Cline’s Walking After Midnight long before he reached the front door. Hector’d had the day off and had clearly beat him home. Grey opened the door and switched on the light, but before he could say anything about the volume, Hector said, “God, man, don’t you just love her voice?”
He was sitting in Grey’s chair, feet up on the raised footrest, a contented smile covering his face.
“I might love it if I could actually hear it,” Grey shot at him, sifting through the mail on the hall table. “Why you gotta play it so loud, man?”
Hector laughed. “You sound like my grandmother.”
Gripping the beer bottle tightly, Grey whispered, “Oh, God. What am I gonna say to Grandmother Williams?” Yeah, the military brass would actually notify her as Hector’s next of kin, probably had already, but how was he going to explain to her that her beloved grandson was dead because of him? If he hadn’t been in that truck, bent over Grey, making sure that his bandage was tight or whatever the fuck he’d been doing, he wouldn’t have been in the path of that sniper’s bullet.
Grey closed his eyes against the renewed burning, and as he did he heard Hector’s voice, just as clearly as if he’d been standing beside that chair. “Betty, man, you stop that shit right now, you hear me?”
“Second guessing is a fool’s errand,” he whispered in tandem with Hector’s voice in his head. “Yeah, man, I know you’re right, but…
“It should’ve been me.”