Ficlet: Ribbon
Author: Ashley
Ribbon
warnings: implied Bass/Miles
disclaimer: not my characters
summary: Bass survives.
author's notes: set during Bass and Miles' time in their first large camp (one would assume). Spoilers for Dead Man Walking. Extreme angst. Sorry. ;)
Written for nbc_revolution's 25 Prompts in 25 Days, Ribbon.
Feedback would be love!
Bass didn’t know what to do with his hands.
He wound the blue ribbon around and around his fingers for lack of ideas, the old silk dull but soft still. The sun was getting ready to set and it was still incredibly hot, but the water and other things people kept offering him (why, really?) seemed to not do anything to slake his thirst.
He sat on a small campstool and wound the ribbon through his hands, over his wrists, his eyes closing, thoughts warring with visuals that popped up when he didn’t want them to. He slugged at the whiskey that sat at his feet, not noticing the blood that dotted his boots. His dirty old Cat boots that Shelley hated.
Had hated. He wondered if the baby would have hated them too if it had grown up.
Dried blood on his hands too, the hands that held Shelley’s blue ribbon and wound it over and under and he felt the softness, smelled her hair, and had to suck in a breath as he felt the tears come again, burning in their silent approach. He hated them as much as he hated himself.
I got nothing.
Miles wasn’t there this time to pick him up.
He drank more and didn’t wipe the tears as they tracked through the dirt and sweat on his face.
I’m never having sex with you again.
He smiled as he wept and wound the ribbon ‘round and ‘round.
Later that night, he tried to sleep in the tent that was too empty, and just when he turned over to get up and do something, Miles was there in his face, lying next to him, and Bass stopped turning and stared at Miles’ eyes, his own blasted and dry and aching and Miles said nothing except his name and that was enough.
Bass put the ribbon in the pocket of his cargo pants and slept with Miles' shirt clutched in his bloody fingers.
Ribbon
warnings: implied Bass/Miles
disclaimer: not my characters
summary: Bass survives.
author's notes: set during Bass and Miles' time in their first large camp (one would assume). Spoilers for Dead Man Walking. Extreme angst. Sorry. ;)
Written for nbc_revolution's 25 Prompts in 25 Days, Ribbon.
Feedback would be love!
Bass didn’t know what to do with his hands.
He wound the blue ribbon around and around his fingers for lack of ideas, the old silk dull but soft still. The sun was getting ready to set and it was still incredibly hot, but the water and other things people kept offering him (why, really?) seemed to not do anything to slake his thirst.
He sat on a small campstool and wound the ribbon through his hands, over his wrists, his eyes closing, thoughts warring with visuals that popped up when he didn’t want them to. He slugged at the whiskey that sat at his feet, not noticing the blood that dotted his boots. His dirty old Cat boots that Shelley hated.
Had hated. He wondered if the baby would have hated them too if it had grown up.
Dried blood on his hands too, the hands that held Shelley’s blue ribbon and wound it over and under and he felt the softness, smelled her hair, and had to suck in a breath as he felt the tears come again, burning in their silent approach. He hated them as much as he hated himself.
I got nothing.
Miles wasn’t there this time to pick him up.
He drank more and didn’t wipe the tears as they tracked through the dirt and sweat on his face.
I’m never having sex with you again.
He smiled as he wept and wound the ribbon ‘round and ‘round.
Later that night, he tried to sleep in the tent that was too empty, and just when he turned over to get up and do something, Miles was there in his face, lying next to him, and Bass stopped turning and stared at Miles’ eyes, his own blasted and dry and aching and Miles said nothing except his name and that was enough.
Bass put the ribbon in the pocket of his cargo pants and slept with Miles' shirt clutched in his bloody fingers.