[QAF Fic] Flashpoint
Flashpoint
Sydney Alexis
In the darkest recesses of his parent's closet, shuttered away in a wooden box, covered with half a dozen quilts and religious statues, was his father's Smith and Wesson Model 66.
He remembers the exact day he found it. It was a Saturday, and the heat of July made his skin sticky with sweat.
Jack was tearing the house--and anyone that stood in his way--apart looking for his bowling ball.
Left eye swelling shut, lip split, and chest covered in a blossom of bruises, Brian watched his father rage through the house, sending random items crashing against the ground. It wasn't until the old man stomped out of the house to look in the garage that Joan finally spoke.
"Would you mind getting your father's bowling ball from our closet, dear?"
Careful not to bloody the banister, he climbed the stairs to the second floor, opened his parent's closet, and pushed aside the quilts to unearth his father's bowling bag.
That was when the wooden box caught his eye.
It was stained mahogany with tongue in groove joints that seemed so out of place among ragged statues of long dead saints.
Pulling it from the larger cardboard box that housed it, Brian lifted the latch and gasped when he saw the highly polished metal.
The gun was heavy and cold in his hand. He cocked the hammer, heard it click into place, watched the chamber spin.
He'd never heard a sound before that was so powerful. Final.
That was when he heard heavy, drunken footfalls on the staircase. He eyed the gun for a long moment. It called to him to point and pull its trigger...free himself of his old man forever.
The saints in the cardboard box stared at him seemingly indifferent to it all.
The footsteps got closer.
He blinked slowly, hands shaking as he had a flash of what his life would be like if he did this--an bleak parade of police, prosecutors, and, finally, prison.
He clicked the hammer back in place, slipped the gun back into the box and into the closet, and pulled out his father's bowling ball.
Every time after that when his father beat him, he thought of the gun upstairs.
Years later, Justin appeared with a gun borrowed from Cody that was like his father's--six chambered, heavy, and cold.
He saw the same look in his partner's face that he wore that day so many years ago, and a part of him wished that, if Justin did face Chris Hobbs, he would pull the fucking trigger.
Sydney Alexis
In the darkest recesses of his parent's closet, shuttered away in a wooden box, covered with half a dozen quilts and religious statues, was his father's Smith and Wesson Model 66.
He remembers the exact day he found it. It was a Saturday, and the heat of July made his skin sticky with sweat.
Jack was tearing the house--and anyone that stood in his way--apart looking for his bowling ball.
Left eye swelling shut, lip split, and chest covered in a blossom of bruises, Brian watched his father rage through the house, sending random items crashing against the ground. It wasn't until the old man stomped out of the house to look in the garage that Joan finally spoke.
"Would you mind getting your father's bowling ball from our closet, dear?"
Careful not to bloody the banister, he climbed the stairs to the second floor, opened his parent's closet, and pushed aside the quilts to unearth his father's bowling bag.
That was when the wooden box caught his eye.
It was stained mahogany with tongue in groove joints that seemed so out of place among ragged statues of long dead saints.
Pulling it from the larger cardboard box that housed it, Brian lifted the latch and gasped when he saw the highly polished metal.
The gun was heavy and cold in his hand. He cocked the hammer, heard it click into place, watched the chamber spin.
He'd never heard a sound before that was so powerful. Final.
That was when he heard heavy, drunken footfalls on the staircase. He eyed the gun for a long moment. It called to him to point and pull its trigger...free himself of his old man forever.
The saints in the cardboard box stared at him seemingly indifferent to it all.
The footsteps got closer.
He blinked slowly, hands shaking as he had a flash of what his life would be like if he did this--an bleak parade of police, prosecutors, and, finally, prison.
He clicked the hammer back in place, slipped the gun back into the box and into the closet, and pulled out his father's bowling ball.
Every time after that when his father beat him, he thought of the gun upstairs.
Years later, Justin appeared with a gun borrowed from Cody that was like his father's--six chambered, heavy, and cold.
He saw the same look in his partner's face that he wore that day so many years ago, and a part of him wished that, if Justin did face Chris Hobbs, he would pull the fucking trigger.