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in
vintageflame
No One Left [RPF]
Title: No One Left
Fandom: RPF
Summary: Those who knew Heath Ledger have to deal with his death.
Characters/Pairings: Michelle/Heath, Maggie/Peter, implied Jake/Heath, possible Jake/Chris
Rating/Warnings: PG-13 for language
AN: Written for the "vulnerability" prompt on my bingo card at cliche_bingo.
Word Count: 686
No One Left
He scanned the street in search of press, but there was none. He hadn't expected any, but he had feared-- His fist hitting the door confirmed it's solidity, it's real-ness. That wasn't welcomed. He hadn't known the man well, but it hardly mattered right now, buried as deeply as he was in a cloud of people who did, having met him and liked him and-- crap. Who was he kidding? He felt like he'd been stabbed, and with it came the realization that he didn't want to understand how those closer to Heath were feeling. He had enough to deal with on his own. But he was needed, and so he was here.
Chris had the key, but he... didn't feel right using it, so when no one answered, he knocked again. When again no one answered, though, he slipped the thick key into the deadbolt and pulled open the heavy door that lead to the Sarsgaard-Gyllenhaal's residence.
The hall was eerily quiet. He knocked on the wall outside the living room before entering, worried that no one was home, that something had been confused, words dropped in the crossfire of harried phone calls. Instead, Maggie uttered a listless, "Come in."
Christ stepped into the warm room, lit by the morning sun, on fire as the light streaked across the crimson rug. Peter was sitting in a leather chair shuffling papers with pained concentration painted all over his face. Maggie sat on the couch, a mug of tea steaming on the coffee table, holding a squirmy and jabbering Ramona. Maggie's eyes stared ahead unseeing.
"I, uh, I can't believe this is happening." Chris had meant to say something more profound or comforting, but instead the truth had leaked right on out there.
He saw Peter flinch, Maggie's jaw lock as she nodded and blinked, all her movements carefully constructed as if she had to think them through. She slowly turned to gaze up at him. "Can you watch Ramona?"
"That's why I'm here..." Chris sighed. He must have gotten somewhere in the vicinity of seventeen phone calls this morning, but the bottom line for him had been that he was going to watch Ramona. That much he could handle.
* * * *
Dawn was still hours away when a convoy of three black SUVs rolled out of the secured filming area. The beginning shades of pale pink crept over the horizon, yearning in an hour's time to be crimson, the color of hellfire, and glowing coal-red.
* * * *
He fingered his cellphone without any intention of using it. There was no one left to call. Still, the familiarity of the cool plastic in his hands felt soothing. Maybe it was like a river stone, one of those smooth worry stones. Self-consciously, Jake buried his phone back in his inside jacket pocket-- right where it should be.
Greg was quiet this morning. Usually his driver was a talkative guy, always with the "Where are you off to tonight, Mr. Gyllenhaal? What can I do for you, Mr. Gyllenhaal? What beings you out so early, Mr. Gyllenhaal?" Today he didn't ask any questions. He wouldn't have to, would he? Half the goddamn fucking world knew four times more than it ever should. Jake's hand flew to his cellphone again and he ran his hand over the buttons-- but with no one to call, he slipped it quickly back away once more.
* * * *
Michelle shook. She shook and shook and the temperature could not be high enough. Her mother had ordered take-out the night before but she couldn't eat it, and at this early hour it was left on the kitchen island. The smell turned her stomach. There was plenty left, but she threw it away nonetheless, wanting it out of range of her nose.
She might have paced if she were not already overflowing with nervous energy, shaking apart. She did decide to pour herself a glass of juice, try to take a couple deep breaths. None of this made any sense, none of this was real. She felt her eyes flutter as the shock rolled through her once more. Would there ever be an end?
Fandom: RPF
Summary: Those who knew Heath Ledger have to deal with his death.
Characters/Pairings: Michelle/Heath, Maggie/Peter, implied Jake/Heath, possible Jake/Chris
Rating/Warnings: PG-13 for language
AN: Written for the "vulnerability" prompt on my bingo card at cliche_bingo.
Word Count: 686
No One Left
He scanned the street in search of press, but there was none. He hadn't expected any, but he had feared-- His fist hitting the door confirmed it's solidity, it's real-ness. That wasn't welcomed. He hadn't known the man well, but it hardly mattered right now, buried as deeply as he was in a cloud of people who did, having met him and liked him and-- crap. Who was he kidding? He felt like he'd been stabbed, and with it came the realization that he didn't want to understand how those closer to Heath were feeling. He had enough to deal with on his own. But he was needed, and so he was here.
Chris had the key, but he... didn't feel right using it, so when no one answered, he knocked again. When again no one answered, though, he slipped the thick key into the deadbolt and pulled open the heavy door that lead to the Sarsgaard-Gyllenhaal's residence.
The hall was eerily quiet. He knocked on the wall outside the living room before entering, worried that no one was home, that something had been confused, words dropped in the crossfire of harried phone calls. Instead, Maggie uttered a listless, "Come in."
Christ stepped into the warm room, lit by the morning sun, on fire as the light streaked across the crimson rug. Peter was sitting in a leather chair shuffling papers with pained concentration painted all over his face. Maggie sat on the couch, a mug of tea steaming on the coffee table, holding a squirmy and jabbering Ramona. Maggie's eyes stared ahead unseeing.
"I, uh, I can't believe this is happening." Chris had meant to say something more profound or comforting, but instead the truth had leaked right on out there.
He saw Peter flinch, Maggie's jaw lock as she nodded and blinked, all her movements carefully constructed as if she had to think them through. She slowly turned to gaze up at him. "Can you watch Ramona?"
"That's why I'm here..." Chris sighed. He must have gotten somewhere in the vicinity of seventeen phone calls this morning, but the bottom line for him had been that he was going to watch Ramona. That much he could handle.
* * * *
Dawn was still hours away when a convoy of three black SUVs rolled out of the secured filming area. The beginning shades of pale pink crept over the horizon, yearning in an hour's time to be crimson, the color of hellfire, and glowing coal-red.
* * * *
He fingered his cellphone without any intention of using it. There was no one left to call. Still, the familiarity of the cool plastic in his hands felt soothing. Maybe it was like a river stone, one of those smooth worry stones. Self-consciously, Jake buried his phone back in his inside jacket pocket-- right where it should be.
Greg was quiet this morning. Usually his driver was a talkative guy, always with the "Where are you off to tonight, Mr. Gyllenhaal? What can I do for you, Mr. Gyllenhaal? What beings you out so early, Mr. Gyllenhaal?" Today he didn't ask any questions. He wouldn't have to, would he? Half the goddamn fucking world knew four times more than it ever should. Jake's hand flew to his cellphone again and he ran his hand over the buttons-- but with no one to call, he slipped it quickly back away once more.
* * * *
Michelle shook. She shook and shook and the temperature could not be high enough. Her mother had ordered take-out the night before but she couldn't eat it, and at this early hour it was left on the kitchen island. The smell turned her stomach. There was plenty left, but she threw it away nonetheless, wanting it out of range of her nose.
She might have paced if she were not already overflowing with nervous energy, shaking apart. She did decide to pour herself a glass of juice, try to take a couple deep breaths. None of this made any sense, none of this was real. She felt her eyes flutter as the shock rolled through her once more. Would there ever be an end?