![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kat_lair***
Title: Sensless
Author:kat_lair
Fandom: NCIS
Pairing: Tim/Tony (implied)
Tags: Ficlet, Hurt No Comfort, Angst, Implied Relationships
Rating: T
Word count: 353
Disclaimer: Not mine!
Summary: There is no warning.
Author notes: Spooktober 2023, Day 27/31. Prompt/theme: blood.
Senseless on AO3
There is no warning. There is no dramatic stand-off, no loud explosion, no sirens. There is no case, no noble cause. There is no necessary sacrifice.
It’s a Tuesday. They’ve done paperwork, attended a seminar, had salad for lunch, pizza for dinner after an early finish. Tim is talking, the two of them walking out of the restaurant, arguing good-naturedly over… Something. Nothing. Just words to fill the diminishing space between them, their bodies drifting together, apart, together again, as they walk.
It’s a Tuesday. The streets are glistening from the rain, the air smells like autumn, like wet asphalt and exhaust and a thousand cuisines from a thousand places.
A thousand people moving through it, past them, ahead, behind, to the sides, a river of busy people in a busy city. Tony tells a story, Tim laughs. Maybe at him but it doesn’t matter. Tony tells a joke, Tim laughs, calls him an idiot. Tony tells a better one. Tim…
There is a gap next to Tony. He looks behind himself. There’s a gap, opening up in the throng too, people stopping, faces slack.
Someone screams.
It’s not him. It’s not Tim either, on the ground, curled up, hands over his middle, mouth opening, closing, opening. No sound comes out.
The crack of Tony’s knees hitting the pavement rings like a gunshot. Blood swells from between Tim’s fingers, startlingly red against his white shirt, the grey stone of the pavement. A knife wound. Someone must have… Tony looks up and around on instinct even though right now he doesn’t care about catching the perpetrator (he will later, when there is nothing else left to care about).
The blood draws his attention back, soaking into his clothes, staining his hands where he presses down on the wound, trying to stem the flow, sticky and hot and too fast, too much.
Too much.
It’s a Tuesday. Tony chokes on a useless denial, on a name, on a plea. There is no answer. There is no sense, no reason, no help that will arrive in time.
There is nothing to soften the sharpness of loss.
***
Title: Sensless
Author:
kat_lair Fandom: NCIS
Pairing: Tim/Tony (implied)
Tags: Ficlet, Hurt No Comfort, Angst, Implied Relationships
Rating: T
Word count: 353
Disclaimer: Not mine!
Summary: There is no warning.
Author notes: Spooktober 2023, Day 27/31. Prompt/theme: blood.
Senseless on AO3
There is no warning. There is no dramatic stand-off, no loud explosion, no sirens. There is no case, no noble cause. There is no necessary sacrifice.
It’s a Tuesday. They’ve done paperwork, attended a seminar, had salad for lunch, pizza for dinner after an early finish. Tim is talking, the two of them walking out of the restaurant, arguing good-naturedly over… Something. Nothing. Just words to fill the diminishing space between them, their bodies drifting together, apart, together again, as they walk.
It’s a Tuesday. The streets are glistening from the rain, the air smells like autumn, like wet asphalt and exhaust and a thousand cuisines from a thousand places.
A thousand people moving through it, past them, ahead, behind, to the sides, a river of busy people in a busy city. Tony tells a story, Tim laughs. Maybe at him but it doesn’t matter. Tony tells a joke, Tim laughs, calls him an idiot. Tony tells a better one. Tim…
There is a gap next to Tony. He looks behind himself. There’s a gap, opening up in the throng too, people stopping, faces slack.
Someone screams.
It’s not him. It’s not Tim either, on the ground, curled up, hands over his middle, mouth opening, closing, opening. No sound comes out.
The crack of Tony’s knees hitting the pavement rings like a gunshot. Blood swells from between Tim’s fingers, startlingly red against his white shirt, the grey stone of the pavement. A knife wound. Someone must have… Tony looks up and around on instinct even though right now he doesn’t care about catching the perpetrator (he will later, when there is nothing else left to care about).
The blood draws his attention back, soaking into his clothes, staining his hands where he presses down on the wound, trying to stem the flow, sticky and hot and too fast, too much.
Too much.
It’s a Tuesday. Tony chokes on a useless denial, on a name, on a plea. There is no answer. There is no sense, no reason, no help that will arrive in time.
There is nothing to soften the sharpness of loss.
***