Ouch Ouch Ouch My Head
Aug. 11th, 2005 02:02 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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nickngregHaven't posted anything in a while despite several efforts to get back in the groove after my vacation last month. Hopefully the dam has burst.
Title: Thunderstruck
Setting: Second half of Season 5, but no spoilers other than the obvious.
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters.
Rating: R for language.
Notes: This is technically a songfic off of Garth Brooks' "Thunder Rolls," but the song is not used anywhere in the text, just used as a basis. Also, if you know the song, you'll know that this is going to be heavy on the angst. And this is also my first foray into present tense writing, since past just wasn't cutting it for this.
Anyway...
“Shit.”
3:30, the watch says. The sky’s gone dark with an afternoon shower, so Greg’s had no clue what time it is, but now he knows. Three-fucking-thirty in the afternoon. There’s no way in hell he’ll be able to explain this one away. No way he can explain why his cell phone’s been off all day long, no way to explain why he wasn’t home if he wasn’t working a double. And if it’s already three-fucking-thirty, Nick’s probably already on his way to work. No way to use that excuse. An hour or two here or there he can cover, but this is too much time to explain away, and Nick’s probably going to start asking questions about where Greg’s been as soon he walks in the doors of the lab.
He slams his hand against the steering wheel as he slows to a stop at a traffic light, cursing under his breath. The cursing falls into rhythm with the windshield wipers, which are fighting in vain to keep the road visible during the sudden cloudburst.
The red smudge of light turns green, and Greg angrily presses down on the accelerator. There isn’t anyone out on the road to worry about, not during a hot summer afternoon, and certainly not during a thunderstorm. And if they are, well, Greg recognizes it wasn’t their fault he fell asleep.
“But fuck ’em anyway,” he says to himself. A roll of thunder echoes his thoughts.
***
The sound of thunder brings Nick back to his senses.
How long has he been staring at the telephone? Too long, probably. He’s called Greg’s phone, he’s called the lab, he’s called everyone he thought might know where Greg is. No one has any idea.
That leaves two possibilities, he tells himself again. Something bad has happened to Greg, an accident, a kidnapping, something. Nick’s mind runs through the list of things he’s seen on the job. Any one of them could be the reason Greg isn’t home, and every one of them makes him wince at the thought of Greg getting subjected to that kind of pain and terror.
He realizes that he’s pacing again and forces himself to sit down.
He’s not sure if the other possibility’s better or worse. Better, certainly, if nothing’s happened to Greg. Worse, certainly, if the reason Nick can’t find Greg is that Greg doesn’t want to be found. That Greg’s found someone else to spend his day with.
That one is worse, he decides, forcing the thought from his head. He stares at the telephone some more. Even while he gets ready for work, trying to put off leaving for as long as possible, his eyes keep going back to the silent phone. He waits, wishing for someone to call with bad news.
***
Greg isn’t sure how Nick heard the car pull into the driveway over the sound of the downpour, but he must have, because there he is, running out the front door. Greg shuts the car door behind him, doing some quick mental math and realizing that Nick put off leaving for work for as long as possible, which explains why he looks almost ready to go. The only thing missing is a work shirt to go over the t-shirt he’s wearing.
Nick must have been worried, too, not just because he put off going to work, but also because he’s out here in a thunderstorm, not caring about getting wet, not caring about lightning. Greg gets swallowed up in a hug and Nick’s saying words about how anxious he was, how he tried calling, how he’s been waiting and waiting, and Greg gets the point less from Nick’s words and more from the fact that Nick’s saying them out here on the driveway, where anyone could drive by and see Nick’s arms around him, if there were anyone driving by and anyone able to see in this storm.
And Greg feels guilty. Not so much, he finds out, for what he did, but more for falling asleep at the wrong place at the wrong time and making Nick worry so much. He’s still a few seconds short of feeling guilty for the whole thing when he hears nothing but the rain. Nick’s stopped talking and Nick’s pulled away from him.
Greg wonders if he reacted the wrong way, or if he should have said something, or if he just plain smells wrong or something. Or maybe he didn’t give anything away and Nick’s figured things out on his own without any help. Regardless, Nick’s backed away, and when there’s a flash of lightning in the sky, Greg can see that Nick’s eyes are wet. Not with raindrops, but with hard, accusing tears.
***
Nick barely knows what he’s doing. He sets his jaw, knowing that nothing’s happened to Greg, that the explanation he didn’t want to be true is, and stalks back inside. He can hear Greg saying something from the front of the house, the words mixing in with the drumming sound on the roof. He ignores it and goes to the bedroom.
He needs to go to work.
He yanks a shirt out of the closet, leaving it on the hanger so he can put it on when he’s got other dry clothes at work, and he spots the drawer he left open when Greg arrived. He goes to close it, only to see the gleam of metal hidden among their socks. He reaches for it and pulls out the small pistol they keep there, and the thought of using it crosses his mind as he looks at himself in the mirror, watching himself drip rainwater all over the bedroom floor.
He’s angry enough, he knows, but the list of things that could have happened to Greg pile up in his head and they still hurt, and he knows he couldn’t knowingly cause any of them, let alone murder. He puts the gun back in the drawer and instead scoops out as many of Greg’s socks as possible, piling them on top of his shirt to protect it a little in the rain. He walks back through the house, passing Greg, who’s still talking, and out into the storm. He unlocks the truck and gets in before dumping the socks all over the driveway. It’s petty, he knows, but he’s still angry and feeling spiteful and it gets a message across. Nick is leaving for work, but Greg is leaving, period.
He thinks he runs over a few of the socks as he pulls out of the driveway, leaving them to get wet and leaving Greg staring from the front door. He takes one last look at Greg standing there before the rain on the windshield makes it impossible to see anymore.
He backs onto the street and it’s only once he’s safely pointed away from the house that he turns on the headlights and the wipers, letting himself see again.
Lyrics are online if you really want to see. Some liberties were taken with gender and plot.
Title: Thunderstruck
Setting: Second half of Season 5, but no spoilers other than the obvious.
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters.
Rating: R for language.
Notes: This is technically a songfic off of Garth Brooks' "Thunder Rolls," but the song is not used anywhere in the text, just used as a basis. Also, if you know the song, you'll know that this is going to be heavy on the angst. And this is also my first foray into present tense writing, since past just wasn't cutting it for this.
Anyway...
“Shit.”
3:30, the watch says. The sky’s gone dark with an afternoon shower, so Greg’s had no clue what time it is, but now he knows. Three-fucking-thirty in the afternoon. There’s no way in hell he’ll be able to explain this one away. No way he can explain why his cell phone’s been off all day long, no way to explain why he wasn’t home if he wasn’t working a double. And if it’s already three-fucking-thirty, Nick’s probably already on his way to work. No way to use that excuse. An hour or two here or there he can cover, but this is too much time to explain away, and Nick’s probably going to start asking questions about where Greg’s been as soon he walks in the doors of the lab.
He slams his hand against the steering wheel as he slows to a stop at a traffic light, cursing under his breath. The cursing falls into rhythm with the windshield wipers, which are fighting in vain to keep the road visible during the sudden cloudburst.
The red smudge of light turns green, and Greg angrily presses down on the accelerator. There isn’t anyone out on the road to worry about, not during a hot summer afternoon, and certainly not during a thunderstorm. And if they are, well, Greg recognizes it wasn’t their fault he fell asleep.
“But fuck ’em anyway,” he says to himself. A roll of thunder echoes his thoughts.
***
The sound of thunder brings Nick back to his senses.
How long has he been staring at the telephone? Too long, probably. He’s called Greg’s phone, he’s called the lab, he’s called everyone he thought might know where Greg is. No one has any idea.
That leaves two possibilities, he tells himself again. Something bad has happened to Greg, an accident, a kidnapping, something. Nick’s mind runs through the list of things he’s seen on the job. Any one of them could be the reason Greg isn’t home, and every one of them makes him wince at the thought of Greg getting subjected to that kind of pain and terror.
He realizes that he’s pacing again and forces himself to sit down.
He’s not sure if the other possibility’s better or worse. Better, certainly, if nothing’s happened to Greg. Worse, certainly, if the reason Nick can’t find Greg is that Greg doesn’t want to be found. That Greg’s found someone else to spend his day with.
That one is worse, he decides, forcing the thought from his head. He stares at the telephone some more. Even while he gets ready for work, trying to put off leaving for as long as possible, his eyes keep going back to the silent phone. He waits, wishing for someone to call with bad news.
***
Greg isn’t sure how Nick heard the car pull into the driveway over the sound of the downpour, but he must have, because there he is, running out the front door. Greg shuts the car door behind him, doing some quick mental math and realizing that Nick put off leaving for work for as long as possible, which explains why he looks almost ready to go. The only thing missing is a work shirt to go over the t-shirt he’s wearing.
Nick must have been worried, too, not just because he put off going to work, but also because he’s out here in a thunderstorm, not caring about getting wet, not caring about lightning. Greg gets swallowed up in a hug and Nick’s saying words about how anxious he was, how he tried calling, how he’s been waiting and waiting, and Greg gets the point less from Nick’s words and more from the fact that Nick’s saying them out here on the driveway, where anyone could drive by and see Nick’s arms around him, if there were anyone driving by and anyone able to see in this storm.
And Greg feels guilty. Not so much, he finds out, for what he did, but more for falling asleep at the wrong place at the wrong time and making Nick worry so much. He’s still a few seconds short of feeling guilty for the whole thing when he hears nothing but the rain. Nick’s stopped talking and Nick’s pulled away from him.
Greg wonders if he reacted the wrong way, or if he should have said something, or if he just plain smells wrong or something. Or maybe he didn’t give anything away and Nick’s figured things out on his own without any help. Regardless, Nick’s backed away, and when there’s a flash of lightning in the sky, Greg can see that Nick’s eyes are wet. Not with raindrops, but with hard, accusing tears.
***
Nick barely knows what he’s doing. He sets his jaw, knowing that nothing’s happened to Greg, that the explanation he didn’t want to be true is, and stalks back inside. He can hear Greg saying something from the front of the house, the words mixing in with the drumming sound on the roof. He ignores it and goes to the bedroom.
He needs to go to work.
He yanks a shirt out of the closet, leaving it on the hanger so he can put it on when he’s got other dry clothes at work, and he spots the drawer he left open when Greg arrived. He goes to close it, only to see the gleam of metal hidden among their socks. He reaches for it and pulls out the small pistol they keep there, and the thought of using it crosses his mind as he looks at himself in the mirror, watching himself drip rainwater all over the bedroom floor.
He’s angry enough, he knows, but the list of things that could have happened to Greg pile up in his head and they still hurt, and he knows he couldn’t knowingly cause any of them, let alone murder. He puts the gun back in the drawer and instead scoops out as many of Greg’s socks as possible, piling them on top of his shirt to protect it a little in the rain. He walks back through the house, passing Greg, who’s still talking, and out into the storm. He unlocks the truck and gets in before dumping the socks all over the driveway. It’s petty, he knows, but he’s still angry and feeling spiteful and it gets a message across. Nick is leaving for work, but Greg is leaving, period.
He thinks he runs over a few of the socks as he pulls out of the driveway, leaving them to get wet and leaving Greg staring from the front door. He takes one last look at Greg standing there before the rain on the windshield makes it impossible to see anymore.
He backs onto the street and it’s only once he’s safely pointed away from the house that he turns on the headlights and the wipers, letting himself see again.
Lyrics are online if you really want to see. Some liberties were taken with gender and plot.
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