Can You Hear Me (PG-13)
Jul. 24th, 2006 08:38 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
let-fate-decide.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
nickngregTitle: Can You Hear Me
Rating: PG-13, maybe.
Characters/Pairing: Nick/Greg.
Summary: People say you've changed. - 897. x-posted.
Warnings/Spoilers: 'Play With Fire'
Disclaimer: Yes, I own CSI. That's why Eric got no screentime.
Prompt: 097. Writer's Choice at![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
100songs. Box.
People say you've changed, that you're quieter, but what they don't know, is that inside you're screaming.
The screams too loud inside your head and it won't stop and sometimes you wish the mantra would stop so you could have sweet silence for only a moment. Silent like that moment before, when your body and soul hadn't been in agonizing pain that you tried so hard to ignore and prevent and stop but just couldn't and finally you just gave in. Gave in to it all and let it devour you, take you captive and you haven't tried to get out since. The meds your doctor handed you when you were released only make you numb, and you're not entirely sure what to think of that feeling. Not sure if it's better than the pain making you alive, keeping you there and waiting for you to give in.
You're sure Nick's noticed, know by the way he looks at you when he walks in the door every morning, sadness and regret and guilt and too many other things shining in his too kind eyes. When he speaks to you, he keeps his voice soft and with too much emotion for the pain inside you to handle and you don't mean to push him away, but it happens. When he helps you into bed, you move as far away from him as possible, and he knows he can't come close without brushing against your back, and when that happened the first time he looked so panicked that it made tears spring to your eyes at how much he cares, how much he loves you.
Then whatever is controlling you inside attacks your thoughts again and makes you believe it's pity, not love, never love, you could never be loved, not you.
If there's one person you want to hear you scream, it's him, because you know he'll try to save you and you don't want to feel that helpless and useless, but you can't help it. You hate it here, but you're not strong enough to get out on your own. You don't believe in yourself anymore, not nearly as much as you once did.
Tonight, though, is the night you're sure both of you changed, but for the better or worse, you're not sure.
You can hear the rain's quiet pattering on the windows, almost foreign to your ears after living in Las Vegas for all these years, San Francisco's cool weather nearly lost in your memory. You try to focus on the book that rests on the couch's arm, your chin held in one hand, the other quivering one pressed firmly onto the page, keeping it from sliding onto the floor.
Then suddenly it feels like all you've done lately is read, though, and your mind starts to wonder, lost somewhere in the rhythmic sounds around the apartment; the persistent beat of the still-falling rain, the ceiling fan's soft whirring, the clock ticking across the hall, chiming the hour.
Only a few days before had the shaking in your hands had started. You remember not wanting to wake Nick, so you simply sat at the counter, willing them to stop for just a second, just long enough to pour yourself some coffee. You remember that finally, after what seemed like hours, but in reality it had been only minutes, the trembles had died down, and you reached for the pot. You recall how you had only poured half a cup before the shaking came back, more violent than before. The pot had crashed to floor as your mug slid across the counter, liquid spilling everywhere, staining your shirt and burning your hands and the memory of the lab comes back in a rush, sending you crashing to the ground, staring at your raw hands, rubbing them, trying to rub the thoughts clouding your mind away.
You don't actually remember when Nick had come racing into the room, probably woken by the crash and the nonsense pouring out of your mouth - oh god, get it off, get it off of me, help me, get it off, it hurts, so bad, so bad - and you can't remember when that started either. All you remember is him taking your wrists in his hands, pulling him forward into his arms, whispering in your ear - Greg, listen to me, baby, you gotta calm down for me, I can't help you if you don't - and you remember how hard you tried to do as he asked, but the tears run down your face even when you've buried it in his neck.
A sharp crack of lightning, roar of thunder, and the lamp next to your head jumps at the same time you do, bringing you out of your revery with a thud as your book falls to the ground, just out of reach.
You shift, looking over the edge of the couch, then look down, risking a glance at your hands, all the while knowing what you'll see. The movement is quick and jerky and it feels like your nerves are going crazy, jumping around and messing with your head on purpose.
You sigh, lifting yourself onto your elbows, reaching a hand out. Your finger barely touches the cover before the arm holding all your weight slips and you can't catch yourself before you slide off the couch, falling onto your back.
The flash of new pain is white hot and finally, you scream.
"The Prodigal" by Sacha Sacket
Watch the rain as it's staining everything.
It finds my face,
And it's bombs away.
You're my rain,
Always.
Try to change me,
But I faint from the
Cut and paste
Still stay here,
I'll kill this curse.
Can you hear me?
I'm almost dead,
but I've been worse.
Don't you worry.
I rise up, a hazy,
Prodigal son,
When I want your eyes to
Squint and run.
We both know that your parents haunt you,
And when you go,
I'll find your phantom.
So stay here,
I'll kill this curse.
Can you hear me?
I'm almost dead,
but I've been worse.
Don't you worry.
Another part to it? Whaddya think.
Rating: PG-13, maybe.
Characters/Pairing: Nick/Greg.
Summary: People say you've changed. - 897. x-posted.
Warnings/Spoilers: 'Play With Fire'
Disclaimer: Yes, I own CSI. That's why Eric got no screentime.
Prompt: 097. Writer's Choice at
100songs. Box.People say you've changed, that you're quieter, but what they don't know, is that inside you're screaming.
The screams too loud inside your head and it won't stop and sometimes you wish the mantra would stop so you could have sweet silence for only a moment. Silent like that moment before, when your body and soul hadn't been in agonizing pain that you tried so hard to ignore and prevent and stop but just couldn't and finally you just gave in. Gave in to it all and let it devour you, take you captive and you haven't tried to get out since. The meds your doctor handed you when you were released only make you numb, and you're not entirely sure what to think of that feeling. Not sure if it's better than the pain making you alive, keeping you there and waiting for you to give in.
You're sure Nick's noticed, know by the way he looks at you when he walks in the door every morning, sadness and regret and guilt and too many other things shining in his too kind eyes. When he speaks to you, he keeps his voice soft and with too much emotion for the pain inside you to handle and you don't mean to push him away, but it happens. When he helps you into bed, you move as far away from him as possible, and he knows he can't come close without brushing against your back, and when that happened the first time he looked so panicked that it made tears spring to your eyes at how much he cares, how much he loves you.
Then whatever is controlling you inside attacks your thoughts again and makes you believe it's pity, not love, never love, you could never be loved, not you.
If there's one person you want to hear you scream, it's him, because you know he'll try to save you and you don't want to feel that helpless and useless, but you can't help it. You hate it here, but you're not strong enough to get out on your own. You don't believe in yourself anymore, not nearly as much as you once did.
Tonight, though, is the night you're sure both of you changed, but for the better or worse, you're not sure.
You can hear the rain's quiet pattering on the windows, almost foreign to your ears after living in Las Vegas for all these years, San Francisco's cool weather nearly lost in your memory. You try to focus on the book that rests on the couch's arm, your chin held in one hand, the other quivering one pressed firmly onto the page, keeping it from sliding onto the floor.
Then suddenly it feels like all you've done lately is read, though, and your mind starts to wonder, lost somewhere in the rhythmic sounds around the apartment; the persistent beat of the still-falling rain, the ceiling fan's soft whirring, the clock ticking across the hall, chiming the hour.
Only a few days before had the shaking in your hands had started. You remember not wanting to wake Nick, so you simply sat at the counter, willing them to stop for just a second, just long enough to pour yourself some coffee. You remember that finally, after what seemed like hours, but in reality it had been only minutes, the trembles had died down, and you reached for the pot. You recall how you had only poured half a cup before the shaking came back, more violent than before. The pot had crashed to floor as your mug slid across the counter, liquid spilling everywhere, staining your shirt and burning your hands and the memory of the lab comes back in a rush, sending you crashing to the ground, staring at your raw hands, rubbing them, trying to rub the thoughts clouding your mind away.
You don't actually remember when Nick had come racing into the room, probably woken by the crash and the nonsense pouring out of your mouth - oh god, get it off, get it off of me, help me, get it off, it hurts, so bad, so bad - and you can't remember when that started either. All you remember is him taking your wrists in his hands, pulling him forward into his arms, whispering in your ear - Greg, listen to me, baby, you gotta calm down for me, I can't help you if you don't - and you remember how hard you tried to do as he asked, but the tears run down your face even when you've buried it in his neck.
A sharp crack of lightning, roar of thunder, and the lamp next to your head jumps at the same time you do, bringing you out of your revery with a thud as your book falls to the ground, just out of reach.
You shift, looking over the edge of the couch, then look down, risking a glance at your hands, all the while knowing what you'll see. The movement is quick and jerky and it feels like your nerves are going crazy, jumping around and messing with your head on purpose.
You sigh, lifting yourself onto your elbows, reaching a hand out. Your finger barely touches the cover before the arm holding all your weight slips and you can't catch yourself before you slide off the couch, falling onto your back.
The flash of new pain is white hot and finally, you scream.
"The Prodigal" by Sacha Sacket
Watch the rain as it's staining everything.
It finds my face,
And it's bombs away.
You're my rain,
Always.
Try to change me,
But I faint from the
Cut and paste
Still stay here,
I'll kill this curse.
Can you hear me?
I'm almost dead,
but I've been worse.
Don't you worry.
I rise up, a hazy,
Prodigal son,
When I want your eyes to
Squint and run.
We both know that your parents haunt you,
And when you go,
I'll find your phantom.
So stay here,
I'll kill this curse.
Can you hear me?
I'm almost dead,
but I've been worse.
Don't you worry.
Another part to it? Whaddya think.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-07-25 01:46 am (UTC)lori
no subject
Date: 2006-07-25 02:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-07-25 02:02 am (UTC)Anyway, this was really good.
no subject
Date: 2006-07-25 02:03 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-07-25 02:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-07-25 04:29 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-07-25 06:07 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-07-25 12:14 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-07-25 05:44 pm (UTC)I'd be glad if you wrote a continuation as well as I'd be happy just with what I have now. This.
thanx:)
no subject
Date: 2006-07-25 08:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-07-26 11:52 pm (UTC)