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The Black Donnellys fic (PG-13)
Title: This, Too
Paring: Tommy/Jenny
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: through The World Will Break Your Heart
Disclaimer: NBC and Paul Haggis = not me
Summary: Her mess is your own.
278 words of Tommy!angst for Katie. *flaily hands*
You don't remember the first time you thought it; maybe the idea was innocent in the beginning, a kid's simple desperation. But it's always been there, crouching in the back of your skull, all patient and quiet.
She will never see me die.
She leans into you, her breath hot against your chin, and it's not out of love or pity. It's resignation, and that's mostly your fault, too. Jimmy may have started it all, but her mess is your own. And yet you tell yourself you can take it--this, too, shall pass, and that Shakespearean bullshit.
She threatens you with her eyes, dares you to be stupid enough to let her out of your sight; she knows, one way or another, that things will change for good once she leaves this basement. You wonder if she hates you as she's nudged up the stairs, hates your smarts and determination and how you never quite learned to separate the two. But you hold your breath until she's gone and then, for the moment, nothing matters but survival.
And you do survive through sheer luck and chance (Kevin would be proud). You survive so well you think, somehow, that tomorrow will be another day for you to dig your claws in a little deeper and pull yourself out of this shit.
She leaves before you can finish your thought, your genuine ode to Huey. She leaves without looking back; tomorrow is ready for her, and for Sampson.
She leaves, her hand tucked around his arm, and as your throat catches around the words you've suddenly forgotten, your body sags a bit in relief.
She didn't see you die.
Paring: Tommy/Jenny
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: through The World Will Break Your Heart
Disclaimer: NBC and Paul Haggis = not me
Summary: Her mess is your own.
278 words of Tommy!angst for Katie. *flaily hands*
You don't remember the first time you thought it; maybe the idea was innocent in the beginning, a kid's simple desperation. But it's always been there, crouching in the back of your skull, all patient and quiet.
She will never see me die.
She leans into you, her breath hot against your chin, and it's not out of love or pity. It's resignation, and that's mostly your fault, too. Jimmy may have started it all, but her mess is your own. And yet you tell yourself you can take it--this, too, shall pass, and that Shakespearean bullshit.
She threatens you with her eyes, dares you to be stupid enough to let her out of your sight; she knows, one way or another, that things will change for good once she leaves this basement. You wonder if she hates you as she's nudged up the stairs, hates your smarts and determination and how you never quite learned to separate the two. But you hold your breath until she's gone and then, for the moment, nothing matters but survival.
And you do survive through sheer luck and chance (Kevin would be proud). You survive so well you think, somehow, that tomorrow will be another day for you to dig your claws in a little deeper and pull yourself out of this shit.
She leaves before you can finish your thought, your genuine ode to Huey. She leaves without looking back; tomorrow is ready for her, and for Sampson.
She leaves, her hand tucked around his arm, and as your throat catches around the words you've suddenly forgotten, your body sags a bit in relief.
She didn't see you die.
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