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in the waiting line
for 'Licia with love: based on her 'dark side of the moon AU that she said I could play with.
The best way to avoid questions was to remain a briskly moving target. He didn't have a hope of being stealthy, these days, but grim determination was a much better substitute than the usual bandages and water they trundled out in hopes sleight of hand would distract.
The lobby smells cold and bitter. He drummed his fingers idly against his knee, looked down: mellow tones and flesh against the weathered brass patina, nails softly ticking the face of a half-understood dial marking it's own time, labelling the infarct, the traitorous vein that struck midnight while the rest of his body was wallowing in late afternoon.
Drummed his fingers and waited, eyes locked unfocused on the blasted lands beyond the rippled window and waited.
*
He dreams. Twelve comes to him, slender bones birdlike-brittle wrapped in the unlikely safety of his coat, drab olive against eyes sparrow-bright and curious. She is cool, naked and quiet, stands in moonlight spilled through barred windows as the khaki falls to the floor and she steps toward him.
She is silent. He arches his hips toward her, body pleading even as his brain counsels caution. They twist together in the darkness, like parasite trees or vines or strands of DNA, and just as he can no longer resist a shadow fills the window's striped floor-sister - familiar shadow, darker head of tumbled curls.
He tears himself from sleep, sandy eyes and mouth his only reminder, but the shadow is gone. Was it a dream within a dream, strange thoughts spilling out of the pockets of his mind?
He has time to think about it: sleep is far from returning. His gaze traces darkened patches of ceiling, and he waits again for the sun.
The best way to avoid questions was to remain a briskly moving target. He didn't have a hope of being stealthy, these days, but grim determination was a much better substitute than the usual bandages and water they trundled out in hopes sleight of hand would distract.
The lobby smells cold and bitter. He drummed his fingers idly against his knee, looked down: mellow tones and flesh against the weathered brass patina, nails softly ticking the face of a half-understood dial marking it's own time, labelling the infarct, the traitorous vein that struck midnight while the rest of his body was wallowing in late afternoon.
Drummed his fingers and waited, eyes locked unfocused on the blasted lands beyond the rippled window and waited.
*
He dreams. Twelve comes to him, slender bones birdlike-brittle wrapped in the unlikely safety of his coat, drab olive against eyes sparrow-bright and curious. She is cool, naked and quiet, stands in moonlight spilled through barred windows as the khaki falls to the floor and she steps toward him.
She is silent. He arches his hips toward her, body pleading even as his brain counsels caution. They twist together in the darkness, like parasite trees or vines or strands of DNA, and just as he can no longer resist a shadow fills the window's striped floor-sister - familiar shadow, darker head of tumbled curls.
He tears himself from sleep, sandy eyes and mouth his only reminder, but the shadow is gone. Was it a dream within a dream, strange thoughts spilling out of the pockets of his mind?
He has time to think about it: sleep is far from returning. His gaze traces darkened patches of ceiling, and he waits again for the sun.
no subject
So are you, darlin'. <3 Your brains are magical ones. *loves*