Monday: Hurt/Comfort
Feb. 21st, 2011 09:19 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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comment_ficGood morning and welcome to Monday. I'm ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
badfalcon and I'll be your host for the week.
We're starting things off *cough* gently with a touch of hurt/comfort (mostly because I'm being self-serving with a recovering broken wrist haha) because let's face it, it's fun to break those characters to pieces and put them back together again. So whether its a broken bone, amnesia, a gunshot wound...whatever your brand of physical pain or emotional distress, this is the place to do it!
Please just remember:
And, as ever, the correct format for prompts is as follows
RPS, Christian Kane/Steve Carlson, accidents on set
Dollhouse/Criminal Minds, Spencer Reid + Topher Brink, mind control
If today's round of h/c doesn't take your fancy, please remember there's always the Lonely Prompts
badfalcon and I'll be your host for the week. We're starting things off *cough* gently with a touch of hurt/comfort (mostly because I'm being self-serving with a recovering broken wrist haha) because let's face it, it's fun to break those characters to pieces and put them back together again. So whether its a broken bone, amnesia, a gunshot wound...whatever your brand of physical pain or emotional distress, this is the place to do it!
Please just remember:
- Only three prompts for the same fandom & only five prompts in a row (though if one of your prompts is filled, you can prompt again).
- No spoilers in your prompts for at least a week after the airdate/release.
- Warn for any spoilers for your fic in bold and leave at least three spaces before the text.
- Take the monkeys into consideration when writing your prompt. If the prompt is too long, it becomes very hard to record it properly in the archive. Fics are also meant to be comment sized! If you get very inspired, that's ok, but long detailed prompts deserve long detailed stories, and that's not what we're about. Thank you!
And, as ever, the correct format for prompts is as follows
RPS, Christian Kane/Steve Carlson, accidents on set
Dollhouse/Criminal Minds, Spencer Reid + Topher Brink, mind control
If today's round of h/c doesn't take your fancy, please remember there's always the Lonely Prompts
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no subject
Date: 2011-02-21 09:21 am (UTC)RPS, Christian Kane/Steve Carlson, accidents on set
Date: 2011-02-22 02:23 am (UTC)He and Steve had sat down the last time they were together and moved, wrangled and threatened until they had cleared the same week on their calendars, and now a studio car would soon pull up to the door and his favorite blond would step out.
They needed this time. As soon as he finished his last day of filming, he and Steve would be leaving for a tour of radio and TV stations that allowed barely enough time to get from city to city let alone enjoy that it was just the two of them.
The scene set, everyone on their marks, Marc yelled action, and the gun battle began. Christian ejected the clips, dropped the guns, walked away, and the director yelled ‘CUT’. Pausing to shake off Eliot, Christian let his eyes roam around the set while the technicians scampered to put out the fires.
Blue/grey eyes lit up when they spotted Steve with Tim, John and Dean. When Steve noticed Christian, he excused himself and started toward him. Christian had pulled Steve into his arms when shouts came from the direction of the set. He lifted his head from where he’d buried his nose in Steve’s neck when he felt his partner stiffen in his arms just before Christian felt burning pain in his side.
Christian fought to keep his feet and support Steve’s dead weight, but could feel his own body betraying his efforts to keep them upright. People were running and shouting as he lowered them to the floor gently.
Next thing he knew Steve was being pulled from his arms. He swore as he fought the hands holding him…taking Steve. Once again his body betrayed him until he heard Tim’s voice talking calmly, explaining that they took Steve from him to help him, and that Christian needed to let the medics help him, too. Tim placed Steve’s hand into Christian’s while they worked on stabilizing the two men.
Feeling the familiar calluses against his skin, Christian settled, biting the inside of his cheek as the medic pressed on his side to staunch the bleeding. He watched Steve lifted onto a gurney and loaded into the ambulance. Lying quietly he was able to keep the pain at bay until they rolled him to slide the backboard in place.
Pain that felt like they were slicing him open forced him to cry out. The EMT’s stop as they realized the piece of metal that had been propelled across the stage from an unexpected explosion was still embedded in Christian’s side. As gentle as the paramedics tried to be the pain drove Christian into the dark.
Harsh words attempting to be spoken in a whisper pulled Christian out of the dark. The last thing he remembered was Steve being hurt and if there was anger he needed to be awake to protect Steve. He blinked trying to clear the fog from his mind. He saw the bodies standing over the bed where he heard Steve’s voice. He tried to sit up, but the pain that shot through his back had him lying back down with a moan.
His vision finally cleared enough to see it was a man and woman standing over Steve. They looked vaguely familiar, but to his drug fogged brain the only thing that registered was the angry voices.
Christian finally levered himself upright and swung his legs over the bed. He heard a curse behind him as he slid off the bed to his feet, and started to pitch forward only to have his downward progress stopped by strong arms. Christian looked up into the green/gold eyes of his and Steve’s best friend.
Bleary eyes begged Jensen to get him to Steve. With a resigned sigh Jensen got Christian back into bed. Christian finally recognized Steve’s father, Chris when he came over to help Jensen move the beds together. Lowering the rails so the two men could reach one another, Sandy reached down and gave Christian a gentle hug.
Then it was a flurry of doctors as stitches were checked, dressings changed, and nurses argued with the men until they threw up their hands in exasperation.
Snug against an uninjured side, Christian rested his head on Steve’s shoulder as they drifted in a cloud of drugs and fatigue.
“When I said I wanted to spend three days in bed…this was not what I had in mind.” Steve grumbled.
no subject
Date: 2011-02-21 09:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-21 09:25 am (UTC)Filled.
Date: 2011-02-21 08:57 pm (UTC)Every other time she's been a little scared, yeah, because only a fool wouldn't be scared with a nutjob holding a gun to thier head; but those times there had always been a smugly certain portion of her brain that held her safe with the knowledge that Gibbs would get there in time, would save her.
This time he's lying under her hands with a lump on his head and a bullet in his gut and she's pressing down as hard as she can to staunch the flow of blood but she's not sure that Tony has Gibbs's instincts and if he doesn't Gibbs will definately die, followed by herself.
If they had just left her bag... but they didn't so she's having to make do with both their shirts caking between her hands and she really doesn't like the way the gaurds are looking at her and...
"Oh god Tony, hurry!" She whispers as her tears clear tiny tracks on her hands.
Gibbs is getting dangerously pale by the time she hears gunfire that she hopes is the calvary.
She closes her eyes when the door opens, so the first person she sees is Ducky as he gently urges her to lift her hands and allow Palmer to take her place. Her elbows crack like a gunshot after so long in one position.
At the hospital they declare her healthy and release her but she can't go home until she's sure Gibbs is going to make it, so McGee leads her to the waiting room where Ziva are anxiously speaking to Ducky about Gibbs's chances.
They go quiet when she walks in and Tony comes up to hug her. She forces the tears back in case they jinx Gibbs and make him die for not believeing in him.
It's seven hours with only Ducky and a rotating team of Ziva, Tony and McGee for company before a doctor calls her name.
"It was touch and go for a while but he pulled through."
Abby is allowed to see him, but only long enough to give him a kiss on the forehead and threaten him if he doesn't get better soon. She thinks she sees him smile as she turns to leave.
Ducky takes her to his house that night (later that day actually) because she didn't want to be alone and the other still had to file reports and so on.
She got the best wake up call ten hours later when a very weak sounding Gibbs said "Hey Abbs." as Tony held the phone for him.
this part goes between "oh god" and the calvary.
From:Re: Filled.
From:no subject
Date: 2011-02-21 09:25 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-21 09:26 am (UTC)(no subject)
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Date: 2011-02-21 09:47 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-21 09:52 am (UTC)It's not quite right but I hope you like it anyway.
Date: 2011-02-22 03:43 am (UTC)She raised her right arm and weakly reached for the bell the girls had given her to ring when she wanted something. Her fingers would not grasp the silly thing and it slid to the floor in a clatter. Could she have worse luck? She kicked her blankets off petulantly, rolled onto her side intent on getting up but didn't make it even to her elbows.Jo flopped back into her pillows with a shaky moan. It was official she would lay here and die of thirst while everyone had a grand time downstairs.
She lay there, every hot breath panted past her desert dry lips making her feel worse. A chill drifted in from somewhere and Jo shivered. She attempted to reach for the blankets but she had kicked them too far away. Defeated she curled in on herself, pulling the sleeves of her dressing gown as far down as they would go. She shut her eyes and tried to fall asleep, to get away from the torture. There was nothing she could do when she was awake anyway, her throat was too sore to talk, her eyes too weak to read, her fingers too shaky to knit or sew or anything useful or fun.
Sleep was fitful at best when it did come and she woke shivering and parched and aching all over. She wondered where everyone was. There came the tuneful sound of a piano from below and Jo pulled her pillow over her head. She lay there feeling cold and sorry for herself and abandoned. So deep was her misery that she didn't hear the door open or the thump of booted feet. The blanket around her shoulders was the first thing that drew her attention that someone had entered the room.
"Oh, Jo, what are you doing to yourself?" Laurie clucked as he tucked the edges of the blanket around her shivering frame. Her limbs which had been spare to begin with were positively rail thin now, his hand encircled her wrist easily, index finger touching thumb. He tucked her arm beneath the blanket as well.
"Teddy?" she all but whimpered, had she been in a different frame of mind the tone would have horrified her.
"Good evening, Miss Josephine," he turned and poured her a glass of water from the jug he'd brought with him. He propped her shoulders a little higher and helped her to drink from it. Jo drank and it was like finding an oasis, the cool water soothed her parched, fiery throat. Laurie's cool hands lifted her hair off the back of her neck until her hands started to shake too much. Then he took the glass from her and let her drink her fill. When the glass was empty Laurie helped her sit up more fully, propping her against the back of the sofa she laid upon.
"I'm afraid I'm an even worse patient than you were," Jo croaked and Laurie laughed.
"Why it's nothing Miss March. I can have this right in two seconds," Laurie echoed her words to him all those months ago. He handed her another glass of water and then set to work, stacking her books neatly on the end table, sweeping the grate and straightening her blankets. He ended by plumping her pillows and adding another blanket to the pile atop her.
Jo lay all but still, watching as Laurie moved about her sick room fixing things. When he was done the room felt lighter, less dreary and Jo was surprised at just how magical the difference felt. She even felt a bit better herself as she set the glass down on the end table. Laurie came and sat beside her on the settee. He slid an arm around her shoulders, drawing her against him.
"Teddy," she rasped. "You'll get sick," she protested though he was so warm, and it was so very nice.
"Shush, if I were going to get sick I already would have Jo," he stated definitively. "Now, which of these would you like me to read?" he asked, picking up the first book from the stack on the table.
They read for long hours, Laurie's voice rumbling up from deep within his chest was a comfort to Jo's ears. She found her eyes drooping shut as he read and for the first time in days she felt warm.
Re: It's not quite right but I hope you like it anyway.
From:Re: It's not quite right but I hope you like it anyway.
From:no subject
Date: 2011-02-21 09:55 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-21 10:05 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-21 10:08 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-21 10:17 pm (UTC)(I actually have another idea for this prompt as well, but I really must go to bed now...)
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Date: 2011-02-21 10:12 am (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2011-02-21 10:22 am (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2011-02-21 10:31 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-21 11:03 am (UTC)Musical Based! (and now in the right slot!)
Date: 2011-02-24 01:06 pm (UTC)Melchior lay stretched out awake on his bed. It was pitch-black night, but his eyes had adjusted to it enough that he could make out the cracks on the ceiling as he stared up at it. He didn’t have to turn to know that they were with him again.
They always were to some degree, but though Melchior often felt their presence, he seldom saw them. This evening Wendla was sitting at his desk in her grey stockings and white slip, bits of hay in her hair and downcast eyes making her look like a solemn Ophelia. He arms were wrapped around her stomach.
Moritz was looking out the window, his hair stuck out at odd angles. There was no gun wound through his head this night, and Melchior was thankful. He wondered what, if anything, his old friend saw.
They always appeared sad on nights like this, and they never told Melchior why. He’d ranted and shouted at them once or twice, demanding answers that they would not or could not give. He did not know if they came because society had destroyed another innocent, or because even in the afterlife they still felt keenly their past wrongs. He’d given up asking.
“Come here, then,” he whispered, as he had on other such nights. Wendla approached first, and he pulled back the blankets for her, more to welcome her than anything else, for what did bits of cloth matter to non-corporeal things? She curled up besides her and then into him, for that was the only place where he could keep her safe now.
Moritz lay a hand on Melchior’s temple with a self-possession he had never shown in life, and then he too was gone.
In every book that Melchior had ever read a ghost’s touch was meant to be cold, but Moritz and Wendla always left him feeling warm, and the only thing that made him shiver was the hungry loneliness in their eyes after they’d been away for too long.
He knew that whatever he did in his life he did for them, and hoped that one day he could make them smile again
Re: Musical Based! (and now in the right slot!)
From:no subject
Date: 2011-02-21 11:04 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-21 02:21 pm (UTC)"Dean, I am not appreciative of this."
"Appreciative? Is that even a fricking word? Come on, Cas- you're human now. Talk like a human."
"Dean, this is not cool."
"Too much humanity. Look into my eyes, baby. Just stare into my green eyes and don't look at anything else. Just look at me. Look at me. I love you, Cas."
The doctor snapped his finger back into place, and Cas was so shocked at Dean's revelation of love that he didn't feel a thing.
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