Disclaimer: Not mine (wish they were), and I'm not making any money (and I don't mind).
Warning: Very mild slash, but death story. Very dark. You've been warned.
I'm still trying to figure out where this story came from, 'cause I don't usually write dark fic. I think I wrote it because I've read quite a few fics where Jim kinda casually mentions that if Blair died he'd "eat his gun". I guess I started to wonder how that would play out...
Written for LiveJournal Sentinel Thursday challenge #159 - Dependency. Unbetaed, so all mistakes are mine.
He sprints past me and towards the house. Who does he fucking think he's kidding, Mr. "Me-a-hero-you-must-be-joking"? I know what he's doing - he's heading for the poor woman who's standing in the yard in confusion and shock, bullets flying around her. Wouldn't you know the damn Feds would screw up a simple hostage negotiation? Now we've got a firefight.
"Sandburg, get down!" I yell, returning fire. He hits the ground, but awkwardly, and I feel a chill down my spine. I can smell blood. He's been hit. His back is to me; I can't see where, can't see how bad it is. I listen, but all I hear is harsh, labored breathing and his heart beating fast, panicked. "Simon!" I yell, "Officer down! Get an ambulance!"
The Feds smoke the place and rush in, and then I can get to him. He's rolled over onto his back. Christ, it's bad. There's blood everywhere. I press my hand over the wound, hoping to staunch some of the flow, and grab his shoulder with the other. "Hey, Chief," I say, trying to keep my voice low and soothing, "it's okay, I've got you. The ambulance is on its way. Just try to relax."
"Jim…I…I'm sorry," he whispers, but his breathing evens out a little and his heartbeat isn't quite so frantic. His eyes meet mine and I can see the fear there, but he's trying to control it. "D-don't…be pissed at me…okay?"
"I'm not pissed at you," I say. "Just take it easy." I look back towards the street. Where the hell are those goddamned paramedics?
His heartbeat stutters, falters, and I feel his hand grip the sleeve of my jacket. "Man, I'm…I'm really c-cold," he says. I feel that prickle down my spine again.
"Blair, come on, hang in there, buddy," I say, giving his shoulder a tight squeeze. "Come on, babe, focus, stay with me." I want to take off my jacket, wrap it around him to keep him warm, but I'm afraid to let go of him.
"…trying to…" he whispers, "It's hard…"
My guts ice over. I release his shoulder and grab his hand. His fingers are cool against mine. I lean over and kiss him gently. I don't give a fuck who sees us. They all suspect it, anyway. "Come on, babe, hang in there," I plead. "I need you."
I've never said that to anyone. I've told a handful of people that I loved them, including Blair. But I've never told anyone that I needed them. I was never willing to admit that to anyone. Except him.
He smiles at me, a little sadly. "Love you," he murmurs, his fingers squeezing mine weakly. "…sorry…"
All of a sudden, there's silence where his heartbeat used to be. It's the loudest thing I've ever heard. It's echoing in my head, drowning out everything – people yelling, footsteps pounding on the pavement, sirens, Simon's voice, tires squealing on asphalt.
I don't scream, I don't cry, I don't get angry, I don't lose control. I don't do any of those things. I just pull him to me and hold him close. I was given a second chance, once; I know I won't be that lucky again.
I don't know how much time passes. I can feel his body slowly cooling, can tell that his scent is slowly changing. I feel Simon's hand on my shoulder, but it's as if he's miles away. I know that I can't sit here forever, that I need to let him go, but I can't. I just can't.
I'm not entirely sure how I got back to the loft. I remember Simon talking to me after they took Blair's body away. I couldn't understand what he was saying; the words didn't make any sense. I said something to him, but I can't remember what. It must have been reassuring enough that he let me come back here on my own.
I climb the stairs slowly to our bedroom. I try to remember what it was like this morning. He took a long time in the shower and I was teasing him about his hair. Did I touch him, did I kiss him? Did I tell him I loved him? I can't remember. It's already starting to blur and fade.
His scent is still strong in here, though. Then I realize that that's because my shirt is soaked with his blood. I run my hand down the stain. It's the last part of him I'll ever touch. I wonder how long I will have before the scent disappears completely, before it fades away just like my memories. And that's when I know, without a doubt, that I can't do this. It's only been an hour, but it feels like it's been years.
The phone keeps ringing. It's probably Simon. I'm sure he's worried about me. If I don't answer soon he'll send someone over to make sure I'm okay. No, more likely he'll come himself.
The gun barrel tastes unpleasant, metallic and oily. But I won't have to put up with it for long. All I have to do is pull the trigger. Just pull the trigger, and it'll all be o….