AN: Continuing fic-purge.
Always and Forever
Scotty bends over Kelly's body, and weeps.
He doesn't understand how he can be weeping. He's never wept in his life. Not since he was a very young child. But the tears flow down his cheeks, wet and chill, falling softly to land on the sunken white cheeks of the corpse he still cradles in his arms.
They got him. They got him, despite Scotty's best efforts to save him, to protect him. The marks of their tortures brand the broken body, but Kelly's past feeling, past hurting. Gone. He's gone, he's gone, he's—Scotty breaks off before the grief overwhelms him, and slides his hand underneath the limp, cool flesh, heavier now without a soul. The soul makes the body light. Without a soul, the body's not Kelly, his features devoid of their brightness, of the fierce flame of life that burns within, of—He chokes back a sob as his tears flow, and he weeps unashamedly for Kelly as he lifts his body.
As he lifts, he has the inexplicable urge to be gentle. Why, he doesn't know – Kelly's beyond feeling, past caring. But he doesn't want to jostle the poor dead body more than he has to, doesn't want to abuse it in death as it's been abused in life—
The sobs take him then, and he bends, burying his face in Kelly's cold chest, crying out his name, full-voiced and bereft now that there's no-one to hear him, moaning as he feels the silent heart, knowing it will never beat again, that he'll never see that grin full of laughter and life, that he'll never find anyone who—Nobody makes him laugh quite like Kel. Nobody understands him like Kel. Nobody loves him like Kel—Loved. Loved him. Kelly is dead, and he wants to be gentle with him now, to make up for how rough with him he was before, shaking him by the arms, yelling at him, and now he's dead and Scotty'll never be able to make amends, and he's so sorry, so sorry…
His breath hitches as Kelly's arm comes up to encircle him and smooth his hair. "I'm alive, man, quit that, now," the beloved voice murmurs, and tears spring to Scotty's eyes afresh. "C'mon, Fred C, none of that, hmm? Hush, now. Hush. It's okay. It'll be okay. We're good, we're good, we made it. Shh."
"Kel—" He can't hide the catch in his voice. "Kel—I'm…"
"Hush." Kelly has him in his arms, now, how he's not quite sure, Kel's fingertips stroking his cheekbones, drying his tears. He's enveloped in Kelly's warmth and his scent and his presence, and he's being rocked, and he lets his pain drain away as he melts into the embrace. "Get some rest now. Love ya. Love ya, man, you know that, c'mon, go to sleep."
"No… I…"
Kelly's voice is deep and soothing. "Ssh. Settle down."
A thought flickers through the calm: Kelly's treating him so good, and he treated Kel so lousy, yelling at him, shaking him… "Sorry…"
"Sorry?" The laughter in his partner's voice is gentle. "What have you got to be sorry for? You're always right there on my side, Fred C. Captain Marvel, that's who you are. Don't say sorry, say good night."
He tries to clutch at Kelly's arms. To tell him he would never knowingly hurt him. But the soothing voice murmurs on, and Kelly's stroking his hair, his face, crooning to him, and Scotty lets the warmth and contentment take him, drifting off under a blanket of peace.
When Scotty's breathing has finally leveled out, coming slow and even, Kelly lets his hands fall softly away. He straightens the covers around his partner, thumbing away the last traces of dampness on his cheeks. That was a bad one, Fred C, he almost says aloud. Huh. He's been indulging himself so hard grieving over Markova, over the mission gone bad, leaning heavily on his partner, that he almost forgot how hard it hits Scotty when he, Kelly, almost croaks. God only knows why Scotty should care, but he's long accepted it as a given that he does. And when it gets this close, he knows – should have known, this time – that Scotty's going to hold it all in, keep it bottled up till he snaps, but never show weakness. Not until sleep takes over and his guard is down, when it all comes out in stereo sound and glorious Technicolor.
"Night night, sleep tight." Kelly pats Scotty's shoulder. When the nightmares are this bad, his partner sometimes has a series of them. But not on Kelly's watch; he'll guard Scotty's sleep, not like it would be the first time. No monsters getting past the battlements while he's standing on the tower.
He nudges Scotty over and lies down on top of the bedspread. "Move over," he mutters, reaching across the narrow aisle to snag the spread off his own bed. He awkwardly covers himself up and appropriates a bit of the pillow while his partner flings his limbs about a bit and drools on his back. "You, sir," he murmurs, "are disgusting." He closes his eyes comfortably and allows sleep to start to claim him; much shorter distance to travel now if Scotty has a bad dream, and much easier to get back to sleep afterwards. "At the risk of repeating myself," he whispers, "good ni…"
The words stop in his throat as he is suddenly robbed of breath. Scotty has turned over in bed and, in one movement, wrapped his arm round Kelly, snuggling securely into his back. Kelly stays very still as the sleeping man's hand worms under his own, fitting an arm under his. The searching fingers spread against his chest pocket and curl into a handful of the fabric, fisting tight. There's more wriggling around; eventually, as Kelly holds perfectly still, Scotty's nose and cheek come to rest pressed against Kelly's spine, and his partner relaxes with a sigh. A moment later, there's warm puffs of breath against Kelly's back, slow and even.
A thousand quips run through Kelly's mind: Hey, the name's not Teddy Robinson… Do I look like a security blanket to you?… But his heart's so full he can't speak, his body weak with – with what he doesn't know, but as he feels his partner curled around him, holding onto him like a talisman, he breathes carefully, silently, overcome and not a little awed. Scotty always acts like he doesn't need anyone, like he could stand alone, and Kelly doesn't doubt that his partner could, but… Hell, if Scotty needs his comfort, if Scotty needs him for anything at all, there's no question but that it's his for the asking. And maybe even if he doesn't ask, or can't.
"Stay," Scotty mutters in his sleep.
"Just call me Fido," Kelly grins, warmth and tenderness and full-out affection starting to fill him, too, to relax his bones and lull him into sleep. Smiling, he wraps his own fingers around the warm fist clutching so tight to his pajama top. Anything you need, my man, the thought spills out. His eyes drift shut, his hand clasping Scotty's strongly. Whatever Scotty needs. Anything at all. Always.