After reading Qwi-Xux's fic, Me Without You, I was inspired to try out one of those prompt table challenges as well, hehe. So I set off to find something and, lo and behold, found a perfect fit at the 10prompts livejournal community. So, by the time this fic is through, there should be 10 oneshots. (I think that's more fics than I've ever written!)

The moment I saw the theme for this first one, this scene just slapped me in the face; I really couldn't stop writing it once I'd started. The style's a bit different than my usual, but I hope you enjoy!

Prompt # 2: Long Distance
Pairing: JJ/Drake
Rating: PG
Word Count: 696
Disclaimer: Nope, don't own FAKE in any way, shape, or form.

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Bang.

A single bullet shatters the silence, cutting through the tension-charged air as it crosses the long, long distance from the rooftop of an empty, abandoned building, over the heads of the growing mass of reporters and sidewalk-gawkers and boys-in-blue, through the second-story window of a beat down apartment, to meet its target.

The bullet doesn't miss its mark.

Sharp, cerulean eyes watched as a figure – only a second before standing with a hostage before him, a gun in hand, angry, demanding, unafraid – crumpled to a heap on the ground, still and quiet next to the sobbing woman crouched on the floor. He knew exactly where he had hit him; his hand had never trembled, his gaze never faltered, the air around him completely still, and the figure fool enough to stand in front of a window. He didn't have to wait to hear the confirmation of the team within, but he didn't move until his ear piece buzzed.

Target dead, hostage safe.

His hands moved with efficiency and purpose, of habit and training, disassembling his gun to once again stow in its case, piece by piece. But even with the gun out of his hands, the adrenaline continued to pound in his ears and course through his veins, the stoic and emotionless mask allowing no room for relief.

He made his way back to the precinct with the hum of the car engine and a measured pace, two steps at a time, first down stairs to hand over the growing weight in his hand, then upstairs. He vaguely heard the Chief congratulate him on a successful mission, before he finally reached the door to his and his partner's office. He pushed the door open and firmly shut it behind him.

Inside, the blonde snapped out of his thoughts, clearing his worried frown and standing from his former slouched position in his chair. His tie is loose and sleeves rolled up, jacket still hanging from his chair as a sign that he wasn't prepared to leave anytime soon despite his almost-ending shift. He looks on as the blunette pauses at the door.

Concerned gray meets emotionless blue.

But it doesn't take long for him to recognize the adrenaline begin to drain away from those crystalline eyes, the stoic mask begin to slip away.

The younger man moved away from the door and toward his desk, leaning against the front to not-quite sit. His shoulders slouch as he rests his hands on his lap. His blue hair falls across his eyes as he looks down at his hands and the ground.

The blonde released a breath he didn't know he was holding and approached his partner, coming to a stop close, in front of him. He takes the tired, unmoving hands in his strong grip and looks down at them, watching those pale hands grip his in return.

No tears fell from those blue, blue eyes this time. The criminal was brought to justice, and no innocent life was taken. But he still felt the hands tremble within his, still heard those long, deep breaths as the last of the adrenaline rushed out, taking with it the anger, worry, fear, that had been sitting right below the surface of his composed cover. A life is still a life, taken away in one second, with one bullet.

The blunette released a sigh, and his vice-grip loosened. The blonde gave a small squeeze, checking if he was really alright again. He finally looks up, just as his partner does so.

Concerned gray meets calm blue, a trace of the sadness still lingering around the edges.

The younger man let a small smile slip on his lips and gave a small squeeze in response, a gesture of thanks. The blonde nods in understanding, but doesn't quite let go yet, hands still resting over now-steady hands.

He holds on until he's positive that the man before him is once again his partner and not the sniper he was so trained to be. He holds on now as he has done before, as he will continue to do in the future, for as long as he is able to lend his comfort.