AN: I literally wrote this in about 20-30 minutes (if that) to get my revenge on Taylor and Caitlin. Title is taken from 'Asleep' by The Smiths. Also, please be warned that this carries a heavy trigger warning for suicide.
Thanks to Laura for proof-reading, I'm glad we can both hurt each other equally. ;)
It doesn't really feel the same, now that she's gone.
Lance is sat up on the roof of the apartment building they used to live in, drinking away the remnants of a bottle of cheap whiskey. He'd been drinking since he woke up that morning, but he only really started during the wake after her funeral. The team was there. She had family there, too. Her father, and her two brothers. Her mother, accompanied by her fifth husband. A few other people she never really told him about.
He got pissed off when her dad started to cry. She told him plenty of stories about how sexist and terrible he was to her back then, and he wonders if she would have even wanted him at her funeral. Then he wonders if she would have wanted her mother there, seeing as she was never around for her when she was a kid and he thought it was a miracle she'd even turned up now.
"Well…" she'd probably say. "They are my parents."
Yeah, she'd definitely say that.
He looks out across the horizon, his legs dangling over the edge of the high building as he watches the sun begin to rise. It's becoming a difficult task, staying upright. It's just like old times again, he knows he's probably had enough to drink that he should call an ambulance and get himself to the hospital before this gets even worse. But that doesn't mean he cares.
Bobbi used to love sunsets, Lance remembers. He still remembers the way she smiled and seemed so at peace on the first evening of their honeymoon, sat together with her head on his shoulder as they watched the sunset on the beach.
The orangey glow of the sun had illuminated her like some kind of ethereal goddess, sunlight danced on her already lightly tanned skin and her blonde waves glowed like a halo.
Halo.
Lance remembers Bobbi getting shot. Remembers the way she was fine one second, and the next she just crumpled to the floor and he barely even managed to catch her. Remembers how she reached up to cup his cheek and told him she loved him, all while Jemma frantically tried to stop the bleeding and he just begged her not to let go. Please, God, don't let go.
Then he remembers when she did let go, less than thirty seconds after she was hit. Remembers how quickly the life just drained out of her, leaving behind an empty shell and still blue eyes, heavily lidded. Remembers how he screamed his throat raw.
Then he remembers when she did let go, less than thirty seconds after she was hit. Remembers how quickly the life just drained out of her, leaving behind an empty shell and still blue eyes, heavily lidded. Remembers how he screamed his throat raw.
He sinks his head into his hands, openly sobbing for the world to hear while he sways on the edge of the roof, legs still dangling.
He fucking hates to remember.
Lance hurls the empty bottle away, and nearly topples over the edge with it. If the smash could be even distantly heard at this height he certainly doesn't hear it, and the world around him is silent and still.
The sun is still rising.
He closes his eyes again and looks up. Becomes pure in the morning sun. Tries to remember an old coping technique that Hartley taught him while he was still in recovery for alcoholism.
Just count backwards from five, Hunt. If you still want a drink when you get to one, count again. And breathe.
He takes a few deep breaths, and keeps his eyes closed.
Five.
Four.
Three.
Two.
One.
Not working. He tries again.
Five.
Shuffles slightly closer to the edge.
Four.
Wonders what's keeping him on it.
Three.
Two.
One.
He remembers more. What happened after. Waking up at night screaming, often shaking and sweating after being caught in the throes of terrible nightmares. Nightmares that Bobbi would usually rouse him from, and then hold him through the night if that was what he needed. But these nightmares are different.
It was never uncommon for Bobbi to pop up somewhere in a bad dream, but these ones have been purely about her. Twisted variations of the day everything fell apart. Bobbi screaming in agony as she died, Bobbi getting shot in the head and her face being a mangled and unrecognisable mess when he found her. They've never gone away since.
The emptiness is the thing that lingers the most, he finds. The feeling of hollow numbness that challenges him from day to day and is gradually getting more and more difficult to ignore. But the numbness doesn't stop it from hurting so fucking much and he feels like a shell of the man he once was.
Lance shakes his head, desperate for the memories to stop flowing but the thoughts won't go away and he doesn't open his eyes. There's no way in hell that Hartley's little 'trick' could possibly help at this point, but he keeps going. It's nice to have a constant. That's what Bobbi used to say, whenever they were both grounded and didn't have to worry about going out in the field or anything like that. Back before things went to shit.
"What's me without you, eh?" he'd joked one night as they lay breathless on their backs.
Five.
He gets a bit closer to the edge, until he can't go forward anymore.
Four.
Takes a few more deep breaths. All the best people are in heaven, he thinks. Bobbi. Hartley. Idaho. His mum, probably.
Three.
He pushes himself forward and lets himself fall.
Two-