RATED: K - drama, angsty, family
DISCLAIMER: WAT is not mine
SUMMARY: set after SHOWDOWN, a scene that should've been done by someone else. Someone took Martin's shooting harder than anyone else.
THANKS: Destinedto girls, from the bottom of my heart!
NOTES: One of my favorite guest characters, and I'm hoping he'll come back soon. Also hoping you'll enjoy reading it, because I sure enjoyed writting it.
One more thing: I'm brazilian, so I'm sorry for my every gramar mistake. I did my best, I swear!
ADVERTISING: looking for something happier? You can also read my comedies!
REVIEWS ARE ALWAYS WELCOMED!!!
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Close your eyes
Have no fear
The monster's gone
He's on the run and your daddy's here
(Beautiful Boy - John Lennon)
It had been a while now ever since Victor Fitzgerald had been siting by his son's bed, staring at him, guarding his sleep, gaining courage to do what he had to.
He took some breath and whispered to the empty room. "I'm sorry I didn't come to see you sooner. I, ah..." He looked for a reason inside his mind, but couldn't find one. Probably because there was no reason for him to simply abbandon his own son on a hospital bed alone for so long, there were only excuses, and he wasn't really in his regular hypocrite mood at that moment to try to excuse himself. He was just very tired, and affraid.
"I guess I was scared to see you like..." he paused for a second, staring at the young body over the narrow bed. Tubes coming out of his nose and arms, the machines beeping, his son in the middle of all that, looking so small- God, when did he get so small? Did the whole thing just pop up some bad memories, such as Bonnie holding on to the morphine drops before taking a final breath as the machines that proved she was still alive gave their last beep before going quiet? Or was it just his child, lying there, eyes close and a deep sleep that made him look so serene, and yet so fainted. He actually had to hold himself back not to place a hand over Martin's heart just to check if it was still beating. "...like this."
As if it was a conversation, he paused to let him answer. He couldn't answer. It was a monologue.
"I want you to know that I know that I haven't been very good about... being there for you. But I'm here now, and..." that doesn't mean much, he didn't say, although he knew. He knew it wouldn't make up to anything. He should have taught him better - 40 years on the job, so much that could help, but he just didn't. They couldn't talk about his job. Couldn't talk about anything.
He tried to find a voice, and what came out was a broken whisper. "... but I'm not going anywhere... until I know you're alright."
Victor looked at his son, and after a moment he realized he was actually waiting - a miracle, a gentle move, a louder breath -, but nothing came, and his son kept lying on the bed, quietly, hardly breathing through a machine. What a fool old man he is. His son is in a coma, he knows he can't hear him. It won't matter. It wouldn't matter even if he was alive- awake.
Awake.
Nor if he knew he wanted to hold him in his hands and let him understand he never, ever wants to let him go again.