a/n: This fic was inspired by the works of theunwilllingheart.
Disclaimer: Not you, Diane Duane.
Title: a crack in the world
Words: 633
Summary: This is what it means to be nonfunctional. Wizards at War-era.
"There is a crack in everything.
That's how the light gets in."
- Leonard Cohen
Tom sat on the edge of the bed, the heels of his hands pressed into his forehead as if it could help his dull headache. Waking up had not been easy, but now with hearing Carl getting ready and their dogs barking, he had no other choice.
On pure reflex, he reached for his manual on the bedside table. It was smaller than what it used to be, and the chameleon charm that he had placed on it two decades ago had peeled back in parts to reveal a shabby cover for a mass-produced fantasy paperback. Tom turned the book over in his hands, read the spine, and his heart dropped when the words Hearnsesses and Phoenix Press were no longer there, replaced by some bland counterparts instead.
More importantly, Tom couldn't feel the spark of unread messages.
He placed the book under his arm, found his chewed slippers (a belated birthday gift from Monty and Annie some years back), and he made his way to the kitchen with a tight feeling in his chest.
Carl was arguing with Monty, and while Tom could only make out bits and pieces from their dog's end, he could tell the rest from the postures both Monty and Carl had. Their dog plaintively holding his head high, eyes locked on the turkey bacon cooking over the stove, and Carl sucking on his burned thumb, scowling as Annie slunk protectively around his legs.
"I already gave you bacon, brat."
Monty whimpered. He barked, Friend gone, food here.
Tom ruffled the top of Monty's head. "Come on," he said in plain English. Leave the poor man alone."
But Monty tugged on the sleeve on his pajamas. Where Carl?
Carl here but Carl gone, Annie answered in a low sound.
"What's with them today?" Carl asked, oblivious to the conversation going around them. He slid a few pieces of bacon on a plate, and he handed it to Tom. "Annie hasn't left my side since I got out of the shower."
"Can't say why," said Tom. He swallowed back a wave of guilt, and he avoided his partner's gray eyes. He sat by the kitchen island and opened his manual again, chewing on a piece of bacon. The graceful letters of the Speech that he used to know by heart now picked at his brain in unfamiliarity, it was like coming back to his elementary Spanish lessons he had when he was twelve.
How much longer would it take?
He looked up to see Carl giving in and allowing Monty half a greasy slice. Carl's entry was long-gone in the address list. He couldn't remember their actual first meeting at NYU, those trips to the moon, what it was like to hold the delicate heartbeat of the universe in the palms of his hands… Already, Tom could feel his own memories of the Art becoming fuzzier as time passed by, and knew his end was coming for him soon.
Raw, painful grief twisted inside of Tom. "You will always be my partner," he promised in Speech, the words slipping out with a flicker of power underneath. That was all he wanted, some reassurance he and Carl could hold some remains of their partnership and let it tether them as the universe continued to fall apart.
Carl's head jerked up. "What was that?'
Tom plastered a smile over his face. "I said the bacon's great."
