A/N: A collection of drabbles about the wonderful and under-appreciated Angelina Johnson.
the sunshine and the stars
001. gasping for breath
"Give me your hand out of the depths sown by your sorrows."- Pablo Neruda
It was another chilly night and George and Angelina were trying to find traces of sanity lining the bottom of a glass of liquor. Too many glasses of liquor, if they were being honest with themselves.
"You have four bottles of kahlua in your dresser but no socks. Pretty sure you have a problem, dude."
"We have an empty bottle of firewhiskey right here that says you're in no place to talk."
Angelina looks at him with her smoldering dark eyes and he's sure she's going to start a fight, but, instead, she laughs. Throaty and deep, there's nothing ladylike about her liquor-stained guffaws.
George slings his arm around Angelina's soft, unsteady shoulders, breathing in the lavender smell that clung determinedly to her skin, shining through the sweat and dirt and whiskey. She doesn't put up any fronts. He needs that.