The Path of Thorns
By: Allison
Disclaimer: Not my players, just my playground.
Archive: The Graveyard
Rated: PG-13
A/N: This came to me a few nights ago during a bout of insomnia.
Summary: He never thought he'd find what he was running from...
Prologue
++++++
It was raining in Delaware. He saw it on the news that night, sitting on the sofa with a box of chocolate covered grasshoppers and a glass of scotch, straight up on the rocks, dangling idly from his hand. Delaware always had rain it seemed, except when it had snow. Not that it mattered - it matched his mood of late, and he'd much rather have it that way than the other way around.
It had been months since he'd thought of work, since he'd packed his things and left the notice of his six-month leave lying on his desk. He'd left Warrick in charge-he knew Warrick would understand why he'd had to go-why he was running.
After those first eight months of endless searching, endless chasing -of leads and evidence and suspects, he'd given up. The faster they worked, the faster the evidence seemed to disappear and deeper his pain became. He had to run; it was his only choice-only escape-the only thing he could think of to do.
He'd run far and fast. Hell, he'd run himself clear across the country. Holing himself in this shack of a cabin with his bugs and his scotch, away from the world, made it easier to exist.
Until now.
The t.v. that he'd made sure had satellite flashed before his eyes. The weather had come and gone-the top stories were playing, a woman had been found.
His hands ran unconsciously over the ring on his finger. This had to be a joke. It hadn't happened, it couldn't. He had to be hallucinating.
He didn't even notice the glass tumbler fall swiftly, surely to the ground, shattering--didn't notice as the remains of his drink splashed onto the hardwood floor, staining the nearby rug.
The TV droned on...the story continued...and it happened again...they flashed her picture again. Gil knew those eyes anywhere.
Grabbing a flashlight and his keys off of the table next to him Gil ran out the door to his truck. Four months ago, he'd started running from a ghost...and now, now he'd caught up with something very real.
TBC.
By: Allison
Disclaimer: Not my players, just my playground.
Archive: The Graveyard
Rated: PG-13
A/N: This came to me a few nights ago during a bout of insomnia.
Summary: He never thought he'd find what he was running from...
Prologue
++++++
It was raining in Delaware. He saw it on the news that night, sitting on the sofa with a box of chocolate covered grasshoppers and a glass of scotch, straight up on the rocks, dangling idly from his hand. Delaware always had rain it seemed, except when it had snow. Not that it mattered - it matched his mood of late, and he'd much rather have it that way than the other way around.
It had been months since he'd thought of work, since he'd packed his things and left the notice of his six-month leave lying on his desk. He'd left Warrick in charge-he knew Warrick would understand why he'd had to go-why he was running.
After those first eight months of endless searching, endless chasing -of leads and evidence and suspects, he'd given up. The faster they worked, the faster the evidence seemed to disappear and deeper his pain became. He had to run; it was his only choice-only escape-the only thing he could think of to do.
He'd run far and fast. Hell, he'd run himself clear across the country. Holing himself in this shack of a cabin with his bugs and his scotch, away from the world, made it easier to exist.
Until now.
The t.v. that he'd made sure had satellite flashed before his eyes. The weather had come and gone-the top stories were playing, a woman had been found.
His hands ran unconsciously over the ring on his finger. This had to be a joke. It hadn't happened, it couldn't. He had to be hallucinating.
He didn't even notice the glass tumbler fall swiftly, surely to the ground, shattering--didn't notice as the remains of his drink splashed onto the hardwood floor, staining the nearby rug.
The TV droned on...the story continued...and it happened again...they flashed her picture again. Gil knew those eyes anywhere.
Grabbing a flashlight and his keys off of the table next to him Gil ran out the door to his truck. Four months ago, he'd started running from a ghost...and now, now he'd caught up with something very real.
TBC.