Title: Whiz Bang
By: bj
Summary: Look happy, it's the end of the world.
Label: Grace POV. Joan/Grace.
I say: Title and summary from "Look Happy, it's the End of the World" by Matthew Good Band. Set directly after "State of Grace." Story was removed for a rating infraction. I apologise sincerely to those who were offended by the language in this story and weren't expecting it. In my own defense, I wrote it a very long time ago and had forgotten how salty it gets, I uploaded it very quickly, without thinking about the rating (since it's not such a big deal in other sections where I post), and I did realise the mistake, I just couldn't fix it since I was at work at the time. Again, I apologise. However, a grace period after complaints might be a good thing.
You say: All comments appreciated, answered, and archived. E-mail me or make like Ebert and review.
whiz bang
Grace walks Joan home. Joan sniffles every few steps and at first Grace still feels fucking awful, just terrible, 'cause she made Joan cry. Then they're a couple blocks away from the school and the noise of snot in Joan's throat really starts to get on Grace's nerves. She rolls her eyes and makes fists in her jacket pockets. Would you just shut up already, she wants to say, I said I was sorry, what do want from me?
Then Joan stops walking and drops her bag on the sidewalk. She buries her face in her hands and she's really totally crying again.
"Aw, Jesus," Grace says. Her right hand falls out of its pocket and twitches in Joan's direction. Her left hand emerges with another puff of tissue, thrusts it under Joan's nose.
Joan takes a few and clutches them to her face. She's bowed, facing the ground, and her shoulders aren't shaking. On TV people always shake their shoulders when they cry.
"Just go home," Joan says from behind the tissues, and Grace is startled.
"Why?"
Joan hiccups and coughs and blows her nose. Her face is patchworked in red again when she looks at Grace. "You don't want to watch me cry, do you?"
Fuck no. "I want you to stop crying," Grace says. "And I'm not going leave you standing on the sidewalk bawling your eyes out like somebody ran over your goddamned puppy."
Joan flinches and Grace remembers that it's a family member much more important than a dog who could die any day. "Sorry," she mumbles. "I didn't mean that."
Joan's eyes are big, dark; wet and hopeless and her mouth is a dark bitten pink. Grace can see her teeth just touching each other, and the darkness between. Joan shudders a breath and Grace sees her lips trembling with it. A little sob hops out of Joan's mouth and her hand flies up to catch it.
"Jesus Christ," Grace says, and lunges forward, grabbing Joan's wrist, pressing her mouth to Joan's. SHUT UP, she thinks. PLEASE. She doesn't taste anything until Joan gasps and opens her mouth and then there's salt and then Grace's lips are cold because Joan's pulled away.
"Grace," she says, and she sounds more inconsolate than before.
Fuck. Grace opens her eyes and is looking at her own hand around Joan's.
"Just stop fucking crying," Grace says harshly. "For God's sake." She picks up Joan's bag, automatically, trying to be the goddamn gentleman she's always secretly wanted to be, and Joan's mouth closes and curves down, her chest hitching. Grace can see the tears puddling.
"I said stop," she yells, and pushes Joan's bag into her chest. She waits the moment it takes for Joan to put her arms around it, then turns away and keeps walking.
She shoves her fists back into her pockets and hunches her shoulders and makes her boots hit the pavement loudly so she can't hear Joan blubbering in the background.
End.