What I own: Three of Missy's movies on DVD, a half a jar of Rock And Roll Red hair dye and almost a puppy.
What I don't: Rookie Blue. Nope, not mine.
Author's Note: This was written as an entry for the FanFicaholics Anon July drabble challenge but converted to a series because that is what my mind does. It has nothing to do with any of my current WIPs but I saw the prompt and couldn't get it out of my head. I MIGHT have said it wasn't gonna go here… but it did. I'm not even sorry. Y'all know I am a McSwarek girl for life but this just kind of… happened. I blame Peter Mooney and his pretty face. There will be ramifications. And no, to address all the questions, this is NOT following season five but more… inspired by it. I know it is vague, that is kind of my MO… maybe I'll explain, maybe I won't, I don't know but the important thing is that they spoke to me. This is canon, in a sense that it isn't horribly NON-CANON, as it were. It just mixes up canon. Also not beta'd because I am impatient. The song, because that is how I do, is 'The Diary of Jane' by Breaking Benjamin. Turn it up as loud as you can while you read. Just trust me. Thanks for reading y'all. Feel free to ask any questions here or on twitter, I like to answer them. Reviews will be cherished and rewarded with babble, love and sneak peaks of whatever fic you choose, cause I know this one won;t float everybody's boat, as it were. They also make me write faster, so there is that. Thank you again y'all, so much.
Everybody deals with grief in their own way, whatever works for them. Tears, stoicism, shock, silence, hell, even yelling. We saw it all today, at some point, in some way. On the stony faces of our co-workers, the tear streaked face of a mother as she rested her hand on the coffin of her last child, the slamming of a locker door, sobbing in the woods while avoiding dry sandwiches and whispered words of condolence and sorrow at the repass. We all had our own methods.
The drive back to my house had been quiet, as had the walk through the woods back to the car, save for the thunder and the rain pelting the windows. The tires slowed on the slick pavement and I finally turned, tugging my gaze away from the view of the storm.
"You should come up and get dried off, you'll catch your d-" I trailed off, the words that had almost been automatic for so long taking on a very real and very macabre meaning. He didn't answer, save for a nod and turned the keys, the idling engine silencing.
The quiet continued as we headed up the stairs, boots heavy on the wood and rainwater dripping into puddles on the floor as we entered my cold apartment. The lock snicked shut and suddenly it was all TOO quiet. It made it so real, and final. Shaking my head, strands of hair plastered, unmoving against my neck, I crossed to the stereo and flipped it on, not bothering to even glance at the selection. I turned the volume up as loud as I could manage as the first notes rang through the air and glanced over at Nick as he shrugged out of his drenched leather jacket. His head was down, but I could still see the pain etched on his face.
I knew that pain, that expression because it matched mine, it matched everyone's today, no matter how hard we all tried to hide it. And we did try. I pushed it so far down, trying so hard to make things seem okay that I didn't feel anything, not at all. I was hollow.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I listened for a moment to the sounds of the storm raging outside, the pelting rain and thunder nearly drowned out by the music. And suddenly I needed to feel something, I had to.
Shrugging my own jacket off, I tossed it absently aside and crossed the living room in one, two, three strides and I was standing in front of him, tilting my head to meet his eyes. I swallowed hard at what I saw there, the emptiness that I knew so well, and dropped my gaze, rested my hand gently on his chest. I could feel his heart beating beneath the wet cotton, the warmth of his skin somehow seeping through the chilled fabric. I barely heard the inhale as I moved my fingers, it was so quiet. Fingers brushed against my cheek, brushing back a stray lock of dripping hair and I glanced up, gasping at the flash of lust in his eyes. I knew what it was, it didn't take much to figure it out. It was something, a feeling, more than emptiness. There were consequences, of course but they didn't matter, not in that moment.
Everything fell away, the emptiness, the grief, the pain, as our lips met, frenzied and needy and we found the only solace that we could in that moment as the music flowed and the storm raged on.