Whoops!
Title:Dethbed
Rating: PG-13
A/N: So I kinda sorta wrote myself into a corner on the new one- nothing big, just need to let something simmer overnight. The next chapter will be up tomorrow night. In the meantime, I went over to commentfic, and proceeded to write something up, only to find that when I went to post it, I'd read the prompt wrong. So here it is for y'all, instead. :) The prompt, which I recast for Hardison, is: Nate doesn't deal with faking Eliot's death anywhere near as well as he dealt with faking Sophie's.
Anyway, here it is:
Alec liked challenges. New problems and finding new solutions. Inventing workarounds for a thousand different variables off the top of his head.
Retreading the same old ground, though? Great for Return of the Jedi, not so great for work.
1. Name: First, Middle, Last
It had been for a job, almost fun, even, faking Sophie's death. It hadn't been the hardest hack in the world, but it had been new. There'd been a reason for it, a funeral to fake and a bad guy to catch.
This time, though, it was old news. The system structure was the same, the format was the same. Nothing new, not really. Boring.
There was nothing to invent, this time around. And the chairs in the waiting room were uncomfortable as all get-out.
5. Date of Birth: Month, Day, Year
There was nothing to invent, because he'd already thought of them all. He'd had time to rehearse the scene a thousand different times in his head during jobs, sometimes even when he slept.
Gunmen on the catwalk, and a distance too far to cross by anything slower than a bullet. A lucky hit to the side, and kidneys slowly failing. Any one of the ugly thoughts that flashed through his head before being filed away for later use. Land mines, whenever he went out on a solo gig overseas. Or something mundane, like the rain-slick treads on the metal fire escape out behind McRory's.
None of them, now, seemed as terrifying as watching Eliot go down during the last job, clutching at his head in agony, or the fact that the headaches kept coming back, night after night.
7. Location of Death: City, Village, or Township
When he'd pulled out his laptop, this hadn't seemed like such a big deal. Just a precaution, to get the Feds to back off. But that was before he'd spent half a a Tuesday night trying to decide which of his nightmares he wanted to commit to paper, if only figuratively. Before he'd had to repeatedly tell himself that it wasn't possible to write the future, that nothing he entered could possibly have any bearing on CAT scans and MRIs.
12. Was Deceased Ever in U.S. Armed Forces?
Alec used to go to Nana's house, towards the end, to mow her lawn, because though she was too weak to manage it herself, and couldn't even make it to the window to look out, she was lucid enough to be concerned about the state of the yard. It was one less thing for her to worry about.
If Alec could get it together, Eliot wouldn't have to worry about the Feds who'd managed to get a good look at him when he'd collapsed on the job. He could focus on getting better. And if he didn't? At least he wouldn't have to spend his last days looking over his shoulder.
Alec worked onwards, ignoring the hopeless taste of surrender at the back of his throat.
13. Social Security Number
Finally, the door opened and Eliot walked out, looking exhausted.
"It's going to take them a few minutes before they have the results," he said, sitting down and leaning against him.
"How's your head?"
Eliot pressed his temple against Alec's shoulder and shrugged. "What are you workin' on?"
"Just makin' sure we're still in the clear," Alec said, closing the laptop and shifting to make room. Stroking along Eliot's arm, he watched the clock and resisted the urge to grab him and leave, try to outrun anything that was coming.
20a. Death Was Caused By (enter only one cause per line)
Eliot was called back to the examination room, leaving Alec staring down at his closed laptop, before turning his full attention to the door. Trying to look casual, calm, like somebody who wasn't waiting to find out if their lover was going to die.
He wasn't sure he was doing a very good job, but there were no mirrors in the waiting room.
22a. Manner of Death (check one: Natural, Accident, Suicide, Homicide, Pending Investigation, Undetermined
He was staring so hard at the doors that he didn't even notice they'd opened until Eliot had stepped through, a piece of paper in his hand, and he said, "Got a prescription for some painkillers, and I need to pick up a humidifier. It's a sinus headache."
"Seriously?"
"Seriously," Eliot grinned, catching sight of Alec's laptop. "Can we get out of here, or were you planning on moving in?"
---
27b Place of Disposition (Name of Cemetery, Crematory, or Other Place)
Alec was startled by the feeling of his headphones being removed. He hadn't realized how loud he'd had them until Eliot asked, "what're you doing?"
"Faking your death."
"Why?"
"We've got a gig next week. Don't want the Feds hounding us. So, sorry to say it, I'm going to have to kill you."
"In your dreams," Eliot reached his arms back over his head, stretching into a shrug and glanced towards the kitchen. "Be sure and get me a blaze of glory or something. You want some coffee?"
Rating: PG-13
A/N: So I kinda sorta wrote myself into a corner on the new one- nothing big, just need to let something simmer overnight. The next chapter will be up tomorrow night. In the meantime, I went over to commentfic, and proceeded to write something up, only to find that when I went to post it, I'd read the prompt wrong. So here it is for y'all, instead. :) The prompt, which I recast for Hardison, is: Nate doesn't deal with faking Eliot's death anywhere near as well as he dealt with faking Sophie's.
Anyway, here it is:
Alec liked challenges. New problems and finding new solutions. Inventing workarounds for a thousand different variables off the top of his head.
Retreading the same old ground, though? Great for Return of the Jedi, not so great for work.
1. Name: First, Middle, Last
It had been for a job, almost fun, even, faking Sophie's death. It hadn't been the hardest hack in the world, but it had been new. There'd been a reason for it, a funeral to fake and a bad guy to catch.
This time, though, it was old news. The system structure was the same, the format was the same. Nothing new, not really. Boring.
There was nothing to invent, this time around. And the chairs in the waiting room were uncomfortable as all get-out.
5. Date of Birth: Month, Day, Year
There was nothing to invent, because he'd already thought of them all. He'd had time to rehearse the scene a thousand different times in his head during jobs, sometimes even when he slept.
Gunmen on the catwalk, and a distance too far to cross by anything slower than a bullet. A lucky hit to the side, and kidneys slowly failing. Any one of the ugly thoughts that flashed through his head before being filed away for later use. Land mines, whenever he went out on a solo gig overseas. Or something mundane, like the rain-slick treads on the metal fire escape out behind McRory's.
None of them, now, seemed as terrifying as watching Eliot go down during the last job, clutching at his head in agony, or the fact that the headaches kept coming back, night after night.
7. Location of Death: City, Village, or Township
When he'd pulled out his laptop, this hadn't seemed like such a big deal. Just a precaution, to get the Feds to back off. But that was before he'd spent half a a Tuesday night trying to decide which of his nightmares he wanted to commit to paper, if only figuratively. Before he'd had to repeatedly tell himself that it wasn't possible to write the future, that nothing he entered could possibly have any bearing on CAT scans and MRIs.
12. Was Deceased Ever in U.S. Armed Forces?
Alec used to go to Nana's house, towards the end, to mow her lawn, because though she was too weak to manage it herself, and couldn't even make it to the window to look out, she was lucid enough to be concerned about the state of the yard. It was one less thing for her to worry about.
If Alec could get it together, Eliot wouldn't have to worry about the Feds who'd managed to get a good look at him when he'd collapsed on the job. He could focus on getting better. And if he didn't? At least he wouldn't have to spend his last days looking over his shoulder.
Alec worked onwards, ignoring the hopeless taste of surrender at the back of his throat.
13. Social Security Number
Finally, the door opened and Eliot walked out, looking exhausted.
"It's going to take them a few minutes before they have the results," he said, sitting down and leaning against him.
"How's your head?"
Eliot pressed his temple against Alec's shoulder and shrugged. "What are you workin' on?"
"Just makin' sure we're still in the clear," Alec said, closing the laptop and shifting to make room. Stroking along Eliot's arm, he watched the clock and resisted the urge to grab him and leave, try to outrun anything that was coming.
20a. Death Was Caused By (enter only one cause per line)
Eliot was called back to the examination room, leaving Alec staring down at his closed laptop, before turning his full attention to the door. Trying to look casual, calm, like somebody who wasn't waiting to find out if their lover was going to die.
He wasn't sure he was doing a very good job, but there were no mirrors in the waiting room.
22a. Manner of Death (check one: Natural, Accident, Suicide, Homicide, Pending Investigation, Undetermined
He was staring so hard at the doors that he didn't even notice they'd opened until Eliot had stepped through, a piece of paper in his hand, and he said, "Got a prescription for some painkillers, and I need to pick up a humidifier. It's a sinus headache."
"Seriously?"
"Seriously," Eliot grinned, catching sight of Alec's laptop. "Can we get out of here, or were you planning on moving in?"
---
27b Place of Disposition (Name of Cemetery, Crematory, or Other Place)
Alec was startled by the feeling of his headphones being removed. He hadn't realized how loud he'd had them until Eliot asked, "what're you doing?"
"Faking your death."
"Why?"
"We've got a gig next week. Don't want the Feds hounding us. So, sorry to say it, I'm going to have to kill you."
"In your dreams," Eliot reached his arms back over his head, stretching into a shrug and glanced towards the kitchen. "Be sure and get me a blaze of glory or something. You want some coffee?"