Ficlet: Fragile
Title: Fragile
Author: eviltwin
Fandoms: Flashpoint
Pairing: Greg/Sam
Rating: PG.
Wordcount: 500
Summary: Prompt : Glass. (Weekend prompt at flashpoint_sru.) Angsty!Greg. :(
Disclaimer: None of the following is true in any way, and no profit is made from this work of fiction.
His jeans are worn, the top two buttons undone so that they hang loose on his hips and reveal a slight promise to the one person who might see. He's standing at the mirror, palm against the glass, studying the reflection of the room behind him. It's early on a summer morning - early enough that they don't have to think about going to work for another hour - and Greg's sprawled on the bed in a mess of sheets and skin. He's asleep, breathing quietly, and Sam watches the rise and fall of his chest.
His hand slides on the mirror's smooth surface, now damp with sweat. His head thumps against the mirror and his breath fogs the glass. He swears. It's so quiet to his ears, but, behind him, Greg stirs and shifts. He turns and watches Greg reach across the empty pillow, sees his eyes open and his head lift up until he is looking at Sam.
"You going already?" Greg asks, his voice still rough with sleep.
Sam doesn't answer. He pushes away from the mirror and crosses to the bed, lifting one leg to rest his knee on the edge of the mattress. Greg's hand comes up, touches skin through one of the holes in his jeans. He leans forward and takes Greg's jaw in one hand, kisses him. It's answer enough.
"You don't say much," Greg tells him, as he backs away again. He's turned for the door, wanting to go and shower and get coffee, but Greg catches his eye in the mirror. "But I like what you do say."
"You do?" His voice sounds choked and he blames the early morning and the lack of sleep and of caffeine. "Was it enough? Did it help?"
Greg's eyes close and he takes his weight off his elbow, falling back into the pillows. "Stop worrying about me, Sam. I'd hate to think you were doing all that just because you were worried."
"You know that's not the only reason," he insists. Even though it is. Or, at least, it was last night. Greg was so hurt and Sam felt so helpless. All he could do was make him forget, make him feel good. Even if it was only temporary. He wants to punch the mirror, feel it splinter into his fist. Instead he clenches his hand at his side and reminds himself that he got into this knowing that it wouldn't be easy. It's fragile.
"But it's one of them," Greg says.
He doesn't punch the mirror. He just raises his fist to it and thumps it against the glass. "Don't make me feel guilty for this," he says. "Don't you wish we could just stop sometimes, too? Stop walking into all these bad situations?"
There's a long silence and he wonders if maybe Greg's fallen asleep again. But when he looks back to the bed Greg is staring straight at him.
"No good ever comes out of turning your back on the bad."
end
Author: eviltwin
Fandoms: Flashpoint
Pairing: Greg/Sam
Rating: PG.
Wordcount: 500
Summary: Prompt : Glass. (Weekend prompt at flashpoint_sru.) Angsty!Greg. :(
Disclaimer: None of the following is true in any way, and no profit is made from this work of fiction.
His jeans are worn, the top two buttons undone so that they hang loose on his hips and reveal a slight promise to the one person who might see. He's standing at the mirror, palm against the glass, studying the reflection of the room behind him. It's early on a summer morning - early enough that they don't have to think about going to work for another hour - and Greg's sprawled on the bed in a mess of sheets and skin. He's asleep, breathing quietly, and Sam watches the rise and fall of his chest.
His hand slides on the mirror's smooth surface, now damp with sweat. His head thumps against the mirror and his breath fogs the glass. He swears. It's so quiet to his ears, but, behind him, Greg stirs and shifts. He turns and watches Greg reach across the empty pillow, sees his eyes open and his head lift up until he is looking at Sam.
"You going already?" Greg asks, his voice still rough with sleep.
Sam doesn't answer. He pushes away from the mirror and crosses to the bed, lifting one leg to rest his knee on the edge of the mattress. Greg's hand comes up, touches skin through one of the holes in his jeans. He leans forward and takes Greg's jaw in one hand, kisses him. It's answer enough.
"You don't say much," Greg tells him, as he backs away again. He's turned for the door, wanting to go and shower and get coffee, but Greg catches his eye in the mirror. "But I like what you do say."
"You do?" His voice sounds choked and he blames the early morning and the lack of sleep and of caffeine. "Was it enough? Did it help?"
Greg's eyes close and he takes his weight off his elbow, falling back into the pillows. "Stop worrying about me, Sam. I'd hate to think you were doing all that just because you were worried."
"You know that's not the only reason," he insists. Even though it is. Or, at least, it was last night. Greg was so hurt and Sam felt so helpless. All he could do was make him forget, make him feel good. Even if it was only temporary. He wants to punch the mirror, feel it splinter into his fist. Instead he clenches his hand at his side and reminds himself that he got into this knowing that it wouldn't be easy. It's fragile.
"But it's one of them," Greg says.
He doesn't punch the mirror. He just raises his fist to it and thumps it against the glass. "Don't make me feel guilty for this," he says. "Don't you wish we could just stop sometimes, too? Stop walking into all these bad situations?"
There's a long silence and he wonders if maybe Greg's fallen asleep again. But when he looks back to the bed Greg is staring straight at him.
"No good ever comes out of turning your back on the bad."
end