[fic][backdated to Shakespeare's death]
Title: And so it is
Summary: I had to write this out so I know how Martha will react to the death. Yes. I stole the title from the icon, because I couldn't think of anything else to name it. It's really short so I probably didn't have to name it anything. Oh well.
She is sitting in her room when she gets the call.
It comes in distinct and clear through her mobile but it sounds like static in her head.
Will is dead. Hit by a car. Estate is yours.
Dead.
Dead.
It shouldn't come as a surprise to her but somehow it does. There's a second of surprise (can't breathe, can't think) but it passes and fades. There's thirty seconds of grief (tears, chest burning, throat tightening, all those memories of a man who was so alive, a genius who made her feel special) and then that too is gone.
It's like a switch that's been turned off.
It's like the final straw.
Snap.
There's a bottle of whiskey under her bed.
There's a gallon of ice cream in the freezer.
There's a gun in the drawer under her desk.
There's a motorcycle waiting to be used.
There are alleyways, dark and endless.
There are people who care about her.
She shuts the phone without saying a word, sinks back into the bed, stares up at the blank ceiling, and feels nothing.
Summary: I had to write this out so I know how Martha will react to the death. Yes. I stole the title from the icon, because I couldn't think of anything else to name it. It's really short so I probably didn't have to name it anything. Oh well.
She is sitting in her room when she gets the call.
It comes in distinct and clear through her mobile but it sounds like static in her head.
Will is dead. Hit by a car. Estate is yours.
Dead.
Dead.
It shouldn't come as a surprise to her but somehow it does. There's a second of surprise (can't breathe, can't think) but it passes and fades. There's thirty seconds of grief (tears, chest burning, throat tightening, all those memories of a man who was so alive, a genius who made her feel special) and then that too is gone.
It's like a switch that's been turned off.
It's like the final straw.
Snap.
There's a bottle of whiskey under her bed.
There's a gallon of ice cream in the freezer.
There's a gun in the drawer under her desk.
There's a motorcycle waiting to be used.
There are alleyways, dark and endless.
There are people who care about her.
She shuts the phone without saying a word, sinks back into the bed, stares up at the blank ceiling, and feels nothing.