after.midnight // v.naked
Drabbles by Tamara
The gun is a familiar weight in her hand, 2.4 pounds of cold, hard
steel. In all her years on the force, the gun has never let her down,
never abandoned her when she needed it. The gun is her partner,
her best friend.
But she has a different weapon now.
Power, history, destiny, all contained in a deceptive package of
iron and stone. With it she has fought and died and done the
Sighing, she slips the gun into the holster at her hip.
Her primary weapon has changed.
But the gun will always be her weapon of choice.
He makes sure he's home every night, to tuck his son into bed
and hold his wife in his arms. Little things, important things,
things that fall by the wayside.
Weekend picnics cancelled, anniversaries forgotten. Things that
matter more than the job, but somehow don't.
Something changed that day and he knows just how lucky
he is. To be alive, to have them in his life.
He reads his son a story, makes love to his wife, tells her he
loves her. Little things, important things, things he no longer
takes for granted.
He knows one day he will not return.
Lounging beside him in bed, the lean, tanned
length of him pressed intimately against her,
the question catches her off guard.
She pulls away, looks up into his perfect blue
eyes and replies, "No one." She adds a smile,
hoping that he does not hear the lie.
Hoping that he doesn't know that while he was
inside her, she was thinking of someone else.
Ian is her shadow, her protector, her fantasy,
her destruction. Even now, in the arms of a
man she could learn to love, she thinks of him,
She knows only Ian can make her whole.
#4. Ian (and the pink teddy).
There are two important people in his life. Sara he watches and serves, loves and protects. Bound to her by destiny and duty, he would give his life to keep her safe, he would give his soul to have her love.
The other is Bubbles, his fluffy pink teddy bear. She sits on his bed, a splash of bright color in an otherwise dreary room. To her he spills the
most secret desires of his heart, to her he unburdens his soul.
Though he longs for Sara's loving touch, his only peace is found when Bubbles is in his arms.
His lip bleeds, his ribs broken and bruised.
His eye is swollen shut, and he's lacking all pride in his ability to fight. For one moment of superiority, one moment of glory, he's going to spend the next few weeks feeling every inch of pain arrogance and stupidity bought him.
He takes a moment, imagines bashing Nottingham's head in with a baseball bat. It's a satisfying image, or it would have been if imaginary
Nottingham would stop ducking and actually let him get a hit in.
Even in his fantasies he's second best.
Sara comes in, carrying ice in a bag and wearing an apologectic smile.
He wonders what else he'll sacrifice in her name.
She's pretty sure she hates him. Most of the time.
Sometimes she has the overwhelming urge to see him naked, covered in nothing but candlelight and her.
She shakes off those thoughts, tries to go back to work, but glancing at her gun makes her think of him again.
The color black makes her think of him. Dark alleys make her think of him. Lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling makes her think of him. The damn thing on her arm makes her think of him.
Yep, she's absolutely positive she hates him.
She just wished she really believed that.