Fic: Bleak Rooms (Spooks) PG
Sep. 2nd, 2007 10:53 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
melwilTitle: Bleak Rooms
Author: MelWil
Fandom: Spooks
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Up to 5.1 – please don’t spoil past 5.2 in the comments
Summary: Colin thinks through the shadows.
*
Death is bleak.
Messy and painful and angry and bleak. Filled with scorching hot tears that have nowhere to fall, and pointless, rambling conversations with people who can’t hear. Filled with regrets for the abandoned, and a lingering, fading hope that someone – Adam, Zaf, Harry – is coming to the rescue. That they’re just moments away.
In his mind Colin paces, more confident in his body than he ever was in the real world. He walks down thin, endless rooms, looking from side to side at the long rows of faces. They talk amongst themselves, but he can never quite work out what they are saying. He walks from one face to another, recognising too many people he doesn’t quite remember.
“What happens next?” He screams, as loud as he can, but his voice is muffled, nothing gets past the tightening of his throat. He tries to turn, tries to move away from the indistinct faces. But he is held there, on the spot, still.
He gives up, eventually. He lets the shadow fall over the edges of his mind, lets them creep in further and further until he is completely submerged.
He thinks about Malcolm and crosswords and computer systems. And then he thinks about Malcolm again.
And then . . .
Author: MelWil
Fandom: Spooks
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Up to 5.1 – please don’t spoil past 5.2 in the comments
Summary: Colin thinks through the shadows.
*
Death is bleak.
Messy and painful and angry and bleak. Filled with scorching hot tears that have nowhere to fall, and pointless, rambling conversations with people who can’t hear. Filled with regrets for the abandoned, and a lingering, fading hope that someone – Adam, Zaf, Harry – is coming to the rescue. That they’re just moments away.
In his mind Colin paces, more confident in his body than he ever was in the real world. He walks down thin, endless rooms, looking from side to side at the long rows of faces. They talk amongst themselves, but he can never quite work out what they are saying. He walks from one face to another, recognising too many people he doesn’t quite remember.
“What happens next?” He screams, as loud as he can, but his voice is muffled, nothing gets past the tightening of his throat. He tries to turn, tries to move away from the indistinct faces. But he is held there, on the spot, still.
He gives up, eventually. He lets the shadow fall over the edges of his mind, lets them creep in further and further until he is completely submerged.
He thinks about Malcolm and crosswords and computer systems. And then he thinks about Malcolm again.
And then . . .
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no subject
on 2007-09-02 07:11 am (UTC)no subject
on 2008-05-19 11:40 am (UTC)