Blue Jeans and Brown Leather Jackets
Copyright 2001
Author: emmastark
Rated: ~PG~ Language, a little angst.
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Stephen J. Cannell and
Universal.
Archive: Sure.
Warning: Language, a little angst.
Comments: Please Summary: A little comfort and reconnection
as Face recovers from being shot in the
restaurant.
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Blue Jeans and Brown Leather Jackets
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Sunset.
Red sun turned the ocean into gold, long streaks of gold
across the blue water.
Murdock and Face walked slowly along the water’s edge.
Small waves licked at their shoes. They walked on the damp
sand, two lines of footprints stretching out behind them.
A cool wind ruffled their hair. Now that the sun was
disappearing, slipping down over the horizon, the air was colder.
Face shivered a little. He was wearing an old, faded pair of
blue jeans and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up. They were loose on
him, though. The shooting in the restaurant had taken a lot out of him. He was
still pale. Thin.
Murdock kept sending small glances in his direction. It was
hard for him to walk so slowly, but he could tell Face was getting tired. Just
from walking.
This was all so goddamn hard. He was still so angry. At the
goons in the restaurant. At Stockwell.
At himself.
That was the thing, really. When you love someone, you don’t
want them to be hurt. You don’t want anything bad to happen to them. You don’t
want them to get shot right in front of you and have to lay bleeding on the
floor of the restaurant and not be able to take them in your arms and hold them
and fix them and make them safe.
Face shivered again, as the sun slipped down, down, down. Disappeared,
leaving traces of gold and red against the clouds in the sky.
Murdock took off his jacket and slipped it over Face’s
shoulders.
Face tensed for a moment. Then sighed. Smiled wearily.
Tears stung Murdock’s eyes. He wrapped his arms around Face,
held him close (carefully, carefully).
Squeezed his eyes shut tightly.
Breathed in Face’s scent. Trying to reassure some deeper
part of himself, more basic part of himself, that Face was alive. Real.
There.
Face reached around behind Murdock. Pulled his t-shirt out
of the waistband of his pants. Slipped his hands up under the shirt.
Cold hands. Murdock shivered. But it was relief as much as
anything.
Face was there. Real. Alive.
Face loved him. Face was alive.
They stood there for a long time, night creeping up around
them. Water washing closer and closer up the sand.
When they walked on (slowly), Murdock kept his arm across
Face’s shoulders.
~fin~