ext_1788 (
dzurlady.livejournal.com) wrote in
crack_van2005-07-23 12:29 am
Entry tags:
An Empty Sky by Brighid (Mild R)
Fandom: THE SENTINEL
Pairing: Jim/Blair
Author on LJ:
brighidestone
Author Website: Here
Why this must be read:
This was written as part of the lovely
ts_ficathon 'Getting A Sense of Cliches' challenge, with the prompts 'Write a story using the cliché idea:**Hurt/Comfort (coma, shot, in hospital, blind) ***and using the sense: Touch'. I don't want to say much about this story, since it will ruin the ending. This is a fairly short story, set some time in the future, describing a night at home for Jim.
In keeping with the author's wishes, I've put the link below goes to the main body of the story directly, not to the warning section, as they do spoil the fic somewhat; if you do want to be warned before you read the fic, click here.
The balcony doors are silvered with mid-winter rain, and the sound of night traffic is sibilant in the street. Blair stands in the doorway of his room and watches Jim drowse on the couch, his long body loose with fatigue. The game flickers on the television set, inaudible, painting the walls with pale ghosts.
"You're watching me again, aren't you?" Jim's voice is rusty, sleep rough. He turns and squints across the room at Blair. "It's like spiders on the back of my neck when you do that, Chief, you know?"
"Sorry. Jim-watching has become a habit, I guess." Blair shrugs ruefully. "I don't think I can give it up so easily, even if everything's ... different, now."
An Empty Sky
Pairing: Jim/Blair
Author on LJ:
Author Website: Here
Why this must be read:
This was written as part of the lovely
In keeping with the author's wishes, I've put the link below goes to the main body of the story directly, not to the warning section, as they do spoil the fic somewhat; if you do want to be warned before you read the fic, click here.
The balcony doors are silvered with mid-winter rain, and the sound of night traffic is sibilant in the street. Blair stands in the doorway of his room and watches Jim drowse on the couch, his long body loose with fatigue. The game flickers on the television set, inaudible, painting the walls with pale ghosts.
"You're watching me again, aren't you?" Jim's voice is rusty, sleep rough. He turns and squints across the room at Blair. "It's like spiders on the back of my neck when you do that, Chief, you know?"
"Sorry. Jim-watching has become a habit, I guess." Blair shrugs ruefully. "I don't think I can give it up so easily, even if everything's ... different, now."
An Empty Sky
