JASMINE ALLEY: THE BILL SLASH FICTION

Jasmine Alley : The Lockup : Augustus : (grasp)

Title:      (grasp)
Author:     Augustus
Email:      gaius_octavius_@hotmail.com
Web Addy:   http://fabulae.org
Fandom:     The Bill
Pairing:    Des Taviner/Jim Carver
Rating:     PG (language)
Status:     New, complete
Category:   Dark
Challenge:  Not So Secret Santa (2003)
Archival:   fabulae. As for anyone else I would be thrilled and
            honoured, but please let me know where it is.
Feedback:   Go ahead; make my day
Summary:    Consequences.

Disclaimer: Not mine. I'm just playing in Pearson/ITV/Paul Marquess /
            let's-turn-a-cop-show-into-a-friggin-soap-opera's sandbox.
Merry Christmas To: Kel. My favourite-ist author ever & a very cool
person as well *hugs* Hope you have a good one :)

Date: 20-12-2003



***********************
      (grasp)
***********************


Everyone has a past. Common knowledge, but Des Taviner also knows that
some memories are darker than the blackest night. He knows all about
flames and panic and the flash of curling blue on the inside of his
eyelids. At night, he dreams. He wakes with red arcs carved into his
palms from clenching his fists too hard and his legs bound and tangled
in the feverish twist of his bedclothes. Sometimes, he doesn't sleep
at all.

He cares little for his colleagues. Most days, it feels like he's
caught in an infinite cycle of pretence. Des can never quite remember
whether he's the fake or everyone else is. He's not sure whether it
really matters any more. Every day brings him closer to some kind of
hackneyed resolution and it's pointless to quibble about rosters and
lost dogs when it could all fade into oblivion at any moment.

Des likes Carver best when there's sweet desperation in his eyes. He
understands. Little difference between drink and death, both spectres
with grasping hands and an endless, ticking countdown to destruction.
It doesn't matter that Carver's meant to be one of the good guys. Des
can smell the darkness pouring from him in dank and despairing waves.
Carver's not fooled; he stares at bottles and billboards and Des
doesn't bother to pretend that he doesn't see.

They're both fuck-ups. Des likes that in a man, likes Reg too much to
consider soiling him like this. His stomach rolls from disgust when he
looks at Carver and it is, somehow, just as it should be. Carver is
soft and creased and when he's not counting cracks in the walls, Des
can see the resignation in Carver's eyes. He's not sure whether it's
hate or pity that tastes like acid within his throat.

Sometimes it feels like he's fucking his destiny. Two histories with
nowhere else to go. And Des'll be damned if he's going out without a
fight. He'll hold Sun Hill to ransom, tell the past to go to hell and
then maybe he'll be able to sleep right through the shadows in his
mind. Carver watches him, puffy and ineffectual, and tries hard to be
good. Des would laugh if he had the energy. Instead he just rubs at
the marks on his palms and waits for the end of time.

~fin~
(c) Augustus, 20-12-2003


	Jasmine Alley : The Lockup : Augustus : (grasp)
		Title: (grasp) Author: Augustus Email: gaius_octavius_@hotmail.com Web Addy: http://fabulae.org Fandom: The Bill Pairing: Des Taviner/Jim Carver Rating: PG (language) Status: New, complete Category: Dark Challenge: Not So Secret Santa (2003) Archival: fabulae. As for anyone else I would be thrilled and honoured, but please let me know where it is. Feedback: Go ahead; make my day Summary: Consequences. Disclaimer: Not mine. I'm just playing in Pearson/ITV/Paul Marquess / let's-turn-a-cop-show-into-a-friggin-soap-opera's sandbox. Merry Christmas To: Kel. My favourite-ist author ever & a very cool person as well hugs Hope you have a good one :) Date: 20-12-2003 ********************* (grasp) ********************* Everyone has a past. Common knowledge, but Des Taviner also knows that some memories are darker than the blackest night. He knows all about flames and panic and the flash of curling blue on the inside of his eyelids. At night, he dreams. He wakes with red arcs carved into his palms from clenching his fists too hard and his legs bound and tangled in the feverish twist of his bedclothes. Sometimes, he doesn't sleep at all. He cares little for his colleagues. Most days, it feels like he's caught in an infinite cycle of pretence. Des can never quite remember whether he's the fake or everyone else is. He's not sure whether it really matters any more. Every day brings him closer to some kind of hackneyed resolution and it's pointless to quibble about rosters and lost dogs when it could all fade into oblivion at any moment. Des likes Carver best when there's sweet desperation in his eyes. He understands. Little difference between drink and death, both spectres with grasping hands and an endless, ticking countdown to destruction. It doesn't matter that Carver's meant to be one of the good guys. Des can smell the darkness pouring from him in dank and despairing waves. Carver's not fooled; he stares at bottles and billboards and Des doesn't bother to pretend that he doesn't see. They're both fuck-ups. Des likes that in a man, likes Reg too much to consider soiling him like this. His stomach rolls from disgust when he looks at Carver and it is, somehow, just as it should be. Carver is soft and creased and when he's not counting cracks in the walls, Des can see the resignation in Carver's eyes. He's not sure whether it's hate or pity that tastes like acid within his throat. Sometimes it feels like he's fucking his destiny. Two histories with nowhere else to go. And Des'll be damned if he's going out without a fight. He'll hold Sun Hill to ransom, tell the past to go to hell and then maybe he'll be able to sleep right through the shadows in his mind. Carver watches him, puffy and ineffectual, and tries hard to be good. Des would laugh if he had the energy. Instead he just rubs at the marks on his palms and waits for the end of time. ~fin~ (c) Augustus, 20-12-2003

(c) Watching Since Woodentop 1996-2007