Goodbye LJ...

[windandwater]

This is just to make it official for those who don't know, but I'm leaving LJ completely. For the rest of this week at least. Tomorrow is the Bar Exam and it runs for three days, so don't expect to see me about at all until Thursday night. Or even until the weekend since I plan on spending Thursday after the Bar drunk and crying. No online time for me at all. *whines* It will be hard, but I know I can do it.

So, because I'm a total h0r like that, I am declaring this to be a spam post. Go ahead. Run wild! Give me fics, give me links, give me pics, just babble to your heart's content and rape my inbox so I have something to see when I finally DO come back to the wonderful world of LJ. I don't even care if you write me a drabble and post it one word at a time. XD;

Though, I've tried to make a spam post before and it failed a bit miserably, so I don't have very high expectations this time around. Feel free to prove me wrong though!

♥

Comments

Re: Seconds & Second Chances

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

The little shuttle rounded some piece of debris, some large metal, and Quatre almost screamed. He could see him. So close... His hands were shaking on the controls, and he seized himself with iron control. He could not lose control. Not now. Not when he was so close. The little speck on his viewscreen grew, and grew, even as the counter raced towards zero.

Finally he was there, and his hands shook despite his best efforts as he maneuvered his craft in close at an agonizingly slow pace, hitting the switch to extend the magnetic arm. The counter stopped, just as the metal arm connected and drew its burden back into the safety of the airlock. Quatre had never cut the com; he heard when the steady, even breaths became gasping and labored, and he heard when they stopped.

It seemed the airlock had never taken so long to pressurize before, and Quatre tore open the little door as soon as the light blinked to green. The suit was crumpled on the floor of the little space, and when Quatre gripped the suit's arm to drag it out onto the cabin's floor, it burned his hand with the cold.

Panic, real, chemical panic, was burning away the last of his control, and the seals blurred in front of his eyes, slipped under his shaking hands. It took him seconds to get the helmet off -- seconds to open that cold, flexible coffin. Too long.

"Trowa!" he screamed, all thought of control gone, crying now. "Trowa!"

There was no answer and in a last desperation, Quatre dragged the still form into his lap, draping the body over his knees. His hands seized Trowa's head and tilted it back, and he sealed his own mouth to that still one, kissing him one last time even as he tried desperately to breathe life back into him.

If there was a pulse in the neck under his hands, he couldn't feel it. He had to break away to take a breath, and he was crying now, babbling all the things that he had tried to hold back, during the agonizing journey. He filled his lungs and kissed Trowa again, breathing for him, wishing only that he could use the air in his lungs to say those words, the ones Quatre had stopped him from saying before, because if he said them he would break down, just like he was doing now. Seconds. He had lost him by seconds.