![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
fic: talking shit again
Title: talking shit again
Pairing: Chris/Zach
Length: ~400
Summary this is how the break-up goes
Notes: Written as comment!fic for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
1297 ages ago, but her journal seems to have been deleted *sad sad face* so I am reposting here. Original prompt: red wine and ambien, you're talking shit again. Here, have the only Chris/Zach I've written ever!
It's the same old song.
But with a different meaning since you've been gone, his brain on iTunes finishes the lyric as his thumb finishes the single digit speed dial on his cell phone. #2 because #1 is voicemail and he's left it there at #2 because what would he replace it with.
Zach answers. He always does. "You're drinking again."
"Not even a 'hello'?"
He hears the sigh and he can picture Zach pinching the bridge of his nose - the patiently-exasperated gesture he only gets over the phone anymore.
"What do you want, Chris?"
"Why didn't it work, Z," he states, doesn't ask. This is always the purpose, this is always what he wants. To pull apart the fall-apart and piece it back together, reverse engineer the mutual self-destruction. Okay, maybe less mutual and more just self. But he needs to know. He never can figure it out.
"You know the answer to that."
That might be true. In the middle of the day, sunny and clean and bright, that just might be true. But the sun is down and the stars are muted by the city and there's a mostly-empty bottle of The Prisoner on the table to attest to his current lack of clarity.
"No, I really don't." He traces the faint lines of a man in shackles on the label of a bottle of wine. It's a good blended red - smoky and complex and kind of sad ("A wine cannot be sad, Pine." "Can, too. Sadness is a flavor.") - but that's not why he bought it.
Zach sighs again. Thirty seconds are filled only by breathing. A small click and a zip and he knows Zach has lit up a cigarette, is now sitting out on his balcony in the dark.
"I loved you."
"That was never the problem."
"I know."
"So fuck me anyway," Zach finishes the thought and it's as bitter to Chris' ear as it ever was across his tongue.
"That was never the problem."
"What do you want, Chris. You know I can't stand this protracted post-mortem limbo shit."
"Yeah, and I'm handling it so very well myself."
"Point granted."
"You're right though, about the shit part. It's shit. This is shit."
"It is what it is."
"That's shit, too. Pure zen taoist bullshit."
"I'm hanging up now."
"Fine, fine."
"Goodnight, Chris."
"Goodnight, Zach," he says to emptiness.
Pairing: Chris/Zach
Length: ~400
Summary this is how the break-up goes
Notes: Written as comment!fic for
1297 ages ago, but her journal seems to have been deleted *sad sad face* so I am reposting here. Original prompt: red wine and ambien, you're talking shit again. Here, have the only Chris/Zach I've written ever!It's the same old song.
But with a different meaning since you've been gone, his brain on iTunes finishes the lyric as his thumb finishes the single digit speed dial on his cell phone. #2 because #1 is voicemail and he's left it there at #2 because what would he replace it with.
Zach answers. He always does. "You're drinking again."
"Not even a 'hello'?"
He hears the sigh and he can picture Zach pinching the bridge of his nose - the patiently-exasperated gesture he only gets over the phone anymore.
"What do you want, Chris?"
"Why didn't it work, Z," he states, doesn't ask. This is always the purpose, this is always what he wants. To pull apart the fall-apart and piece it back together, reverse engineer the mutual self-destruction. Okay, maybe less mutual and more just self. But he needs to know. He never can figure it out.
"You know the answer to that."
That might be true. In the middle of the day, sunny and clean and bright, that just might be true. But the sun is down and the stars are muted by the city and there's a mostly-empty bottle of The Prisoner on the table to attest to his current lack of clarity.
"No, I really don't." He traces the faint lines of a man in shackles on the label of a bottle of wine. It's a good blended red - smoky and complex and kind of sad ("A wine cannot be sad, Pine." "Can, too. Sadness is a flavor.") - but that's not why he bought it.
Zach sighs again. Thirty seconds are filled only by breathing. A small click and a zip and he knows Zach has lit up a cigarette, is now sitting out on his balcony in the dark.
"I loved you."
"That was never the problem."
"I know."
"So fuck me anyway," Zach finishes the thought and it's as bitter to Chris' ear as it ever was across his tongue.
"That was never the problem."
"What do you want, Chris. You know I can't stand this protracted post-mortem limbo shit."
"Yeah, and I'm handling it so very well myself."
"Point granted."
"You're right though, about the shit part. It's shit. This is shit."
"It is what it is."
"That's shit, too. Pure zen taoist bullshit."
"I'm hanging up now."
"Fine, fine."
"Goodnight, Chris."
"Goodnight, Zach," he says to emptiness.
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
This line is amazing. A-fucking-mazing. I want to save it in my brain for forever and always.
And as a side note: I almost cried when I saw that you posted that 1297 deleted her journal.
at least I obsessively saved her fic into a word document because I loved it so muchI was hoping she would come back to it when the second Star Trek movie came out.no subject
no subject
My theory is that she is probably a published author and her publishing company made her take down her fanworks. I have had several writing friends in other fandoms and it happened just like her journal (no posting for a long time and then deletion). Fanfiction apparently has to be silenced when you become published and big. I'm waiting to read a book one day and think, "I recognize this style...I bet it is so-and-so."