A SAD lil present for 
stealmy_kiss... ENJOY :o)
I've been a busy little elf this season...
Some gals like a lil heartbreak for the holidays :o(
Title: "Dulling the Pain" 1/1
Author: Pamala
Characters: Lincoln/Sara
Rating: R - for drug use
Summary: Lincoln and Sara dull the pain together because only they
can understand how much it hurts.
Disclaimer: I know they're not mine. I'm old and tired so, PTB,
please don't slap me around for playing with your toys.
Authors notes: This is my PB _ Santa gift forstealmy_kiss
Who asked Santa for: Gen fic with Linc, Sara, and drugs. Dealing with
Michael's death. What kind of drug/whose possesion/whether it is used
or not is entirely up to the writer.Sorry this is not longer but I'm on a short fic
kick right now and they simply won't come out any longer.
My life is relatively normal now.
I move through my days, work, meals, on rare occasions actually smiling and enjoying life -- myself, with few thoughts of the Fox River nightmare that now seems like another lifetime.
My life is different.
For the most part my life is normal, average, downright uneventful for a good 360 days of the year.
The other five days or so, those days when the caller ID on the ringing phone says ' Burrows', belong to the past.
I often wonder if either of us would be able to survive without these days, the two of us together with no one looking over our shoulder, we allow ourselves to remember him.
Michael's been gone for years now and yet when we are together he is still with us.
In the beginning my nights with Lincoln, the few we managed to spend together, were nothing more than
a rare opportunity to let the pain of losing Michael rush to the surface, flowing out of both of us until we had nothing left to give, with the only other person in the world who could possibly understand.
When it began the only flaw we shared was our need to never show anyone how much it hurt.
That was then...
It was simple, harmless, desperately needed therapy for both of us.
And now, tonight, on one of our rare nights together, LJ away skiing with friends, lying on his living room sofa, my head resting on a pillow in his lap, the scent of marijuana hanging heavy in the room as I take the freshly-filled pipe from his hand I can see how its grown dark and - even if our downfall is fleeting and rare -destructive when I dare to look at it in the light of day.
My head more than fogged enough already, I drop the lighter in my hand to the floor and pass the pipe back to him unlit, chastising both of us the way I always seem to do.
" Jesus, Linc, what would he think if he could see the two of us now? "
My eyes drift shut waiting for the click of the Bic. I always stop long before he does, that will be followed quickly by the packed weed cracking softly in the bowl as he draws hard on the pipe.
" Michael, doesn't think anything anymore! If he did...if he wasn't dead and buried a long time ago ... if he could think at all I'm sure he'd be shocked as Hell to find out I do this four or five times a year instead of every fucking day!"
His voice is rough and ragged, stopping for a moment or two several times, as he speaks to draw more of the toxic smoke into his lungs before he continues.
" Michael doesn't think ... and for tonight neither should we! "
Turning onto my side, rolling away for him so he won't see the tears pooling in my eyes, I reach over, my hand finding his forearm on the pillow next to my head, the muscles tight and tense -- the physical manifestation of the anger and rage that plagues him and his memories of Michael - as I run my hand along until I reach and untangle his clenched fist.
" I like to think he'd understand how losing him, being forced to stand there unable to do anything to save him while he bled to death right before our eyes, hurts both of us so much we have no choice but to come together once in a while in hope of dulling the pain any way we can before one or both of us fall apart. "
The pipe discarded, with a loud clang to the ashtray on the table to his right, he, weaving his fingers
with my own draws my hand up, his rough stubbled chin feeling like sandpaper to my heightened senses on my skin, kissing the back of my hand gently while verbally surrendering -- a sort of a ritual we both must do - speak -- to be able to move forward through to the pain we both feel.
" I miss him so much it physically hurts, Sara."
My response, strangled by tears because like his need to release the anger I need to feel the tears again to make it through is, as it always is, simple, direct and painful down to my very bones.
" I loved him ... but I never got the chance to tell him..."
With hardly a word he slips out from under me fluffing the pillow that had, along with me, laid in his lap all evening long, placing it in the spot he'd vacated under my waiting head before retrieving and covering me with the fleece blanket he'd thrown over the arm of the chair in preparation for the night's expected conclusion soon after I'd arrived.
" I think we've had enough of this for one night. I'm high.… you're high... Neither one of us is thinking straight.
Get some sleep and I'll make you something special for breakfast in the morning. "
Nodding my agreement he leans down to kiss my cheek softly as he mutters words that start a flow of fresh tears I know will last me well into the night.
" He knew! He knew you loved him, Sara.... how much we both loved him. "
The End
Some gals like a lil heartbreak for the holidays :o(
Title: "Dulling the Pain" 1/1
Author: Pamala
Characters: Lincoln/Sara
Rating: R - for drug use
Summary: Lincoln and Sara dull the pain together because only they
can understand how much it hurts.
Disclaimer: I know they're not mine. I'm old and tired so, PTB,
please don't slap me around for playing with your toys.
Authors notes: This is my PB _ Santa gift for
stealmy_kissWho asked Santa for: Gen fic with Linc, Sara, and drugs. Dealing with
Michael's death. What kind of drug/whose possesion/whether it is used
or not is entirely up to the writer.Sorry this is not longer but I'm on a short fic
kick right now and they simply won't come out any longer.
My life is relatively normal now.
I move through my days, work, meals, on rare occasions actually smiling and enjoying life -- myself, with few thoughts of the Fox River nightmare that now seems like another lifetime.
My life is different.
For the most part my life is normal, average, downright uneventful for a good 360 days of the year.
The other five days or so, those days when the caller ID on the ringing phone says ' Burrows', belong to the past.
I often wonder if either of us would be able to survive without these days, the two of us together with no one looking over our shoulder, we allow ourselves to remember him.
Michael's been gone for years now and yet when we are together he is still with us.
In the beginning my nights with Lincoln, the few we managed to spend together, were nothing more than
a rare opportunity to let the pain of losing Michael rush to the surface, flowing out of both of us until we had nothing left to give, with the only other person in the world who could possibly understand.
When it began the only flaw we shared was our need to never show anyone how much it hurt.
That was then...
It was simple, harmless, desperately needed therapy for both of us.
And now, tonight, on one of our rare nights together, LJ away skiing with friends, lying on his living room sofa, my head resting on a pillow in his lap, the scent of marijuana hanging heavy in the room as I take the freshly-filled pipe from his hand I can see how its grown dark and - even if our downfall is fleeting and rare -destructive when I dare to look at it in the light of day.
My head more than fogged enough already, I drop the lighter in my hand to the floor and pass the pipe back to him unlit, chastising both of us the way I always seem to do.
" Jesus, Linc, what would he think if he could see the two of us now? "
My eyes drift shut waiting for the click of the Bic. I always stop long before he does, that will be followed quickly by the packed weed cracking softly in the bowl as he draws hard on the pipe.
" Michael, doesn't think anything anymore! If he did...if he wasn't dead and buried a long time ago ... if he could think at all I'm sure he'd be shocked as Hell to find out I do this four or five times a year instead of every fucking day!"
His voice is rough and ragged, stopping for a moment or two several times, as he speaks to draw more of the toxic smoke into his lungs before he continues.
" Michael doesn't think ... and for tonight neither should we! "
Turning onto my side, rolling away for him so he won't see the tears pooling in my eyes, I reach over, my hand finding his forearm on the pillow next to my head, the muscles tight and tense -- the physical manifestation of the anger and rage that plagues him and his memories of Michael - as I run my hand along until I reach and untangle his clenched fist.
" I like to think he'd understand how losing him, being forced to stand there unable to do anything to save him while he bled to death right before our eyes, hurts both of us so much we have no choice but to come together once in a while in hope of dulling the pain any way we can before one or both of us fall apart. "
The pipe discarded, with a loud clang to the ashtray on the table to his right, he, weaving his fingers
with my own draws my hand up, his rough stubbled chin feeling like sandpaper to my heightened senses on my skin, kissing the back of my hand gently while verbally surrendering -- a sort of a ritual we both must do - speak -- to be able to move forward through to the pain we both feel.
" I miss him so much it physically hurts, Sara."
My response, strangled by tears because like his need to release the anger I need to feel the tears again to make it through is, as it always is, simple, direct and painful down to my very bones.
" I loved him ... but I never got the chance to tell him..."
With hardly a word he slips out from under me fluffing the pillow that had, along with me, laid in his lap all evening long, placing it in the spot he'd vacated under my waiting head before retrieving and covering me with the fleece blanket he'd thrown over the arm of the chair in preparation for the night's expected conclusion soon after I'd arrived.
" I think we've had enough of this for one night. I'm high.… you're high... Neither one of us is thinking straight.
Get some sleep and I'll make you something special for breakfast in the morning. "
Nodding my agreement he leans down to kiss my cheek softly as he mutters words that start a flow of fresh tears I know will last me well into the night.
" He knew! He knew you loved him, Sara.... how much we both loved him. "
The End