Tim doesn't contact Matt, and Matt doesn't contact Tim. It's lonely. He hadn't realized how much of his free time was spent with the other until he started going home to an empty apartment and pouring a single glass and spending the evenings watching Storage Wars by himself. It feels as if there's an important piece of him missing. Like there's a hole in his heart.
It's stupid. It's stupid that he's so in love. So in love that even though he hates sleeping in an empty bed, but can't bring himself to invite anybody else into it. After all, it's not as if they've broken up. Tim left it open ended for a reason.
He considers getting a dog before he remembers he hates dogs. This is fucking him up.
Several days past, and Tim dedicates himself to work. To the marshal's service, and to the task force dedicated to hunting down the Devil of Hell's Kitchen. There's more than enough work to occupy him, for the most part. The Devil is active, more active than usual, cleaning up the streets in his usual illegal, vigilante manner. Tim, at least, recognizes that the vigilante is trying to help. It's a the-ends-justify-the-means sort of thing, a mentality Tim recognizes from the military. But the police force doesn't feel the same way.
The Devil's one step ahead of them though, always. They come close one night, but not close enough for it to matter. It keeps Tim busy, though. And that's important.
Karen texts him one day. Tim scoffs out loud at the words car accident. Tim doesn't text her back, and Tim doesn't reach out to Matt, either. But the message eats away at him for days. Matt's sad. Tim shouldn't cave just because Matt's sad, but he feels guilty, if he's being honest. Maybe he has nothing to feel guilty over, but he does. He wants to reconcile.
He wants to make up. Even if he doesn't get the answers he wants.
One night, after working late, he texts Matt. A simple Can I come over? that doesn't get answered. Normally Matt's relatively prompt about texting him back. Tim's equal parts worried and annoyed. Worried that Matt's gotten himself hurt, and annoyed that the other has the gall to ignore him after everything that's been said and done.
So he stops by. Maybe it's rude, but they're past that now. He knocks on the door, and not a second after, there's a crash from inside. Tim frowns. There's another crash, this one more concerning than the last, and Tim acts before he thinks. When the door doesn't open, he draws his gun and shoots the lock, keeping it unholstered as he yanks the door open.
He finds not Matt, but the Devil. The Devil of Hell's Kitchen, beat up and bloody and barely breathing on Matt's coffee table. Suddenly, something clicks in his mind. Suddenly, it makes sense. It's ridiculous. It's outrageous and improbable, maybe even impossible. But somehow, it makes sense. Tim swallows hard, gun still drawn and trained on the vigilante as he creeps closer. His weapon never wavers as he kneels down slowly, reaching out to remove the mask covering part of the vigilante's face.
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branchandroot
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Date: 2016-08-31 12:52 am (UTC)It's stupid. It's stupid that he's so in love. So in love that even though he hates sleeping in an empty bed, but can't bring himself to invite anybody else into it. After all, it's not as if they've broken up. Tim left it open ended for a reason.
He considers getting a dog before he remembers he hates dogs. This is fucking him up.
Several days past, and Tim dedicates himself to work. To the marshal's service, and to the task force dedicated to hunting down the Devil of Hell's Kitchen. There's more than enough work to occupy him, for the most part. The Devil is active, more active than usual, cleaning up the streets in his usual illegal, vigilante manner. Tim, at least, recognizes that the vigilante is trying to help. It's a the-ends-justify-the-means sort of thing, a mentality Tim recognizes from the military. But the police force doesn't feel the same way.
The Devil's one step ahead of them though, always. They come close one night, but not close enough for it to matter. It keeps Tim busy, though. And that's important.
Karen texts him one day. Tim scoffs out loud at the words car accident. Tim doesn't text her back, and Tim doesn't reach out to Matt, either. But the message eats away at him for days. Matt's sad. Tim shouldn't cave just because Matt's sad, but he feels guilty, if he's being honest. Maybe he has nothing to feel guilty over, but he does. He wants to reconcile.
He wants to make up. Even if he doesn't get the answers he wants.
One night, after working late, he texts Matt. A simple Can I come over? that doesn't get answered. Normally Matt's relatively prompt about texting him back. Tim's equal parts worried and annoyed. Worried that Matt's gotten himself hurt, and annoyed that the other has the gall to ignore him after everything that's been said and done.
So he stops by. Maybe it's rude, but they're past that now. He knocks on the door, and not a second after, there's a crash from inside. Tim frowns. There's another crash, this one more concerning than the last, and Tim acts before he thinks. When the door doesn't open, he draws his gun and shoots the lock, keeping it unholstered as he yanks the door open.
He finds not Matt, but the Devil. The Devil of Hell's Kitchen, beat up and bloody and barely breathing on Matt's coffee table. Suddenly, something clicks in his mind. Suddenly, it makes sense. It's ridiculous. It's outrageous and improbable, maybe even impossible. But somehow, it makes sense. Tim swallows hard, gun still drawn and trained on the vigilante as he creeps closer. His weapon never wavers as he kneels down slowly, reaching out to remove the mask covering part of the vigilante's face.