"What do they unlock?"
Jan. 10th, 2007 05:56 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ladynorbertBrutality (Original) / Sarah Masterson / 30-A #22 Blood
Title: Keys
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ladynorbert
Fandom: Brutality (Original)
Prompt: 30-A, #22 -- Blood
Character/Pairing: Sarah Masterson, Chris Tyler (who belongs toclez)
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,030
Summary: When you drop your guard, you'd better pray there's someone there who still has theirs up.
Author's Notes/Disclaimer: Based on a scene I imagined earlier today. Sarahmuse was restless so I decided to do another ficlet for her. I did run the basic plot past Clez to make sure she was okay with Chris doing what I have him do, since more of the action is his than Sarah's, and she helped me with the end. Nate Wilder, who is briefly mentioned, is another character of hers; Henderson, the officer who appears, is an NPC.
She could smell the blood.
That's what she really remembers, smelling the blood. Her own blood. The other sensations of pain, and fear, and complete confusion -- they don't figure into her memory of the incident. It's perhaps just as well, all things considered.
Sarah Masterson, being a cop, normally is very aware that she should be on her guard at all times. But who keeps their guard up so much inside their own home? She lives alone, at least nominally, though it could be argued that she half-shares the apartment with her partner, Chris Tyler. He has his own key and everything.
Which is, he tells her with apology in his voice, and the slightest possibility of tears in his eyes, how this all came about.
She doesn't blame him. How could she?
She is in a hospital bed, and he is in the chair next to it. This is, unfortunately, not all that unusual for them. Dr. Wilder jokes that he's going to start reserving a room for the two sergeants, they come to see him so much, and Sarah jokes back that it's just because she thinks he's cute. Which, granted, she does, but that's quite irrelevant.
She wants to know what happened, and Chris, rather reluctantly, starts to tell her.
He was doing his laundry. (If she were feeling more like herself, she would interrupt him and say that he should mention such a thing on his dating resume, because the only thing sexier than a guy who does laundry is a guy who does dishes. But she knows this is not the time.) Chris has the washers and dryers in the apartment complex laundry room timed to almost an exact minute; he's just that efficient, at least sometimes. So he knew exactly when the dryer would stop, and he got into the elevator five minutes in advance to go down and collect his clothing.
The elevator was halfway between floors when he realized he'd forgotten his keys -- and left his apartment unlocked. Not a safe thing to do in Los Angeles. He got out of the elevator as soon as he could and ran up the stairs, but it was too late already. He could tell he'd been robbed, and immediately called the station for an officer to come and take the report.
By the time Henderson arrived, Chris was able to determine what had been taken, and surprisingly, it wasn't much. He didn't keep too much in the way of valuables in the house; his city-issued regulation firearm 'lived' in his work locker when he was off-duty and, fortunately, his personal firearm was on him when he'd left the apartment. The only things he knew for certain were gone were his DVD player, a few DVDs, and his keys. The keys were the only really worrisome thing about it.
"How many keys?" Henderson asked. "And what do they unlock?"
"The apartment...my car...my mom's house in New York..." Chris counted out loud. "The lockbox where I keep my gun...my mailbox...Masterson's ap--" He broke off, blood draining from his face, and bolted from the room, Henderson in bewildered pursuit. He sprinted along the corridor to the stairs, skipping the elevator entirely, dashing down to the third floor. Sarah's apartment was at the very end of the hall, and even as he drew level he could see the door was ajar and heard noises from inside.
The thief was another tenant of the building, not unfamiliar to either of them, though they didn't know him by name. He'd seen Chris go into or come out of Sarah's door more than once, so when he realized that there was a second apartment key on the ring he'd taken, it wasn't hard for him to figure out which door it would open. He'd let himself in, not realizing the redheaded sergeant would actually be home; she was standing with her back to the door, the television covering the sound of his entry and approach. Only at the last possible second did she realize there was anything wrong, and turned her head.
Turning her head she can remember. What followed she can't. As far as anyone can tell, Chris says, the thief picked up a slim, heavy flower vase from a shelf by the door and cracked her upside the head with it. She went down at once, and he was just helping himself to the contents of her jewelry box when Chris burst in. It took both the sergeant and Henderson to catch him before he got out onto the fire escape, but, he assures her, the man is in custody. Once the cuffs were on, Henderson radioed for assistance and an ambulance while Chris tried to bring Sarah around. She remembers waking long enough to register his presence, and to smell the blood which had seeped into the carpet from her head wound, but then lost consciousness again.
The next thing she remembers is waking here, in this bed, with her anxious partner beside her. "I'm sorry," he tells her. "I'm sorry."
"Shep..." She is a little hazy from painkillers, but she knows it's not his fault. He would throw himself onto a grenade before he'd let her come to any harm. On the other hand, she can appreciate (in a detached, not-entirely-here sort of way) how he's feeling, because if their positions were reversed, she would feel the same way. So she strains to find some way to tell him it's all right.
"When do I go home?"
"They want to keep you overnight. Just to be safe."
"Okay. When I get out of here? Ice cream. You are buying me so much ice cream it's not even funny."
He gives her an incredulous look, and sort of laughs. "Ice cream?"
"Would you rather buy me expensive jewelry?" She grins faintly.
He chuckles, and shakes his head, reaching over to wrap his hand around hers. "Ice cream works."
Title: Keys
Author:
ladynorbertFandom: Brutality (Original)
Prompt: 30-A, #22 -- Blood
Character/Pairing: Sarah Masterson, Chris Tyler (who belongs to
clez)Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,030
Summary: When you drop your guard, you'd better pray there's someone there who still has theirs up.
Author's Notes/Disclaimer: Based on a scene I imagined earlier today. Sarahmuse was restless so I decided to do another ficlet for her. I did run the basic plot past Clez to make sure she was okay with Chris doing what I have him do, since more of the action is his than Sarah's, and she helped me with the end. Nate Wilder, who is briefly mentioned, is another character of hers; Henderson, the officer who appears, is an NPC.
She could smell the blood.
That's what she really remembers, smelling the blood. Her own blood. The other sensations of pain, and fear, and complete confusion -- they don't figure into her memory of the incident. It's perhaps just as well, all things considered.
Sarah Masterson, being a cop, normally is very aware that she should be on her guard at all times. But who keeps their guard up so much inside their own home? She lives alone, at least nominally, though it could be argued that she half-shares the apartment with her partner, Chris Tyler. He has his own key and everything.
Which is, he tells her with apology in his voice, and the slightest possibility of tears in his eyes, how this all came about.
She doesn't blame him. How could she?
She is in a hospital bed, and he is in the chair next to it. This is, unfortunately, not all that unusual for them. Dr. Wilder jokes that he's going to start reserving a room for the two sergeants, they come to see him so much, and Sarah jokes back that it's just because she thinks he's cute. Which, granted, she does, but that's quite irrelevant.
She wants to know what happened, and Chris, rather reluctantly, starts to tell her.
He was doing his laundry. (If she were feeling more like herself, she would interrupt him and say that he should mention such a thing on his dating resume, because the only thing sexier than a guy who does laundry is a guy who does dishes. But she knows this is not the time.) Chris has the washers and dryers in the apartment complex laundry room timed to almost an exact minute; he's just that efficient, at least sometimes. So he knew exactly when the dryer would stop, and he got into the elevator five minutes in advance to go down and collect his clothing.
The elevator was halfway between floors when he realized he'd forgotten his keys -- and left his apartment unlocked. Not a safe thing to do in Los Angeles. He got out of the elevator as soon as he could and ran up the stairs, but it was too late already. He could tell he'd been robbed, and immediately called the station for an officer to come and take the report.
By the time Henderson arrived, Chris was able to determine what had been taken, and surprisingly, it wasn't much. He didn't keep too much in the way of valuables in the house; his city-issued regulation firearm 'lived' in his work locker when he was off-duty and, fortunately, his personal firearm was on him when he'd left the apartment. The only things he knew for certain were gone were his DVD player, a few DVDs, and his keys. The keys were the only really worrisome thing about it.
"How many keys?" Henderson asked. "And what do they unlock?"
"The apartment...my car...my mom's house in New York..." Chris counted out loud. "The lockbox where I keep my gun...my mailbox...Masterson's ap--" He broke off, blood draining from his face, and bolted from the room, Henderson in bewildered pursuit. He sprinted along the corridor to the stairs, skipping the elevator entirely, dashing down to the third floor. Sarah's apartment was at the very end of the hall, and even as he drew level he could see the door was ajar and heard noises from inside.
The thief was another tenant of the building, not unfamiliar to either of them, though they didn't know him by name. He'd seen Chris go into or come out of Sarah's door more than once, so when he realized that there was a second apartment key on the ring he'd taken, it wasn't hard for him to figure out which door it would open. He'd let himself in, not realizing the redheaded sergeant would actually be home; she was standing with her back to the door, the television covering the sound of his entry and approach. Only at the last possible second did she realize there was anything wrong, and turned her head.
Turning her head she can remember. What followed she can't. As far as anyone can tell, Chris says, the thief picked up a slim, heavy flower vase from a shelf by the door and cracked her upside the head with it. She went down at once, and he was just helping himself to the contents of her jewelry box when Chris burst in. It took both the sergeant and Henderson to catch him before he got out onto the fire escape, but, he assures her, the man is in custody. Once the cuffs were on, Henderson radioed for assistance and an ambulance while Chris tried to bring Sarah around. She remembers waking long enough to register his presence, and to smell the blood which had seeped into the carpet from her head wound, but then lost consciousness again.
The next thing she remembers is waking here, in this bed, with her anxious partner beside her. "I'm sorry," he tells her. "I'm sorry."
"Shep..." She is a little hazy from painkillers, but she knows it's not his fault. He would throw himself onto a grenade before he'd let her come to any harm. On the other hand, she can appreciate (in a detached, not-entirely-here sort of way) how he's feeling, because if their positions were reversed, she would feel the same way. So she strains to find some way to tell him it's all right.
"When do I go home?"
"They want to keep you overnight. Just to be safe."
"Okay. When I get out of here? Ice cream. You are buying me so much ice cream it's not even funny."
He gives her an incredulous look, and sort of laughs. "Ice cream?"
"Would you rather buy me expensive jewelry?" She grins faintly.
He chuckles, and shakes his head, reaching over to wrap his hand around hers. "Ice cream works."
