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05 October 2006 @ 08:45 pm
Theatrical Muse: Week 143: Question 143  
Name: Dr. Sid Hammerback

Fandom: CSI: New York

Word Count: 702


Revenge.


He didn’t really forgive them. He was certainly angry, at them, but that anger, didn’t consume him. It never would, because he still had all his memories, all his experiences, and, while he had them, he could never fall down and be permanently lost to the world.


The man rolled over, and slammed a hand on the sleep button of the incessantly beeping alarm clock. Ok, so, it got him up, it got him going, eventually, but only because it annoyed the crap out of him, only because, he needed to get away from it, and to do that, he first had to get up. It was no use if he was still in bed, and he turned the alarm clock off, because he might just go to sleep again. So, until he was ready to get going, he’d just keep hitting the sleep button. He was not scared of the alarm clock, by any means, but he hadn’t replaced it with something less annoying, because the fact that it pissed him off, to extreme amounts, woke him up in the morning. If it was all birds cheeping, or cawing, or doing whatever birds did, or, something like that, he’d just sleep right through it, and then, he’d be late for work, and, life, as he knew it.

Sitting up as it began blaring the beeping noise again at him, the Medical Examiner turned the alarm of the clock off, and switched it to radio, so he could hear the early morning news. He listened to it with muted silence, partially interest, yet, partially disinterested, all at the same time, watching an increasing amount of sunlight, spread gradually into an already pink, orange and yellow tinged sky. Maybe, he’d wake up easier if he slept longer, but he’s always been a night owl, and an early morning combination. Perhaps, it should have been either or for him, late nights, late mornings, or early nights, early mornings, but it never had been. He liked his nights late, quite late, and his mornings early, quite early, and that was all that there was to it.


She rolled over and ran a hand down his bare chest, downwards, downwards, a finger tracing over the edge of the elastic of his boxer shorts, occasionally straggling onto the skin above the material, heading up, before going down once more. She was teasing him with illustrious possibilities, undefinable desires, and unrequited questions, all in the name of pure, unadulterated love. Her touch said, “Be quick.”, but her eyes said, “Be long.” His mind swam, as she touched and tickled his skin, both of them, with the knowledge, that, no matter how early it was, there was still a chance the boys could awake at any moment. For the while, though, they heard nothing, not a skerrick of movement or noise outside their bedroom door. Normally, if someone else other than them, was awake, especially at that hour, they’d know it. The couple needn’t necessarily hear, or see it, because somehow, someway, they’d just know. The conclusion that they both had come to, was, that it was just, so simply, part of being a parent. That was all, and, with that knowledge of their parental superpowers, they each knew that, at that very moment, they were the only people, conscious, in that household.

Marianne smiled wickedly, as her nimble, eager fingers, slipped under the elastic of the man’s pants, and downwards still. He just smiled warmly, and looked at her lovingly. They loved each other, quite a lot, and that was what made such early morning, loving madness, so much more fun and exciting. Love, love made everything better.



Slowly, idle fingers winded their way down his bare chest. Fingers that were rough and worked, and crinkled with age, fingers that were worn with activity, and fresh with excitement. He made the motions, down, tracing around the edge, teasing, and occasionally slipping, and then up, after which, his fingers headed down his chest once more, and slipped under the elastic of his boxer shorts, and a soft, but warm and wicked smile spread over his face. He wasn’t dead, just yet, so, glorious revenge, glorious, morning, revenge, was his.
 
 
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