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Jul. 4th, 2004 11:26 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
turpsStill I go on *g*
This is for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ceci2176 who wanted Justin causing an accident that affects Chris. This is sort of an experimental style, sorry honey.
It’s their time alone. Peanut butter sandwiches and bottles of soda in a rucksack, a blanket and an almost empty road to the ocean where they’ll sit and watch the sun rise before heading to rehearsal.
They’ve taken the bikes for speed and Justin listens to Chris chatter through the helmet mikes as they fly along the highway. Laughing at a comment about Wade, Justin barely sees the wheel-trim that suddenly detaches from the car in front. He violently swerves, misses it by inches and starts to congratulate himself for quick reactions.
Then swears when he feels something slam into his back wheel, making him wobble and almost fall. Chris yells, voice terse as he struggles to control his bike. He fails, and the sound of a sickening crash fills the air.
Brakes slammed on, Justin jumps from his bike, letting it fall to the floor. He turns, bile rising in his throat at the sight of Chris’ bike on its side, wheels still spinning.
“Chris!”
Desperate, Justin pulls off his helmet, dropping it from shaking hands.
“Chris!”
No reply. He runs closer, over black skid marks, almost gagging at the smell of burnt rubber and smoke.
“Chris! Fuck, talk to me. Chris!”
Frantically he looks around. Goes cold when he sees Chris crumpled against the barrier. Time slows; he doesn’t want to go over, doesn’t want to see. Pain. Horror. Grief. Guilt. Emotions that flash through him before he’s running, dropping to his knees, reaching out a trembling hand.
“Don’t move him.”
Hands on his body, pulling him away, holding him as he fights. He needs to see, to touch and he elbows someone in the stomach, breaking away to get back to Chris. He kneels, reaches out, touches a hand that’s warm but slick with blood.
“Chris.”
No answer, he didn’t expect one. Not really. At least he’s alive, Justin knows he is. Wraps his hand around Chris’ wrist, feels the slow pulse. Won’t let go. He’s aware that people are talking, but once he knows an ambulance is on its way doesn’t listen anymore. Just counts, slow, so slow. Too slow for Chris, who lives his life fast.
“Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me.”
It’s all he can say, words perfectly matched. Three words, one beat of the heart. Wade would be proud. Justin can find the rhythm in anything. Except Chris isn’t playing the game. His count is wrong, is slowing.
“Someone move him.”
Hands. Lifting, pulling. Making him lose his grip, fingers slipping from bloody skin. He rages, swears, threatens. Becomes the diva people say he is. He’s Justin Timberlake; they’ve no right to keep him away from his band mate. No right at all.
It doesn’t work.
His face is wet, and he wipes it with his hand, leaves behind a streak of blood. Pleads. Not a diva anymore. He’s just Justin, and he needs to be near Chris as paramedics bustle around him. He has to be near, he loves him.
“Let them work, son. If you love him give him this chance.”
Justin nods, understands, but stands watching, ready to fight anyone to get to Chris’s side if needed.
“Is there anyone I can phone for you?”
Justin pulls his phone from his inside pocket, doesn’t see the bloody handprint he leaves across his cell. Hands it over without taking his eyes from Chris.
“Fast dial two. Tell Lance what happened. He’ll know what to do.”
They’re strapping Chris to a stretcher now, fast and efficient.
“Here, son. He wants to talk to you.”
Reach for the cell. Listen to Lance.
“Justin? What’s happened?”
Lance’s voice, so familiar and Justin can’t speak at first.
“It’s my fault. All my fault.”
Justin drops the phone and keeps watching.
I also have to say hi to two new people. *waves atautumnyte and call_me_loca* I don't usually spam as much as I have the last few days ;) Also, just ignore the ficlets, they'll stop soon *g*
This is for
ceci2176 who wanted Justin causing an accident that affects Chris. This is sort of an experimental style, sorry honey.It’s their time alone. Peanut butter sandwiches and bottles of soda in a rucksack, a blanket and an almost empty road to the ocean where they’ll sit and watch the sun rise before heading to rehearsal.
They’ve taken the bikes for speed and Justin listens to Chris chatter through the helmet mikes as they fly along the highway. Laughing at a comment about Wade, Justin barely sees the wheel-trim that suddenly detaches from the car in front. He violently swerves, misses it by inches and starts to congratulate himself for quick reactions.
Then swears when he feels something slam into his back wheel, making him wobble and almost fall. Chris yells, voice terse as he struggles to control his bike. He fails, and the sound of a sickening crash fills the air.
Brakes slammed on, Justin jumps from his bike, letting it fall to the floor. He turns, bile rising in his throat at the sight of Chris’ bike on its side, wheels still spinning.
“Chris!”
Desperate, Justin pulls off his helmet, dropping it from shaking hands.
“Chris!”
No reply. He runs closer, over black skid marks, almost gagging at the smell of burnt rubber and smoke.
“Chris! Fuck, talk to me. Chris!”
Frantically he looks around. Goes cold when he sees Chris crumpled against the barrier. Time slows; he doesn’t want to go over, doesn’t want to see. Pain. Horror. Grief. Guilt. Emotions that flash through him before he’s running, dropping to his knees, reaching out a trembling hand.
“Don’t move him.”
Hands on his body, pulling him away, holding him as he fights. He needs to see, to touch and he elbows someone in the stomach, breaking away to get back to Chris. He kneels, reaches out, touches a hand that’s warm but slick with blood.
“Chris.”
No answer, he didn’t expect one. Not really. At least he’s alive, Justin knows he is. Wraps his hand around Chris’ wrist, feels the slow pulse. Won’t let go. He’s aware that people are talking, but once he knows an ambulance is on its way doesn’t listen anymore. Just counts, slow, so slow. Too slow for Chris, who lives his life fast.
“Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me.”
It’s all he can say, words perfectly matched. Three words, one beat of the heart. Wade would be proud. Justin can find the rhythm in anything. Except Chris isn’t playing the game. His count is wrong, is slowing.
“Someone move him.”
Hands. Lifting, pulling. Making him lose his grip, fingers slipping from bloody skin. He rages, swears, threatens. Becomes the diva people say he is. He’s Justin Timberlake; they’ve no right to keep him away from his band mate. No right at all.
It doesn’t work.
His face is wet, and he wipes it with his hand, leaves behind a streak of blood. Pleads. Not a diva anymore. He’s just Justin, and he needs to be near Chris as paramedics bustle around him. He has to be near, he loves him.
“Let them work, son. If you love him give him this chance.”
Justin nods, understands, but stands watching, ready to fight anyone to get to Chris’s side if needed.
“Is there anyone I can phone for you?”
Justin pulls his phone from his inside pocket, doesn’t see the bloody handprint he leaves across his cell. Hands it over without taking his eyes from Chris.
“Fast dial two. Tell Lance what happened. He’ll know what to do.”
They’re strapping Chris to a stretcher now, fast and efficient.
“Here, son. He wants to talk to you.”
Reach for the cell. Listen to Lance.
“Justin? What’s happened?”
Lance’s voice, so familiar and Justin can’t speak at first.
“It’s my fault. All my fault.”
Justin drops the phone and keeps watching.
I also have to say hi to two new people. *waves at
autumnyte and call_me_loca* I don't usually spam as much as I have the last few days ;) Also, just ignore the ficlets, they'll stop soon *g*
