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F: Summer
Fandom: Firefly
Pairing: None
Warnings: Angst, violence
Rating: PG
Summary: Tracey has been moved from Mal's platoon. For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
30_shinyfics.
"It's warm," Tracey whispers as he creeps forward. The girl behind him gives him a shove and hisses at him to be quiet, but he can feel the warmth of the stones beneath his hands as he wriggles along. Summer. Summer here while there's still snow back home and half of him is expecting a blizzard. Summer while they fight, while his comrades die around him.
Winter would be more appropriate, but it wouldn't catch at his heart half as well. The nights still bite with cold but the days are warm, warmer than any he ever knew back on St. Albans. The sky is violently blue: a bright colour that he's never seen it before. Back home, it was always slate grey.
Palms flat against the sun-warmed rock, Tracey freezes at the sound of scrabbling on the other side of the wall. He and the girl exchange looks and then move, her getting up and whacking the guy over the head with the back of her gun, him grabbing the body and yanking it over to their side of the wall. In a moment they've ducked back out of sight and Tracey is catching his breath, his hair sweaty and clinging to his forehead.
"What do we do with him now?"
"Kill him," the girl says, without a blink, fumbling at her belt for a knife. She puts a hand over the guys mouth and stabs him once -- efficient. Soul destroying.
Mal wouldn't do it like this. Tracey misses Mal and Zoe, always expecting them to be there to get him out of scrapes. They're like a phantom limb in his mind. He expects them to be there and then -- they're not.
"What's wrong with you?" she hisses in his ear. The blood is slick and warm against the ground, running towards him. He moves his feet before his boots get stained with the blood.
"Let's go," he says, to cover his horror, and moves forward as fast as he can. Summer days, he thinks, aren't made for war. He feels sick to his stomach and his palms are more slippery than ever.
Pairing: None
Warnings: Angst, violence
Rating: PG
Summary: Tracey has been moved from Mal's platoon. For
30_shinyfics."It's warm," Tracey whispers as he creeps forward. The girl behind him gives him a shove and hisses at him to be quiet, but he can feel the warmth of the stones beneath his hands as he wriggles along. Summer. Summer here while there's still snow back home and half of him is expecting a blizzard. Summer while they fight, while his comrades die around him.
Winter would be more appropriate, but it wouldn't catch at his heart half as well. The nights still bite with cold but the days are warm, warmer than any he ever knew back on St. Albans. The sky is violently blue: a bright colour that he's never seen it before. Back home, it was always slate grey.
Palms flat against the sun-warmed rock, Tracey freezes at the sound of scrabbling on the other side of the wall. He and the girl exchange looks and then move, her getting up and whacking the guy over the head with the back of her gun, him grabbing the body and yanking it over to their side of the wall. In a moment they've ducked back out of sight and Tracey is catching his breath, his hair sweaty and clinging to his forehead.
"What do we do with him now?"
"Kill him," the girl says, without a blink, fumbling at her belt for a knife. She puts a hand over the guys mouth and stabs him once -- efficient. Soul destroying.
Mal wouldn't do it like this. Tracey misses Mal and Zoe, always expecting them to be there to get him out of scrapes. They're like a phantom limb in his mind. He expects them to be there and then -- they're not.
"What's wrong with you?" she hisses in his ear. The blood is slick and warm against the ground, running towards him. He moves his feet before his boots get stained with the blood.
"Let's go," he says, to cover his horror, and moves forward as fast as he can. Summer days, he thinks, aren't made for war. He feels sick to his stomach and his palms are more slippery than ever.