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monaboyd Apr. 14th, 2006 10:43 pm)
georgia-mason.livejournal.com posting in monaboyd Apr. 14th, 2006 10:43 pm)Author: ![[profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
georgia_mason
Title: Midnight In The Garden
Pairing: Charlie/Shark (Urban Ghost Story/Lost crossover)
Rating: R - Violence, swearing.
Summary: Charlie gets more than he bargained for during a deal. Oh and I mean no offence to Rangers fans! :)
Note: The song The Shark sings in this fic is, "Two Little Boys" by Rolf Harris. I hope it's okay to post crossovers here. If it's not, I'll take it down.
Disclaimer: None of it ever happened. Fiction, mate.
Warning: Dead bodies but not of the main characters. Don't read if you don't like murder in your fiction.
Feedback : Need it to see if I should bother with this. :)
georgia_masonTitle: Midnight In The Garden
Pairing: Charlie/Shark (Urban Ghost Story/Lost crossover)
Rating: R - Violence, swearing.
Summary: Charlie gets more than he bargained for during a deal. Oh and I mean no offence to Rangers fans! :)
Note: The song The Shark sings in this fic is, "Two Little Boys" by Rolf Harris. I hope it's okay to post crossovers here. If it's not, I'll take it down.
Disclaimer: None of it ever happened. Fiction, mate.
Warning: Dead bodies but not of the main characters. Don't read if you don't like murder in your fiction.
Feedback : Need it to see if I should bother with this. :)
"What's your name?" My eyes open blearily. Fuck, I ache all over. The fucking irony. There was me on my way for a fix to numb a psychological pain and now I'm here, strapped to a chair, with alot of physical pain and no fucking fix. Oh yeah, and there's some cunt kicking my chair rather rudely. "What's your fucking name, you deaf bollox?" Being interrogated by some short, Scottish nazi is bad enough - being interrogated by some short, Scottish Rangers fan is even worse. I can see the sticker taunting me proudly from the one, small window opposite me. Yeah, this cunt is bluer than the sky.
"Charlie. And may I ask your name? Seeing as I'm tied to your chair here, I feel it's only fair." That earns me a sound, hard smack and I can taste the blood already. It's a sobering thing to be able to taste your own blood. There's something unnatural about it.
"No, you may not! You wee doss, cunt!" I'm a little worried now, mind you. Upon further inspection I can see that, blue and all as he is, this fucker is not to be reckoned with. He's twitchy, unbalanced and yet in complete control. They're always the worst kind of scum. They're the ones that won't threaten to break your legs, they just do it. Then they make a nice cup of tea, maybe watch an episode of Eastenders while you writhe around on the floor. Or in this case, it would probably be a repeat of "Hamish Macbeth" on UKgold. There are Scottishisms flying all over the place and I feel I'll need an interpreter if I want to keep me kneecaps. Some B.A Barracas wannabee just called me a, "Wide-O." I mean, what the bloody hell is that?
"So, Charlie. Bonnie Prince Charlie...you gonna help us bury that poor wee cunt, then?" I follow his sharp nod to a bundle on the ground. At first glance it just looks like a load of dirty washing but then I clock it. I remember. My blood runs cold, my stomach drops. I feel more poorly than usual. "Oh fuck! He's dead!"
The blue, nazi fucking Rangers fan claps slowly, condescendingly. He smiles and I don't know what I'm more afraid of - going down for twenty years in Broadmoor or dying slowly under this pricks cold sneer. "There we are now. All coming back to you, eh? Rolled him over like a ragdoll, you ken?"
And the cheeky bastard in me wants to fire back Actually no, I'm Charlie but this isn't exactly the time for Charlie Pace's One Man Comedy Troupe. Afterall, this isn't the Edinburgh Festival, it's fucking Glasgow. Oh yeah, and I'm in a room with a dead body...Of a man I killed.
"It...fuck, man. It was an accident. You said the cops were coming, I just bailed. I just wanted to get out. I didn't mean for this to happen!" He chuckles then and it's the coldest fucking sound. He doesn't give a toss about the poor bastard wrapped up in sheets on the floor like a dead dog, he just wants to make sure he doesn't get done for it. Evil cunt.
"It's a funny thing, but I've never seen junkie scum just leave a hit behind like that. One mention that the polis were on their way and your legs couldn't carry you fast enough! New to this game are you? Though you don't look it. And that poor wee cunt had to pay for it. Just aswell we got to you before you fled the scene, eh? Imagine that, wee boy. You left a young man to die on the roadside. What kind of sick fuck does that make you, eh?" He's smiling all the while. Is there any humanity in him? Christ, is there any left in me? All I can think about is cooking up a hit.
"What was his name?" My voice doesn't sound like my own. It's a mixture of grief and the come down. It's going to be a hard come down, I'm sweating buckets. And I'm just praying to fuck that I don't puke all over myself in front of these fine, apparel gentlemen.
"I have no fucking clue, bonnie prince. We weren't exactly bosom buddies, you know? He was just another infested, client. A bit like you. Except you have a name but, only by default. Nah, he was no waste. But it's a mess, Charlie. Your mess to be exact. And I'm fucked if I'm gonna clean it up by myself!" He's taking off his jacket now and unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirt sleeve. Fucking god awful taste in clothes, this pretty prick has. He's turning the sleeves up and all I can think is This is it. I'm gonna die now. Charlie Pace has left the building. Or else he's about to be splattered all over it.
He gestures to "B.A Barracas" and I'm untied. I balk a little as this big, fuck off lackey pushes me from behind in the direction of the Blue Man, as I have deemed him. Old blue here, wastes no time in getting right up in my personal space. "Now lad, you take the legs, I'll take the head. Lets get this fucker into the boot and under ground as fast as possible, right? Frank? Get the car."
I'm all a fluster now. Torn between the fact that I'm not being bludgoned to death and the fact that B.A here, has a name. At least someone does, besides me. I ask no questions, I just get to it. The minute I feel the weight of this guy in my arms, I feel sick. This really is my mess. A death on my hands. Literally. But fuck, it was an accident. But fuck, this was some mothers son.
I've lost alot of weight recently and I'm of little use to Blue Man trying to move a dead body. He's smaller than me but infinitely stronger, in so many ways, I reckon. So, Franky boy has to help. He's none to chuffed about it either. But he's used to it. I can tell.
We got the body in the back, by the sheer grace of god, I think and I'm shoved into the back seat with Blue Man. Frank's in the drivers seat but that's hypothetical.
We drive for what seems like an eternity. Still, twenty miles outside of anywhere is always alot for me. I'm crap on the road too, always complaining. Liam sometimes refuses to travel in the bus with me if I'm on a come down, or he is, because I'll complain from one city to the next. Just aswell we have the van with us, that way we can put a bit of healthy space between us. It's funny, the things you think about when you're on your way to bury a dead body.
Blue man throws me the occasional sideways glance. And I must be the sickest fucker on the planet because I notice that in the moonlight that's pasted across his face in the car, he is more than pretty.
We pull up abruptly. It's pitch dark and I have no fucking clue where we are or if we are even still on planet earth. We may aswell be on Pluto for all I can see. It's only when Frank turns on his flashlight that I see the vague outline of trees and hills. What stuns me more is the silence. Absolute silence, bar our shimmying.
Frank opens the boot, Blue man stares at me all the while. I don't speak. What is there to say? We just get to it. The bodys out, the digging takes all night. I think about anything but what we're doing, all the while. I even get a good tune in my head that I hope I can remember for when I get back to civilisation. For when all this is over and I'm just Charlie Pace, rock god esquire, again. Then that fucker, that blue fucker starts singing and he really really gets to me and he knows it and he loves it. He's digging and singing and digging and singing and I wish it was him we were about to throw down in the mud.
"Did you think I would leave you crying, when there's room on my horse for two. Climb up here, junkie, don't be dying I can go just as fast with two. When we're grown up we'll both be soldiers and our horses will not be toys and I wonder if we'll remember...When we were two little boys."
I crack. "Shut up! Shut the fuck up, you cunt! Just dig!"
He drops his shovel in the blinking of an eye and Frank has me grabbed from behind before I even know what I'm about. I think about my shovel but Frank's thought about that too. He's a clever boy, is B.A, and he wrenches it from my hand. Blue man is so close to my face, his nose is almost touching mine. He straightens himself and his hips are just brushing my own, close enough that I feel his cock twitch between us. I shudder and feel my cock betray me. What? I'm only fucking human! And it's a tense situation. Really tense as he breathes on my lips, traces a gentle line around my face with his small finger. Dead calm. Heh...accurate. "You'll pay for that, bonnie prince Charlie. I don't like being t'told what to d'do."
The stutter unnerves me. Unnerves me because I feel, for the first time tonight, he himself is unnerved. And it's got nothing to do with the task we are trying to accomplish. This is blatently sexual. And I'm such a sick little fuck, that I'm a bit calmed by it. Something real. Something alive. "I hope so." And my words come out as just a low, husky breath. It's funny, the things you think about when you're burying a dead body.
We disentangle and he chuckles, cocking his head up like the proper little dealing scumbag, he is. We continue to dig. Then we get to where we need, a good depth down and christ, it's been at least three hours since we started and Frank offers us a rare insight to what he actually sounds like. "We gonna cut him up, boss? I brought tools." I nearly shit my pants, there and then.
"Whoa! Whoa! No one said anything about cutting up anybody. No fucking way. I'm done here." And I drop the shovel and turn. Blue Man catches me in a steely grip, my wrist in his though. Quick prick, this one.
"Oi! No cunt's leaving here until the jobs done. Got that? Or else it's you what will find himself in pieces under the ground, you ken?" He's eyes are fucking intense green, man. Even in the fucking dark but My name's not fucking Ken!
"Alright! Alright, cool it man. Just, there's no need is there? We're out in the middle of nowhere. No one will find him. Please, let's just bury him and go. It's nearly over. Please?" Something in him gives and bloody hell, will you look at that - there just might be a shred of humanity in his compact little evil self, afterall.
"Frank, finish it without the gore, eh? This wee princess here has a weak little tummy, don't you baby?" And even if I am going to meet an early, horrible demise out here, I'm hoping I'll get a fuck for the road from this one.
Frank gets to it and we trundle back to the pit and help. We lifted the body to throw it in but my wrist watch got caught in the blanket and it pulled it off a bit. We dropped the body and the blanket came clean away, still attached to my watch by a stray thread. And there he was. That face. I talked to him. Never got his name but he was after a bit of H, like meself. Poor fucker. And then I notice something, the side of his head has a weird mark on it. I kneel down and Blue Man grabs me.
"Get to fuck! Frank, get the blanket." What's wrong with him? Why doesn't he want me to look at the body? And then, whoa. That mark is no mere fucking crack off my front bumper. It's a fucking bullet wound or I'm Michael bloody Palin.
"Who shot him!" I'm yelling. My mind is buzzing over. I'm piecing it all together. I didn't kill this guy. I ran him over but I do not own a 45 calibre pistol, to my knowlege. What happened between the time I drove off and these pricks caught up with me? They shot the cunt!
"Charlie, boy. Oi! Look at me." Blue man is grabbing me, pulling me up, turning me to him. he pulls my face right up to his and now our noses really are touching. He's shaking my head in sync with his words. "Listen! Now, you are up to your neck it in it, sunshine! Got that? So, if I were you, I'd keep my mouth shut and do what needs doing, yeah? Finish this job, bonnie prince because you're fucked. You want to stay alive, stop asking questions and get that body wrapped and buried!"
I look over Blue Mans shoulder to see a nice shiney gun staring me between the eyes. Good old Franky boy, he never lets you down, eh? Fucking gorilla bastard. The guys wrapped and buried in the space of an half hour.
We climb back into the suave, black jeep, covered in grass and dirt. Some of us are head to toe in guilt but then, some of us are human. Blue Man slides over to my side of the car as we sweep down and back onto the motorway. The engine barely makes a sound, this jeep is brand new. There's something eerily comforting about him now, like a guilty wife beater or something. He swipes the hair off my forhead and runs a finger down my cheek. "We'll get you cleaned up when we get back, yes Bonnie prince? Oh wee Charlie. You are up to your neck in it, son."
And I am. I really fucking am.
"Charlie. And may I ask your name? Seeing as I'm tied to your chair here, I feel it's only fair." That earns me a sound, hard smack and I can taste the blood already. It's a sobering thing to be able to taste your own blood. There's something unnatural about it.
"No, you may not! You wee doss, cunt!" I'm a little worried now, mind you. Upon further inspection I can see that, blue and all as he is, this fucker is not to be reckoned with. He's twitchy, unbalanced and yet in complete control. They're always the worst kind of scum. They're the ones that won't threaten to break your legs, they just do it. Then they make a nice cup of tea, maybe watch an episode of Eastenders while you writhe around on the floor. Or in this case, it would probably be a repeat of "Hamish Macbeth" on UKgold. There are Scottishisms flying all over the place and I feel I'll need an interpreter if I want to keep me kneecaps. Some B.A Barracas wannabee just called me a, "Wide-O." I mean, what the bloody hell is that?
"So, Charlie. Bonnie Prince Charlie...you gonna help us bury that poor wee cunt, then?" I follow his sharp nod to a bundle on the ground. At first glance it just looks like a load of dirty washing but then I clock it. I remember. My blood runs cold, my stomach drops. I feel more poorly than usual. "Oh fuck! He's dead!"
The blue, nazi fucking Rangers fan claps slowly, condescendingly. He smiles and I don't know what I'm more afraid of - going down for twenty years in Broadmoor or dying slowly under this pricks cold sneer. "There we are now. All coming back to you, eh? Rolled him over like a ragdoll, you ken?"
And the cheeky bastard in me wants to fire back Actually no, I'm Charlie but this isn't exactly the time for Charlie Pace's One Man Comedy Troupe. Afterall, this isn't the Edinburgh Festival, it's fucking Glasgow. Oh yeah, and I'm in a room with a dead body...Of a man I killed.
"It...fuck, man. It was an accident. You said the cops were coming, I just bailed. I just wanted to get out. I didn't mean for this to happen!" He chuckles then and it's the coldest fucking sound. He doesn't give a toss about the poor bastard wrapped up in sheets on the floor like a dead dog, he just wants to make sure he doesn't get done for it. Evil cunt.
"It's a funny thing, but I've never seen junkie scum just leave a hit behind like that. One mention that the polis were on their way and your legs couldn't carry you fast enough! New to this game are you? Though you don't look it. And that poor wee cunt had to pay for it. Just aswell we got to you before you fled the scene, eh? Imagine that, wee boy. You left a young man to die on the roadside. What kind of sick fuck does that make you, eh?" He's smiling all the while. Is there any humanity in him? Christ, is there any left in me? All I can think about is cooking up a hit.
"What was his name?" My voice doesn't sound like my own. It's a mixture of grief and the come down. It's going to be a hard come down, I'm sweating buckets. And I'm just praying to fuck that I don't puke all over myself in front of these fine, apparel gentlemen.
"I have no fucking clue, bonnie prince. We weren't exactly bosom buddies, you know? He was just another infested, client. A bit like you. Except you have a name but, only by default. Nah, he was no waste. But it's a mess, Charlie. Your mess to be exact. And I'm fucked if I'm gonna clean it up by myself!" He's taking off his jacket now and unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirt sleeve. Fucking god awful taste in clothes, this pretty prick has. He's turning the sleeves up and all I can think is This is it. I'm gonna die now. Charlie Pace has left the building. Or else he's about to be splattered all over it.
He gestures to "B.A Barracas" and I'm untied. I balk a little as this big, fuck off lackey pushes me from behind in the direction of the Blue Man, as I have deemed him. Old blue here, wastes no time in getting right up in my personal space. "Now lad, you take the legs, I'll take the head. Lets get this fucker into the boot and under ground as fast as possible, right? Frank? Get the car."
I'm all a fluster now. Torn between the fact that I'm not being bludgoned to death and the fact that B.A here, has a name. At least someone does, besides me. I ask no questions, I just get to it. The minute I feel the weight of this guy in my arms, I feel sick. This really is my mess. A death on my hands. Literally. But fuck, it was an accident. But fuck, this was some mothers son.
I've lost alot of weight recently and I'm of little use to Blue Man trying to move a dead body. He's smaller than me but infinitely stronger, in so many ways, I reckon. So, Franky boy has to help. He's none to chuffed about it either. But he's used to it. I can tell.
We got the body in the back, by the sheer grace of god, I think and I'm shoved into the back seat with Blue Man. Frank's in the drivers seat but that's hypothetical.
We drive for what seems like an eternity. Still, twenty miles outside of anywhere is always alot for me. I'm crap on the road too, always complaining. Liam sometimes refuses to travel in the bus with me if I'm on a come down, or he is, because I'll complain from one city to the next. Just aswell we have the van with us, that way we can put a bit of healthy space between us. It's funny, the things you think about when you're on your way to bury a dead body.
Blue man throws me the occasional sideways glance. And I must be the sickest fucker on the planet because I notice that in the moonlight that's pasted across his face in the car, he is more than pretty.
We pull up abruptly. It's pitch dark and I have no fucking clue where we are or if we are even still on planet earth. We may aswell be on Pluto for all I can see. It's only when Frank turns on his flashlight that I see the vague outline of trees and hills. What stuns me more is the silence. Absolute silence, bar our shimmying.
Frank opens the boot, Blue man stares at me all the while. I don't speak. What is there to say? We just get to it. The bodys out, the digging takes all night. I think about anything but what we're doing, all the while. I even get a good tune in my head that I hope I can remember for when I get back to civilisation. For when all this is over and I'm just Charlie Pace, rock god esquire, again. Then that fucker, that blue fucker starts singing and he really really gets to me and he knows it and he loves it. He's digging and singing and digging and singing and I wish it was him we were about to throw down in the mud.
"Did you think I would leave you crying, when there's room on my horse for two. Climb up here, junkie, don't be dying I can go just as fast with two. When we're grown up we'll both be soldiers and our horses will not be toys and I wonder if we'll remember...When we were two little boys."
I crack. "Shut up! Shut the fuck up, you cunt! Just dig!"
He drops his shovel in the blinking of an eye and Frank has me grabbed from behind before I even know what I'm about. I think about my shovel but Frank's thought about that too. He's a clever boy, is B.A, and he wrenches it from my hand. Blue man is so close to my face, his nose is almost touching mine. He straightens himself and his hips are just brushing my own, close enough that I feel his cock twitch between us. I shudder and feel my cock betray me. What? I'm only fucking human! And it's a tense situation. Really tense as he breathes on my lips, traces a gentle line around my face with his small finger. Dead calm. Heh...accurate. "You'll pay for that, bonnie prince Charlie. I don't like being t'told what to d'do."
The stutter unnerves me. Unnerves me because I feel, for the first time tonight, he himself is unnerved. And it's got nothing to do with the task we are trying to accomplish. This is blatently sexual. And I'm such a sick little fuck, that I'm a bit calmed by it. Something real. Something alive. "I hope so." And my words come out as just a low, husky breath. It's funny, the things you think about when you're burying a dead body.
We disentangle and he chuckles, cocking his head up like the proper little dealing scumbag, he is. We continue to dig. Then we get to where we need, a good depth down and christ, it's been at least three hours since we started and Frank offers us a rare insight to what he actually sounds like. "We gonna cut him up, boss? I brought tools." I nearly shit my pants, there and then.
"Whoa! Whoa! No one said anything about cutting up anybody. No fucking way. I'm done here." And I drop the shovel and turn. Blue Man catches me in a steely grip, my wrist in his though. Quick prick, this one.
"Oi! No cunt's leaving here until the jobs done. Got that? Or else it's you what will find himself in pieces under the ground, you ken?" He's eyes are fucking intense green, man. Even in the fucking dark but My name's not fucking Ken!
"Alright! Alright, cool it man. Just, there's no need is there? We're out in the middle of nowhere. No one will find him. Please, let's just bury him and go. It's nearly over. Please?" Something in him gives and bloody hell, will you look at that - there just might be a shred of humanity in his compact little evil self, afterall.
"Frank, finish it without the gore, eh? This wee princess here has a weak little tummy, don't you baby?" And even if I am going to meet an early, horrible demise out here, I'm hoping I'll get a fuck for the road from this one.
Frank gets to it and we trundle back to the pit and help. We lifted the body to throw it in but my wrist watch got caught in the blanket and it pulled it off a bit. We dropped the body and the blanket came clean away, still attached to my watch by a stray thread. And there he was. That face. I talked to him. Never got his name but he was after a bit of H, like meself. Poor fucker. And then I notice something, the side of his head has a weird mark on it. I kneel down and Blue Man grabs me.
"Get to fuck! Frank, get the blanket." What's wrong with him? Why doesn't he want me to look at the body? And then, whoa. That mark is no mere fucking crack off my front bumper. It's a fucking bullet wound or I'm Michael bloody Palin.
"Who shot him!" I'm yelling. My mind is buzzing over. I'm piecing it all together. I didn't kill this guy. I ran him over but I do not own a 45 calibre pistol, to my knowlege. What happened between the time I drove off and these pricks caught up with me? They shot the cunt!
"Charlie, boy. Oi! Look at me." Blue man is grabbing me, pulling me up, turning me to him. he pulls my face right up to his and now our noses really are touching. He's shaking my head in sync with his words. "Listen! Now, you are up to your neck it in it, sunshine! Got that? So, if I were you, I'd keep my mouth shut and do what needs doing, yeah? Finish this job, bonnie prince because you're fucked. You want to stay alive, stop asking questions and get that body wrapped and buried!"
I look over Blue Mans shoulder to see a nice shiney gun staring me between the eyes. Good old Franky boy, he never lets you down, eh? Fucking gorilla bastard. The guys wrapped and buried in the space of an half hour.
We climb back into the suave, black jeep, covered in grass and dirt. Some of us are head to toe in guilt but then, some of us are human. Blue Man slides over to my side of the car as we sweep down and back onto the motorway. The engine barely makes a sound, this jeep is brand new. There's something eerily comforting about him now, like a guilty wife beater or something. He swipes the hair off my forhead and runs a finger down my cheek. "We'll get you cleaned up when we get back, yes Bonnie prince? Oh wee Charlie. You are up to your neck in it, son."
And I am. I really fucking am.
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Honest.
Really.
(It's not good to piss the loan shark off...and he wants more!)
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BTW, there are some missing apostrophes. It might be if you write in MS Word, the conversion to text for LJ screwed it up. I recommend turning off "Smart Quotes" for fic documents.
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Thanks for reading anyway! Sorry, if it's after happening on the second chapter i've posted too. I didn't see this entry until after i'd posted.