FAKE: Hate Crime
Jan. 28th, 2006 11:58 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
gracie_musicaTitle: Hate Crime
Author: Grace Musica
Rating: PG to PG-13
Word Count: 531
Fandom: FAKE
Characters/Pairings: Drake, JJ (slight slash)
Spoilers: None
Warnings: Mentioning of a hate crime
Notes: Inspired by this post over on![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
fake_2nd_chance and by me catching a little bit of "The Laramie Project" on HBO. Jesus, that movie makes me cry every time I watch it.
Drake had planned for a quiet night at his house: Drinking some beer, opening the last pack of cigarettes in the carton he had bought last week and watching the football game.
Opening his front door to find a bruised, bloody JJ staring back at him had not figured into the plan.
And yet here they were. What else could he do?
"JJ! What the fuck happened?!" Drake cried, grabbing JJ's wrist and dragging his partner into his apartment.
"I, uh, fell down the subway stairs," the sharpshooter replied weakly, wincing as his partner's hand gripped still-forming bruises. The shorter
man let himself be pulled into the dining room, sitting at the table. Drake narrowed his eyebrows but didn't say anything as he went to go get the first aid kit from his bathroom: they both knew JJ was lying.
And they both knew the lie didn't fool Drake for a second.
When he returned he saw JJ sitting at the table still, his back to the brunette. The back of his shirt was torn and bloody, as if someone had tried to slash him from behind. Drake had to fight the urge to go find the bastard who had tried to paralize his partner.
"Shirt off," Drake demanded, surprised when JJ complied without complaint. The blue-haired detective unbuttoned and shrugged off his shirt in an almost robot-like manner.
The older detective winced when he saw JJ's back: the sharpshooter had pale skin, inherited from his mother, and because of its fairness the bruises developed sooner and stood out more vividly. The bruises and shallow slash marks formed a sort of ugy lattice across his back, streaks of blood still wetly streaking down his back.
Drake gently patched up his partner, soothingly stroking the blue-blonde's hair when JJ hissed at the peroxide burn. When he was done, Drake gave his partner a change of clothes and a beer. The sharpshooter looked like a naughty child, swimming in Drake's clothing and drinking.
"So... You gonna tell me what really happened?"
JJ sighed and winced. Had whoever done this to him cracked a rib? Drake briefly considered taking his partner to the hospital for an x-ray.
"I was..." JJ paused to clear his throat, obviously fighting back tears. "Visiting a friend of mine in West Village who owns a club. I was coming back and... These three guys just jumped me... And..."
After that, JJ found he couldn't say anything else. His throat had constricted from emotion and trying hard not to cry. Drake moved around the table to put a comforting arm around his partner. JJ immediately buried his face into the comforting shoulder his partner had leant, tears soaking into the fabric of Drake's shirt.
It infuriated Drake that someone would try to hurt JJ for being who he was. He was gay, yes; but he was also cheerful and happy-go-lucky. Only perps hated JJ: even a few of the homophobic detectives couldn't help but like JJ. He just got under your skin, in a good way.
Drake ran his fingers through blue hair soothingly and tried hard to quench his blood thirst for the person who had dared hurt JJ.
Author: Grace Musica
Rating: PG to PG-13
Word Count: 531
Fandom: FAKE
Characters/Pairings: Drake, JJ (slight slash)
Spoilers: None
Warnings: Mentioning of a hate crime
Notes: Inspired by this post over on
fake_2nd_chance and by me catching a little bit of "The Laramie Project" on HBO. Jesus, that movie makes me cry every time I watch it.Drake had planned for a quiet night at his house: Drinking some beer, opening the last pack of cigarettes in the carton he had bought last week and watching the football game.
Opening his front door to find a bruised, bloody JJ staring back at him had not figured into the plan.
And yet here they were. What else could he do?
"JJ! What the fuck happened?!" Drake cried, grabbing JJ's wrist and dragging his partner into his apartment.
"I, uh, fell down the subway stairs," the sharpshooter replied weakly, wincing as his partner's hand gripped still-forming bruises. The shorter
man let himself be pulled into the dining room, sitting at the table. Drake narrowed his eyebrows but didn't say anything as he went to go get the first aid kit from his bathroom: they both knew JJ was lying.
And they both knew the lie didn't fool Drake for a second.
When he returned he saw JJ sitting at the table still, his back to the brunette. The back of his shirt was torn and bloody, as if someone had tried to slash him from behind. Drake had to fight the urge to go find the bastard who had tried to paralize his partner.
"Shirt off," Drake demanded, surprised when JJ complied without complaint. The blue-haired detective unbuttoned and shrugged off his shirt in an almost robot-like manner.
The older detective winced when he saw JJ's back: the sharpshooter had pale skin, inherited from his mother, and because of its fairness the bruises developed sooner and stood out more vividly. The bruises and shallow slash marks formed a sort of ugy lattice across his back, streaks of blood still wetly streaking down his back.
Drake gently patched up his partner, soothingly stroking the blue-blonde's hair when JJ hissed at the peroxide burn. When he was done, Drake gave his partner a change of clothes and a beer. The sharpshooter looked like a naughty child, swimming in Drake's clothing and drinking.
"So... You gonna tell me what really happened?"
JJ sighed and winced. Had whoever done this to him cracked a rib? Drake briefly considered taking his partner to the hospital for an x-ray.
"I was..." JJ paused to clear his throat, obviously fighting back tears. "Visiting a friend of mine in West Village who owns a club. I was coming back and... These three guys just jumped me... And..."
After that, JJ found he couldn't say anything else. His throat had constricted from emotion and trying hard not to cry. Drake moved around the table to put a comforting arm around his partner. JJ immediately buried his face into the comforting shoulder his partner had leant, tears soaking into the fabric of Drake's shirt.
It infuriated Drake that someone would try to hurt JJ for being who he was. He was gay, yes; but he was also cheerful and happy-go-lucky. Only perps hated JJ: even a few of the homophobic detectives couldn't help but like JJ. He just got under your skin, in a good way.
Drake ran his fingers through blue hair soothingly and tried hard to quench his blood thirst for the person who had dared hurt JJ.
