"Sam," Josh would say. "Sam, it's time."
And Sam would know what time it is. It's the moment they've been waiting for. On Sam's calendar, there is no marked day for this event, but he has been anticipating it for years now. He has been waiting for the phone call, for the arrival, for Josh to show up (in from the pouring rain) and to tell Sam that he's found the real thing. But this time, there isn't going to be any leaving. No one is going to New Hampshire, because this time, the real thing is Sam Seaborn.
Dom doesn't cry over Billy. Dom doesn't cry over anybody, anyone, or anything. After all, he doesn't even love Billy, really. It's more a strong case of like. So it makes sense that Dom is sitting at the kitchen table, hunched over a newspaper notice (two inches wide, ten long) about the tragic accident that claimed the lives of one actor, one dancer, and two drivers. His eyes aren't crying, but they burn something fierce.
And maybe, maybe he didn't love Billy.
He's pretty damn sure he was in love with him though.
Mal likes it in space. It's cold, it's quiet, and it's empty. He likes the moments when he's alone the best, and he's gazing out into the stars. He closes his eyes for the briefest of seconds, and when he opens his eyes again, he owns the sky. The stars are his. No one is going to run him off this piece of land, and Mal is ready to make damn sure that no one gets the oppurtunity to try.
They can take the war, that gorram Alliance with their perfect shiny space stations and uniforms. His freedom was another rutting matter.
Cole didn't even know he was saying the words, but hey, there they were passing through his lips in that astonished and wondrous tone. He blinked once, twice, and listened to himself. Had he actually, Cole thought, yes, yes he had.
"I'm gay," he'd said.
"Well, I fucking hope so," the retort was. Cole shook his head and became aware of his surroundings once more to realize that he was straddling some kid with blond hair and twinkling green eyes. "After all, you being straight would cause several problems."
"No, I was just realizin...mrpfh," Cole murmured, his eyes widening as the kid silenced him with a hard kiss.
James has heard stories about nymphs, faeries, and ghouls all the time. He delights in them himself once a year, marking the occasion on a chilly October evening by spooking the local children with a haunting tale of skeletal pirates and cursed gold. When he retires from his duties that evening and hangs up his hat, his bones ache and he feels as though he's lived an age in a day. He always feels that way after telling that story.
And when he dreams, he will have nightmares. He will see skeletons, he will hear the clinging of coins, and he always, always wakes to the sound of Captain Jack Sparrow's "Savvy?" rattling around in his head.
When Wesley was twelve, he heard about his Uncle Evan dying. He had two strange bite marks in his neck, and his body had been cremated. The wake had been in their home, and he had watched through the rungs of the staircase. He caught the whispers that drifted upwards. "Vampire..."
When Wesley was fifteen, he was mocked mercilessly for getting the highest grades in the class. He had been pushed into the mud, and a girl by the name of Annie had extended her hand, smiled in wrought sympathy and murmured something about, "getting you all cleaned up before the Headmaster sees you in this way!"
When Wesley was twenty-one, he sucked a man off in a dark alley. Just to see what it would be like, before Wesley had descended to his knees, he had bitten the man where neck met shoulder and tasted aftershave, sweat, and something that faintly resembled the pub. He was overwhelmed by the feeling of power, and his knees had buckled. He still recalls that it's still the reason he'd gone down on a man that he doesn't (to this day) know the name of.
Now Wesley is approaching forty, and he doesn't know where power has slipped off to.
But he doesn't have it.
If you give Bobby Drake a rose, it's guaranteed to never wilt. Johnny tried it once, placing a single rose without note on Bobby's bed. He'd sat back and watched as Bobby cradled the flower, surprised smile on his face. He bowed his head forward, exhaling a narrow stream of chilled air at the rose. Johnny found himself fixated (the book he'd been using as a distraction was long forgotten). He watched as crystalline drops of ice formed on the petals. And then Bobby blinded him with that fucking eager grin that sent Johnny's thoughts skittering.
Now it's Bobby's turn to find out just what Johnny is best at.
Pippin is shaking.
It's something he cannot stop, and he wishes with his heart that he didn't make those silly noises when he was scared. He wishes more than once that Merry could be here. While Gandalf has many a word of wisdom, he does not bear the simple comfort that Merry would know to give. Merry always knew what to do, even if he knew before it hit
Pippin. So he breathes.
Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.
And his hands shake.
Tomorrow, he will clasp a sword. He will fight for his Shire, and he will fight for Merry.
He hopes his hands will stop shaking before tomorrow.