Hughes/Roy, Havoc/Roy. Ficlet. maybe 500 words or less. It's a story about love. "He doesn't ask, doesn't need to think or question, his body moves on its own and his heart squeezes tighter and his...
Havoc sits quietly, smoking, and trying not to breathe. Trying not to make more noise than the dead engine or the still ground. Wryly he thinks that he's accomplished that, but has failed at something more. He can't just wait and stare ahead, can't just give Roy a moment alone and private, can't keep his eyes from moving up to the mirror and watching him stand there, with him. He can't stop watching Roy's lips move as he pulls his hand back from the grave stone and gently places a letter, folded and old, on the grave.
I love you
The car ride is silent, and the wind picks up outside. It looks cloudy, like it might rain, but the sun refuses to let it.
As the car comes to a stop, Havoc puts out his cigarette. He doesn't look at the house they're at. The old resident. The empty house. He closes his eyes and tries to breathe past the lump in his throat, tries to swallow everything he wants to say and do. He doesn't want to say goodbye. He's not ready and wishes he doesn't know Roy as well as he does. But he does.
His eyes close tighter as he feels Roy shift and move, can imagine him moving and sliding over, the door opening. His chance, his last one. A shaky breath and he's out of the car as well.
He doesn't ask, doesn't need to think or question, his body moves on its own and his heart squeezes tighter and his throat closes.
He hugs Roy, presses his face against his neck, his throat, arms tight, too tight before loosening to place his own letter into a pocket. He pulls back, afraid to look at him but does it anyways. He sees what he knew he would in Roy's eyes. And he gives him a brave smile anyways.
The tear only falls after Roy walks away, after the soft kiss.
He waits until he hears the shot and then house is again quiet and alone. He doesn't know if he flinches or not.
He doesn't think about whether Roy read his letter or not.
We never blamed you.
Neither did he.
I've always loved you, Sir.
Roy, I always will.