People Who Hate Happiness for Ciaran

[Reuben Slade]

💔

Ciaran O'Malley

[Ciaran O'Malley]

61. Our muses being the sole survivors of a shootout.

THE SMOKE CLEARS.  Then silence.  

Ciaran had jumped right onto Slade as the gunfire started.  Now, he sits up, looking down at his employer.  He grips Slade's chin, moving it from side to side.  "You hurt?"  He asks  --  but he doesn't think so.  Ciaran had acted fast.  "Fuck,"  he says and looks around the room, seeing bodies on the floor.  "Fuck, we can't stay here.  Jesus fuck."  There's the smell of blood and gunpowder in the air.  He rubs his hand over his beard before finally getting off Slade. 

He offers his hand down to him to help him up.  "Well, that couldn't've gone fuckin' worse."  Ciaran grumbles. 

Tagging: Reuben Slade

[Reuben Slade]

Tag: Ciaran O'Malley

never make

DECISIONS OUT OF FEAR.
ONLY OUT OF SPITE.

The meeting was not meant to be intense. It had just been Slade and of course his most trusted guard and friend, Ciaran meeting with a fellow associate to discuss their business. But unfortunately, someone had other plans. It all had happened so quickly and the second that it started, Slade had been tackled to the ground as Ciaran became a human shield. Ordinarily, the action would have severely triggered Slade. The feeling of someone's weight upon him taking him back to that dreaded time where he was trapped under all those bodies; the deep trauma of it eliciting a strong, involuntary reaction. But . . . Slade trusted Ciaran. He felt, safe with him. And so despite the risk of reminder, Slade was not as triggered as he may have otherwise been, had it been someone he did had not built that level of trust around.

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This certainty, further assured when Ciaran touched his chin to inspect him. Slade did not recoil from his touch nor did his body overly react. Instead, the crime lord was able to just focus on the moment . . . the fact that he was safe, in every sense of the word. He did however still need to close his eyes for the briefest of moments to maintain his composure, Ciaran's voice filling the now silent air as Rueben opened his eyes. He reached over for his cane, his other gloved hand taking old of Ciaran's as he accepted his aid and rose to his feet. Leaning on his cane, Rueben first looked at Ciaran, to make sure he was uninjured; that no bullet had struck him or grazed him.

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Certain that he was fine, he shifted his attention to their surroundings. Every single person was dead. They, were surely meant to be too. "We must find out who informed out enemies of this meeting." There was a traitor among their midst; of one of their rival's informants. Looking back at Ciaran, the crime lord's expression stoic yet holding sincerity in his words. "Thank you." Because he would not take that for granted. "We must go." For as Ciaran said, they could not stay here.