Pairings/Characters (this chapter): Hank Stanley, Roy/Johnny, Irene O’Reilly, Henry, Chet Kelly, Marco Lopez, Mike Stoker
Genres: Challenge, Holiday, Horror
Rating (this chapter): PG-13
General Summary: Something Wicked This Way Waits.
Chapter Summary: Roy tries to make sense of a disturbing dream.
Date Of Completion: October 19, 2010
Date Of Posting: November 19, 2010
Disclaimer: I don’t own ‘em, Universal and Mark VII Limited do, more’s the pity.
Word Count: 1106
Feedback welcome and appreciated.
Author’s Notes: Written for my 2010 Station_51 Emergency! Fic/Art Halloween Challenge. :)
The entire series can be found here.
To laugh and cry,
‘Tis the Irish Way
To wait to die.
The dreams come
The dreams show
What you should know.
"The Irish Way"
“C’mon, men, hoses at the northwest and southwest corners of the building!”
Hank Stanley was coolly efficient as he directed his men as the hotel blazed. It was an old building, rundown and crumbling, but people still lived there.
Roy and Johnny were on the hose, and Roy took the lead. It was comforting to feel Johnny’s presence at his back. He saw an eagle flying high above the flames, its feathers like fire.
“Someone’s in there!” Hank yelled. “Roy, John, second floor!”
“Right, Cap!” Johnny answered.
Roy saw someone out of the corner of his eye, a woman in a blue dress, but there was no one there when he turned.
He and his partner went into the burning building, SCBAs strapped on and chalk in hand. They hurried up the stairs and checked the rooms, marking the doors with an ‘X’.
“Don’t go down that hall, Royal.”
“Grandma?” Roy blinked. “What are you doing here?” He was confused. “You’ve been gone for years.”
She smiled, her silver hair coiffed neatly, blue eyes clear behind horn-rimmed glasses. She was wearing her favorite blue print dress.
“I’m here to warn you.” Her face grew serious.
“About what?” The flames were eating away at the closest room, sweat trickling down Roy’s face behind his mask.
Somewhere at the edge of his consciousness, Roy heard faint music with an Irish lilt. A part of his mind wondered why he wasn’t trying to get away from the encroaching fire.
“What evil, Grandma?” He gasped. “Is Johnny in danger? What evil?!”
She leaned close. “Evil seeks green blood.”
Roy blinked. Before he could ask again, he saw a flash of white down the hall.
She was gone.
Roy stood rooted to the spot as he heard Johnny frantically call his name…
Roy jerked awake, a whimper jolting his heart. “Wha…?” He looked down at Henry nosing his hand. “Oh, sorry, boy, did I scare you?”
“I thought that was Gage’s thing,” Chet said as he entered the kitchen and headed for the refrigerator.
“Ha, ha, Chet. » Roy petted Henry, the basset hound settling back down in his lap.
“Where is John, anyway?”
“In the dorm. He decided to try and catch some z’s.”
“Yeah, you guys have been on the go all morning.”
Roy rubbed his eyes. “Must be why I fell asleep.”
“Can’t blame ya.” Chet poured a glass of apple juice and sat down. “Do you think I ought to write a book?”
“What?” asked Roy, confused at the non-sequitur.
“You know, a book. Joe’s book got me thinkin’.”
“Well, you could always write a book about the Phantom’s best jokes,” Marco said as he came in, hearing Chet.
Chet waved his hand. “You can’t write a book about that. It’s a code like magicians have. You’re not supposed to reveal the secrets. No, it’s more like you hand that stuff down from father-to-son. I’m thinkin’ of something else.”
“Just what the world needs: words of wisdom by Chet Kelly.” Marco poured himself a cup of coffee while Roy laughed.
“You guys are peasants,” Chet sniffed.
“Well, you and I are probably descended from peasants of the Auld Sod,” Roy said.
“Not me. Irish kings all the way, buddy.”
Marco snorted while Roy laughed.
“Dream on, Chet,” said Marco. “You’re descended from Irish royalty as much as I am from Montezuma.”
Roy’s eyes sparkled as he petted Henry. Mike came in and heard Marco’s barb.
“No one," Marco answered as Chet rolled his eyes and Roy’s grin widened.
Chet sniffed. “Marco’s just jealous that I’m descended from Irish royalty.”
“You are?” Mike’s blue eyes widened theatrically.
“’Course I am. I’m a Boston Kelly. That’s lace-curtain Irish in this country.”
Laughter greeted this statement, Chet smirking.
“All hail to the Phantom!” Roy said.
“Ha, ha, Roy. Watch out that I don’t put you to work in the peat bogs.” Chet got up from his chair. “Hey, isn’t Channel 26 running that Star Trek marathon this week? Tomorrow’s the eighth anniversary of the show’s debut.”
“So speaks a devoted Trekkie,” smirked Roy.
“It’s a great show.” Chet turned the channel knob. “It’s a classic.”
Roy didn’t object to Chet’s choice of program. Despite his teasing, he liked the show, too. Chet and Johnny always oohed and aahed over the scantily-clad females that would pop up frequently. Johnny kept it up for appearances’ sake now, though Roy had to admit that they both could still appreciate feminine beauty.
“…you green-blooded hobgoblin!”
“Bones is at it again,” Chet said, gleefully rubbing his hands together.
Roy fleetingly thought how much Chet and Johnny’s relationship was like Spock and McCoy’s when he murmured, “Green blood.”
Chet looked at him oddly but his attention was quickly drawn back to the TV screen.
Roy watched the screen, but his mind was drifting back to his dream. As all dreams did, it didn’t make much sense with his grandmother appearing at a fire scene.
He kept petting Henry, letting his mind try and work it out while on-screen, Captain Kirk was in his latest fistfight.
Johnny wandered into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes. “Have a nice nap, Gage?” Chet teased.
“Actually, I did.” He glanced at the TV. “Cool.” Johnny sat down beside Roy on the couch, adding his hand to Roy’s in petting Henry. He was totally absorbed in the show, giving Roy a chance to steal a look at him, his profile a handsome sight.
An upsurge of joy tinged with melancholy filled Roy. A strange combination, but his grandmother would have said it was his Gaelic streak bringing the darkness.
“Melancholia is the Irish drug, Royal.”
Roy sighed. She was probably right, but the joy part was important, too. After all, the Irish wake was known for joviality in the face of darkness.
So why did he feel like crying when he looked at Johnny, the man who gave him such happiness?
“We need some Saurian brandy around here,” said Chet.
Johnny laughed. “Pretty potent stuff, Chester B.”
“Bet the Vulcans have pretty strong booze,” Marco observed.
“Must be Pre-Reform.” Chet crossed his arms as he leaned back in his chair.
Roy’s hand brushed against Johnny’s and he relaxed.
Weird dreams or not, Roy knew that as long as Johnny was by his side, life was good.