| Coda |
[01 Sep 2006|09:33pm] |
To say he was pissed was an understatement. Thunder would have been muted under the string of obsenities thrown out at his return.
Not that Whistler wasn't grateful to be back in twenty-ten, but the last moments in ye olde Searchlight were ... unfulfilled.
He wanted to pull those men from the mine. Offer some kind of burial. Give them a bit of peace.
Something he never really found in his years. Something he might never accomplish.
But goddammit, he was going to do that for them.
And with a flash of light, that opportunity was stolen. Whatever sent them into the past pulled them back. Fickle finger of fate? Well he had one to offer right back.
Whistler hadn't stayed around for small talk. Didn't want to ask the why's and what's. That he'd leave for Natasha and the others. Instead, he stalked to the liquor store, bought a bottle of whiskey (thank whoever his wallet was back, and contained the same contents as when he'd left) and walked out to the mine.
He stood in silence for a good time. Whistler didn't know their names. Hadn't gotten to know a one. He was too selfish looking for a way back than to really take in what was being offered.
The cap to the Jack Daniels was unscrewed, the contents emptied onto dusty earth.
A last drink to the fallen.
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