#void-kat

i had an epiphany in the shower. you can call this ficlet ‘how we spent our anniversary in a&e’

Gerry wakes up a little past seven in the morning to the sound of the fire alarm blaring in the kitchen. He does not bolt upright so much as jerk vaguely into a sitting position. It takes him a moment to register the noise and he groans, half tempted to drag a pillow over his face and just ignore it. Surely Jon hasn’t managed to actually set the apartment on fire in the two hours since Gerry got home and Martin left for work.

Probably.

Gerry drags himself out of bed and follows the harsh ringing to the kitchen. It takes a moment for him to piece together the scene before he starts laughing. The window has been shoved open in an attempt to deal with the smoke billowing from their ancient oven. A recipe has been pinned to the fridge with magnets and it sways in the breeze, the bottom half unpinned and rippling. What is likely a mixture of flour and sugar coats the counter around their stand mixer. There’s a lonely egg, cracked and bleeding out on the tile floor. Jon stands in the middle of this chaos, Gerry’s trackie bottoms slung low on his hips and covering his feet where he stands on a kitchen chair, desperately trying to reach the fire alarm to turn it off.

Jon starts at the laugh and tries to turn around on the chair. There’s a split second where Gerry thinks he’s going to fall before he starts to right himself, and then his hand slips from it’s grasp on the top of the chair and he tumbles onto the floor.

“Oh, shit!” Gerry rushes forward, his hands going to Jon’s shoulder and head, checking for any blood or bumps.

Jon shoves his hands away. “I’m fine, just turn that fucking thing off.” He’s red faced, eyes wet with forming tears.

Gerry nods and reaches up to turn off the fire alarm. The silence that fills its space is louder than the ringing. “Are you alright?” Gerry asks. Jon’s managed to get himself into a sitting position and he looks angry, eyebrows drawn down and teeth sunk into his bottom lip.

“Fine, just--” Jon spits, clenching and unclenching his fists, “just-- I twisted my ankle some.”

Gerry hums and crouches down to look. “Jon this is really swollen already.” The skin is already starting to mottle itself red and purple, and when he touches it Jon hisses. “I’m taking you to the doctor. Is the oven already off?”

“Yeah, it-- yes.”

“Okay, just hang on to my shoulders.”

“If you drop me--”

“I can carry Martin,” Gerry says, hoisting Jon up from the ground, “you think I’m going to drop you?”

Jon grumbles but presses his face into Gerry’s shoulder. 

The traffic is horrible, mid morning on a week day, and it takes longer to get to the closest a&e than Gerry would like. Jon has gone sullen and silent in the passenger seat, face contorted in bitten back pain. Gerry gives him his hand and Jon takes it, curling their fingers together like Gerry can somehow take away the pain.

“Can I ask you a question?”

Jon grunts.

“What were you doing, anyway?”

“Oh, I, uh--” Jon clears his throat, looking out the window, “I was making a cake.”

“Why? Suddenly woke up with a passion for baking at seven am?”

“No, it--” Jon sighs and when he turns to look at Gerry he’s almost pouting. “I wanted to make a cake for our anniversary.”

“Oh, Jon.” 

“Don’t.”

l i t e r a l l yyyyyy