Tag Archives: Brock Watson

Black Hole Home

It has been seven days, twenty two hours, and forty minutes since Brock left the apartment. Missions as a seeker take time, Josh knows this, and he knows he has to stay behind.

Him and Burke keep up the house. There’s no point in streaming anymore, not here, not now, but the two of them occupy themselves with any number of things. Lately, Josh has been reading, laying on the couch with a stack he stole from one of Burke’s many, many bookshelves.

If he’s being honest, the sheer amount of romance novels among the physics books and research articles is more of a surprise than he thought. Burke is doing his usual, pacing, researching, reading and writing down his recent examinations of the situation they’re in and the last bits of information Jasper and Haruta had brought back to him weeks ago now.

The house was quiet, this is honestly what they both preferred. When it was just them…well, the two of them, Sosa, and Axel, the house would be left in a similar state like this, the absences of them felt oddly heavy in Josh’s chest.

He knows that Sosa is safe, they heard from Stout that Houston made it to the desert safely.

He knows why Brock stays out so long.

Josh puts the book down against his chest and closes his eyes. While they were expecting impending doom through all of this, it’s the waiting, the nothingness, that exhausts him the most.

The spiral Josh is falling down breaks with a knock at the door.

Josh looks up and Burke is already moving to the door. There’s no real warning, when someone comes to visit, but the beds are always made. Josh isn’t quick to admit he enjoys the company, but he’d be remiss to shut anyone out. When Burke opens the door, he hears him gasp.

A quiet “hi” sends Burke down on one knee, he hugs the person in front of him.

NaN. The kid is a little taller now, the glitching and static floats above the pair as Burke holds him tight.

Josh gets up as Burke is letting go. Burke laughs then “Help me up would you?” NaN extends a hand, and Burke braces himself as he gets back to his feet.

Burke is leading NaN into the living room when the kid spots him.

NaN stares up at him for a moment, blinking.

Josh smiles.

NaN runs forward, hugging him, pushing into his stomach.

“Oof” Josh braces the kid, surprised at the rush.

NaN’s voice is quiet, he turns his head to he side so Burke can hear him too.

“I missed you guys.”

Burke walks over to both of them, his hand resting on Josh’s shoulder, “We missed you too. Have you been doing okay?” It’s a loaded question, Burke looks at him with an immediate regret in his eyes.

NaN sighs anyways, “I–do not like Philly.”

Josh mutters “Does anyone?”

Burke hits him lightly on the shoulder.

“Is that what brought you here?” Burke’s voice is soft. The same softness he heard seasons ago when NaN first arrived.

“It’s the roam…actually.”

Right.

That’s right.

Brock has told them about running into roamers, it’s the only reason they can still see Jas now after all this time.

The poor kid probably didn’t want it to be this way. He knows how hard it can be when you can’t settle.

“Do you know how long you can stay kiddo?” Burke’s voice is gentle.

NaN sighs, “I know I can stay for a bit…at least.”

Josh cuts in, pitting his hands on NaN’s shoulders, “Well hey, we have a bedroom ready, why don’t you rest, and I’ll put dinner on.”

NaN looks up at him and smiles.

The kid is quick to hug Josh again, and a moment later he’s hugging Burke.

With one last “Thanks” NaN walks to his bedroom like routine.

Burke looks up at Josh. His smile is almost nostalgic.

“Do you want help with dinner?”

Josh nods at his partner.

At least for tonight, the house will get to feel a bit more like home.

Cling

Josh is ogling him, he can tell.

He’s standing in the living room, staring wistfully into the dining room where he is standing, slowly putting on the parts of his space suit for the first time in over two decades.

Brock realizes that Josh never saw him in the space suit last time.

He moves to stretch feeling the layers of fabric and metal and polymer shift with him.

Then his husband wolf whistles.

“Alright alright that’s enough,” Brock sighs at him, walking towards the grinning man.

“What? Can a man not enjoy his husband all dressed up? Is it a crime to appreciate my cool astronaut husband?” Josh’s arms meet him as Brock gets closer, they slink around his hips. He pulls him in close.

“First off, not an astronaut, second off, I didn’t know you were in space suits, hun.”

Josh laughs at that, “Tell you the truth, I’m really not.”

Brock doesn’t expect that to be the end of the sentence, the silence sits for a moment before Josh speaks again.

“Just wanted to appreciate you…before you left.”

Brock takes his glove off of his hand and rests his palm against Josh’s cheek, “You know that I’ll be home soon.”

“I know I just–” Josh’s voice catches, the tell tale sign of anxiety is clear on his face.

“I know,” Brock supplies, “And I will not leave you, under any circumstances.” “You’re gonna keep writing things down right?” Josh asks him, glancing at the bookshelf that housed his journal from the last major expedition.

“Yes, obviously I need to keep scientific data and observations, but I won’t leave you empty handed either.”

Josh smiles at that, “That’s all I ask.”

Brock’s hand moves from Josh’s cheek to the back of his head.

Josh’s arms hold tighter around his waist.

Brock kisses him.

He kisses him for a long time.

Enough to savor it, to remember the cool touch of his skin.

To remember the shape of his face and his lips and the texture of his hair.

Josh is holding his waist tighter, clinging to his husband tight.

He’s savoring it too.

He didn’t savor it then, when he left for the sun all those years ago.

But he will damn sure savor it now, and he will do this, again and again and again and again, every return from the void, every expedition he goes on.

If nothing else, Brock Watson is a man of science.

But Brock Watson is a man who loves first and foremost.

There Will Be No Song For Him

“Six days till event horizon,” Brock tells him. It’s barely a whisper, with his head pressed against the top of his, the man behind him, much like everyone else, is so, so tired.

Where up until now, they’ve managed some semblance of faux stability, the wake of the end of the world makes Burke’s head spin.

They have a game in Kan–Oxford, now, apparently. He still can barely stomach the change. Death upon death upon death upon death, the feeds and the ticker and the announcements play off in every stadium like a pained rattle.

The universe, every bit of their existence is feeling this world ending tug, and the closer they make it to the black hole, the more he thinks of the darkness, the more he wishes it would just envelop him already.

The day passes.

The feed rattles.

“The Seattle Garages have reached the Hall of Flame…the Seattle Garages appear to be…

The word is muffled by screams all across the field. The Garages are beloved, in some parts of the world, the band plays on often beyond the city of Seattle. Burke has never been able to stomach the noise.

Especially not now.

He’s falling. He feels the Earth fall from under him.

There’s pairs of arms, two to be exact, they are cold and comforting but they aren’t enough, they aren’t enough, they couldn’t be enough.

Burke’s vision is full of static and feathers and blinding liquid salt. He’s scrubbing at his face, his glasses crumbling to the concrete dugout floor. His heart is screaming in every sense of the word, he should be gone in his partners arms right now, but he is here, fighting the bile and the erratic beat in his chest.

There are people crying far beyond where the Wings are huddled, mourning this team so beloved by the ignorance of the fans.

Burke could care less about them, about their musicians and their players. The death toll being as long as it is, the name is meaningless to everyone in these stands.

There will be no song.

He just lost his son.

The next four days, they don’t expect him to play, there’s some naive thought that the end of the world means the contract is broken.

He plays anyway.

When they’re edging the horizon on day 79, Joshua and Brock are by his side. They have stayed by him through all of this. The static and the gold and the feathers have faded now, the one fucked up gift the universe could grant him before it all ends.

The play their last game.

His partners squeeze his hand.

The darkness takes.

Blaseball Mini Prompts: Washing Each Other’s Hair

Burke shoots up from the bed, the thin sheets sticking to his drenched skin as he shakes awake. His hand is over his throat, lingers of the static he was clearly spouting prior to waking up still stung hard.

Despite the sun setting hours ago the heat was still unbearable, and the rise and fall of his chest was making his head spin.

The knock at his door make’s Burke scramble for his glasses.

With a short cough, Burke responds, “Come in.”

The door open slowly, and Brock peaks his head in.

“I heard a–Burke are you alright?”

As Brock’s full body comes into view for Burke, he watches concern rise on his face.

Burke opens his mouth to speak, but falters instead.

Brock sits down at the end of the bed, his movements as careful as they always feel to Burke.

He reaches out his hand, and Brock takes it in his.

“You,” Brock begins, “Are incredibly sweaty.”

Burke laughs at that, he really does. His shoulders shake from the laughter and the sheets peel from his back.

“Yeah I am.”

“Do you want to take a shower?” Despite the clamminess of his palm, Brock squeezes his hand tight.

“Please?” Burke leans into the man in front him, and Brock stands up to support him.

Removing himself from the sheets, Burke falls into Brock’s arms, they move slow, creeping across the dark of the apartment. The cold of Brock’s scales ease the heat and ache.

By the time they make it to the bathroom, and Brock has the water turned at best, lukewarm, Brock is still leaning into him.

With his hand on the small of Burke’s back, he helps him into the shower. Accepting the fate of his clothes, he stepped in as well.

Burke lets his head fall under the water, Brock watches the white locks fall across his face.

It’s a moment of peace, the pulse of the water pressure, their soft breath.

Brock presses a kiss to Burke’s forehead, then grabs the conditioner.