Johnny “where the hell did I put it” MacTavish, who will lose anything and everything. Keys? Hasn’t found them in 20 minutes, swears he “just had them in his hands”. He’s lost his phone more times than he can count, wouldn’t leave anyone surprised if he somehow lost the pants he was wearing.
And
Kyle “it’s in the top drawer to the left” Garrick, who knows where every little thing is. Need a gear tie? There’s one under the sink cabinet in the far left bin. Missing wallet? Check your coat pocket that you just strung up. He knows where something is before you even ask.
I actually posted it a couple days ago, but since I copy/pasted it from mobile, ao3 ate the formatting, and I'm petty enough to not want to advertise my fics without all my 100 million italicized words in it. I finally had the time and energy to fix it!
Węgiel i gaz jako towar luksusowy: przyszłość ogrzewania domów w obliczu zmian klimatycznych
Węgiel i gaz jako towar luksusowy: przyszłość ogrzewania domów w obliczu zmian klimatycznych
Wprowadzenie
Węgiel i gaz stanowią do tej pory główne źródła energii cieplnej w wielu krajach, w tym w Polsce. Jednak w obliczu coraz bardziej nasilających się zmian klimatycznych, węgiel i gaz zaczynają być traktowani jako źródła energii nieszkodliwe dla środowiska. To oznacza, że w przyszłości mogą stać…
"I'm sorry. This is a lot different than what I expected. I can't do this, anymore. Goodbye."
The door closed over an hour ago, but the thud still rung in his ears, as if time had come to a standstill.
This wasn't the first time. But he'd make sure it wasn't the last.
"Take it easy, Son," Captain Price gently said to him, patting him on the shoulder with that fatherly look he gave when any of the boys were going through it. "Don't feel rushed. The right one is out there for you. A fine lad like yourself is bound to meet some who will take good care of you. It'll happen all in due time. Take care of yourself."
No. No, he wasn't fucking taking good care of himself; no, he wasn't going to risk it again; no, he wasn't going to be able to take another straight shot to the heart like this, anymore; and, no, he would never get his hopes up again.
Ever. Again.
He was tired. So very tired. The red blaze emitting from his alarm clock seemed all too ominous, glaring back at him in the dark as he slouched back on his couch. He'd smoked his tab to nothing with only the remnants of smoke dying in the ashtray. Old and stale Chinese takeout boxes littered his usually neat table.
You left him.
It wasn't so much as having someone leave him this time as it was the fact that it was you.
It'd be different this time. He believed that shit all too easily because it was you, and by God, it was only you, and it was you who'd make everything neat and tidy and not have him staring a empty liquor bottles rolling around on the floor. You who had proven him wrong, that there really was someone out there for him, and he'd been anxious about picking out the diamond ring for weeks. It was all worth it. You were all worth it. Everything he'd dreamed of to come; the end all be all.
"I'm sorry, Kyle. I'm sorry. I—I'm sorry.
"Take care of yourself."
It was you. That was why he didn't. He fucking didn't. He went wild as soon as you rolled out that door. Insane. Pressed his face to the ground, as if he could still see the marks left in the invisible dust by your suitcase, and dashed everything to hell when reality set in. He'd gone mad. Drinking and partying and whoring and taking extra missions like he didn't give a fuck, anymore.
He grinned because shit wasn't a big deal. That was the image he wanted to portray, that Kyle Garrick always had his wits about him, and that he was never ever wrong. Life was as it was before. He just had some stupid fluke.
Then why was Soap looking at him like he didn't really buy his laugh in the shattering lights of the club? Ghost kept sitting by him in silence, as if his presence wanted to be served as a constant. Price, too. And if Gaz wasn't so dead inside after lost sleep, he'd gut himself at the way his captain gave him that all too knowing, sad, pitying look.
"Kyle." Not Gaz. "Would you like to come over for dinner?"
No.
"Yeah? What's up, Cap?"
He hated himself.
They all looked at him like he was a wreck. He knew he was. He was a fucking wreck, but he didn't know how to stop the ship from sinking. It was pure delusion to think sleeping around, throwing money at fast cars and liquor and superficial distractions, and working himself to the bone was enough pitch and board to plug further water dragging him into the abyss. It felt good for bit. And then it was pure hell, and he'd raged and drank and drank and drank and stared into the dark corners of his room as he lost himself to his thoughts.
Sometimes, it wasn't even his own room. Somebody's room. Disgust clawed up his throat each and every time he left without a word, alone and never sated. Never fully sated like he was with you, never lying in warm and familiar arms, never letting his eyes smile, keep everything neat and tidy and very Kyle Garrick, successful in life, successful in finesse, successful in money and his military career, and successful in love.
He'd been nervous and giddy and a willing fool in love, slowly putting together the ceremony for the ring. He'd designed it himself, feeling like a randy teenager in love for the first time as he worked with the jeweler, unable to hide his smile when it' finally arrived. His boys teased him too much, but he'd let their affectionate ribbing play on while he daydreamed about the day.
Daydream to nightmare. He wished he was blind when you looked at the ring, his awkward self one one knee at your feet, and that look.
He wished he'd never seen the way you saw him. What was it really...What was the right word for your silence? The falter in your steps. Panic. A nightmare. He felt like a failing bulwark at how he tried to keep up his pleading smile, his previous words of devotion feeling hollow then like lead after he uttered his question. You'd stood like a rampart in the sea that was his growing despair.
"I...I'm sorry, Kyle."
"I'm sorry."
You'd left him, went out that door for the last time of his home, in twenty-eight minutes and forty-five seconds. Turned to look at him one last time, with a look he couldn't fully describe, and said your goodbye.
"I'm sorry. This is a lot different than what I expected. I can't do this, anymore. Goodbye."
And Kyle Garrick knew this wasn't the first time. But he'd make sure it was the last time he'd ever invite someone into his heart ever again.
