Taken in Snapshots: A Thiam One-Shot Collection

Morally... Whatever

A/N Warning: This pieces deals heavily with the theme of suicide and suicidal thoughts. There is a lot of suicidal thoughts/actions. There is also some graphic depiction of violence, discussion of trauma and mental health. Please read with caution, and take care of yourselves. <3

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Liam isn't sure how he lost Theo, in the hospital. He swears—he swears—Theo was right behind him when he was on the walkie-talkie with Monroe. He was right there, right next to him, and Liam only spent thirty seconds—a minute at most—surveying the damage that was on the hospital floor afterward. Still, when he finally turned around, Theo was gone. Gone, vanished into thin air without Liam even noticing.

Supernatural spy, Liam thinks bitterly, but even as he does so he can't help but look around as if Theo left some sign—some clue. It's only been a minute. He can't just be gone. Not even Theo was that good. Not even the superspy, designed to move unnoticed and overlooked, could vanish into nothingness. He's got to be somewhere.

Probably, Liam reasons, he's rushing for the lobby—for the exit. Rushing to leave, to get the hell away from the death and the blood and the hordes of people. Rushing to get the hell away from Liam.

Still, even as Liam thinks this—even as the idea cements itself into his brain as the only rational explanation—his feet lead him to the side stairwell... And then up. Up, and up, and up, until the stairwell ends—until he's staring at the door leading to the roof.

He reaches for the door, puts his hand on the handle. The cool metal jolts a shock through him, enough to wake up his senses. Enough to shock some sense into him, and he almost pulls his hand back.

Theo isn't here—Liam isn't going to find him on the roof. There's no reason for him to be all the way up here.

Theo isn't going to be up here, and Liam knows it. He knows, and he's starting to get annoyed with himself because, really, this whole detour is starting to become a waste of time.

Still... Still, there's something urging him forward—something inside him whispering, feverish and desperate, hurry. Something whispering, before it's too late.

Liam pushes the door open.

He scans the open space—scans the cage, the electrical box; scans the little nooks near the building, the places someone might be able to hide or rest; scans nearly the whole place... Scans, but bypasses—subconsciously or not—the outer perimeter, the ledge.

Liam doesn't see Theo—not right away.

What Liam does catch is his scent. His chemo signals. Liam inhales and it hits him, literally attacks, and Liam brings his arm up instinctively to block it out. It's a stench, roiling and almost retched, and Liam's stomach tightens in on itself in protest.

The thing is, it's not a bad scent—not really. It's not anger, or fear, or guilt. It's not sadness, or frustration, or helplessness. It's not a scent that he even recognizes, on Theo or anyone else. It's new.

But it's also wrong.

That thought signals alarm bells in his head, his mind screaming it on repeat, it's wrong, it's wrong, it's wrong, as he takes a step forward. His eyes dart across the rooftop, frantic. It's wrong, it's wrong, it's wrong, it's—

There. A figure completely still. There, sneakers on the ledge, practically hanging off. There, head tilted up to the sky but body angled toward the ground far below.