Rob's Ramblings

If you're a fan of Criminal Minds . . .

chiroho — Wed, 16 Jun 2010 04:04:36 GMT

I highly encourage you to sign this petition: http://www.petitiononline.com/cmwomen/petition.html

As you can see from the petition, the news is that CBS is aggressively cutting costs, though they're describing it as being for creative reasons, and to this end have decided to axe a regular from the cast of Criminal Minds, and severely curtail the episodes of another. In this case, the two female characters with the most screen time - Jennifer Jareau and Emily Prentiss.

Is this for real? Yes, since it was Joe Mantegna who linked to the petition on his twitter account. At about the same time, Thomas Gibson posted the following on his: To say we're all mystified and disappointed is an understatement...all the fan support is much appreciated! Stay tuned.... Paget Brewster then followed up with the following on her twitter account: "Creative Reasons" has been an Executive Bullshit excuse for DECADES. It IS financial. AJ is a dreamboat. And yes, I am hurt, too.

Anyway, if you're a fan of the show, go and complete the petition at least.

Criminal Minds fic: A Friend in Need

chiroho — Mon, 22 Feb 2010 19:37:18 GMT

Fandom: Criminal Minds
Title: A Friend in Need
Summary: Emily isn't feeling well, and Hotch decides that what she needs is a friend to help her out.
Category: Hurt/Comfort/Romance
Characters: Emily Prentiss, Aaron Hotchner
Rating: K+
Note: Inspired when I heard that a good friend of mine was having rather a crappy weekend. Thank you to sjhw_tolerance for the beta. As always, I own absolutely nothing, say it again!

A Friend in Need

PROMPT: Pushing Daisies - Comfort Food

Aaron Hotchner stared at the bowl of frosted flakes in front of him, as if he was hoping that in the act of staring at them they'd somehow morph into something more edible. Unfortunately, nothing miraculous occurred, and the cereal remained whitened and soggy. It wasn't his usual breakfast of choice, but he had planned on picking up some groceries right before they'd been called out on their last case. They'd arrived home last night, and all he had in the house was a couple of things Jack liked – frosted flakes being the case in point. Whatever else happened, he needed to do some shopping today or he'd be buying breakfast in the morning, and probably every other meal in-between.

Having finally finished the soggy flakes, he rinsed his bowl in the sink and was thinking about whether to shower or park himself in front of the television for a while, it being a Sunday after all, when his phone rang. He groaned loudly, hoping that it wasn't JJ calling about yet another case, but his spirits lifted when he saw the caller identified as 'Prentiss'. While their friendship had grown since he'd been injured in New York and she'd been injured in Colorado, she didn't typically call him on the weekend unless something was up, and he wondered what that might be.

"Prentiss? Everything okay?" He kicked himself. She'd know that he knew who it was based on the caller ID, but hopefully didn't think his response too abrupt.

"Actually Hotch, I'm feeling pretty under the weather." She sounded very out of it and congested over the phone, so he could only imagine what she felt like in person. "I wanted to let you know that I won't be able to make up any of that paperwork today." Strangely, she almost sounded disappointed.

"The paperwork can wait. It's far more important that you get better." Who did she think he was, that he'd expect her to come in on a Sunday and catch up on paperwork when she was sick? The fact that he was planning to do exactly that was obviously beside the point. "Is there anything I can do?"

"I'm fine. I just need to get some sleep." She really did sound disappointed. She couldn't have been looking forward to doing paperwork, could she? "I'll see you tomorrow."

She rang off, and as he stood there and thought about the conversation, he suddenly realised that Emily hadn't been looking forward to doing paperwork at all. She'd been looking forward to spending time with him, even though they were doing paperwork. Knowing how little everyone enjoyed the endless paperwork that came with the job, which was huge. How had he not realised this before? He knew that they'd been getting closer, but if she'd rather spend her Sunday doing paperwork just to be with him . . . There had to be something he could do for her.

Then he had it. The perfect way to help her through a crappy day.

Scrolling through the contacts on his phone, he found the one he wanted and dialled. "Sean? It's Aaron. Do you still have Nana Hotchner's recipe for chicken noodle soup?"

///////

Ugh! That was the first, second, third, and probably fourth thing to go through Emily's mind as she lay in bed and looked over at the clock on the bedside table. It was nearly eleven thirty, but she had absolutely no inclination to get up. Her head was pounding from some sort of sinus related problem that had abruptly surfaced when she'd first woken up, and things hadn't improved even with another four hours of sleep. Groaning again, she realised that using the bathroom was an absolute necessity, and she'd have to get up whether she liked it or not. The loud growl which suddenly emerged from her stomach also reminded her that she hadn't eaten since some time before they'd left wherever the heck it was late yesterday.

Dragging off the blanket, Emily pushed herself to a sitting position, her head throbbing and making her slightly dizzy. This was obviously what crap felt like she realised, groaning again at her light headedness. After stumbling into the bathroom, she looked at her now slightly puffy face in the mirror. Apparently the sinus issues had caused some delightful swelling. Good thing you're not planning any dates in the near future, Em!

Deciding against a shower in favour of eating something, though she had absolutely no idea what, she dragged on a robe and trudged lethargically down the stairs. She was half way down when she suddenly felt like the room was spinning. Desperately grasping the rail to stop from falling, she gasped with the combination of the pain in her sinuses and the dizziness it was causing.

Shit this was bad!

Lowering herself to the stairs, Emily crawled down backwards, being careful to move her head as little as possible, then slowly made her way to the couch. Grabbing her bag from where she'd thrown it on the coffee table the previous night, she pulled out the bottle of ibuprofen she kept there and dry swallowed two, hoping that by the time they kicked in she'd feel better. She wished she had some Sudafed as well, but that was upstairs and she wasn't going near the stairs any time soon. Climbing onto the couch, she grabbed the blanket draped across the back, and curled herself into a ball under it, hoping that if she slept a little longer she'd feel better.

///////

Emily woke to a pounding in her head. Completely disoriented she sat up, trying to figure out where she was, and immediately received the reminder that her head felt like she'd been punched in the forehead with a large rubber hammer. Fortunately the worst of the dizziness seemed to have passed, but her stay on the couch had apparently resulted in an incredibly stiff neck and shoulders. It was only after sitting there for a minute that Emily realised that the pounding wasn't coming from inside her head, but was actually someone knocking at her door. What fuck-tard would be bothering her at home on a Sunday afternoon? At least she assumed it was afternoon, and confirmed that guess by checking the time on the clock on the mantle. One fifteen. Another nearly two hours of sleep and she still felt ghastly.

"Prentiss?"

Apparently the knock had a voice, which she immediately identified as being that of her boss. What was he doing here? Hadn't he said on the plane yesterday that he had three weeks of paperwork to catch up on? She vaguely remembered talking to him this morning, but she hoped he hadn't taken it on himself to bring his paperwork here. If he had, she might say some things which would result in her receiving some sort of suspension. And that wouldn't be a good thing, especially since she liked spending time with him.

Pushing herself up carefully so she didn't set off a sudden dizziness, Emily checked her robe to make sure that she wasn't going to give Hotch some sort of peep show. She was wearing some Victoria's Secret Pink pajamas and a modest robe so that seemed unlikely, but the last thing she wanted to do was accidentally flash a nipple at Hotch à la Elaine's Christmas card. Satisfied that no wardrobe failure was imminent, she slowly made her way towards the door.

"Coming!"

Crap, speaking loudly was a bad idea! The words echoed inside her head and made her face pound, four hundred milligrams of ibuprofen or not. She finally made it to the door and looked through the peep hole, confirming that it was indeed her tall, dark, and handsome boss, and not some unsub with a tape recorder. Undoing the chain, she opened the door.

"Hotch? What're you doing here?" She kept her voice low so as to avoid the previous occurrence of loud noises echoing in her head. Looking down, she saw he was carrying a plastic bag which seemed to have some containers in it.

The corner of his mouth turned up, and she almost saw half a dimple. That was like a grin for most people! "You didn't sound well, so I thought I'd come and keep you company. Have you eaten?"

At the loud growl which emanated from her stomach at his words, he chuckled. "Apparently not," he said, giving her a half smile this time. "Can I come in? I brought some soup with me."

"Soup?" She could hear the excitement creep into her voice, and he flashed her that half smile again, nodding at the same time. She'd vaguely wondered earlier if she'd had any canned soup in the house, but if he'd bought soup, then that would be most excellent.

She waved him in, and allowed him to shut the door behind himself as she wandered back to the counter in her kitchen, sitting down at one of the stools.

"So what have you brought me?" she said in about as enthusiastic a tone as she could muster, which to be honest really wasn't that enthusiastic, as she watched him put two containers on the counter. He opened the lid on the first, and she could smell the delicious fragrance of the soup wafting towards her, almost making her drool in anticipation.

"My grandmother's chicken noodle soup, complete with extra spices to help with congestion." He looked around the kitchen. "Where do you keep your bowls?"

She pointed at the cabinets over the counter to her right. "In there, on the left."

He grabbed a bowl, and used a tureen he'd obviously brought with him to dish out some of the soup, which he put in the microwave for sixty seconds. "Spoons?"

"In the drawer next to the counter."

He got out a soup spoon, pulled a napkin from the holder on the counter, and set both in front of her, followed by the bowl as soon as the microwave finished. She stirred the soup slowly, and raised the spoon to her mouth, taking a careful taste in case it was too hot.

"This is amazing, Hotch! I didn't know you could cook."

He actually smiled a full smile. "I may not be Sean, but I know my way around a kitchen. My grandmother taught both of us when we were younger. It was a welcome respite from life at home." As he said the last words, his face fell, and he looked away uncomfortably, perhaps realising he'd revealed more than he'd intended. Not wanting to pry, Emily concentrated on the soup, which really was delicious.

She finished the soup in silence, though it wasn't uncomfortable. With all the hours they spent together, there wasn't always a need for conversation, and to be honest she didn't feel that much like talking. In turn, Hotch stood there and watched her eat, obviously pleased at seeing her enjoy the soup so much.

"What's in the other container?"

He smiled again. "Dessert." Opening the lid, he pulled out a thick, moist brownie, which he placed on her napkin. "I know you sometimes crave chocolate, particularly when you're not feeling well, so . . ." he trailed off. Looking up, she saw him blushing slightly, and had to grin. He'd wanted to bring her something to cheer her up, as well as make her feel better. That was sweet, and completely at odds with the rather severe image he seemed to like to project.

Taking a bite, Emily realised that the brownie was just as good as it looked. She looked at him suspiciously. "Are you sure that you made these yourself?"

He stared back at her, raising his nose ever so slightly, a sure sign of his being offended. "Yes, Prentiss, of course I did. Would you like to call my brother to verify whether I asked him for the recipe this morning?"

Oops! Touched a bit of a nerve there. She made a mental note not to challenge Hotch on his cooking skills in the future. Then again, if he cooked this well, why would she ever want to?!

"Sorry, Hotch."

She watched as he rinsed out her bowl, and put it in the dishwasher. It was weird seeing him in such a domestic environment. While obviously he'd been fending for himself for years, it was a side of him she'd never really seen. Just like the jeans and the sweat shirt she just realised he was wearing – and the mighty fine ass that she noticed as he'd bent over. Whoa! That was the first time she'd ever had a thought like that about her boss. Or was it?

"Why don't you go and sit on the couch while I put these in the fridge? You should have plenty for tonight, and for tomorrow if you're still not feeling well."

Walking back to the couch, she suddenly remembered just how stiff she was, but when she stopped and twisted slightly to try and relieve some of the tension, she also remembered why she'd taken all that ibuprofen earlier. "Ow!"

Without her even realising he'd moved, Hotch was right behind her. "Are you okay?"

She nodded slowly. "Just stiff and a bit dizzy."

"Why don't you sit down then, and I'll rub your shoulders. That might help a little."

Emily turned slowly and looked at him questioningly, quirking an eyebrow. "Who are you, and what have you done with my boss?"

He gave a small chuckle. "Just sit down and I'll rub your neck."

She did as she was told, and discovered that his long fingers made for short work of the tension in her shoulders. She rolled her neck luxuriously after he was done. "Do you charge by the hour? Or is there a special rate for damsels in distress?"

He pointedly ignored the question, though she saw the flicker of a grin on his face, and sat down beside her on the couch. "Is there anything you'd like to watch?"

She grabbed the remote, and brought up the guide. Scrolling through, she saw that one of her favourite movies was due to start in a few minutes. "How about North by Northwest?"

He nodded. "Sure. It was one of my favourites as a teenager. I think it's one of the reasons I thought about becoming an FBI agent. Although that could have been more because I'd one day hoped to run into someone like Eva Marie Saint while I was working."

She smiled at his comment, and he smiled back in return.

///////

It was only when the movie ended that Hotch noticed that Emily had fallen asleep against his shoulder. Looking at her sleeping there, he realised that he enjoyed the fact that she was leaning on him, though he'd certainly not be telling her that at any point in the near future. Very slowly, he moved a cushion so that it was propped against the arm of the couch, and gently lowered her head onto it. He stared at her for a few minutes before switching the television off and getting up. Tucking the blanket around her, he made sure that one of the lamps was on, then looked around for a piece of paper and a pen. Finding some by the phone, he left her a short note.

Prentiss, didn't want to wake you, so let myself out. Hope you're feeling better tomorrow. If not, I order you not to come in. We'll survive.
- Hotch

Taking one last look at her, somewhat surprised at how vulnerable she looked when sleeping, he switched off the lights in the small kitchen, and let himself out the door, making sure he couldn't open it from the outside. While not his typical Sunday routine, it made a nice change to help out a friend in need. Perhaps it was something he should try and do more often.

Particularly if that friend was a certain Emily Prentiss.

Criminal Minds fic: Do I Know You?

chiroho — Sun, 14 Feb 2010 02:26:49 GMT

Fandom: Criminal Minds
Title: Do I Know You?
Summary: Emily and JJ are visiting Garcia for coffee, but are stunned at what they see when they arrive. Some humorous fluff for Valentine's Day.
Category: Humour/General
Characters: Emily Prentiss, Jennifer Jareau, Penelope Garcia
Rating: K+
Note: I own nothing. Especially not CM, or the things mentioned in this story, though I may want some of them. :) Thank you as always to sjhw_tolerance for the beta.

Do I Know You?

PROMPT: Forensic Factor - Bloody Valentine

“Are you and Will doing anything for Valentine’s Day?”

Emily Prentiss and Jennifer Jareau were walking down the corridor away from the bullpen towards Garcia’s Love Cave, or so the energizer bunny of the BAU had proclaimed at their morning briefing that her office would be called ‘until the clock strikes midnight tonight’ . It was a little after three in the afternoon, and they’d both received reminders in Outlook that it was time for their daily coffee and cupcakes session with Garcia, something they liked to try and do when they were all in the office. So Emily had dragged JJ from behind a pile of folders so high the only part of the blonde visible was her hair, hit the break area for three coffees, and proceeded to where she hoped Garcia would be providing cupcakes.

“Not really. We don’t have any family in the area, and I haven’t found a sitter that I’m comfortable with yet, so we figured we’d just stay in. It’ll actually make a nice change from always being on the road.” Despite the fact that most people wanted to go out for Valentine’s Day, JJ sounded happy that she was going to be at home. “How about you?”

“I don’t have any plans.” While Emily tried to keep the disappointment out of her voice, she knew that JJ had detected something when the blonde turned to look at her.

“Really? No invitations from a certain tall, dark, and handsome unit chief?” JJ’s lips quirked up as she spoke, and her tone was definitely teasing. Emily directed a glare at her friend, which merely elicited a laugh – not quite the desired response. Then again, JJ was used to handling some pretty nasty expressions from not only the press, but also the in house masters of dirty looks: Aaron Hotchner and Erin Strauss.

Fortunately, before any further questions could be asked, they reached the door to the Love Cave and JJ punched in the code – Emily being unable to do so as she was holding two coffees.

Before the door was even fully open, they were greeted with squeals of excitement from within. “Come and see what Kevin gave me for Valentine’s Day!”

After rolling their eyes at each other, Emily followed JJ into the room, but nearly spilled both coffees when she almost walked into JJ’s back. Stepping around her friend, all she could see was Garcia gesturing excitedly at something on her desk, while JJ simply stood there with her mouth open.

“JJ?” The woman in question opened and closed her mouth twice without making any sound, then slowly turned to look at Emily, shaking her head in disbelief. “What’s wrong?”

Still unable to answer, she just pointed at Garcia.

Not able to see what the problem was, Emily turned her attention to the other woman in the room, who was saying something about her keyboard, as well as the strange blue box sitting next to it.

“And the best part is that not only are there four USB 2.0 ports, but that when you press this button on the front the light on the roof flashes and the sound effect is so perfect!”

Looking closely, Emily realised that the blue object Garcia was talking about indeed seemed familiar. Searching her memory, she finally realised what it looked like. “Is that from Doctor Who?”

Spinning in her chair, Garcia shot her a look of absolute horror. “My tall, raven haired beauty, of course it’s from Doctor Who! How can call yourself a nerd and not be sure of this?”

Emily was completely unable to respond as, the whole time Garcia had been talking, she’d been staring at what had stopped JJ dead in her tracks. “Um . . .” She desperately tried to find words which would allow her to ask some sort of coherent question. “Pen? It’s not Halloween, is it?”

“Of course not, my confuzzled friend. Today is the day when lovers everywhere express that love to their intimate companions with tokens of affection. Why do you ask?” Garcia was at her perkiest and happiest, and the words came out in a flurry which it took Emily a second to decipher.

“Did Kevin bring you any jelly donuts today?” She still felt as though she was fighting her way through a fog to get to coherent thought.

“No, my lovely. My little god of geekdom tried to bring in a bacon donut this morning, but as soon as I caught the smell of it I banished him from the Love Cave until it was gone.”

Emily was momentarily distracted from the image in front of her as her brain tried to process exactly what a bacon donut might be, and why the thought of it made her feel like gagging. Seeing a look of horror on JJ’s face beside her, she was relieved to discover that she wasn’t the only one who thought that way. Trying to get back to the original topic, she realised that her brain felt like Beaker’s sometimes looked after one of Dr. Bunsen Honeydew’s less than successful experiments.

“And you’re not doing some sort of weird Twlight Valentine’s with Kevin?” Emily was a trained interrogator, and had grilled countless suspects, but in this conversation with Garcia she knew she sounded rather more like Forrest Gump.

Losing some of her excitement, Garcia gave her a slightly hurt look. “No. What’s wrong, my dear?”

They both stared at her, unable to figure out how to broach what was obviously becoming a delicate question. Unfortunately, the longer they stood there, the more subdued Garcia became.

Overcoming her silence, it was JJ who finally found blurted out what they were obviously both thinking. “Then why do you have blood all over your chin, your shirt, and even on your hands?”

“WHAT?!” The cry was more of a screech, and the technical analyst floundered to open a draw and pull out a mirror. “Oh no! Why didn’t you say something?” Garcia fixed her friends with an accusing glare.

JJ and Emily looked at each other. “We did.” Their voices came out close enough together that Emily almost expected Garcia to call ‘jinx’.

“So what’s with the . . . blood?” Emily tried to sound positive, and not like she’d walked in and found that one of her closest friends had been replaced with a bizarre flesh eating doppelganger.

Reaching for some hand wipes, Garcia sighed. “It was the other thing that Kevin gave me for Valentine’s Day – a Giant Bleeding Gummy Heart. It was so delicious I didn’t realise just how gooey it was.”

“A giant what?” Emily didn’t have the chance to ask the question before JJ did.

“Gummy heart! You know, like a gummy bear, only bigger and much juicier. It was wonderful.” She almost moaned in delight at the memory.

Emily and JJ exchanged another glance. While she had liked gummy bears when she was younger, she now preferred something a little more refined as a present – like Godiva chocolate. On the other hand, she wasn’t anywhere near the geek that her friend was, and she suspected that this gummy heart was very much a geek thing.

“Well, let’s get you cleaned up before we have our cupcakes. You did bring cupcakes didn’t you, Pen?”

Garcia shot her another horrified look. “Of course I did! It would be sacrilege if I’d forgotten.” As she rose from her chair, Emily caught sight of her keyboard, which she vaguely remembered Garcia mentioning immediately after they’d walked in the room. It was a sleek, glossy black, and not one single key had any sort of letter or character on it.

“Did you know that there aren’t any letters on your keyboard?”

Emily had to step back from the intense glare she received in response to her comment. “Were you not listening as I explained to you the virtues of Das Keyboard, the ultimate keyboard for über fast typists like my wonderful self?”

“I guess I was distracted by all the blood and ah . . .” Emily wracked her brain for the name of the darn blue thing. “And the Tardis!” she exclaimed triumphantly. She really hoped that the truth would help dig her out of the hole into which she had obviously descended.

Garcia looked at her suspiciously. “I’ll forgive you – this time. But don’t ignore explanations of my technology in the future!” With that she whirled around and headed towards the door.

Grateful that she’d escaped any further details about the keyboard, Emily followed Garcia from the room, JJ tagging along behind with a bemused expression on her face. If this was what Valentine’s Day gifts were about, she thought, maybe she was better off buying her own Godiva after all.

A/N2: All gifts mentioned in this story are real, and are available online. Perhaps your Valentine would like a Giant Gummy Bleeding Heart as well?

Criminal Minds fic: A Hard Day at Work

chiroho — Mon, 11 Jan 2010 14:42:20 GMT

Fandom: Criminal Minds
Title: A Hard Day at Work
Summary: What really goes on inside Aaron Hotchner's head?
Category: Humour/Romance
Characters: Aaron Hotchner, Emily Prentiss
Rating: T for language and innuendo
Note: No, I don’t own anything. The challenge was to come up with a first person POV story, using a prompt from the TV Prompt Challenge forum on ff.net

A Hard Day at Work

PROMPT: Friends - The One with the Red Sweater

///////

It seemed to be any regular work day, though with the BAU a regular work day could be pretty hairy at times, but this one didn’t seem to be like it could end up that way – at least when I’d first arrived and started in on the perpetual stack of three weeks’ worth of paperwork crowding my desk. Maybe if I concentrated, I could catch up on at least a few days worth by lunch.

As the team slowly trickled in, I noted their presence as I looked down through the blinds in my office into the bullpen. Dave, unusually, was the first to arrive, and waved at me as he passed outside my office. Morgan then ambled in, looking rather lethargic. If my vision had been better I’m sure I would have seen how red his eyes looked. I shook my head. He really should know better than to party on a work night. I have to see if I could find a way to give him a hard time about it later.

Emily, unusually, arrived after Morgan – she was nearly always the first in after me. Sometimes when there was a good chance of us not picking up a case she dressed more casually, but today I saw that she was wearing a classy charcoal combination, with an attractive wine red sweater underneath. Although she didn’t wear red too often, I always liked the way it brought colour to her pale features. However, it wasn’t until she walked up the stairs to my office that I realised she was actually wearing a skirt suit – something which, in my opinion, she didn’t do nearly often enough. Though, in some ways it was good she didn’t, because with those legs I’d probably need to beat away the male FBI colleagues who would undoubtedly hover around her desk so they could ‘ask her a question about a case’.

“Morning, Hotch. Picked you up some coffee on the way in.”

Pretending as though I hadn’t been staring at her legs since she’d walked in the door, I looked up.

“Thanks, Emily.”

That’s when I noticed the sweater. Yes, the jacket was very businesslike and professional, but that red sweater underneath seemed to be doing an awful lot of curve hugging. I swallowed, and was grateful for the fact that I wasn’t into full smiles, because if I’d been doing one I’m sure it would have faltered. Holy crap! This was so not going to be good for my productivity.

When I focused on her face, I saw a twinkle in her eyes and she tossed the hair, that I realised she’d curled slightly, over her shoulder. She leaned over to place the coffee on my desk, and as she did so the jacket, which she’d unbuttoned at some point in the last ten seconds, parted slightly, allowing me to see just how form fitting that darn sweater was. In fact, I was sure that I could make out the shape of the lace in her bra through the material of the sweater.

“Everything okay, Hotch?” She smiled demurely. “You seem a little flushed.”

“I’m fine.” It was the automatic response. I was glad that I didn’t have to think about it because she was still leaning forward, which started another completely unconscious reaction – one fortunately not visible because I was sitting behind my desk. Of course, things immediately went from bad to worse as JJ popped her head around my office door.

“Ready for the briefing, Hotch?”

Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! “Gather everyone in 10 minutes, please JJ.” Thank the Lord for repressed emotions which ensured even I couldn’t detect the waver in my voice I was sure had to be there. I saw Emily grin out of the corner of my eye as she straightened up and buttoned her jacket, so obviously she’d heard something.

“Are you sure you’re feeling well, Aaron?” Emily purred.

Holy Hannah! I looked down at the file on my desk, crime scene photos immediately jumping into view. I don’t think I’d ever been as happy to see a sight so disgusting, as it immediately calmed the jack hammering of my pulse, my blood obviously moving back to my brain and away from other parts of my anatomy. Phew!

Okay Aaron, get your act together here. She might be a smoking hot minx of a woman, but you have to make it through the day, and it’s only 8:20. Shit! It’s only 8:20. Good God this was going to be a hard day. Oh crap, I could have worded that better.

I looked up at Emily’s face. Don’t look down! Don’t look down! “I’m fine. Thank you for the coffee.”

She smirked, and walked slowly out the door, rolling her hips way more than I remembered ever seeing her do before. Crap, but she had a nice ass.

Crime scene photos! Look at the crime scene photos! NOW!

///////

It came as absolutely no surprise that, when I entered the conference room, I found that the only spare seat was next to Emily. So of course I had to sit there, and when I did I immediately noticed that she was sitting at just the right angle that I could see the way that fucking red sweater hugged her breast perfectly!

Focus on JJ! Pay attention to the briefing, Aaron!

JJ, I noticed, was wearing a flattering black blouse, tucked into a black skirt which hugged her rear. For some unfathomable reason, she’d chosen to wear black knee-height boots. I groaned internally. That evil witch of a woman next to me had somehow hit an internal switch, and now I was seeing sex everywhere I turned.

Don’t look at JJ! Do NOT look at JJ, Aaron!

So I focused on the one person in the room least likely to engender any sort of sexual reaction – Reid. And the files we were discussing. I focused on the files we were discussing. Didn’t I have an opinion on this one? I flicked the file open, and looked through my notes. Ah yes, there it was, right next to the picture of Emily’s breast being caressed by a red sweater in the corner of my eye! And it was moving. Was the God damned woman hyperventilating or something? She had to be channelling that much movement into it!

No! No! No! No! No! Stop it, Aaron. Focus!

I looked at my watch - 8:32. And this meeting was due to run for another two hours. There was no way on God’s green earth that I was going to last another ten minutes, let alone another two hours. Especially since Reid was already getting antsy, I guess because I was staring at him. I’ve been known to have that affect on people, though I’m not really sure why. It wasn’t as though I was giving him a number one glare or anything. Yes, of course I had my glares numbered. If I’ve practiced something in front of a mirror to make sure I’m getting it right, I’m definitely going to want to make sure that I’m delivering the correct ordinance when the time comes.

Oh nice job, Aaron. Talking to yourself again. Still, you managed to distract yourself for two minutes from the heaving red breast next door. Shit!

So, here I am staring at Reid again, when I feel a nudge from my left. Looking over, I see that Dave is holding a note inside his copy of the file. ‘Has Reid done something wrong?’ Oh for crying out loud! I was only staring at him for a couple of minutes, trying to avoid … why is it that I’d never noticed that when Emily crosses her legs her skirt rides up to – HER THIGH! First the sweater, and now this? Guh! What amazing legs she has!

Must not look at Prentiss’ legs. Must not look at Prentiss’ legs. D’oh! Must not look at Prentiss’ chest! Must NOT look at Prentiss’ chest! OR LEGS! Oh for frig’s sake, this is just a complete cluster.

Time to stare at Reid again. And he’s twitching. I just barely suppress rolling my eyes. What is he, a rabbit or something?

I hadn’t been listening to JJ, and now it seemed as though I was supposed to be giving some input, or at least answering a question, because everyone was looking at me. Just fucking great! The one time you don’t pay attention in a meeting Aaron. I looked down at my notes again, carefully avoiding looking to my right at all.

Ah ha! That’s what I’d meant to say.

“Morgan, can you and Reid put together a preliminary profile on this, and send it back to Rochester?”

“Sure thing, Hotch.”

Oh thank the Lord Almighty! Everyone was nodding, as though I’d made sense. Must pay attention! MUST pay attention! Breast. Thigh! Oh fuck!

I looked down as my phone buzzed, and saw that I’d received an email from the Wicked Witch of the West. She needed to see me, for an URGENT meeting. I rolled my eyes internally. Fucking bitch! Probably meant it had been sitting on her desk for a week being ignored, and she’d just noticed that AD Skinner needed input by EOB today. Still, I think it was the most I’d ever wanted to go to a meeting with her.

Interrupting JJ’s discussion of the next case, I stood up.

“Sorry, JJ. Urgent meeting with Strauss.” I’m sure no one detected the sarcasm which was part of that statement. “Dave, can you lead the rest of the discussion, please?”

“Of course, Aaron.”

I fled, and in doing so, I heard Morgan’s voice float out the door.

“Is it just me, or did Hotch actually seem eager to get to that meeting?”

///////

If there was one thing guaranteed to banish the sexual urge from a man, it was a meeting with Erin Strauss. I’d been in there for seven hours! Count them. S-E-V-E-N! How can anyone be productive in a seven hour meeting? And she wanted to talk about the cost of office supplies. Hello! Earth to the dumb blonde bureaucrat? There’s a damned frigging jet out there, and every time we start it up it costs the equivalent of a year’s worth of office supplies. Do you think ordering one less box of paperclips will make a difference? It’s enough to drive anyone to an early grave.

And speaking of early graves, as I walk through the glass doors of the BAU I notice that Emily has attracted some admirers during the time I’ve been having my soul exorcised. Looks like Brad Cop-a-feel and Joe Leerer. Just great. And the woman is obviously flirting with them. Apparently she doesn’t have enough paperwork to do, a situation I’ll definitely have to remedy. She turns her attention to me as I walk up.

“Hotch, do you remember Agents Copperfield and Lehrer from Counter Terrorism?”

I give them THE DEATH GLARE (TM). It’s the one I like to subtitle ‘I am going to make you piss yourself, and then sit you down on the floor and wipe it up with your pants – while you’re wearing them’. I find that this particular look generally has an amusing affect on just about anyone.

“Captured all the terrorists on the FBI’s Most Wanted List yet, Agents?”

I’m honestly not sure whether their feet actually touched the ground between Emily’s desk and the door to the unit. There are some advantages to being known as one of the toughest hard asses in the entire Bureau.

Turning back to Emily, she apparently is less than amused that I’ve dispossessed her of her play things, and she pouts at me. Pouts! Can anyone seriously believe that a woman in her position would pout at her boss?

Derek is chuckling from his desk.

“Fully recovered from this morning’s hangover, Agent Morgan?” He suddenly found the huge stack of files on his desk to be of paramount interest. “I want five of those completed and on my desk before you leave today.” Serves him right for going clubbing on a week night.

I look over at Emily, and she’s stopped pouting, but is now unbuttoning her jacket and letting both girls come out to play. They are the most perfectly shaped things I have ever seen in my entire life, and that sweater only accentuates the way they look. If I’m not drooling, I’m obviously not a heterosexual male. And yes, I can feel a slight wetness at the corner of my mouth, thank you very much!

“Reid, stop staring at Prentiss’ chest unless you want to end up doing sexual harassment training for the next six months!”

The sudden flurry of activity to my right indicates that Reid has, indeed, found something else to do. Of course, he could just be going over every detail of their shape in his mind. Damned eidetic memory! I have to admit though, I’m pretty certain I could give Reid a run for his money on the memory stakes when it comes to describing Emily’s chest and legs – certainly after today anyway.

Okay, I’ve had enough of this. I need to take control of the situation.

I step closer to Emily and lean in to her ear, whispering so only she can hear. “My office - ten minutes. You’d better be ready.”

Stepping back, I notice a slightly shocked expression on her face, so I waggle my eyebrows at her a couple of times, while turning up the left corner of my mouth.

As I walk up the stairs to my office, I see that she hasn’t moved save to turn so she can follow my progress. I mouth ‘ten minutes’ at her and wink before walking over to my desk. Looking through the shades in my office, I see her mouth has opened in a small gasp. Heh! Payback can be a bitch.

Ten minutes doesn’t take very long when you have most of a day’s worth of voice mail to listen to, which is why I was only just finishing that task when Emily nervously knocked at the door. Strangely, her jacket was buttoned, and she actually looked a little skittish. Apparently it’s one thing to dish out innuendo, and another thing to have the subject of your teasing actually respond. I smiled. You know, both corners of my mouth. I even threw in a dimple (facial control expression #137, in case you’re keeping track), just to see how she’d react.

Emily blushed, and ducked her head slightly. I have to say that I’d honestly never noticed just how damn adorable she was when she was embarrassed.

“Come in, Emily. Please shut the door.”

She glanced out into the bullpen, obviously taking one last look at her escape route, then drew back her shoulders and closed the door. Finally, she turned towards me.

“Um …”

I suppressed a snort. She was too funny.

I removed my jacket, and hung it on the back of my chair. Loosening my tie, I walked over towards where she was standing. “So, should we do this on the couch, or on my desk?”

Emily’s eyes quite literally bugged out. “Sir?”

Closing the distance between us, I stepped into her personal space and unbuttoned her jacket. “It’s a simple question, Emily. Do you have a preference?” I slipped my hand under the jacket and onto her waist, moving it slowly up her side. The material of the sweater was amazingly soft, though not, I imagined, as amazing as her skin would feel.

She closed her eyes, moaning slightly. “Couch.”

“Okay.” I removed my hand, and reached for the stack of files on my desk, dropping them into two piles on the low table in front of the couch. “You take these, and I’ll take the others.”

Her eyes popped open. “WHAT?!”

I sit down on the couch. “I figure that if we do this together, it will be that much faster. And as you obviously don’t have a lot of paperwork at the moment, I assumed you had plenty of time to help me out.”

She was glaring at me. Seriously glaring. Of course, I’d glared at myself enough in the mirror to know what a truly frightening gaze looks like, so I just shrugged it off.

“Why you low down, son of a bitch!”

“Need I remind you, Agent Prentiss, of section V subsection 3.2 of the FBI code of conduct? Insulting a superior will result in disciplinary action. Now sit down, please.”

She glowered at me for a second. Actually glowered. I wasn’t sure that I’d ever seen that expression in her face before, but there it was. I was actually slightly impressed - I thought that I had the market cornered on glowering. Apparently I must have been rubbing off on her.

Finally, after letting out a huff of frustration, she sat, and started to read the first file.

“Emily?”

She turned towards me, half distracted by what she was reading. “Hmmm?”

I took the opportunity to plant on her the most astounding kiss I believe she’d ever experienced. Now, I’m not into self aggrandisement, and obviously I have no empirical knowledge about the sort of kisses Emily Prentiss had experienced in the past, but the fact that she was literally humming and her feet were twitching by the time I broke off for air a minute or two later, does tend to suggest that it was at least a darn pleasurable experience. Of course, it could also have been the fact that I had one of those amazing sweater clad breasts cupped in my hand. I’d been right too. She was wearing a lace bra, because I could feel the pattern. And another thing which was now more obviously visible through the sweater.

She slumped back against the couch, eyes barely open. “Wow.”

I grinned - both dimples. “We’ll continue this later. Your place, or mine?”

“I don’t care, so long as you do that again.”

“Oh believe me, Emily. There are better things than that in store for you this evening.” I ran my hand up her thigh, pushing her skirt up slightly. She shuddered.

“You’re a bad, bad man, Aaron Hotchner.”

I chuckled. “You're the one who started this. Don’t blame me if it ended up somewhere you didn’t expect.”

I turned back to the stack of case files on the table. “One last thing though.”

She pulled herself upright from where she’d slumped against the back of the couch. “Yes?”

“Don’t ever wear that sweater to work again, unless you really do want to choose between this couch and my desk.”

She laughed.

///////

A/N 2: Yes, I'm well aware that I'm pushing the boundaries on characterisation here, but isn't that what the whole purpose of writing is about, and what makes it more amusing? Also, it's important to remember that this is what's going on inside Hotch's head. For all we know, he looks completely stoic during this whole thing. In fact, that's kind of how I picture him. It's just that, like every other male in the world, he has a lot going on in his head while he's being all Mr. Repressed Emotions. Right?

Additionally, this is actually the first story in a series co-written by myself and Sienna27 (I write the Hotch POV and she writes the Emily POV), so if you want to read the same story from Emily's POV, then it's called Breaking Aaron Hotchner. If you do read, please leave some feedback for Sienna27, as I know she'd really appreciate it.

Criminal Minds fic: A Letter to Santa

chiroho — Wed, 23 Dec 2009 02:53:55 GMT

Fandom: Criminal Minds
Title: A Letter to Santa
Summary: Jack Hotchner writes a letter to Santa about his Christmas wish
Category: Family/Romance
Characters: Aaron Hotchner, Jack Hotchner, Emily Prentiss
Rating: Everyone
Note: No, I don’t own anything. Thank you as always to sjhw_tolerance for being a wonderful beta.

Part 1 - A Letter to Santa

Prompt: One Tree Hill - Please, Please, Please, Let me Get What I Want

///////

Aaron Hotchner was in the kitchen, cooking dinner, when he heard the little voice coming from the living room.

“Daddy?”

“Yes, buddy?”

“How do you spell daddy?”

“D – A – D – D – Y.”

“Thanks, daddy.”

“You’re welcome, buddy.”

Smiling to himself, he went back to ensuring that the rotini he was currently cooking was going to be perfectly al dente. Even though Jack liked spaghetti better, it was a messy dish for a four year old to eat, and Hotch preferred not to have to try and get sauce stains out of Jack’s clothes.

“Daddy?”

“Yes, Jack?”

“How do you spell miss?”

“M – I – S – S.”

“Thanks, daddy.”

Although he was curious as to what Jack was doing, Hotch figured it could wait the few minutes until dinner would be finished to find out. He knew that Jack had his crayons, so no doubt it was some sort of picture.

“How do you spell Em’ly?”

“E – M – I – L – Y, buddy.”

“Thanks, daddy!”

Hotch grinned again. He loved his son so very much.

“Daddy?”

“Yes?”

“How do you spell Santa?”

“S – A – N – T – A.”

“Daddy, does Santa always give you what you want?”

“It depends, buddy. Have you been good?”

“Yes, daddy. I’ve been really good. Miss Em’ly told me so.”

Hotch could almost hear his son nodding. “Then I think Santa should be able to bring you what you want.”

“That’s good, daddy, ‘cause I really, really, really want to get this.”

Dumping the pasta from the saucepan into the metal colander he’d previously placed in the sink, Hotch checked to see if the sauce was bubbling yet.

“What is it you want, buddy?”

“I can’t tell you daddy. It’s a secret.”

“But how will I know what you want?”

“You don’t need to know, daddy. Santa knows.”

Well, he couldn’t fault that logic, though not knowing what it was that Jack ‘really, really, really’ wanted was going to make it tough to make sure Jack got his Christmas wish.

He checked the sauce again, to find that it was just starting to bubble.

“Okay, buddy. Time to wash up for dinner.”

“Okay, daddy!”

A few minutes later, they were both sitting at the table and Jack was thoroughly enjoying his pasta. The evidence of Jack having been drawing was obvious, because there was a large envelope on the table with the word ‘SANTA’ written on it. Some of the letters were backwards, and they weren’t in anything approaching a straight line, but it was obvious for whom the letter was intended.

“Is this letter for Santa?”

“Yes, daddy. Can we mail it tomorrow?”

“Of course we can, Jack.”

“Where’s Miss Em’ly tonight, daddy?”

“She had to work the case today, just like she did yesterday.”

“Does it take a long time to work the case?”

“Sometimes.”

“I miss her, daddy.”

Hotch sighed. He missed Emily as well, especially since she’d tried to check in on them nearly every day since Haley’s funeral, whether in person or by phone if she was travelling. “Me too, buddy. Me too.”

Jack had clearly become attached to Emily during the last few weeks, though Hotch wasn’t entirely sure whether he was substituting Emily for where the feelings of his mother once had been, or whether they held separate places in the little boy’s heart. Regardless, he was happy around Emily, and that’s all that Hotch could hope for at the moment.

“All done, buddy?”

“Yup.”

“Okay then. Let’s put these dishes in the sink and get ready for bath.”

///////

Jack had been in bed for nearly half an hour before Hotch managed to get back to the envelope lying on the table. After bath, there had been story time, and then he’d needed to wash up. Now he was staring down at an envelope, wondering if he should open it. As he picked it up, he realised that Jack hadn’t sealed the envelope, which made it much easier to see what was inside. Sliding out a sheet of paper, he saw that Jack was sending Santa a drawing.

There were three stick figures in the drawing. The middle one was the smallest, and had light brown hair. Underneath this figure, Jack had written ‘Jack’ – or something which looked like it said ‘Jack’ anyway. On the left of that figure, was the largest of the three figures. This figure had spiky black hair, and underneath was written ‘DADDY’. On the other side of the Jack figure, was one which had long black hair. This figure was labelled ‘MIS EMILY’. All three figures were holding hands.

Hotch felt a tear in his eye as he looked at the picture. It seemed that he and Jack were pretty much on the same page as to what they were looking for this Christmas. As he stood there, looking at the picture, he found himself half wishing, half praying, that this Christmas, could he just please, please, please, get what he really wanted – Emily Prentiss in his life.

///////

Part 2 - Christmas Lights

Prompt: Grey's Anatomy - Some Kind of Miracle

///////

It had been a long week for Aaron Hotchner, filled with memories of past Christmases with Haley and Jack, of a little boy with his mother. He’d done his best to keep Jack distracted, but the nights when he’d lain there, the memory of Haley’s slowly cooling body in his arms, had left him sapped of the energy necessary to keep a four year old fully entertained. Haley’s sister Jessica had been wonderful, helping out as much as he’d asked, giving him a little time to nap so that he could try and give his son the time he needed, but he was struggling – pure and simple.

What had made the week much harder was that, as Jack would say, Emily Prentiss had been “working the case”. Hotch knew the team was trying to catch a brutal serial killer on the west coast, and that Emily had tried to call regularly. But the time difference coupled with the hours and commitment a case demanded meant that, by the time she’d made it back to the hotel for the evening, it was well after midnight in DC. Too late even to call him. And in the mornings, he and Jack hadn’t been around as he’d been trying to keep something of a semblance of a routine, taking him to a local pre-school for a few hours, just to get some interaction with other children. Hotch had always stayed, unwilling to let his son out of his sight for more than a few minutes, which had provoked some difficult conversations like the one he’d had a couple of days previously.

They’d been in the car driving home, when Jack had piped up from his booster seat in the back.

“Daddy?”

“Yes, buddy?”

“Why do the other kids have mommies, and I don’t?”

He’d nearly broken down right then and there in the car, but he’d somehow held on until they’d reached home, when he’d hugged Jack to him fiercely. Then he’d explained again that the bad man had taken mommy away, but that she’d gone to heaven, and that she was watching over them from there. They’d ended up sitting for hours in front of some Sesame Street DVDs which Haley had obviously acquired at some point in the past. It had been a horrible day.

Now it was Christmas Eve. Garcia had called early in the afternoon saying that they’d caught the unsub, but that she didn’t know when they might be coming home. He’d hoped that the team would have made it back for Christmas - that Emily would have made it back. But it was now after eight, and time for Jack to be in bed. His son missed Emily. He missed Emily. But he didn’t know for sure if she felt the same way.

They’d finished bath time, and Jack was wearing some “big boy” pajamas with racing cars on them. He was very excited, and kept picking up his leg to show daddy the fast cars as he was brushing his teeth. They’d been an early Christmas gift – something special to wear for the night that Santa came.

“Ready for bed?”

“Can I stay up and watch the Christmas lights? Please, Daddy?”

When they’d put up the tree, Jack had insisted that Hotch put in the special bulb that made all the lights on the tree flash in a synchronized manner, and he loved to sit there and just watch the patterns swirl around the branches.

“You know that eight o’clock is bed time, buddy.”

“But it’s Christmas, daddy! Can’t I stay up a little?”

It was impossible to deny the little look of hope in Jack’s expression.

“Okay. Because it’s Christmas, you can stay up a little longer.”

The huge grin on Jack’s face was infectious. “Do you think we’ll see Santa, daddy?” The boy practically bounced into the living room.

“I don’t know, buddy. He might come really late.”

They sat on the couch together and stared at the lights flashing on the tree, Jack continually pointing out his favourite colours, or how the ornaments reflected the dancing lights. Aaron Hotchner hugged his son. Haley was gone, but he still had Jack, and he loved him dearly. But as he and Jack watched the lights, his thoughts drifted to the raven haired woman who seemed to fill them so much in the past year.

///////

Emily Prentiss stood outside the door to Aaron Hotchner’s apartment, unsure of what to do. It was late, nearly eleven, and she knew that Jack would already be asleep. It had been over a week since she’d seen either Jack or Hotch, and almost as long since they’d had anything remotely resembling a real conversation. She knew that they’d been struggling, just based on the quick calls she’d managed to make, usually while riding to or from a crime scene. Hotch hadn’t said anything, but she’d heard the sadness in his voice. She’d really wanted to be able to see them before Christmas, if only to drop off some gifts, because tomorrow she needed to spend the day at her mother’s traditional Christmas “event” – when she’d much rather be spending the day with a sad little boy and his father. She’d even been angry with Derek and refused to speak with him the whole trip home because of what she felt had been unnecessary delays on his part in leaving, which had made for rather an awkward flight. But after rushing to get here from Quantico, stopping only briefly at her own place on the way, she’d now been standing outside the door for about five minutes, prevaricating.

Finally making up her mind, she slipped her key in the lock, and opened the door as quietly as possible. After Foyet’s first attack, and the number of times she’d stopped by to make sure that Hotch was okay, he’d given her a key so he didn’t have to get up to answer the door every time she visited. He’d never asked for it back, and although she hadn’t used it in months, it seemed like now was an appropriate time.

Making sure to lock the door and reset the alarm, Hotch had given her the code to that as well, she put down the bags she carried and looked around. The apartment was dark, though there was an irregular flickering of light coming from the living room. Stepping closer, she saw that they’d obviously put up a Christmas tree while she’d been away. She sighed, because she’d so wanted to be there to help them put the tree, but the case had pulled her away. It was just another way in which the job affected every other part of her life. It really sucked sometimes.

However, it did explain where the flashing was coming from – the Christmas lights on the tree. Emily had always adored lights at Christmas, and this was no exception, especially when she saw her two favourite boys asleep on the couch in front of the tree, older hugging the younger. She felt a tear run down her cheek as she watched them sleep so peacefully, half sitting, half sprawled across the couch.

Moving closer, she gently ran her hand down Hotch’s arm. His eyes popped open immediately, body stiffening, before he looked up and saw her face. He smiled, and she could feel the tension in his arm relax.

“Hey.” His voice held that half awake quality, which made him seem less stern than normal. More open.

She nodded. “Hey.”

“We didn’t think you’d make it back for Christmas,” he said quietly, so as not to disturb Jack.

“Me either.” She ducked her head slightly. “I think Derek’s going to be a little careful around me for the next week or so.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Her cheeks heated, and she was glad that the room was dark. “Someone wasn’t happy that we were so late in leaving.” She felt rather than heard his chuckle through the hand which was still resting on his arm.

He looked away, over towards the Christmas tree. “Two someone’s were rather sad that you weren’t here today.” His voice communicated a lot more than just plain sadness, and she felt tears prick her eyes.

Jack moved in his father’s arms, and Hotch looked down as he pulled his son closer. “I should get him into bed.”

He stood up slowly, making sure that Jack was still sleeping soundly. As he walked around the couch, she reached out and stopped him with her hand. Hotch looked up, but all she did was lean down and kiss Jack’s forehead. “Merry Christmas, little man,” she whispered.

She couldn’t read the look in Hotch’s eyes as she straightened up, perhaps because of the darkness of the room, but there suddenly seemed to be an electricity between them that she hadn’t noticed before. After a few moments he looked away, and set off again towards Jack’s room, disappearing around the corner. Feeling slightly uncomfortable, Emily grabbed her bags from where she’d left them, and began unpacking gifts under the tree. She was still doing that when Hotch returned.

“He really missed you.” His voice was soft, and he was staring absently at the lights as they flashed and flickered. “I really missed you.”

Surprised, Emily pushed herself to her feet. Standing there in silence, his face was illuminated in blue, yellow, red, and green in turn. She only just caught the tear running down his cheek, dimly reflecting the flashing lights.

“Jack sent a letter to Santa, you know.” Hotch sounded almost nervous, and she wasn’t really sure why.

“Did you see what was on it?” she asked, voice soft, not wanting to disturb the quiet in the room.

“I had to sneak a look, but yes.” He half smiled. “It turns out that Jack and I want the same thing for Christmas.” He turned towards her, and she could almost feel the jolt of the connection. “You.”

“Hotch …”

He reached out his hand, placing his finger on her lips. “Emily, I made a promise to Haley to teach Jack how to love again, to show him that there was a side of me that wasn’t as serious. You heard me make that promise. I can’t do that alone. I need someone to help me. We need someone to love. I want you to be that person.” She felt his other hand sliding into hers, intertwining their fingers.

She was stunned, but in a good way. She’d had feelings for Hotch for a long time - since before he’d been injured in New York, though that event had brought those feelings to the fore. Although their friendship had deepened since that time, she hadn’t imagined that he’d been moving towards the same place she had been.

“I know we don’t have a lot to offer. I’m not exactly the easiest going man in the world, and Jack misses his mother terribly, but there is one thing I can guarantee – we both love you.”

She felt tears on her face. “Oh Aaron, I love you too - both of you.” And then he was kissing away her tears, before moving to her lips, gently and tentatively expressing his love.

They stood there under the flashing Christmas lights, realising that perhaps three people had got their Christmas wish this year. It truly was some kind of miracle.

Criminal Minds fic: All About Chap Stick

chiroho — Thu, 29 Oct 2009 13:35:44 GMT

Fandom: Criminal Minds
Title: All About Chap Stick
Summary: Emily Prentiss' adventurous nature takes over one cold day
Category: Random humour
Characters: Primarily Emily Prentiss and Aaron Hotchner
Rating: Whatever the non movie version of PG is
Note: Thank you so much to sjhw_tolerance for the beta. All errors obviously remain mine, especially since this seems to be the first fanfic I've completed in over four years. Scary!

All About Chap Stick

"Wisconsin sucks!"

Emily Prentiss supposed that was a bit of an exaggeration, especially given that there were many things about Wisconsin that she actually liked. Unfortunately none of them were in any way related to trudging around a crime scene somewhere north of Green Bay in November, a site recently used by their unsub to dump the body of a young woman who had barely reached her prime. The snow hadn't really started to accumulate, but it was cold – probably below 20 with the wind chill. And Emily didn't like the cold. Her lips were chapped, her nose was running, and she was sure that she was starting to lose the feeling in her toes.

Of course, that was slightly offset by the eyebrow currently raised in her direction by her boss, Supervisory Special Agent in Charge Aaron Hotchner. Why on earth any of those discomforts could be offset by just getting a look from Hotch was something even Emily admitted she was in some serious denial about, though only to herself of course. But she was - in denial that is. Nothing more. Couldn't be anything more. And it had nothing to do with the fact that Hotch looked, as he always did, like he'd stepped straight out of a Brooks Brothers catalogue. His hair was barely out of place, even with the wind. His shoes were still shiny. And how on earth did he manage to do that – keep his shoes shiny while he was walking around in slush and mud? Did he clean them every time he got in the car? It was bizarre. She'd never met anyone before who managed to keep their shoes as shiny as Hotch did.

“Something bothering you, Prentiss?"

Her train of thought was derailed when the subject of it spoke, and she tried to reorganize her mind before she started gasping like a fish out of water.

“I'm cold and I'm hungry."

Good grief! She sounded like a whiny teenager. So much for the professional demeanour. Though she was somewhat relieved to see the barest hint of a dimple and a quirk of his lips.

“I think we're done here. Let's head back to the Sheriff's office and wait for the report by the CSU. Maybe one of the others has come up with something."

The ride back was at least warmer, and they spent most of the trip discussing whether or not the most recent victim had in any way changed their profile – it hadn't. But they still didn't have any viable leads for their unsub.

Of course, the main thing Emily noticed on the ride back was the fact that Hotch's lips were in no way either dry or chapped. If anything, they seemed somewhat to look the same way they might have if they'd been in Florida. Or Louisiana. Or anywhere else that had a warmer climate. Not that Emily was in any way categorizing what Hotch's lips looked like on a given day, date, or time. That would be just strange. Almost stalkerish. Certainly not anything that a person who wasn't in some sort of a relationship would do. But it wasn't fair. How was it that his nose wasn't running, and his lips weren't chapped when hers were? What gives?

This continued to bother her as they walked into the conference room in which the BAU team was set up, and Emily took a moment to subtly examine the lips of the other members of her team. Yup, they were all chapped except for Hotch. And JJ. But she hadn't been out all day, and had obviously recently applied lipstick. So she didn't count. But Derek, Spencer, and Dave all had chapped lips like she did – and Hotch didn't. This still bothered her when she dumped her coat over the back of a chair and slumped down, drawing another raised eyebrow from Hotch.

“We'll be done soon, Prentiss. Then we can eat."

Was she really that obvious? I mean, he was a profiler, one of the best around, but she didn't think she'd been too petulant when she'd flung herself into the chair. Then she noticed Dave laughing softly to himself out of her peripheral vision. Okay, so maybe she was that obvious.

They spent the next twenty or thirty minutes updating each other on their respective interviews, examinations of the crime scene, and victimology. Eventually Hotch drew their session to a close, and sent Morgan and Reid off to procure food for the rest of the team.

“I'm just going to make a pit stop, Hotch. Then we can go over the victimology again."

“Okay, Dave. I'll get started with Prentiss."

As Dave walked out of the room, Emily was somewhat distracted by JJ's conversation with Garcia about something which in no way, shape, or form sounded like it had anything to do with the case, but she suddenly found her eyes drawn to Hotch's hand as he removed a small tube from his jacket pocket. It was a Chap Stick. The medicated kind. That bastard! No wonder his lips were all soft and moist. He'd probably been applying it every couple of hours in order to maintain his ability to step into a Brooks Brothers photo shoot, and she'd been suffering abysmally! How could he do this to the team? How could he do it to HER?

Of course, the rational side of Emily's brain realized that she could just as easily stop by the local pharmacy, which if she remembered correctly, and she knew she did, was located two doors down from the building in which she was standing, and pick some up for herself. But that was completely and quickly pushed aside by the adventurous part of Emily's brain which was trying to come up with some way in which she could make Hotch pay for his blatant disregard of her lips. Though that didn't sound right at all. Did it? When had he ever paid attention to her lips? She pushed those thoughts aside. She needed a plan.

And then she had it. The plan was perfect. Cunning even. It had risks – potentially high risks. But what plan of vengeance was without risk? Now she just had to wait until Hotch was slightly distracted, and she'd put it into effect.

* * *

David Rossi walked back into the conference room he'd left less than five minutes previously and wasn't sure that he hadn't walked into a scene from the twilight zone. He took a few seconds to take everything in a second time, and still wasn't able to process what was happening. So he tried again.

Hotch was standing right in front of him, an expression on his face that was part astonishment, part outrage, and part something else entirely – something Dave wasn't sure he could place. It certainly wasn't an expression he'd recalled seeing on Hotch's face in the year since he'd rejoined the BAU, which was strange.

JJ was still seated at the table, just where she'd been when he'd left, though she was no longer on the phone and instead had her hand over her mouth, trying to either stifle a cough or a laugh – he wasn't sure which. Then he saw her shoulders shaking, and realised it was probably the latter. Her eyes were flitting back and forth between Hotch and Emily, obviously waiting for some sort of reaction from either or both.

And then there was Emily. She was standing closer to JJ than to Hotch, but she looked as satisfied as the cat which had caught the proverbial canary as she slowly rubbed her lips against each other – the way a woman might do if she'd just applied lipstick. Though Dave noticed that while her lipstick seemed somewhat faded, her lips themselves seemed fairly moist. And she was definitely making a big deal about rubbing them together, while her eyes were positively alive with mischief.

What the heck was going on around here? And then he got his answer.

“What the hell was that about, Prentiss?"

Dave did a double take. When was the last time Hotch had even come close to swearing?

“My lips were very dry and chapped, sir."

The response was delivered with an expression which could only be called a smirk, and resulted in two very different reactions from the other people in the room. First, Hotch's jaw dropped open in surprise, and his face displayed the most unfiltered emotion Dave had seen in years of working with the man. Second, JJ's head dropped down onto the table as her shoulders began to shake nearly uncontrollably. Dave wasn't sure how long Hotch's mouth hung open, it could have been ten seconds, or it could have been a minute, but finally he seemed to recover his wits just as JJ managed to get her laughter under control.

“You kissed me just to steal my chap stick?"

And JJ was down for the count.

Emily then proceeded to slowly run her tongue over her lips, flicked her hair over her shoulder, and turned back to the case files on the conference room table, leaving Hotch to sink into a chair as though he'd suddenly lost all strength in his legs. Now wasn't that interesting.

Iron Lore goes out of business

chiroho — Thu, 28 Feb 2008 17:42:36 GMT

ILE Closes

It happens way too often in the software industry, but in this case it seemed like a developer who had a clue and actually produced some good products. Certainly ones that I enjoyed playing a lot anyway - and indeed am still playing.

Community service announcement - Computer Security

chiroho — Wed, 06 Dec 2006 18:03:07 GMT

So you have a PC (90% of computers in the world run some form of Windows), with an anti-virus package, and possibly a firewall. You may even run some tools to clean spyware from your machine. So that means you're basically okay, right? Wrong. There's a very good chance that you're not okay at all.

Here's a link to a VERY interesting article on the state of the Computer Security industry:

Security Absurdity: The Complete, Unquestionable, And Total Failure of Information Security

And the followup article based on comments posted to the first article:

Community Comments & Feedback to Security Absurdity Article

So where does that leave the average computer user? Are we all going to need to be reformatting our hard drives every month or so and reinstalling our operating systems just to get rid of a particularly sinister root kit? Even Microsoft has admitted that it's becoming impossible to recover from malware problems in an April 2006 article in eWeek magazine. (For more information on rootkits, see this article from eWeek - VM Rootkits: The Next Big Threat?.)

But what to do? My favourite PC mag, Maximum PC, recommends the following computer protection tools:

Firewall: ZoneAlarm

Antivirus: AVG Free Edition

Anti-Spyware: A-Squared

Rootkit Scanner: Blacklight

Anti-Malware: Hijack This

Startup Diagnostic: Windows Defender

All of these, bar Windows Defender which has only two free support incidents, are free - and you probably need to be using all of them on a regular basis. Not just a firewall and an antivirus package. Long gone are the days when you just booted DOS and got on with it.

But all these are just band-aids. The real problem isn't going to go away until there is a fundamental change in operating system design. Even the NSA, the world's largest intelligence agency, thinks that to be the case in it's white paper The Inevitability of Failure: The Flawed Assumption of Security in Modern Computing Environments.

The second article I posted, Comments & Feedback to Security Absurdity Article, has a section towards the end on where Windows Vista fits into the picture. It looks like it definitely will improve things, but it remains to be seen how much. Until then, make sure you're running your firewall, anti-virus, anti-spyware, rootkit scanner, anti-malware, and startup diagnostic tools regularly.

And before anyone asks, there is no way I'm getting a Mac.

Breast Cancer Patient Protection Act of 2005

chiroho — Thu, 26 Oct 2006 16:04:16 GMT

The Lifetime channel is running an online petition to support the Breast Cancer Patient Protection Act of 2005, a bipartisan bill that aims to 'ban the practice of "drive-through" mastectomies, when women are forced to leave the hospital just hours after their surgeries and before they are ready to go home.' If you are in the US, I encourage you to go to the site listed below and complete the petition.

Lifetime Breast Cancer Petition

The petition only requires your name, zip code, and email address, and takes less than a minute to complete (depending on how fast you type ;).

Please support this worthwhile cause.

New fic: Lenny Goes Golfing (1/1), safe for everyone

chiroho — Thu, 01 Jun 2006 02:01:29 GMT

This is a sort of sequel to the ficlet that lisayaeger wrote yesterday. I apologise in advance if you're not on her flist as I think it's a locked post, but all really you need to know to understand this is that Lenny is the doorman at the building where General O'Neill lives in DC, and he opens the door on one occasion for both O'Neill and a Ms. Carter. And in the end, Jack asks if he can go golfing with Lenny (who is counting the hours remaining before his retirement).

It's really not as complicated as it sounds. Honest!

Anyway, without further ado ...

*****

Saturday, 6:45am

Lenny Walker stood waiting at the starter's booth at Rock Creek Golf Course. Unusually, General O'Neill was late. In the few months that Lenny had known General O'Neill, that had only happened once - well, at least what Lenny had considered late anyway. And in retrospect, the General hadn't really been late at all. And yet today, a day that the General had asked to join Lenny for a round of golf, he was late for their tee time. Lenny tried not to check his watch as he wondered whether a certain blonde Air Force officer was delaying the General again.

"Lenny!"

The familiar voice almost made Lenny jump, and he turned to see General O'Neill standing beside a much larger African-American man. The first thought that crossed Lenny's mind was how had the General managed to get behind him? Lenny had been watching the path from the clubhouse and there weren't any other ways to the starter's booth - unless the General had already been on the course, which seemed unlikely given the time.

"Ready to play?"

"Yes, sir."

"Hope you don't mind, but I brought along my friend Murray. He loves the game, though he's a bit of a hacker if you ask me."

Lenny noticed the larger man's eyebrow cock in what seemed to be amusement, though Lenny wasn't sure he wanted to find out if it was anything else.

"Of course not, sir" Lenny said, wondering what on earth he'd got himself into.

"Before we start, there's one ground rule - you can't keep calling me ‘Sir'. Call me Jack."

"Um ... yes, s- ... I mean, Jack."

The starter coughed in a not quite discrete manner. He and Lenny were friends, as Lenny usually covered the afternoons - his way of getting on the course every weekend without having to pay the exorbitant green fees.

"Sorry, Bob" he said to his friend, who was looking a little anxiously at the clock in the booth. "Don't want to hold up the schedule. I'll let you have the honor Gen ... Jack."

The three proceeded down to the tee-box, and Lenny watched as the General prepared for his first stroke of the day. He took a few practice swings, before proceeding to violently slice the ball into some trees a mere hundred yards down the fairway. He muttered under his breath, before directing a baleful glare at Murray.

"Not a word. Not. A. Word."

Murray merely raised an eyebrow again, and then prepared for his own tee shot. Lining things up, he slammed an absolute screamer straight down the middle of the fairway, with the ball finally stopping either on the green or very close by. It would have been a good shot from a professional, let alone an amateur, and Lenny knew it was going to be a struggle to keep up with this player.

For his own starting shot, Lenny managed to put the ball on the fairway in good position for a second shot towards the green. Not his best stroke ever, but then at his age it was more about staying out of the rough than trying to hit the cover off the ball every time.

Each player then proceeded down the fairway, Lenny and Murray both going over to the right to help the General find where his ball had ended up. Hopefully it wouldn't be too hard to find amid the heavy rough under the trees. Unfortunately, after several minutes of searching, a lot of muttering from the General, and Lenny calling the group behind them to play through, there was still no sign of the ball. Lenny was just about to say that he thought the General would need to take a drop and a penalty when he heard a shout of joy from back on the fairway, and when he looked that way, Lenny saw the General pointing down.

"Found it! It must have taken a lucky bounce off a tree and ended up back here."

Lenny wasn't convinced. He was sure no ball had been there when they'd first started looking. Apparently Murray held the same opinion.

"That is not your ball, O'Neill."

"Sure it is T-Murray. It's a Titleist Pro number 5. That's what I was playing with. You can even see the small yellow mark you saw me put on it before we started."

Murray looked dubiously at the ball. "There was no ball in that location before we commenced our search."

"How else could it have got here? You must have missed it ... Murray."

Murray frowned again. "Indeed." He sounded about as convinced as Lenny felt, but Lenny'd had many fortunate lies in his years, so he didn't think it was right to question this one. Especially as he'd need a bit of luck himself before the day was out, so Lenny gave no objection as the General lined up for his second shot towards the green.

As had happened with the General's first shot, the ball started to slice to the right fairly soon after being hit. This time though, the ball straightened up and almost came back to the left before landing in a decent position near the front of the green.

"Shot!"

The General seemed very happy with the stroke, as Lenny would have been if he'd been the one playing the ball. Murray, on the other hand, didn't seem at all convinced.

"I believe you are cheating, O'Neill."

"What? How can you say that!"

Lenny was shocked. To accuse another player of cheating, especially after just a couple of lucky shots, seemed pretty extreme. It didn't seem to deter Murray though, who stalked over to O'Neill and proceeded to remove what looked like a small stone from his pocket.

"You will not be needing this then."

"Awww, come on, T. I wasn't going to use that. You know I wouldn't do that."

Murray simply stared impassively. "You already have." And despite continued whining from the General, Murray remained unmoved. "I will return it at the conclusion of the match."

*****

Saturday, 11:53am

On returning to the clubhouse after playing all 18 holes, Lenny wasn't really surprised to see the attractive Ms. Carter waiting for them. The General, however, seemed less than enthusiastic, muttering under his breath again - something he seemed to have done a lot during the past five hours.

"Hi guys. How was the game?"

The corners of Murray's mouth curved up slightly. "I do not believe that O'Neill enjoyed it as much as Lenny and me."

"Why? What happened?"

"O'Neill lost his Thor iron on the first hole."

While Lenny tried to figure out what Murray was talking about, he saw Ms. Carter smirk, and then cover her mouth as she had a nasty coughing fit.

"Oh just charming, Carter!"

Ms. Carter coughed even harder, and Lenny solicitously hurried over to make sure she was okay. She waved him off though, and Lenny saw she actually had tears streaming out of her eyes. Whatever the joke was, he was the only one not getting it. Even Murray looked as close to laughing as he'd been that day.

He obviously must have looked somewhat bewildered, as Ms. Carter finally managed to get her coughing under control and looked apologetically at him. "Sorry, Lenny. Inside joke."

"Never mind, Miss. Unfortunately, I have to go as I'm running the starter's booth shortly and I need to grab some lunch first. Care to join me?"

"Perhaps next time, Lenny. Have a nice afternoon."

Lenny made his way to the clubhouse to drop his sticks and grab a bite, but when he looked back all three had disappeared. Somehow Lenny wasn't entirely surprised. It had certainly been an interesting round of golf, though he wasn't sure he'd play with the General anytime soon.

~end~

Thanks to sjhw_tolerance for the beta!

More humorous than fluffy, but that's me I suppose. :)

Humour

chiroho — Wed, 08 Mar 2006 17:21:52 GMT

If Bud Abbott and Lou Costello were alive today, their infamous sketch, "Who's on First?" might have turned out something like this:

Costello calls to buy a computer from Abbott

ABBOTT: Super Duper computer store. Can I help you?

COSTELLO: Thanks. I'm setting up an office in my den and I'm thinking about buying a computer.

ABBOTT: Mac?

COSTELLO: No, the name's Lou.

ABBOTT: Your computer?

COSTELLO: I don't own a computer. I want to buy one.

ABBOTT: Mac?

COSTELLO: I told you, my name's Lou.

ABBOTT: What about Windows?

COSTELLO: Why? Will it get stuffy in here?

ABBOTT: Do you want a computer with Windows?

COSTELLO: I don't know. What will I see when I look at the windows?

ABBOTT: Wallpaper.

COSTELLO: Never mind the windows. I need a computer and software.

ABBOTT: Software for Windows?

COSTELLO: No. On the computer! I need something I can use to write proposals, track expenses and run my business. What do you have?

ABBOTT: Office.

COSTELLO: Yeah, for my office. Can you recommend anything?

ABBOTT: I just did.

COSTELLO: You just did what?

ABBOTT: Recommend something.

COSTELLO: You recommended something?

ABBOTT: Yes.

COSTELLO: For my office?

ABBOTT: Yes.

COSTELLO: OK, what did you recommend for my office?

ABBOTT: Office.

COSTELLO: Yes, for my office!

ABBOTT: I recommend Office with Windows.

COSTELLO: I already have an office with windows! OK, let's just say I'm sitting at my computer and I want to type a proposal. What do I need?

ABBOTT: Word.

COSTELLO: What word?

ABBOTT: Word in Office.

COSTELLO: The only word in office is office.

ABBOTT: The Word in Office for Windows.

COSTELLO: Which word in office for windows?

ABBOTT: The Word you get when you click the blue "W".

COSTELLO: I'm going to click your blue "w" if you don't start with some straight answers. What about financial bookkeeping? You have anything I can track my money with?

ABBOTT: Money.

COSTELLO: That's right. What do you have?

ABBOTT: Money.

COSTELLO: I need money to track my money?

ABBOTT: It comes bundled with your computer.

COSTELLO: What's bundled with my computer?

ABBOTT: Money.

COSTELLO: Money comes with my computer?

ABBOTT: Yes. No extra charge.

COSTELLO: I get a bundle of money with my computer? How much?

ABBOTT: One copy.

COSTELLO: Isn't it illegal to copy money?

ABBOTT: Microsoft gave us a license to copy Money.

COSTELLO: They can give you a license to copy money?

ABBOTT: Why not? THEY OWN IT!

(A few days later)

ABBOTT: Super Duper computer store. Can I help you?

COSTELLO: How do I turn my computer off?

ABBOTT: Click on "START".............

Happy Australia Day!

chiroho — Thu, 26 Jan 2006 16:56:04 GMT

It may already be the 27th everywhere in Australia, but here in the US I'm flying my Australian flag on my desk, and celebrating the day as it should be done.

Okay, I'm not really. It's too darn cold to fire up the barbie and cook a few snags, not that you can get anything like the snag quality here as in Aus, but I am at least going to be as Australian as I can be today. And no matter how much people may be navel gazing about what it truly means to be Australian, it all comes down to what's in my icon. ;)

Beuwdy mayte! Hope all you 'strines had a bloody rippaofaday!

How much are you worth?

chiroho — Mon, 23 Jan 2006 03:30:10 GMT

I'm cutting my thoughts here as they're not fandom related, and I don't want to have them in anyone's face unless they really want to read them. That said, these are my thoughts on areas that can be delicate. I'm not attempting to be incendiary, but that doesn't mean they won't be read that way. Please be respectful.

Thoughts on "Sanctity of Life" Sunday

Today is the day in which many churches celebrate the Sanctity of Life. This date is chosen as it is the Sunday closest to the anniversary of the Roe v. Wade decision, but what's covered here is a lot more than just that. It's about the value of life in general, from whenever you consider that to begin right through until it ends. This includes abortion, the death penalty, and even euthanasia. I am not necessarily going to speak for or against any of these things, but I do have thoughts on all of them.

Whether we like it or not, abortion is currently available in many parts of the world, but no matter what our feelings on it, we should consider the ramifications of that fact. For example, in India both abortion and ultrasounds that allow the determination of the sex of a child before birth are fairly freely available. The result of this is that, over the past 20 years, it is estimated that a number of 10 million terminated female pregnancies would not be too high. These pregnancies were terminated simply because the child was female.

In the US, now that genetic tests can show in the first trimester whether or not a child could have Down Syndrome, anywhere from 80 to 90% of all potential Down Syndrome pregnancies are now being aborted.

Whether or not you agree that a woman has a "right to choose", does anyone have the right to decide what someone else's life is worth? Is there a line we can draw on how far we should go in deciding what is reasonable? Should we terminate all pregnancies in which the child could have a genetic defect, abnormality, a potentially life threatening illness, or simply isn't the sex, eye colour, or intelligence level, that we want? If we do allow those choices, how does doing so make us different from those looking to breed a "genetically pure" society?

And what about euthanasia? At what point is it reasonable to determine that someone else's life is no longer worth living? Are we not making a judgement call on the value of that person's life? And when is euthanasia okay? When it's a terminally ill adult? What about children? In the Netherlands, while it is only legal to euthanise someone over the age of 12, some hospitals are already drawing up guidelines for euthanising newborns who it is believed are in intense pain from either illness or genetic defect. Is that right? How is helping someone kill themselves, or pulling the plug on someone's life support, not committing murder?

My pastor told a story this morning of a woman he visited in the hospital who was suffering from terrible chronic enphysema she'd contracted from working in a hair salon for 30+ years - inhaling all the hair spray. When he visited her, he said he'd never felt so much the desire to pull the plug on the life support system she was on, and he could see from the pain in her eyes that she wanted the same. And yet after many weeks in intensive care she recovered and went on to live for five more years. How do we know that in any life we end that we're not terminating it prematurely?

Then there is the death penalty. Why is it okay to kill someone for killing someone to prove it's wrong to kill someone? What death penalty supporter can say that no innocent person has ever been executed? And why do many so-called Christian conservatives seem to think that a candidate isn't acceptable unless they support the death penalty? The whole focus of Christianity is reconcilliation and redemption, not judgement and execution.

The bottom line here is in any of the things I've mentioned above, when we choose to abort, euthanise, or execute someone, we're making a decision that the value or worth of that life is low. It is my view that no matter who someone is, how old they are, what they do for a living, or how sick or healthy they are, all people are equally valuable and important. It isn't always easy to see that, and it isn't always easy to keep that standard, but that doesn't mean we shouldn't aim for it.

These are hard questions, no matter what our beliefs and what we support. But we have to face the fact that our choices do have consequences, and when we choose, we are sometimes deciding the value of another person's life. God loves all people equally. How can we do any less?

Community Service Announcement

chiroho — Sat, 10 Dec 2005 22:04:05 GMT

The Ten Net Commandments

Something we should all think about adhering to, as they're remarkably sensible.

BSG fic: Hatred and Desire

chiroho — Wed, 24 Aug 2005 14:30:38 GMT

FANDOM: Battlestar Galactica
TITLE: Hatred and Desire
SUMMARY: What do you do when something you thought you had seems to slip through your fingers?
CATEGORY: Angst, missing scene
CHARACTERS: Lee Adama
RATING: Nothing explicit
SPOILERS: Season One, Kobol's Last Gleaming part 1
NOTE: Thanks to seldear for the beta.

Hatred and Desire

Lee can't remember how he got there, but he's standing in the closet that passes for the CAG's office. All he remembers is a haze of red. Not the deep red of Canceron's ferric oxide rich soil. Not the faded red of a Tauron sunset. No, this was the murderous carmine of spilled blood, a colour that filled his vision, and obliterated all logical thought.

Lee slams his hand into the wall, and a small part of him notices the tiny marks his knuckles leave on the hardened steel. The rest of him exhilarates in the pain coursing through his hand and arm – an external pain to match the internal one, even though it is microscopic in comparison. Lee punches the wall again, though he's not sure whether he craves the pain as an anesthetic to his soul, or he's trying to mask his fear of the intensity of his reaction. Either way, the pain is good. The pain brings him that little bit closer back to normality – then he remembers the sneer on the Vice President's face, and the shock on Kara's, and the crimson tide once again consumes everything.

*

Time passes. Lee doesn't really know how much. Perhaps it was minutes, but it could have been hours, or even days. Somehow he's sitting behind his desk with his head in his hands, silently watching perspiration drip onto the papers in front of him. Except it isn't perspiration because he's not sweating, and the drops are running down his hands from his eyes, and dripping off his wrists. The rage has gone, for now at least, and Lee isn't even sure if he could find the intensity to be angry, or the reason. Does anything matter any more?

His thoughts roam back to that conversation, if that's what it could be called. He wasn't sure what hurt more – that she slept with someone else, or that it was with the Vice-Frakking-President, a man who seems to try and frak every female he meets. Lee isn't sure what they see in him – but then they probably never experience the almost schizophrenic personality that he's witnessed in so many meetings. Whatever the reason, the fact that it was Baltar seems to make the hurt that much worse, a betrayal of what Lee thought had been growing between himself and Kara. Just goes to show how poor he is at reading women.

*

The damp marks on the report in front of Lee have slowly turned into vague shadows of stains, and he finds he's still staring at them, as though he were expecting them to suddenly jump up and walk away. He realizes as he sits there that the pain has subsided – replaced by an emptiness that is somehow much worse; an emptiness that seems to be sucking in his emotions like a black hole. But it's an emptiness that will allow him to survive seeing Kara virtually every waking hour of every day, something that he'll have to do no matter how much he wants to hide forever.

"Captain Adama, report to the CIC."

Dee's voice interrupts his thoughts, what passes for reality intruding into the misery of his life – something he figures will always be happening. And then his mind drifts back to Kara, and the expression on Baltar's face. No matter what he wants, that memory will always be intruding, something he can never forget – and possibly never forgive.

"Captain Adama, report to the CIC!"

Dee's voice is more insistent, and Lee stands and slowly buttons his tunic. As he does so, he notices the darkening bruises on his knuckles. Even that delicious pain is only transient, like the relationship he thought had been developing. He opens the door, spinning the wheel to undo the locking clamps. Frak Kara. Frak Baltar. Frak everyone.

~end~

Is Microsoft trying to discredit BitTorrent?

chiroho — Wed, 22 Jun 2005 16:35:04 GMT

John Dvorak of PC Magazine certainly seems to think so -> The Scheme to Discredit BitTorrent.

Interestingly, the guy who wrote BitTorrent has an LJ (bramcohen), and he posted a rebuttal today of some of Microsoft's claims regarding their new Avalanch product.

So maybe all this talk of adware and BitTorrent is just disinformation on Microsoft's part? I guess we'll see. I know I don't have problems, but then I like to be careful with checking for adware and spyware.

Spyware may now be distributed through BitTorrent

chiroho — Thu, 16 Jun 2005 17:17:15 GMT

Watch what you're downloading, and especially what you agree to, when you're grabbing those BitTorrrent downloads:

Spyware Floods In Through BitTorrent

Aurora install source revealed, and 175 Megabytes of televisual terror

You may also want to check out the eWEEK.com Special Report on Spyware, for more information on various threats out there.

Another birthday

chiroho — Sun, 08 May 2005 19:20:53 GMT

Happy Birthday audrich!

Looks like you've had a great day. Hope the evening is great, too!

Here's a little totally unbeta'd something for you.

Birthday Supper

Colonel Jack O'Neill tried to shrug more comfortably into his jacket as he felt the ever-present drizzle form into drops that made their way down the back of his neck. It had been raining the whole time they'd been on the planet, both times they had done a remote survey, and the time that SG-8 had done their first reconnaissance of the planet. Apparently it rained a lot here. Jack stared across the gently rolling hills, barren of everything except for low vegetation. He missed the trees.

Daniel walked up next to him, shivering slightly at the raw weather.

"What's this place called again, Daniel?"

"P5C-"

Jack cut him off. "Not that. What do the locals call it?"

"It doesn't translate very well, Jack."

"Spare me the linguistics. Just tell me the name."

"Place of constant rain."

"Creative, don't you think?"

Daniel rolled his eyes. Jack was in one of 'those' moods. "Sure." He glanced around, wishing that Sam and Teal'c would hurry up. "How much further to the ruins?"

"Just over the next hill," Sam said as she appeared at his elbow.

"Let's move out then campers." Apparently Jack was as anxious to get there as he was - likely to get some relief from the weather.

After about another 10 minutes of brisk walking, they arrived at what SG-8 had designated "the ruins". It was more a dilapidated shack than anything else. However, there was a small area that was partially covered. It was under this that there were writings on the wall. Daniel immediately pulled out his notebook and started trying to perform a translation.

"Carter? Why don't you and T see if there is anything else around."

It hadn't been more than a couple of minutes before Sam came across a darkly stained stone slab, with what appeared to be a small hearth next to it. The hearth was rigged so that a pot, or something similar, could be hung over it. She looked at Teal'c across the slab. "Some sort of sacrificial alter?"

"It is not unknown for more primitive peoples to participate in ritual sacrifice. The Goa'uld ignore such things, so long as the numbers remain small."

"These stains looks looks fairly fresh," Jack said as he approached. "And the locals seem too advanced for that sort of behaviour."

Sam looked at the surrounding hills. "Do those look like sheep to you, Colonel?"

"You're right, Carter. They do look a lot like sheep don't they?"

"Jack?" Daniel's voice interrupted their conversation. "I think I know what this is."

"Is it important?"

"For the locals, I'm sure."

"How about for us, Daniel?"

"Not unless you're looking to have a special birthday supper."

"What?"

"It's a recipe, Jack."

"For what? Some sort of human sacrifice?"

"Worse." Daniel sounded sickened. "It's for Haggis!"

~end~

Hope you have a great birthday Aud! ;)

And you thought you were safe ....

chiroho — Mon, 07 Mar 2005 22:39:08 GMT

For those of you who use Windows XP in some way, April 12 is a very significant date. Why? Because April 12th is the date after which you will no longer be able to run Windows Update if you haven't installed Windows XP SP2.

The first thing you should do is check the version of Windows you are running. To do this, do Start -> Run, and type in the word:

winver

This will open a Window that says "About Windows", and has a whole bunch of information. What you're looking for is something that looks like:

Microsoft (R) Windows
Version 5.1 (Build 2600.xpsp2... : Service Pack 1)
Copyright (C) 1981-2001 Microsoft Corporation

If you see something that says "Service Pack 2", you don't need to do anything. However, if you see anything else, you're going to have to upgrade to SP2 before April 12 or else you will no longer be able to get any critical updates to Windows.

I've been running Windows XP SP2 on my home PC since December without any problem, and I've been running it on my kids machine since January. While initially people said you shouldn't do the upgrade and it caused all sorts of problems, I don't think that's true any longer. However, you don't want to have Windows Update do the install. You want to do it yourself. That's the difference.

For details on how to do this, go and check out the following article - > How to SAFELY upgrade to Windows XP Service Pack 2. It's a good one, from a guy who writes an online newsletter I read regularly, and hopefully it will get you through the upgrade process painlessly.

Now, back to that work thing ...

BSG Caps

chiroho — Sat, 29 Jan 2005 19:30:48 GMT

Made these on the train on Wednesday. Having a laptop with a power adapter on a 5 hour train ride meant I was most productive. ;)

These are all saved at maximum JPG resolution, except for Colonial Day, which means the zips are larger than normal.

1.01 - 33 - 142 caps, ~ 14.1 MB, 640 x 368 - widescreen

1.02 - Water - 127 caps ~ 12.6 MB, 640 x 368 - widescreen

1.11 - Colonial Day - 168 caps ~ 4.0 MB, 640 x 368 - widescreen

1.13 - Kobol's Last Gleaming Part 2 - 270 caps ~ 27.6 MB, 640 x 368 - widescreen

Samples

Please comment if you're taking.

More BSG caps

chiroho — Sat, 22 Jan 2005 03:10:28 GMT

1.04 - Act of Contrition - 218 caps, ~ 4.9 MB, 640 x 368 - widescreen

Please comment if you're taking.

BSG Caps

chiroho — Fri, 21 Jan 2005 16:01:09 GMT

Went a touch overboard capping episode 1x12, Kobol's Last Gleaming part 1. Still, it is what it is. :)

1.12 - Kobol's Last Gleaming 1 - 277 caps, ~ 5.2 MB, 640 x 368 - widescreen

Please comment if you're taking.

Helping with Tsunami Relief

chiroho — Fri, 31 Dec 2004 21:33:43 GMT

If you're interested in knowing how you can help with relief for last Sunday's tsunami and earthquake, there are a couple of places you can look.

An interesting site is The South-East Asia Earthquake and Tsunami blog. There are lots of posts there about what people are doing to help, as well as information on how you can get involved.

Google also have a link up on their main page for all the places you can find information on what happened, as well as places you can go to provide donations. You can find that page here.

125,000 and counting

chiroho — Fri, 31 Dec 2004 16:06:49 GMT

The earth shook, the sea rose up, and there was death on a biblical scale

No matter what may be happening to us at this time of year, be it parties, celebrations, spending time with family, or just relaxing, at least we have our lives. For many thousands of people in nearly 50 countries, there will be no new year. For many thousands more the changing of the date will bring no joy. They have lost family, friends, their livelihoods, all their possessions. The minor and petty problems that we have, and frequently complain about, are dwarfed by the magnitude of this disaster.

I uphold all of them in my prayers, and am overwhelmingly grateful that I still have all those things.

Enjoying those holiday e-cards?

chiroho — Thu, 16 Dec 2004 20:43:18 GMT

Be very careful.

E-Card Holiday Virus Packs Ugly Punch