~/caitrin

So long, LJ. It's been fun.

ctorres — Sat, 29 Oct 2011 07:54:46 GMT

Well, that wasn't how I was planning on spending my Friday night.

Apart from fanfic, I've deleted all entries from ctorres, and I will not be crossposting entries to there from Dreamwidth in the future. I will continue to read my LJ flist, but when LJ characterized a bug that allowed users to see other users' locked posts and inbox as having "no effect on security", they lost the last bit of my trust.

If I'm not following you on Dreamwidth and you'd like me to, let me know, please. And if anyone needs an invite code, I've got several.

(Comments are open on this entry)

Up Fic: The First Somewhat-Annual Snipe Hunt

ctorres — Sat, 01 Jan 2011 22:54:08 GMT

Title: The First Somewhat-Annual Snipe Hunt
Fandom: Up (Pixar)
Rating: G
Summary: Ellie and Carl have an adventure.
A/N: Written for Yuletide 2010 for rose_griffes.

Read on A03 | Read on Dreamwidth

HP fic: Too Young (The Princess Bride Remix)

ctorres — Sun, 30 May 2010 19:20:40 GMT

Remix authors have been revealed, so now I can post this. This was fun to write, and I'm really glad I decided to participate.

Title: Too Young (The Princess Bride Remix)
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Ginny/Draco
Rating: PG
Summary: In the small part of Ginny's mind not occupied by young love, she composed the tale she'd tell her own little girl one day.
A/N: This was my story for Remix Redux 2010, and as such is a remix of Young Love, by mynuet.

Read "Too Young (The Princess Bride Remix)" on AO3.
Read "Too Young (The Princess Bride Remix)" on Dreamwidth.

HP fic (again): An Overture Before the Story Begins

ctorres — Thu, 01 Apr 2010 06:57:09 GMT

Aaaaand here's the other bit of fic rescued from the depths of my hard drive and the end of the past 24 hours' fic spammage. This would have been posted hours ago but for the lack of a title.

Title:An Overture Before the Story Begins
Author: ct
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters: Minerva McGonagall, Hermione Granger
Summary: Never let it be said that Minerva McGonagall didn't take care of her own.

Read "An Overture..." on AO3
Read "An Overture..." on Dreamwidth

HP fic: Scare Tactics

ctorres — Thu, 01 Apr 2010 01:57:52 GMT

It's amazing what can be found by trawling through a folder of partially finished fic. The majority of this has been sitting around for at least a year. All it needed was an ending and a little polish....

Title: Scare Tactics
Author: ct
Fandom: Harry Potter
Character(s): Millicent Bulstrode, assorted others
Original prompt: A view of an event in Goblet of Fire or Order of the Phoenix, as seen from a Slytherin perspective.
Summary: Millicent's only met her cousin Alice once.

Read "Scare Tactics" on AO3.
Read "Scare Tactics" Dreamwidth.

HP drabble: Worthy Opponent

ctorres — Tue, 30 Mar 2010 19:25:26 GMT

Title: Worthy Opponent
Recipient: bronze_ribbons
Prompt: Whomping Willow/Mrs. Norris
Word Count: 111
Rating: G
A/N: Originally posted on April 22, 2007 for mctabby's Cat's Birthday HP Drabblethon IV.

The worst part about students, Mrs. Norris had long thought, was their predictability. Catching the little brats out of bounds grew dull when they hid in the same places every night. This, though... this was fun. This was amazing.

It was a branch. A special branch, with leaves still clinging to its twigs to bat about and bugs crawling on its bark for a bedtime snack.

She took another swipe at its tip, claws unsheathed, and hissed as she jumped back to avoid being flattened with its return blow. She'd ignore the red-headed brats tomorrow night to thank them for this present her Argus confiscated. Finally, she had a worthy opponent.

This entry was originally posted on Dreamwidth. I'd prefer comments there.

Sesame Street Fic: Five Lessons...

ctorres — Fri, 01 Jan 2010 22:22:30 GMT

This year, I wrote Sesame Street fic for Yuletide. This is, incidentally, the second time I've written Muppety fic and the third (out of six) that I've written for a fandom aimed at kids. Apparently I have a niche? I have a whole post about writing this story that I'll post later today, but for now, here's the story.

Title: Five Lessons Chris Learned From Working at Hooper's (And One He Had To Pick Up At Home)
Fandom: Sesame Street
Rating: G
Summary: See title.
A/N: Written for Yuletide 2009 for cereta, who asked for Chris/Alan slash in the spirit of the show. Many thanks to Incapricious for beta-reading.

Read on A03 | Read on Dreamwidth

HP Drabble: Supper

ctorres — Mon, 03 Aug 2009 07:09:21 GMT

I never did post this here, did I?

Title: Supper
Fandom: Harry Potter (Marauder Era)
Word Count: 111
Warning: disturbing implications
A/N: Written for arionrhod in mctabby's 5th annual drabblethon, for the prompt "Snape/Lupin, no DH or Tonks 'I neither like nor dislike Severus.' How deep to Remus' feelings go?"

~~~

"Enough!"

James and Sirius stopped talking. Remus hardly ever shouted.

"I neither like nor dislike him. I just don't want to go to Azkaban for killing him. Get that through your thick skulls, would you?"

Sirius sputtered. "You wouldn't- I-It was just a prank, Remus. Dumbledore understood."

"And I'm lucky it was up to him and not the Wizengamot, aren't I? Leave me alone."

James grabbed Sirius' sleeve and dragged him away. Remus sighed. It was time for dinner, but he couldn't stomach the idea of eating anything more than some veg. He'd been so close to Severus that night and even now, the wolf inside craved a taste of meat.

This entry was originally posted on Dreamwidth. Please comment there using OpenID.

Criminal Minds Fic: A Morning At Home

ctorres — Thu, 18 Jun 2009 01:55:10 GMT

Title: A Morning At Home
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Pairing: Emily Prentiss/JJ Jareau
Rating: PG
A/N: Written for the Summer '09 FSAC calendar, although it started life as a fic for lgbtfest. The original prompt had something to do with the most important day in a queer person's life other than coming out or a first kiss.
Son of A/N: This story came in fifth overall in the calendar.

"Damn it!"

"Wah?" JJ's response was muffled by the toothbrush in her mouth. She spat and swished some water around to rinse her mouth before walking back into her bedroom. "Bathroom's free. What's wrong?"

Emily was standing next to the bed, half dressed and scowling. "Remember when that kid dropped me in the mud last week?"

JJ nodded and busied herself with getting dressed so that Emily wouldn't see her smile. "What about it?" They'd been in Wisconsin interviewing potential witnesses in a case, and the thirteen year old son of one of the women had seen their sidearms and badges and assumed they were police there to bust him for pot possession. After he'd sent Emily flying as he bolted out the front door, Emily had been sorely tempted to arrest him, jurisdiction or no jurisdiction.

Emily picked up a blouse that had been laying across the bed and lobbed it at her. "It's not funny."

"Yes, it is," JJ said, snickering. "Em, that boy was a head shorter than you and twenty pounds lighter. Reid could've taken him."

"Reid's taller than I am, and it is not," Emily repeated. "Look at the sleeve."

JJ picked up the blouse from where it had fallen on the floor and winced as she examined it. Most of the mud was gone, but the outline of the stain was clearly visible across the right sleeve and back. "The dry cleaner couldn't get it out?"

"The dry cleaner claimed to have gotten it out," Emily replied as she hauled her go bag up onto the bed and started to dig through a neatly folded stack of dirty laundry. "I didn't think to check before I left."

JJ winced in sympathy and checked the tag. Linen. Emily usually sent it to the cleaners just to avoid having to iron it. "Leave it here... I'll try to do something about it next time I do the wash."

"Thanks," Emily said, tossing the blouse into a laundry basket in the corner with a sigh of disgust. "Would you mind if I borrow something today? That was my last clean top."

"Sure." JJ buttoned her last button and and and nudged her shoes out from under the corner of the bed. "My closet is your closet."

"Well, yes," Emily said. "Why else would I be sleeping with someone who wears the same size as I do?"

JJ yanked a pillow off the bed and threw it at her, but Emily had timed her comment well and the pillow bounced off the closing bathroom door. "See if I bother to make enough coffee for both of us!" she called after her, but she was laughing as she said it.

~~~

JJ listened to the sounds of Emily getting ready as she puttered around the kitchen, gathering some files together that she'd brought home the night before and waiting for the coffee to brew. It was nice, having someone to wake up with in the morning. Their relationship was still almost new, but she already hated the nights they spent apart. She made a mental note to clear out a drawer and some closet space for Emily over the weekend. The beauty of having jobs that took them out of town so frequently is that it was business as usual to carry an overnight bag in their trunks, but one of the benefits of being at home was supposed to be not living out of a suitcase. She wanted Emily to feel at home in her apartment.

Not that there weren't certain benefits to living out of suitcases, JJ mused as she watched the coffee drip. They had to be so careful at work to present an image of being nothing more than colleagues and friends that there was a certain thrill in walking through the bullpen and seeing Emily at her desk, wearing something that would give their secret away if only the boys paid a little more attention.

Fifteen minutes later, Emily walked into the kitchen. "JJ?" she asked.

"Hmm?" she replied, paging through the front section of the paper.

"Doc Martens?"

JJ dropped the paper, looked up, and blushed furiously when she saw what Emily was holding. "Where did you find those?"

"They were sitting on top of your shoe rack. I wasn't trying to snoop," Emily hurried to say. "But they were—"

"—Right under my work blouses," JJ said, finishing the sentence along with her. She remembered now that she'd put them there when she'd been digging for her strappy sandals the week before. She thought she'd put them back where they belonged, but evidently not. "What about them?" she asked in what she hoped was a nonchalant way.

"I'm not sure," Emily said, studying her. "I brought them out here to tease you about how you've obviously been hiding your butchier tendencies from me, but you tell me, Ms. 'I just pulled out my press conference mannerisms'... what about them?"

Damn. Too nonchalant. Occasionally, she agreed with Garcia's oft-repeated sentiments - she hated profilers. She took the shoes from Emily and ran a finger over the leather of the scuffed toe. They were dusty, she noted absently. Sense memory of the smell of shoe polish rushed over her, and a picture flashed through her mind of she and her father each holding a much smaller t-strapped dress shoe as he showed her exactly how to use a cloth to make them shine.

"Jayj?" Emily said after a moment, bringing her back to the present.

"Hmm? Oh. Sorry. They were, uh..." she cleared her throat and set the shoes down on the table, then took a sip of coffee to loosen her suddenly too-tight throat. "They were a gift from my dad, my sophomore year of college. I know they've seen better days, but I couldn't get rid of them."

"From your father?"

"For my birthday." It was obvious that whatever explanation Emily might've been expecting, this wasn't it. JJ watched her, smiling softly, and she could see the moment when realization crossed Emily's face.

"Wait, your sophomore year?"

JJ nodded. They'd spent a night not long before swapping college stories, and JJ had told her about the nightmare that was Parents' Weekend at Pitt her second year. Building security wasn't quite the concern then that it was now, so the first inkling she had that her parents would be early was when they opened her dorm room door and let themselves in. It hadn't been quite the way she planned on telling her parents that she and her roommate were sleeping together.

"And your dad... huh. Interesting."

"Yeah... you know I don't think he spoke ten words to me the rest of that weekend. Mom was ranting and raving about sports and the big city corrupting me, and Dad was just sort of... there, watching. I couldn't afford much of a phone bill, so I hardly talked to them at all until Mom insisted that I come home for my birthday the next month. The whole topic was pretty much an elephant in the room, and then it was time to open presents and I unwrapped those."

"From your father."

"From my father." JJ grinned widely, picturing the scene around her parents' dining room table. "Let me tell you, 'interesting' was not the word Mom used when she saw them. She'd bought me a few new skirts and a gift certificate for a manicure, and then Dad goes out and gets me the ultimate in lesbian footwear."

Emily snorted and had to quickly put down her coffee before she choked. "That's... Jayj, how did he even know what to get you? Were there a lot of lesbians in East Allegheny that you've never bothered to mention?"

"Not as such, but he always said that a library card and a little work would get you most things you need in life. He wasn't sure what to do about a gay daughter, so he went to the library, figured out how to use the internet, and researched. He never did tell me exactly why he settled on these, but I guess it was easier to get me a present than to come out and say that he didn't mind what I did with my life. Anyway, it was a good choice. I got a lot of use out of these."

Story finished, JJ finally noticed the odd look that had appeared on Emily's face. "What?"

Emily shook her head as if to clear it, and smiled. "He sounds like a great guy," she said, reaching out to squeeze JJ's hand. "I wish I could've met him."

"Yeah, he was," JJ said fondly. "I think he would've liked you." She refilled her coffee mug and snapped the travel lid into place, and when she looked up again, the same expression was back on Emily's face. "What?"

Emily was still smiling, but eyes that had previously held affection were now decidedly lustful. "Nothing, nothing... I was just trying to picture you in college, all dressed up for a night out."

JJ gave Emily a skeptical look. They were just shoes. But if she was that interested.... JJ set her coffee down and deliberately moved into Emily's space. "You like that idea? Me, in jeans and a tank top and boots? I used to wear my hair braided back then. Maybe this weekend if we're in town we can go out for drinks. There's gotta be a bar or two in Georgetown worth checking out."

Emily nodded, swallowed, and completely failed to get any words out. JJ smirked, and she ran her hand over Emily's shoulder and tickled the back of her neck with her fingers before pulling her down into a kiss. It was soft and sweet, and JJ pulled back just as passion started to build between them. Emily groaned, and JJ responded with a sunny smile and one more quick peck on the lips. "I think I still have my leather jacket, too," she whispered in her ear, and she spun away to grab her coffee and her keys as Emily whimpered, watching her go. She really did love Emily in the mornings.

This entry was originally posted at http://ct.dreamwidth.org/320568.html. Please comment there using OpenID.

Yuletide 2008 fic: Stepmotherhood

ctorres — Mon, 05 Jan 2009 02:54:45 GMT

This was my entry for Yuletide 2008. Fandom is Into the Woods, which is a Sondheim musical set in the land of fairytales. It is awesome, and if you haven't seen it, I highly recommend tracking down a copy of the DVD. It's a filmed theatrical production, not a movie. Next best thing to having tickets, yes?

This was the first year that I can remember not quite sticking to the recipient's requests. shinealightonme asked for post-canon fic with the Baker taking care of his son or Red (Little Red Riding Hood) and Jack (of Beanstalk fame) having to deal with each other. Somehow, I ended up touching on both of those things and focusing on her fourth listed character (Cinderella) instead... but she liked it, so it all turned out well.

Title: Stepmotherhood
Fandom: Into the Woods
Rating: G
A/N: Written for shinealightonme for Yuletide 2008.

Being a stepmother was nothing like Cinderella had imagined it might be, but how could she have known? Stepmothers were molded from cold and evil and poison and indifference. All the stories said so, and her own stepmother had certainly been no different. Indeed, as a girl, Cinderella had solemnly sworn that she would never grow up to be so vile a creature. No, she decided, if she could not be a proper mother or perhaps even a princess, it would be better to not marry at all and grow up to be a spinster than to marry a widowed man and force another poor, innocent child to suffer at the hands of a stepmother as had she. The stories told her so.

But now, with the Baker and his son and Red and Jack, Cinderella did not feel as a stepmother should. Perhaps it was because she had fallen into the role by chance. After all, it was not as if she had set out to seduce a widowed tradesman, especially with she herself only just separated from her husband. Such nonsense was the stuff of her stepsisters' gossip and late night conversations and was hardly suited to real life, but what else was there to do in the aftermath of the giant but to band together? None of them had anywhere to go or anyone to go to. They retreated as a group to the Baker's house -- barely more than a hovel at the time -- to plan their next steps, and as days turned to nights and weeks to months, they all began to fit together.

How could she have left? She could have left, she supposed, and struck out on her own, but it was not in her nature to leave people who needed her. The Baker and Jack were so busy rebuilding the house and the ovens, and someone had to cook for them if they were to have the strength to continue. And Red, the poor thing, was so young and so ready to take on the world, and someone had to take the place of her lost mother and grandmother and show her the way. And the baby... well, the Baker was a lovely man and a wonderful father, but everyone knew that men were a bit hopeless when it came to young children. It was why her father had remarried so quickly, after all. What could she do but stay?

There were no stories, or at least none that she had ever heard, about stepmothers and their sons, and she wondered if perhaps that might be the difference. Was there something about little girls that poisoned their stepmothers against them? Cinderella cooked and cleaned and mended and taught and laughed and sang, and in between it all she cared for the Baker's son. He loved to watch as his father kneaded dough and he delighted in playing with a little lump of his own. She watched them together and despaired of ever getting the sticky dough out of his wispy hair, but secretly she loved it. Loved him. Loved them both. Loved them all, all four of them, to be honest, although when Jack and Red fought it was difficult to remember at times.

The seasons changed and the anniversary of Red's birth passed and that night Cinderella held her as she cried. She let the girl tell her all about her mother and grandmother and childhood, and when her tears slowed, she whispered into her hair, "You have us now. You have me. I'm not going anywhere."

Perhaps the problem was not little girls, after all.

The baby learned to walk during the long days of winter, but it was not until spring that he finally began to talk. Oh, he was happy to toddle about and babble all day long, and one spring day when Cinderella had left him with the Baker in the bakery so that she might do the wash, she came back to find no baking whatsoever being done and a great battle with dough for ammunition being waged all across the room. The Baker and his son froze as she walked through the door, and before she could even think to open her mouth to scold the Baker for encouraging such behavior, the baby flung a bit of dough in her direction and cried out.

"Ma!"

Cinderella felt her face grow as pale as the flour that coated the room. "Ma!" the baby called again, and there was nought she could do but flee.

She was not his mother. She could not be his mother. He had a fine mother, dead she may be, and Cinderella was nobody's stepmother. She loved him too much for that.

She sat on the edge of the woods for hours, lost in thought, and when it grew dark, she heard Jack's voice calling out for her. "Cinderella?"

She bit her lip and, realizing that she could not hide forever, stood to meet him. She had faced a giant, after all. She could face this.

At home, she was met at the door by Red, smirking, and the Baker, who looked terribly nervous. Supper -- oh dear, she realized, she'd forgotten to make supper -- was leftover stew. "It's only a little burnt!" Red pointed out happily as she dished it up, and Cinderella couldn't help but smile. The girl was learning.

The baby was cheerful that night, and he kept up a steady stream of babble. Every time he said, "Ma!", though, conversation dimmed and the Baker looked from him to Cinderella with an expression on his face that she could not read.

After supper, she rose as usual to start the cleaning up, and the Baker jumped out of his seat and gently pressed her back into hers. "Wait!" he said, and he fidgeted when everyone looked at him. "I baked a dessert."

She sat, and watched as he hurried into the next room and returned with a tray. On the tray was a loaf of bread, but it was not any loaf. This loaf was made with currants and nuts, just as she loved. It was braided and shaped, and it resembled nothing so much as a--

"I can't afford much," the baker was saying. "Certainly nothing fit for a princess."

"I'm not--" she started to say, but he would not let her interrupt.

"I wanted to do this properly," he said, "but nothing about this has been proper. And I wanted to--"

He tended to ramble when he was nervous. Cinderella loved that about him, but this was a time when she very much wanted him to get to the point. She laid her finger on his lips and waited, eyebrow raised, for him to quiet. "Yes?" she asked.

"Will you be my wife?"

And on that night, she looked around the table at her family -- a fine young man, a lovely girl, a wonderful man who considered her his princess, and her darling stepson -- and she decided that maybe, just maybe, the stories were wrong. This was happy ever after.

Yuletide 2007 fic: How to Make a Quilt

ctorres — Mon, 05 Jan 2009 02:45:20 GMT

I was getting ready to move when the Yuletide reveal happened last year, so I never remembered to post this here. Oops.

Main Street is a series of children's books by Ann M. Martin. Ever read Babysitters Club books? Same author. This story is proof that pimping small fandoms in your journal prior to Yuletide works - wisdomeagle made a post trying to entice people to read the books, I thought they sounded interesting, I signed up, and then fic happened.

Title: How To Make a Quilt
Fandom: Ann M. Martin - Main Street Series
Rating: G
Author's Notes: Written for wisdomeagle for Yuletide 2007. Many thanks to shatterpath and measi for helping me out with some details, and to my sister and ariestess for beta reading.

When Flora arrived at Needle and Thread on Friday afternoon, she shut the door behind her hard enough to make the bell rattle noisily. She stomped over to the couches near the front of the store and dropped her backpack, then flopped down next to it in a huff. She saw Min look up at all the noise from across the store, and she slouched down further into the couch. Today was a day that could only get worse.

It didn't take too long for Min to finish ringing up her customer. She worked her way across the store, greeting people as she went, until she stood in front of Flora. "May I sit down?"

Min didn't sound angry, Flora realized. Flora didn't want to be in trouble, even if she had slammed the door to the store, so that was good. She silently picked up her backpack and scooted over to make some room for her.

"My stars," Min said as she carefully sat down, "If I didn't know better, I'd swear that these couches get softer every day. They are very good for sulking in, aren't they?"

Flora looked at her, but she didn't answer. They sat together quietly for a little bit. Then, Min sat up straighter as if she were ready to leave. "You don't have to tell me what's bothering you if you're not ready to talk," she said, "but do take off your coat, Flora. It may be January outside, but it's too warm in here to stay all bundled up."

Unfortunately, Min was absolutely correct. She and Gigi, Olivia's grandmother, always kept Needle and Thread at a nice, warm temperature so that customers who stopped in to chat for a bit and sew would be comfortable. Flora sighed and sat up just enough to unzip her coat and wiggle out of it.

Flora could tell exactly when Min noticed what she was wearing from the way she stopped and blinked. "Did you get that at school today?" Min asked her. "I thought you were wearing your purple blouse when you left this morning."

Flora was wearing white sneakers and blue jeans with flowers embroidered on one leg. They were her best jeans, and she was very proud of them because she did the embroidery herself. The petals on the purple flowers were the exact shade of her favorite top.

They were not the same color as the bright red Camden Falls Elementary t-shirt she was currently wearing.

Flora angrily unzipped her backpack and yanked out a plastic grocery bag, which she handed to Min. Min unknotted the handles, a curious look on her face, and pulled out Flora's purple top. It was damp, as if it had gotten very wet and hadn't dried properly. "Flora?" she prompted.

"It's ruined," Flora said. She dropped her backpack on the floor, then curled up in the corner of the sofa facing in the other direction so that she wouldn't even have to look at it.

"I don't know about that," Min said. "Can you tell me what happened?"

"Mr. Donaldson says that this time of year is a good time for cold germs, and that we can stay healthy by keeping the classroom clean," Flora explained. "Lots of kids were sneezing this morning, so after lunch we had to clean our desks and everything in the whole room."

"That sounds like a good idea," Min said. "No one likes to catch cold."

Flora sighed and picked at the arm of the couch. "Some kids don't like to clean, either. Dylan and Matt were playing instead of doing what we were supposed to, and Matt threw a really wet paper towel that had cleaning solution all over it and hit me right on the back. My shirt is ruined, and all they did was laugh."

Min unfolded the shirt and looked at it. "Oh, dear," she said.

Flora sniffed hard. "Mr. Donaldson made me go to the nurse's office to change my shirt so that I wouldn't smell like cleaning solution. Mrs. Gillespie tried to rinse it out, but it was too late." Mrs. Gillespie was the school nurse and was in charge of the lost and found box. She had been very nice about trying to help Flora.

Min patted her on the shoulder. "It might not be," she said. "Rinsing it out right away was a good idea. We'll take it home and I'll wash it tonight. It could be that it's just dirty and a good trip through the washer will fix it right up."

Flora sniffed again. "Thanks, Min, but it won't help. Look." She took the shirt from her and held it up. The problem was even more obvious now that it was mostly dry. Smack dab in the middle of the back was a splotch that was a different shade than the fabric around it. "See?" Flora said. "It's hopeless."

"I'm sorry, Flora," Min said, and she pulled her in for a hug. "I'll do my best with it."

Flora hugged her back. "Thanks, Min," she whispered. She thought that she might feel a little better.

As soon as she and Flora and Ruby arrived home to the Row Houses that evening, Min washed Flora's shirt again. During dinner, Ruby told them about her day at school and the songs the Children's Choir was practicing. Having something else to think about helped, but Flora couldn't help worrying about her shirt. After they finished eating and Flora and Ruby had cleared the table, Min went to the cellar to check the laundry. When she came upstairs a few minutes later, Flora knew the news was bad.

"I'm sorry, Flora," she said. "You were right. Whatever was on that paper towel bleached the back of your shirt."

She would not cry. It was just a shirt.

"It's okay, Flora," Ruby said from where she sat on the floor, scratching King Comma's ears. "You said last week that it was getting tight on you. You wouldn't have worn it much longer."

She would not cry. "You don't understand!" Flora shouted. "It's not just a shirt. It's the one Mom gave me for Christmas last year. It was perfect, and now it's gone!" She took her still-wet shirt from Min and thundered up the stairs. She could hear Min and Ruby calling after her, but she didn't stop until she was in her bedroom. She draped the shirt over a chair and flopped down on top of her quilt, and only then did she allow the tears to come.

Nothing could cheer Flora up that weekend. Min, who had come upstairs after a little bit to talk to Flora, suggested that she could wear a vest over the shirt. It would hide the bleached spot on the back, and no one would know the difference. "I would," Flora told her, and that was that.

Olivia, who was also in Flora's class at school and had seen her get hit with the wet paper towel, heard the rest of the story from Ruby when she came over to Flora and Ruby's house to play on Sunday. "That's really sad," Olivia said. "Maybe you could find a new shirt like it. Or, I know! You could look at Needle and Thread and find fabric to make a new shirt! Then it would be special, too."

"It wouldn't be the same, though," Flora pointed out.

"No, it wouldn't," Olivia agreed with a frown, "but maybe it would be something."

The very next day, Olivia and Flora rushed to Needle and Thread as soon as school let out. Min had said that there would be a new spring shipment of everything from fabric to patterns to notions arriving that morning. She had promised that they could help put it on display as soon as she and Gigi finished inventorying it. When they burst through the door, Min waved hello from the cutting counter where she was measuring out some satin for a customer. "Put your things in the back, girls," she called out. "I'll be with you in a minute."

When she came to find them a few minutes later, she was smiling. "Mrs. Fischer is making a princess dress for her granddaughter's fourth birthday, and it's going to be just darling. Now then, are you two ready to work?"

"Yup!" They both said, excited.

"Good, good." Min pulled out a clipboard and handed it to Olivia. "Olivia, this is a list of all the patterns that came in today. The boxes are already piled at the end of the right counter. I need you to take out three of each and sort them into the right drawers."

Olivia saluted her and grinned happily. "Yes, ma'am!" she said. She and her brothers had watched Cadet Kelly over the weekend, and Olivia was very fond of saluting people now.

Min chuckled. "Flora, there are two boxes of ribbons and trims by the display racks. Could you please fill up the racks again? You can rearrange things if you'd like to make room for the new colors of trim. I know Gigi ordered more of that sparkly rick rack that Ruby liked so much, so you'll have to find a place for it."

"Okay."

Min stopped and gently lifted Flora's chin with one finger. "How was school today, sweetheart?"

"It was fine." Flora scuffed the toe of her shoe against the floor. "May I go work now?"

Min pressed a kiss to the top of her head, then nodded. "Off you go. You girls are going to be such a help today."

Half an hour later, Flora was busily refilling the ribbon display with blues and greens when Olivia ran over. She was carrying a measuring tape in one hand and a pattern packet in the other. "Flora!" she said as soon as she was close enough to talk. "I need to measure you."

"What?"

"Just stand still," Olivia commanded. She held one end of the measuring tape against Flora's side and ran it across her body to the other side. "Perfect!" She thrust the pattern packet into Flora's hands. "You're just big enough. Look, you have to make this."

Flora turned the packet over in her hands and looked at the photo on the front. "Memory Quilt," she read aloud. "Use t-shirts, baby blankets, and other treasured fabrics and quilt your history. Olivia, what is this?"

"It's for your shirt. The one your mom bought, I mean. Not the one you're wearing. It's one of the patterns that arrived today. See? You take shirts or towels or whatever you have that you like but you aren't using, and you cut squares or triangles or whatever fits on the thing you're cutting out, and you make a patchwork quilt. That way, you never lose them."

Flora did not want to be excited about anything having to do with her ruined favorite shirt, but Olivia's idea was interesting. She sat down on the floor and pulled out the contents of the pattern. The squares were supposed to be twelve inches across. "How big am I?" she asked Olivia.

"Fifteen inches!" Olivia responded. "Plus your clothes are usually bigger than your body is, so I'm sure that shirt is large enough to get a whole square from."

"I still have t-shirts from the day camp that I used to go to, and they don't fit any more. I could use those," Flora mused.

"So you're going to do it?" Olivia was almost bouncing. She did like it when she had good ideas.

"Maybe," Flora said. "I don't think I have enough things to make a whole quilt out of. It would have to be really tiny." She put the pattern back in its envelope, but she set it on a nearby table rather than giving it back to Olivia. "I'll think about it."

Flora kept Olivia's idea in the back of her mind. She thought about it every time she saw her favorite purple shirt, which she had folded up and set on top of her dresser. It wasn't until two weeks later, though, that she decided to go ahead with it. She was sitting on the couch at Needle and Thread reading a book when she saw Gigi helping a customer look through the bolts of quilting cotton. When she saw one of the calicos she brought up to the cutting table, her jaw dropped. It looked exactly like the curtains that had hung in the kitchen in her old house. She had helped her mother make those curtains, and this just had to be the fabric they had used.

She chewed on her lip as she watched Gigi cut just one yard. As soon as the customer was gone, Flora hurried over to examine the bolt. The fabric was identical. She was absolutely certain of it. She recognized the little threads of peach that ran alongside darker rose flowers, and she remembered going to the hardware store with her father to find perfectly matching paint for the cupboards.

Suddenly, she was able to see the whole quilt in her imagination. She would use this fabric for the backing, and she would use a good, warm bunting so that it would be perfect for snuggling into during the winter. For the front, she could use her camp t-shirts, and the tank top she got on vacation during their last family vacation, and Min was sure to have some interesting things as well. This could be a really good project. She picked up the bolt and headed for the back of the store. "Min?" she said, "Can I have some of this? Olivia had this great idea..."

Flora's Camden Falls Elementary t-shirt made its way into her memory quilt as well. Min found a blouse that belonged to Flora's mother as well as a dress shirt that belonged to her father. They had been left there the last time they all came to visit as a family, and Min had put them away rather than throwing them out. Ruby contributed a hand-me-down skirt that didn't fit her any longer. It was the first piece of clothing that Flora had ever made. And one afternoon when Flora arrived at the store, there was a little bag with her name on it waiting for her on the empty mending table. She opened it to find a blouse that looked terribly familiar, and she soon realized that it was the exact blouse that Mary Woolsey had worn in the photograph of her and Flora's mother from so long ago.

By the time she put all of her memories into the quilt, it was much larger than Flora had ever imagined. It was warm, and it was perfect.

Harry Potter Fic: Sweet Lemonade

ctorres — Wed, 18 Jun 2008 00:05:09 GMT

Title: Sweet Lemonade
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Hermione/Ginny
Rating: PG/PG-13
Word Count: 590
Summary: This is not what her parents were worried about.
A/N: My entry for the first week of the current round of hermione_ldws.

This was not what her parents had in mind.

Hermione reckoned that when her parents decided to send her to the Quidditch World Cup, their permission was rooted in one part football madness (her father), one part nostalgia (her mother, who had been rather more social as a girl than Hermione had any intention of becoming), and one part Ginny Weasley. It felt as if her mother spent half the trip into London reminiscing about summers spent sleeping over at friends' houses and gossiping about boys, and the other half reminding her to make sure she didn't do anything with the boys to gossip about.

As if she would. They arrived at the Leaky Cauldron just in time to see Ron cram three quarters of a sandwich into his mouth at once. The twins, Ginny explained with a roll of her eyes, claimed to have heard a bit on the Wireless about Muggles who had competitions to see who could eat the most. Ron was considering training up for it. "That's disgusting," Hermione scoffed, and after one last round of hugs from her parents, Hermione was only too happy to let Ginny pull her away.

This was not what her parents had in mind at all.

After her first few days at the Burrow, which were oddly awkward for a reason Hermione couldn't quite identify, came the hottest day of the summer. Hermione and Ginny spent the afternoon on the far end of the Weasley's land enjoying a perpetually full pitcher of icy lemonade under a shady tree. The trunk was wide and nicely slanted on one side, and Ginny said that Bill used to like to bring his girlfriends out here to snog when they came to visit. In return for her silence, he didn't bother to take down the Notice-Me-Not charms when he moved out. None of her other brothers knew about her hiding place.

It was on the hottest day of the summer that Hermione admitted, if only to herself, that she'd been missing out when she pointedly ignored Lavender and Parvati's most scandalous gossip sessions. She was beginning to think that she should have paid attention long enough to pick up a few pointers, because it was on the hottest day of summer that Hermione learned that Ginny had something in common with her brother Bill. Somehow, idle conversation turned into a game of Truth or Dare, and the already abbreviated outfits they'd been wearing to soak up the sun disappeared piece by piece.

Her father suspected Ron, but it was Harry her mother didn't trust. "It's the polite ones," she'd mutter. "That boy is too nice."

Before she left for Hogwarts, her mother sat her down one evening and talked to her about dormitories and changing bodies and boys and saying no. Her father had had a similar talk with her just the week before, although this time with rather less emphasis on bodies and much more on the waiting. Neither of them ever told her what to do with a hot summer day and a girl who tasted of sugar and tart lemons, but Hermione reckoned they were doing a pretty good job of figuring it out themselves. Ginny was very nice.

And when they disappeared from the house the next day to go back to the tree, Hermione refused to feel guilty. Boys were one thing. This was quite another.

Torchwood Ficlet: Lifebringer

ctorres — Tue, 11 Dec 2007 03:13:54 GMT

Title: Lifebringer
Author: Caitrin Torres ctorres
Fandom: Torchwood
Characters: Jack, Suzie
Rating: G
Spoilers: "Everything Changes", although this takes place well before the episode
A/N: Written for the first round of writerinadrawer. The prompts were "First Times" and something green.

"What do you think it is?" Suzie asked. She was examining the latest piece of rift refuse: a heavy metal gauntlet of some sort.

"No idea," Jack said. "You're the engineer on the team."

"Come on," Suzie said, kicking back in her chair. "What happened to your secret treasure trove of knowledge? You recognized the book scanner and the handcuffs right away when they appeared last week."

"My secret treasure trove of knowledge?" Jack repeated, laughing. "That's a good one."

"Well?"

Jack rolled his eyes. "The book scanner was already in our database. Torchwood One found something similar years ago. If you'd entered its identifying information immediately like you're supposed to, you too would have known what it was."

"And the handcuffs?" It was uncanny the way Jack was able to identify technology and aliens, and one day, Suzie was going to solve the puzzle that was her boss.

Jack shrugged. "I got lucky."

"Do that a lot, do you?"

Jack grinned widely. Suzie snorted and turned her attention back to the glove. It was deceptively light, given its appearance. She slowly slid her hand into it, ignoring Jack's wince as she did so. It was cold... much colder than it had been when she had been holding it. Interesting.

She flexed her hand and gave the gauntlet an appraising look. "I could have used this last month."

Jack looked at her reprovingly. "If a Weevil is so close to you that you can punch it, it's too close. A metal glove wouldn't have been much protection."

Suzie automatically flexed her left shoulder when he said it. The gash the Weevil had given her before Owen managed to kill it was almost healed, but she didn't appreciate the reminder of how close she'd come to dying. "No, not for that," Suzie snapped back. "The bloke in the flat below mine threw a fancy dress party. With a green cloak and some baubles, I could have gone as Doctor Doom. What do you think?" She opened and closed her hand again and admired the way the heavy gauntlet moved with her. "Makes me look like a right baddie, don't it?"

"Alien tech doesn't leave the Hub, remember?" Jack hopped down from the counter where he had perched. "Give it to Ianto to archive when you're done with it."

"Will do," she called after him. She continued to play with it, moving her hand and examining the way the glove responded. It was some sort of armor, of course. It really did look like something one would find on a villain, or perhaps a knight. It spoke of someone with powers over life and death and the fate of others.

She walked over to a storage shelf at the back of her work area and set it down, still wearing it. The longer she wore it, the heavier it felt. When her hand landed with a thud, there was a tiny flash, and a beetle that had died there suddenly flew off. She yanked her hand out of the glove, astonished.

SG-1(ish) Fic: Second Star

ctorres — Fri, 20 Jul 2007 20:11:45 GMT

I'll stop spamming everyone's friends lists for a bit, promise.

Title: Second Star
Fandom: Stargate SG-1, by way of the Light, Water, Muses universe
Rating: G
Summary: Sam, finally home after a late night.
A/N: LWM is a multifandom femslash crossover project started by ariestess and shatterpath. G-rated gen fic is decidedly nonstandard, but this is me here. This was written for them for this summer's FSAC calendar.

--

Sam cut the engine and sat with her eyes closed for a long moment, then groaned and forced herself to move. "Should've taken Hammond up on his offer and used the driver," she muttered, and she mechanically grabbed her things from where they rested on the seat beside her before she shut the door to her Jeep behind her.

She trudged up to the house, and she quietly opened the front door and eased it closed behind her. The house was dark apart from a light left on in the kitchen. A hint from Janet? Maybe she could do with a snack before she crashed....

She rounded the corner and jumped when she realized she wasn't alone. "Hey," she said with a tired grin. "You're up late."

Art pushed back from the table and came over to her. "I was waiting for you." She gave Sam a firm, lingering kiss and herded her towards a chair. "Janet was zonked, but she made up a plate for you because we all know you haven't eaten today. Are you hungry?"

"How do you know I haven't eaten?" Sam asked, piqued.

Art gave her an exasperated look. "You were hip deep in research when I left the mountain, and that hours ago. Are you saying you took a break for a snack?"

"...I might've eaten," Sam muttered. "Food would be great, thanks."

Art smirked as she took a plate with a sandwich and some grapes on it out of the refrigerator and added some chips from a bag on the counter. "Dinner is served, madam." She handed the plate to Sam and sat down across from her. "What kept you so late?"

Sam launched into an enthusiastic explanation of the progress she'd made in refining the power output of the reactor prototype, and it wasn't until she stopped to take another bite of sandwich that she spotted Art's amused expression. "You're humoring me, aren't you."

"Oh, definitely," Art said, "but you're cute when you ramble."

Sam tossed a grape at her, which Art caught handily and ate. "Go to bed," Sam said, more resigned to the teasing than than annoyed by it.

"I don't mind waiting up with you," Art said, but it was obvious that she was sleepy.

"I just need a few minutes to wind down," Sam promised. "Go back to sleep."

Art nodded and rose, then brushed her lips over Sam's forehead and kissed her softly. "Love you, ehromenee."

Sam smiled and leaned into her embrace. "Love you too. I'll be up soon."

Sam methodically finished her sandwich and rinsed off her plate, then puttered around the kitchen for a few minutes, idly flipping through the mail. There was a letter for her painstakingly addressed in a child's handwriting, and a quick glance at the return address revealed that it was from her niece. Sam couldn't stop the huge yawn that came over her then, and she left the envelope on the top of the stack to be read first thing in the morning. It was long past time for bed tonight.

Still yawning, she turned out the lights and headed upstairs to the bed where her lovers slept. At the top of the stairs, she heard a whimper from the twins' room, and paused. When she heard it again, this time louder, she eased open the door and quietly shut it behind her. Fawn was fast asleep, but in the dim glow of the nightlight Sam saw that Cubby was squirming and fussing in a way that could only end in a full tantrum.

Sam flipped the switch to turn off the baby monitor as she passed it so that Art and Janet could sleep. "Hey, Cubby," she murmured, "what's wrong in your world tonight?"

He looked at her and whimpered as she brushed her hand over his head.

"Ssh... it's okay, sweetie. Teething is hard work, I know." Sam ran her finger under the edge of his diaper. It was dry, but his fussing was getting louder and more intense. She gently slid hands under him and scooped him up. "Let's get out of here before you wake up your sister, hmm?"

Sam cast a longing look at the bedroom door as she walked back downstairs with him. She pulled a teething ring from the refrigerator and wandered up and down the hall as she told him about the new toys SG-5 brought her from P5C-117. Soon, he started to relax.

She stopped in front of the window as she stifled another yawn and slowly rocked him back and forth. "See that star, Cubby?" Sam whispered. "The bright one above the airplane? That's Sirius. A long time ago in Egypt, they called it the dog star." She smiled as he blinked sleepily. "Yeah, you know what dogs are, don't you? You know Cooper and Lucky."

His eyes drifted shut once more as Sam gently stroked his forehead with her finger. "There's another star out there, sort of to the left of Sirius," she murmured. "We can't see it right now, but it's there. And there's a planet orbiting it called P3X-774. It's called something else too, but I don't think they ever told us the name." She frowned for a moment as she considered that, then shook her head. "That's where the Nox live. You'd like them. They have long hair to pull, and I bet they'd have something to make your gums feel better. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

Cubby sighed, and Sam resumed her slow dance around the room. "No? Well, there's another star out there, and it's a special star. My daddy told me about it when I was Emily's age. Second star to the right and straight on 'til morning, and you'll find a land with lots of little boys. Fawn could be Tinkerbell, and there's pirates to fight, fun to be had...."

She stilled her hand on his forehead and grinned when his eyes stayed closed. Asleep, finally. Sam carefully shifted Cubby to one arm and turned off the lamp, then cuddled him close as she crept back upstairs. She gently laid him down in his crib, and sighed in relief when he didn't wake. "I always did want to fly," she whispered reflectively. "Reach for the stars. You'll get there someday."

She watched him as he lay there peacefully and then turned the monitor back on and crept out of the room. Sleep awaited.

SGA Fic: Housewarming

ctorres — Wed, 30 May 2007 10:25:55 GMT

Title: Housewarming
Author: Caitrin Torres (ctorres)
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Pairing: Elizabeth Weir/Teyla Emmagan
Rating: G
Summary: Firelight and pastry.
Spoilers: "The Return"
A/N: Written for the sg_femslash minificathon, Weir round, for medie, who requested Teyla/Elizabeth with alien rituals and a party.

Elizabeth breathed in deeply and let the cool, crisp air and the scent of wood smoke fill her lungs. In the handful of days since the retaking of Atlantis, what little of her time that hadn't been filled with negotiations over the fate of her senior staff and the return of the rest of the expedition had been spent assisting Rodney and the staff on loan from the Daedalus by translating as they tried to decipher what the Ancients and the Replicators had done to the city. She was only now starting to realize that she was truly home.

And she was home. This felt more real and more right than anything had back on Earth. A survey of the clearing found John holding court with some of the older Athosian children at one of the long tables and Carson and a handful of the Daedalus crew scattered amongst the clusters of people talking and dancing in the twilight. The tantalizing aroma of roasting meat drifted on the breeze and the sounds of laughter and conversation floated around her as she sat back and basked in the light and the heat of the fire. This was her sort of party, she decided. She didn't even have to wear heels.

Elizabeth smiled in contentment when she saw Teyla making her way towards her. "This is wonderful," she said, indicating with one hand the party, the people, and the night.

"It is a good night for a gathering, yes," Teyla said, returning her grin. She sat next to Elizabeth on the long bench and slid her plate over to her. "You must try Elora's nut rolls.

Elizabeth took a bite and hummed in appreciation. "Oh, that's very good. What's in it?"

"The nuts are native to this world," Teyla replied. "There is a grove of trees ten minutes walk from the settlement here. The mara berries were a gift earlier in the season from the people of Tanar."

Elizabeth nodded and took another bite. She remembered the Tanari. Atlantis didn't currently have a trade agreement with them, but if the berries were at all typical, she was going to have to rectify that. The pastry was delicious.

They shared dessert and a mug of cider between them. A bit later, Elizabeth said, "I don't remember a festival like this during the first two years we were here."

"You would have no reason to," Teyla said lightly. "It is not a set tradition."

"Any excuse for a party?"

"In a way." Teyla studied her for a moment. "You are very tense, even after tonight, Elizabeth."

"It's been a long week," Elizabeth said wryly. "I'll unwind eventually."

Teyla motioned for her to turn around on the bench and Elizabeth was happy to comply. Teyla moved closer, and Elizabeth couldn't hold back a low groan when she pressed her fingers into her shoulders and began to work out the knots in her muscles. She needed this, badly, and she could easily picture the hidden smile that went with the affection in Teyla's voice.

"Gatherings such as this are customary among many peoples, not only the Athosians. When an entire village moves to a new world, they host a gathering once they are able. It is a way to demonstrate what is available for trade as well as to reconnect with others once an upheaval is finished."

"A housewarming, then."

The massage stopped, just for a moment. "I am not familiar with that word."

Elizabeth started to twist around to explain, but Teyla's steady, kneading motion was more than enough to make her relax back into place. "A housewarming is a party that a person might throw once they've moved into a new house or apartment so that their friends or family can see where they're living."

"Yes, a housewarming. A gathering was held several weeks ago for our trading partners, but the Lanteans are valued allied and the weather has been very pleasant this week."

"Any excuse for a party?"

"In this case, yes," Teyla said, amused.

Elizabeth groaned and let her head loll forward as the most stubborn knots at the base of her skull finally gave way to Teyla's expert touch. "Don't ever stop, Teyla, please," she murmured.

She felt soft lips brush against the sensitive skin behind her ear as the firm strokes of Teyla's massage became gentle caresses. "This, and more when we can," Teyla promised. Her voice was low and warm and pitched only for Elizabeth's ears, and Elizabeth felt a warm thread of arousal begin to spiral through her body.

Eventually Teyla's hands stilled, and she slid around to sit in front of Elizabeth and took her lips in a soft, promising kiss before she pulled away. "I will find John and ask him how long he wishes to stay tonight."

She picked up the plate and started to stand, but Elizabeth tugged her back down beside her. "John will be ready to leave when we are. Right now, I just want to be here with you. Leaving Simon when he chose not to follow was nothing. Not having a choice...."

Teyla squeezed her hand in acknowledgment of all that she wouldn't say. The fire was soothing, and it would burn all night.

Muppet!Fic: Can't Say Anything Nice

ctorres — Thu, 08 Feb 2007 06:35:11 GMT

Title: Can't Say Anything Nice
Fandom: Muppets
Rating: PG
Summary: So why do Statler and Waldorf keep coming back to the theater every night?
A/N: This was written for yuletide 2006 for graycardinal. Thanks go to my sister for the comment that started it all and also to revena for beta help.

"Wow, Kermit, they were awful. Are they new?"

A group of monsters trooped past on their way to the dressing rooms. The largest of the bunch shook his fist and glared at the little frog sitting on Kermit's table. "Robin, you shouldn't say things like that," Kermit said as soon as they were out of earshot.

"Why not?"

"It's not very nice." Kermit looked around furtively and lowered his voice to a whisper. "Besides, they could make a little froggie pancake out of you if they wanted to. Remember your manners."

"But they were awful," Robin said in protest. "Half the audience cheered just because the act was over."

Kermit cringed at the volume of his nephew's voice and yanked Robin closer. "Let me tell you a story." And with the wavy lines of a segue practically visible in the air, he began. "You see, it all started back when this theater had its grand opening...."

"Why are we here?" Statler grumbled. He poked through the platter of hors d'oeuvres at the end of the buffet table and tried to find something that looked edible. "It's certainly not for the food."

Waldorf reached around him to take another puff pastry. "We're here because my sister is hosting this shindig."

"That's you, but why am I here?"

"Because you married her, you nitwit!"

Their chuckles abruptly cut off when Astoria came up behind them and smacked each of them on the back of the head. "Sorry, dear," Statler muttered.

"You're just sorry I heard you. After fifty years, I should expect better, but not from you two louts." She turned to include Waldorf in the conversation. "It's no wonder that you never managed to find a woman willing to marry you, brother of mine."

They shrugged and she glared, as usual. "The show will be starting soon. Here are your tickets. I trust that you won't get lost between here and your seats." She waited until they both grunted in agreement, then swept off towards another cluster of guests.

Fifteen minutes later, Waldorf popped the last of the pastries into his mouth. "Shall we?"

"Might as well get this over with," Statler grumbled. "Maybe we'll be able to catch up on our sleep."

They succumbed to the inevitable and slid into their seats as the curtain rose. Over the first few acts, they progressed from raised eyebrows to muttered comments to an unrestrained commentary on the show. People around them tried to shush them, but it wasn't until the beginning of the fourth act that things went to pot.

A pig in a sequined dress took the stage. She clearly fancied herself to be a blonde bombshell of some sort, but the effect was ruined the moment she began to sing.

"I've never heard anyone sing like her," Statler said. "She definitely has a unique voice."

Waldorf snorted. "Yeah, it's unique because no one else is that bad."

They laughed heartily until the elderly pig sitting in front of them twisted around in her seat with a flinty look in her eyes. "I've had enough of you two boys," she hissed. "Come with me. Now."

Only a very old woman could call them boys and mean it, but she proved to be quite spry as she dragged them out into the lobby by their ears and backed them up against a wall. "Have you no shame?" she asked, completely indignant.

"Shame? We have plenty of shame," Statler said.

Waldorf chimed in as well. "Yeah, we're ashamed to be here!"

She looked at them with disgust. "I should curse you to suffer the agony of being heckled yourselves for what you said about my granddaughter, but I think that might be too good for you."

Waldorf flinched a little at the word 'granddaughter', but Statler didn't even pause. "Just how do you think you can curse us?" he asked.

"I have my ways," she said archly. "Never underestimate a grandmother. No, being attacked on stage is too light a punishment. I curse you to watch this show again and again until you learn some manners!" Her words were accompanied by an ominous flash of light and a puff of smoke. "It will be a good long time before your punishment is finished, don't you think?" She herded them towards the doors with a few swings of her heavy handbag. "Now be gone!"

When they stepped out into the sunlight, Statler and Waldorf each breathed a sigh of relief. "At least that's over with," Waldorf said.

"You can say that again."

"At least that's over with."

"What should we do now?" Statler asked.

"Coffee? If we go to that little diner across the street, we should be able to slip back in just as the show ends. Astoria will never know the difference."

They laughed great belly laughs at their cleverness as they stepped out into the street. The last things they saw were the car headed straight toward them and the ancient old sow at the wheel.

--

When the world came back into focus, Waldorf saw red. "Red velvet," he said to himself as his vision cleared. "This is high class for a hospital."

Next to him, Statler managed to get his feet under him and sit up straight in his chair. "No, this is the same blasted theater we just came from."

Waldorf tried to stand up and couldn't. Statler struggled as well to no avail. They turned towards each other in horror. "We're stuck!"

A drum roll drew their attention to the stage. A spastic little green frog threw open a door in the scrim and shouted, "It's The Muppet Show! Yaaay!"

"Oh God, we're in hell."

The frog was singing. "To introduce our guest star, that's what I'm here to do, so it really makes me happy to introduce to you... Mr. Danny Bonaduce!"

"No, we're cursed!"

A little boy with red hair, freckles, and a happy grin ran onto the stage and waved to the crowd. "Looks that way," Waldorf concluded.

They watched the opening number with growing dismay until a thing of some sort with the biggest nose either of them had ever seen swung at a gong and knocked himself silly instead. They laughed. "Well, we may as well make the best of it," Statler said, still snickering. "Boo!"

"Yeah, boo! Boo!"

"Boo!"

"Boo!"

The last of the wavy lines faded from view. "Uncle Kermit," Robin asked, "are you saying that I should lie about things?"

"What? No, of course not."

"Oh. So you're saying that hell is having to watch this show every night?"

"No!" Kermit waved his arms in frustration. "Well, maybe for some people, but that's not-"

A smattering of applause from the audience and a round of jeers from the balcony signaled the end of the sketch. Kermit jumped to the side as the dancers hurried past and dodged the flock of chickens waiting in the wings for their cue. Robin took the opportunity and escaped. "Bye, Uncle Kermit!"

"...not what I meant," Kermit finished weakly.

When Gonzo and the chickens took the stage, the wing of the stage was conspicuously empty. Kermit reached over and toggled the switch on the intercom. "Veterinarian's Hospital sketch, you're up in three. Rowlf, Piggy, I need you down here now." A commotion in the orchestra pit caught his attention. "Scooter! Go tell Animal he's not allowed to eat the scenery."

Kermit shook his head in resignation. "Watching isn't hell, but managing..." His face crumpled. "Yeesh."

SG-1 Fic: On Parents (a drabble set)

ctorres — Mon, 04 Dec 2006 06:57:40 GMT

In the spirit of finishing off old fic, a long time ago when the Five Things meme last swept through, I never had time to post my answers. This was one of a few that turned into fic. Five drabbles of precisely 100 words each.

Title: On Parents
Author: Caitrin Torres (ctorres)
Fandom: Stargate SG-1
Spoilers: Nothing past season three.
A/N: A long time ago, lunardreamed asked for "five lives each of the SG-1 characters never lived". Many thanks to ariestess for looking this over.

I.

Ro'nac, First Prime to the great god Cronos, was a loyal soldier. His proudest moment came when he first held his son. One day, Teal'c would serve beside him and together they would bring great glory to their god. Of this he was certain, and it was this dream that he held close when he died in an impossible battle eight years later.

Teal'c's proudest moment came years later when he led a squadron of deathgliders into battle against Apophis. He honored his father's training and his god's might, and he brought the First Prime of Apophis to his knees.

II.

Her mother noticed early on that Sam looked at girls differently than most of her friends. They talked over freshly baked cookies one afternoon and she convinced Sam that the physics program at UC Berkley might be a better choice than following her father to the Air Force Academy.

After a string of girlfriends, Sam met someone special. The high of being in love with Claudia Jean was surpassed only by the thrill of going into space on the Endeavour as a civilian payload specialist. Being on the cutting edge of space exploration was everything she'd dreamed it could be.

III.

To a god as powerful as Ra, a Goau'ld who chose to think rather than to fight was no challenge at all. Nirrti was but a minor annoyance with no Jaffa loyal to her, and she was dispatched in the most insignificant of battles.

Many years later, a rebellious girl named Cassandra on the backwater planet Hanka would chafe at having to tend the chickens and the garden rather than spending time with the boy she liked, and as she threw down her embroidery and stormed out the door, she'd scream and tell her parents that she wished they'd die.

IV.

There was a time not long after O'Neill and the rest returned to Earth when Daniel lazed in the shade of the tent with Sha're, telling stories of his childhood and his parents. She held him as he spoke, and when he fought for words, she let him blame it on the language gap between them. Later, they made love, and he swore that he would never put their son through the losses he'd experienced.

The next week, Sha're announced that she was with child.

Amit was born not more than seven months after that.

Daniel never re-opened the gate.

V.

On August 4, 1969, Jenny Hammond toddled towards her daddy and stumbled. He tried to grab her before she fell, but the coffee table was too close. She would need stitches for the gash on her forehead, and George called in sick to take her to the hospital.

On August 4, 1969, guards arrested four Russian spies in the test missile silo at Cheyenne Mountain. As their belongings were packaged for tranport, a note in Hammond's handwriting fell out of the woman's vest.

When George was released from prison, his baby girl was married with two girls of her own.

SG-1 Fic: Loose Leaf Gridiron

ctorres — Wed, 06 Sep 2006 02:34:45 GMT

Now that authors have been revealed at samcarterfic, I can post this here.

Title: Loose Leaf Gridiron
Author: Caitrin Torres (ctorres)
Fandom: Stargate SG-1
Rating: G
Summary: Sam, Cam, and a practical use for physics.
A/N: For inyron for the samcarterfic ficathon. Her request was for season 9 or later team friendship with happy Sam.

"Colonel, I think I have it!"

All of SG-1 jumped at Dr. Lee's sudden entrance into the crowded mess. Sam put down her fork and twisted around in her chair. "You fixed the power schematics?"

He nodded enthusiastically. "Better than that. If we reverse the inputs and throttle the reactor output by four percent, we should be able to get at least an hour from it each time.

"Really? That's incredible! I thought we might be able to get another twenty minutes from it, but that was all."

"Me too, absolutely, but the simulation ran for seventy minutes."

"That's great, Bill," Sam said, excited. "I'll come look it over as soon as I'm done eating."

As Dr. Lee headed for the food line with a jaunty step, the rest of SG-1 looked at Sam curiously. "Sam?" Daniel asked.

"It's that laser SG-22 brought back a few weeks ago," she said happily. "If we can get it to work consistently, something like it would be extremely useful for the X-302 program. It cuts through the trinium alloys we use much more efficiently than anything we currently use. We just haven't been able to keep it running for more than ten or fifteen minutes at a stretch without a long cooling down period. An hour or more would be wonderful."

"He reminds me of my sixth grade science teacher," Cam said contemplatively.

It took her a moment to change gears. "Who, Dr. Lee?"

"Yeah. It's not his personality - I hated that teacher - but they look a lot alike."

"Really?"

"No question about it," Cam said, clearly warming to the topic. "Short, balding, glasses, the works. The guy was absolutely awful. He was boring as anything and strict as hell. All we ever did was copy down notes verbatim as he wrote them up on the board. The only good part of that class was that he was blind as a bat and couldn't see the back few rows of the room."

"Which is where you sat, I assume," Daniel said.

"Hey, I paid attention whenever he talked about physics, and that got me into flight school. Meanwhile, I learned to play a mean game of paper football. It was a very educational year."

Teal'c interrupted. "I am unfamiliar with the game of paper football."

All heads swiveled towards Teal'c. Finally, Daniel said what Sam herself had been thinking. "I can't believe Jack had eight years and never taught you."

"It's a game that's vaguely based on regular football, Teal'c," Sam explained. "Two people take turns hitting a folded up piece of paper around on a table. The goal is to make it land in such a way that it hangs partially over opposite edge of the table."

Teal'c still looked skeptical. Cam reached across the table and grabbed Daniel's notebook, then flipped through it until he found a blank page to rip out.

"Hey!"

"Sorry, Jackson, but it's for a good cause," he said as he handed back the notebook. With a sharp fold lengthwise and a few more to compact the paper into shape, he had a serviceable paper triangle which he slowly twirled through his fingers before holding it up for inspection. "Here. This is a paper football. You flick it like this."

Cam sent it towards Sam with a snap of his thumb and index finger. She grabbed it mid-air as it flew by her and then set it down to send it skittering back. "If you want to win, though, you flick it like this. If you launch it, there's no telling where it might land."

"I see."

"I'd think that someone with your degrees would be able to calculate a simple trajectory," Cam said with a dangerous glint in his eye.

"The trajectory is easy," Sam replied primly. "It's the human error rate that's problematic."

"Care to put your money where your mouth is?"

"What?"

"Ten bucks says that your so-called 'human error rate' would be worse than mine."

She pointed to her nearly clean plate. "I promised Bill I'd get back to the lab."

"Oh, I know, but tell me, Sam," he taunted her, "are those calculations so important that they can't wait for a few minutes, or are you just afraid to lose?"

It was a tactic worthy of an eight year old, but she'd never been able to resist a challenge thrown down so blatantly. "Fine," she said firmly. "We play to forty. Touchdowns are six, extra points one, field goals three, and we play with downs."

"Downs and extra points? I figured you for a purist."

She grinned wickedly. "You don't think you can control your ball? I expected more of you, Cam."

He blinked. "I'm fine. I'm just not so sure that you'd be able to."

Sam heard Daniel try to smother a laugh next to her and elbowed him in the ribs as she pushed her chair back from the table. The table next to them was rectangular and just long enough to make the game interesting. She cleared the clutter from its top and kicked one of the chairs to the side. "Let's do this."

Cam moved to the other side of the table and rolled up his sleeves. He balanced the ball on the heel of his palm, hit his fingers on the lip of the table to send the ball into play, and the game was on.

Their first few hits were tentative in order to learn the weight and balance of the ball. Then, on his first real try at scoring, Cam sent the ball sliding off the edge. Sam very nearly scored with her attempt to return with a field goal. Sam saw his smirk, and laughed. "Now it's serious, buster."

The score was tied at twelve when Sam's next hit left the ball resting precisely at the edge of the table. Cam squatted down to look at it. "It's in."

"Hey!" He froze with his finger set to flick it back to her. "It's over!" she protested. "Daniel?"

"Oh, no, no, no. You're not bringing me into this," Daniel said. He held up his hands and backed away from them.

"Teal'c?"

"I do not believe that I should involve myself in this contest."

"Thanks, guys," Sam said sarcastically.

Cam looked around the room. He spotted a new control room tech at a table by the wall and caught his attention. "Airman!"

"Sir?"

"Come here for a minute."

"Russo, right?" he said once the tech joined them.

"Yes, sir."

"Have you ever played paper football, Russo?"

"Yes, sir."

"You remember the rules?"

"Yes, sir," Russo said warily.

"Tell me, Russo, would you say that this ball is in scoring position?"

He looked from the table back to the two of them, and Sam tried not to laugh at the panic that was barely hidden on his face. "Sir, I'm not sure that I'm- I mean, maybe it would be better if- whose shot was it, sir?"

Sam decided to put him out of his misery before Cam had a chance to wind him up any further. "Russo, it doesn't matter whose shot it was. It's either in or it's out, and you're going to make one of us happy no matter which it is."

He nodded hesitantly. "Yes, ma'am." He didn't move until she gave him an expectant look. "Sorry, ma'am." He cast about until he saw Daniel's notebook. "When I was in school, we tested with a book. May I?"

Daniel rolled his eyes and handed it over.

Russo knelt down at the edge of the table and carefully set the notebook against the side of the lip. It just nudged the corner of the ball and pushed it backwards. "It was hanging over, ma'am. It was a touchdown."

"Ha! I knew it. Thank you, Airman. We appreciate the help." She smirked as she turned back to Cam. "I believe that it's time for my extra point. Goalposts, please."

Cam grumbled as he knelt down to get his hands into position. "It was a lucky shot, Samantha, and I will get you back."

And he did. By the time the score was tied at thirty-six, they'd accumulated quite an audience. Russo weighed in on another call with confidence, and in the part of her mind that wasn't tied up in the game, Sam was proud of him. If he managed to step up to other weirdness without flinching, he'd be an asset to the program. The part of her that was keeping score, however, was decidedly less charitable. Her shot had teetered on the edge until one of the onlookers accidentally jostled the table, and he'd ruled in Cam's favor.

As Sam lined up and tapped the ball towards Cam's edge of the table once again, the audience around her stiffened and turned towards the door. Her shot went astray when she looked up to see what had caught their attention, and she quickly came to attention herself when she saw General Landry.

"Would someone care to tell me what's going on?" he asked.

No one spoke, and Teal'c came to their rescue. "I expressed an interest into the game of paper football. Colonel Carter and Colonel Mitchell are providing a demonstration."

"Of course they are. Colonel Carter, I see that you've just missed. Would you care to tell me the score?"

She blinked in surprise. "We're tied with four points to go, sir."

When neither of them moved, Landry motioned towards the table. "Well? Get on with it."

"Yes, sir," Cam replied. The end was anticlimatic. Someone handed him the ball and pointed to the place where Sam's shot had gone out of bounds. He carefully placed it and took aim. The shot fell short, and after a very few more volleys, Sam's return shot scored a perfect touchdown.

"Good game, both of you, I'm sure," Landry said laconically. "Colonel Mitchell."

"Sir?"

"The resource usage statistics from last month came in this morning. I'd like you to go over them and give me your thoughts tomorrow afternoon. Gate usage was down this month but electricity usage has gone up. I want to know why."

"Yes, sir."

"Oh, and Colonel," he said as he turned to walk away, "You can find the reports on end of Colonel Carter's desk. I dropped them off myself on my way here, but it seems that I had the wrong office."

Cam winced as he answered. "Yes, sir."

Sam grinned as she picked up her tray and carried it towards the exit. Victory was sweet.

SGA Fic: Lament

ctorres — Tue, 22 Aug 2006 10:20:04 GMT

Title: Lament
Author: Caitrin Torres (ctorres)
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Pairing: Teyla/Cadman
Rating: PG
Summary: Atlantis cries at night, or so it is said.
A/N: For fish_like_bikes. My prompt was "Seasonal fic (a story that is based on a holiday or specific time of year)".
A/N too: Constructive criticism is always welcome, particularly on this.

Atlantis cried at night, or so it was said. Some said she mourned for those she'd lost; others, the damage they'd all wrought since their arrival in Pegasus. Some said that it wasn't Atlantis who cried at all, but rather those who had died, humans and Wraith alike, screaming to be heard. When he was asked, Rodney said that it was nothing but the wind blowing through the spires, and that one would think the Ancients could have designed better soundproofing, and that he had more important things to do than to sit and listen to such idiocy. He mocked the military for being afraid of ghosts and lambasted the scientists for believing in them at all, but he was quiet when Radek suggested that perhaps Atlantis mourned for all she'd seen.

Whatever her reasons, Atlantis cried at night, and soon it was such a part of life that no one bothered to mention it. On the windiest of nights, though, many wondered, and some mourned with her.

There was a time not long after the harvest festivals when Teyla often took to the halls late at night, too tired to relax and too afraid of what she might dream. The last of the festivals celebrated those who had died, and there were none more powerfully on her mind than her mother. It had been twenty years since her passing.

When her thoughts were not very difficult to ponder, Teyla looked out over the ocean and searched for Athos in the stars. She spent many nights in the practice room instead and tried to fight her demons into exhaustion. There were nights when the pain was very deep and her dreams especially treacherous, and it was on those nights that she wandered the city, nodding to the scientists in their labs and the guards by the gate. She kept watch over that which she had adopted as her own.

It was on a night very much like that when the wind was especially fierce that she heard a strange sound. She followed it to a corridor where Radek sat tinkering inside an open panel. When she asked if he had heard it as well, he pulled his earpiece from his ear and apologized for not noticing her immediately. When it was very late, he said, he asked the computer to play music to keep him awake. He had not heard her approach.

She listened as she continued her walk, and soon she heard it again. It was an otherworldly moan that floated in and out of nothingness on gusts of wind. She ignored the fleeting impulse to go back for a weapon as she followed it. The sound led her around corners and through the halls until she found herself on a dark pier not far from where the Daedalus waited. The moan grew louder and louder as she came close until it was nearly a scream, and then it abruptly fell silent. In the quiet, she heard muffled noises that could only come with tears.

"Who is there?" she called out, and the noises ended in a sharp, startled gasp. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she saw a half-hidden figure in the shadows.

"Hello?" she said warily, unsure of who was there. The figure emerged from the shadows, and Teyla realized that it was Laura Cadman.

"You're pretty far from your quarters for this time of night," Laura said roughly.

"As are you." Teyla saw how tightly Laura held her arms across her body and remembered what she'd heard. "Are you well?"

"I'm fine." Laura muttered. "It's late. We should go."

She started to move past her, but she stopped as Teyla caught her eyes. Teyla wondered if perhaps she saw some understanding. After an immeasurable moment, Laura broke away. "I found this place a few months ago," she said ruefully. "I didn't know that anyone else ever visited."

"I have never been on this pier before," Teyla said. "I followed the sounds to find it."

"What sounds?"

"The-" Teyla shook her head to dismiss her growing suspicions. "It is not important."

Laura studied her until she saw whatever she needed to see in Teyla, then slid down the wall to where she had been sitting. Teyla joined her. "See up there where the stars sort of make a circle?" Laura asked. Her voice was quiet. Teyla followed her pointed finger high up into the sky. There was a cluster of stars that did form somewhat of a circle, if one used a little imagination. "If you look through the middle of it and pretend there's something there, that's where the Milky Way would be. I asked one of the astronomers once about it, and all he could say was that it was kind of the Ancients to park the city somewhere where the right stars are easy to find."

Teyla's answer was cut off by a sudden blast of wind. She shifted to get away from the draft, and she was surprised when Laura moved closer as well.

"When I was in training," Laura continued, "the instructors drilled it into us that a good Marine is tough, squared away, and ready to take on anything and succeed. I don't think that homesickness figures anywhere in that equation."

Teyla considered the stars before she spoke. "If you look below your circle and to the left, there is a line of four stars with a triangle above." She felt Laura nod against her shoulder when she found it. "On many worlds, the arrangement of stars is called the Axe. Athos is the second star from the bottom." Her voice faltered as she searched for what to say. "I would say that homesickness is something to be confronted. Perhaps the best way to conquer it is to accept it rather than pushing it away."

They sat like that for some time, looking out over the ocean and basking in the light of the stars. They remembered the dead as well as those who were merely lost. Eventually, the howling wind was too much to bear. They stood to go back home, and Laura stopped her with light touch on her arm before she kissed her softly. "Thank you," she whispered, and Teyla had no better answer than to kiss her again.

They say Atlantis cries at night, and if she does, she surely has her reasons. The sounds Teyla heard that night were not caused by the wind. That much is truth, and it is true that when they slept that night, it was in a quiet room, curled beside each other beneath warm covers. If Atlantis mourned that night, she mourned not for them.

CSI: NY Fic: Definitely Something

ctorres — Wed, 05 Jul 2006 07:34:02 GMT

Wanna read some good CSI Vegas/Miami/New York fic? Go to geekfiction. A kazillion new stories were posted yesterday. Here's mine.

Title: Definitely Something
Author: Caitrin Torres (ctorres)
Fandom: CSI: New York
Pairing: Mac/Lindsay
Rating: G
Spoilers: "Stuck On You"
Summary: A body, a pier, the ocean, and something important.
A/N: For the geekfiction Summer Sizzler ficathon. My prompt was ocean. Many thanks to the beta who shall not be named.

For the third time in ten minutes, Danny glanced at the clock and went back to bouncing his pencil against the surface of the lab table as he sifted through the piles of paper spread out in front of him. After the fourth time, Lindsay reached over and snatched the pencil away. "What is wrong with you tonight?" she asked in irritation. "You're usually not this fidgety. Are you missing something? A hot date, maybe?"

"Actually, yeah, I am." Lindsay blinked in surprise, and Danny chuckled as he took his pencil back from her. "I didn't know you thought so little of me, Montana. You don't think I could find a hot date?"

The annoyed look she gave him didn't have much power behind it. "I know better than to answer that."

He grinned. "There's this guy I've known since high school, and he's getting married this weekend. Me and a few other guys were going to take him out tonight for a little fun. Don't worry about it, though. Once we find our match here, I should be able to catch up to them before they get him too drunk."

"You should go. I can finish this up," she said.

It was his turn to blink. "You sure? There's at least an hour and a half of work here if it's just you doing it. I can stay until we're done."

"It's fine, honestly. Friends are important. Get out of here." She shooed him towards the door. As distracted as he was, she knew she'd be doing most of the work whether he stayed or left. This way, at least one of them would get to keep their plans.

"Thanks, Montana," he said, and he pulled off his lab coat and draped it over his stool. "I owe you one."

Lindsay watched him wistfully as he hurried down the hall towards the elevator then looked at the clock herself and sighed. If she was lucky, she'd be on her way home before nine, and at that point, going home would be the only real option. "I shouldn't have planned to be there this week," she told herself. "Two weeks in a row would be too often. Every month is too often. Tonight, it's home, a bath, and a good book. It'll be fun." She picked up another stack of papers and started sorting it. By the time she found the records they were looking for, she might even have had enough time to convince herself.

---

The next morning, Lindsay squinted against the glare of sun on water as she turned into a gravel parking lot. She'd never heard of Pelham Bay until Stella cornered her with the assignment as she walked in that morning. Lindsay already knew that she'd be coming back when she had some free time, despite the brutal drive she'd just had across the Bronx. The peacefulness of the sprawling park was refreshing in its contrast with the chaos of the city.

She pulled up next to the only other two cars in the lot and quickly finished the last dregs of her coffee before killing the engine. She saw Flack standing under a tree and talking to a man who held his dog's leash in one hand while he gestured strongly with the other. When Flack caught her eye, he pointed down to the shore and narrowly missed having his hand slapped away as the man shook his fist to emphasize whatever point he was trying to make.

Lindsay steered clear of them to avoid being drawn into the conversation and carefully picked her way across the rocky beach. Mac was crouched by the water's edge with his camera, snapping photos of the rotted remains of what was once the end of a pier. "Morning, Mac," she called out as she reached him.

He glanced over his shoulder and then stood when he saw her. "You made good time," he said. "I wasn't expecting anyone for another twenty minutes."

Lindsay set her case down next to his out of reach of the slowly advancing tide. "I got lucky with the traffic on the bridge. What are are we doing all the way out here?"

Mac stepped aside to let her see what he had been photographing. Bobbing gently in the shallow water was an old, weathered rowboat with a dead man in a business suit face down in the bottom. "We had a few cases like this last spring and never caught whoever was responsible," he explained. "The others were in the East River, but there are enough similarities here that it could be the same guy."

She took his flashlight from him and ran it over the body and the boat. "What do we know so far?" she asked.

"DB is male, caucasian, probably in his thirties. We'll have to wait until we can look for a wallet to learn anything else on that front. There's no obvious cause of death from this angle and no blood that I can see in the boat. There weren't any vehicle tracks, but that isn't surprising on rocks like these. The footprints along the waterline there belong to our treasure hunter up there and his dog."

Lindsay turned off the flashlight and stood up again. "Treasure hunter?"

Mac jerked his head in the direction of the parking lot. "The man with the dog. He says he walks along the shore here every few weeks to look for anything that's washed up out of the Sound. There are a fair amount of people in this area who do that for exercise. There's always trash, but sometimes they find coins or something more interesting."

She finished the thought. "And sometimes, it's a dead body. Do you believe him?"

He shrugged. "For now. He was shaken enough to be telling the truth."

There was a bit of fabric snagged at the top of one of the support pilings. Lindsay reached out to grab it with a glove and handed it to Mac, then jogged back up to the truck to get her waders. They worked quietly as they searched the pier for other bits of trace evidence.

As she finished with the half of the pier she'd claimed, Lindsay looked at the bow of the rowboat and was startled when she realized just how much the tide had risen. "Mac? When do you want to untangle the boat?" she asked. "If the tide brings it up much more than another foot, it's going to hit the underside of the pier."

Mac looked at where she was pointing and winced. "Flack called Auto Detail and the ME's office before you arrived. I wanted to wait for the trailer, but you're right. We have to do this now." He turned to yell up to the parking lot. "Don!" Flack looked up from his notebook. "Where's my trailer?"

Flack put the notebook back in his jacket pocket and walked down to where they were waiting. "They're stuck in traffic. It'll probably be another fifteen or twenty minutes. I don't know where the ME is either, but is there anything I can do to help while we're waiting?"

Mac took another look at their problem before he answered. "Go back to the truck and see if there's anything stronger than crime scene tape that would let us tie up the boat. I'd rather not ground it until we have something to put it on. If Auto Detail ever shows up, they should have a tarp with them."

Lindsay poked her head under the pier to take a closer look at the rope anchoring the boat. It had been wrapped around one of the struts between the pilings and loosely knotted off. "I can reach the knot and untie the rope, but we're not going to be able to slide the boat out sideways. The pilings are too close together.

Mac took several steps away from shore. The top of his waders quickly reached the level of the water, and he stopped several yards short of the first broken piling. "We're not going to be able to pull it out the end, either, unless you feel like going swimming."

"I don't think so," Lindsay said tightly, and Mac smirked. "We might be able to get it out with a three point turn," she said. "We'd have to bring it back and out as far as it'll go in your direction, then turn it so I can pull it out this way."

Mac nodded. "Good plan." Lindsay smiled at the praise as she ducked back under the pier and reached for the knot.

"You should switch sides first," Flack called out as he jogged back to them. He crouched down at the edge of the water near Lindsay. "I found rope in the truck. Lindsay, if you attach it to the bow of the boat before you untie whatever's holding it now, whoever has the boat when it comes out should be able to toss it up to me, and we'll be good to go. And no offense, Monroe, but Mac's got a better chance than you of controlling the boat while it's floating free."

"None taken, believe me." It was already a bit of a challenge to keep her balance in the waist-deep water. Trying to stay on her feet while backing up would have been worse.

The plan worked, for the most part. It took more wiggling than any of them had anticipated to make the turn and push the boat out of its cage. When it was finally free, Mac threw the rope up to Flack, who wrapped it securely around one of the pilings while they waded out of the water. "I figured you'd need towels," Flack said as he handed them each a set of coveralls. "That's the closest you carry."

"Thank you, Don," Lindsay said. She wiped the water from her face and arms as she sat down on the beach to catch her breath.

Predictably, that was when Auto Detail arrived with their trailer. The ME's van was close behind them. Lindsay pulled herself to her feet and moved to stand with Mac off to the side. They watched the workers as they dragged the boat out of the water and lifted it onto the tarp. There was nothing more for them to do at the scene but wait until the dieners removed the body and the boat was loaded up to go back to the lab.

Lindsay took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. When she did it again, Mac shot her a questioning look. "I had to smell the air," she explained. "I've been in New York for almost ten months and I haven't seen the ocean until now. Other than the dead body and all the commotion, this is nice."

"You still haven't seen the ocean," he said with a certain amount of amusement in his voice. "This is Long Island Sound. It's an estuary. The rivers flow in, the ocean flows in, and the waters mix together. If you want to see the ocean on its own, you'll have to go up the Connecticut coast or out to Staten Island."

She waved the idea away and sighed happily as she looked out on the water. "It smells like fish and salt. It counts."

Mac laughed, but he didn't say anything more. Lindsay let her mind drift on the summer breeze until he startled her back to the present when he pulled a slip of paper from his shirt pocket and handed it to her.

"Mark asked about you last night."

"Mark?" The name was familiar, but it took her a moment to place it. She blushed when she did. "Your drummer, Mark?" Once a month was definitely too often to see his jazz combo play if people noticed when she wasn't there.

Mac nodded. "He was concerned when he didn't see you last night. I didn't realize you knew each other that well."

"We don't, really," she said, slightly confused. "He bought me a drink after your first set a few weeks ago, but we've hardly talked at all before or since. What did you tell him?"

"That you were fine when I last saw you and that I'd pass along his phone number in case you wanted it."

His words were studiously casual in a way that made the conversation even more awkward. Lindsay crumpled the slip of paper into a ball and stuck it in her pocket to keep until she found somewhere to throw it out. "I'm sorry he put you in the middle of this," she said. "I appreciate that you didn't just give him my number. I'm sure he's a nice guy, but I'm happy not being tied down. This is enough for now." The sweep of her hand as she explained took in everything around her: water, crime scene, and both of them included.

Mac gave her a skeptical look. "Rumor around the lab has it that you and Danny have been closer lately. There's no fraternization policy in effect, Lindsay, but if it's true, you need to do a better job of keeping it out of work."

Lindsay stood there, eyes wide in astonishment. When she finally found her tongue, her voice was full of restrained fury. "Detective Taylor, if you're telling me that as my superior, I'd like to remind you that with no fraternization policy in effect, any relationship Danny and I might have would be none of your business. Our behavior has been nothing but professional."

"I see."

The hint of disappointment in his voice spurred her to relax and keep talking before she stopped to think. "If you're asking as a colleague or a friend, though, I meant what I said. I'm not dating anyone right now because I like where I am in life. Besides, Danny told me he had a hot date last night." A little white lie couldn't hurt, and this one was even true.

He didn't answer, but Lindsay hid a smile as the tension slowly melted out of his stance. Something important had just happened; she knew that much. There would be time later to think about what it might be.

When the dieners were finished, Auto Detail moved in to carry the boat, ground tarp and all, into the back of a trailer. She and Mac would process it back at the lab once it dried out. They spent several minutes scouring the area for any evidence that might have been missed or dropped, and then it was time to go. She picked up her case with her right hand, he with his left, and she resisted the sudden urge to reach for him as they walked up the beach. It was sunny, but it wasn't the sun or the sea air doing this. It was definitely something.

CSI Fic: Fly Home

ctorres — Tue, 04 Jul 2006 08:11:17 GMT

This little short thing was for the femslash advent calendar thingie that ariestess runs twice a year, the full abbreviation for which I cannot remember. The rest of the stories are posted at dogged_by_muses. Check them out if you have a chance. The ones I've had time to read have all been good.

Title: Fly Home
Author: Caitrin Torres (ctorres)
Fandom: CSI
Pairing: Sara/Sofia
Rating: G (isn't it always when it's me?)

"Ladies and gentlemen, the captain has turned on the fasten seatbelt sign. At this time, we ask that you please turn off all electronic devices and check that your seat is fully upright and your tray table stowed. A flight attendant will be...."

As the garish lights of the strip glowed on the horizon, Sara felt the tension of the past eight days begin to melt away. She saved her report and closed the lid on her laptop, and she laughed a little when she saw the man next to her abruptly look away. "Interesting reading?" she asked him. He looked from the forgotten book in his hand back to her, and before he could do more than try to stammer out an answer, Sara pressed on. "Really, I'm curious," she said. "Community education is important, and murders are never boring. If there's anything you couldn't figure out by reading over my shoulder, just ask."

She smirked when the man gave her a dirty look and made a show of putting his book away. A flight attendant stopped to collect their pretzel bags and prevented her from saying anything else. Which was probably just as well, she had to admit. Mouthing off to taxpayers, no matter how deserving, was frowned upon, and she was tired enough to not much care.

The landing was smooth; she'd give the pilot that much credit. She recognized the crew from the flight to Seattle. A steady rain there had made the runways slick enough to be interesting, and it felt like the rain hadn't let up at all in the eight days she was there. She never would have guessed that one day she'd find herself missing the desert.

"Hey!"

Sara winced. "Sorry." A case full of evidence wasn't the easiest thing to maneuver down the aisle of a plane. She hitched her laptop higher on her shoulder, took a firmer grip on the case handle, and looked ahead to the door of the plane where there'd be room to set it down on its wheels. "The next time Ecklie wants evidence hand-carried back to the lab, the bastard can go get it himself," she muttered, and she winced again at the look she got from the woman in front of her. "Sorry."

Some things are inescapable in Las Vegas, Sara knew. When she pulled out her cell phone to check her voice mail on the walk down to the baggage claim, she automatically turned the volume up a few notches. Slot machines were noisy things even without the cacophony of an airport behind them.

"Sara, when you land, I need you to...." Grissom. He could wait.

"Ms. Sidle, this call is to remind you that...." Dentist. Damn.

"Sara, also, could you...." Grissom again.

"Sara, hey." Sara smiled as she recognized the voice. "Call me when you get this to let me know you made it home. I miss you." The smile turned into what she was sure must be a silly grin. Even after three months, she wasn't entirely used to having someone feel that way about her.

She glanced at her watch and sighed. It was much too close to the beginning of the shift to think about meeting her for dinner. If she was lucky, she'd be able to stop by after she logged in the evidence. "If there's no case, she might be in," she said to herself.

As she stood waiting for her luggage to trundle by on the carousel, Sara debated the merits of contacting dispatch to have a squad car come pick her up. The evidence she carried would make it a legitimate request. On the other hand, the car would have to come get her and there was a line of cabs already waiting just outside....

"Finally!" She reached around someone to yank her suitcase off the conveyor belt. As she turned to leave, she plowed into the person coming up behind her. "Sofia?"

Sofia took the evidence case and set it down next to the suitcase at Sara's feet, then pulled her into a much-needed hug. After a long moment, Sara reluctantly pulled away. "I'm not complaining, but what are you doing here?," she asked. "I thought you were on tonight."

"I am," Sofia said. Sara raised an eyebrow at that and waited for her to explain. "After the time you had this week, the least the department can do is send an escort to make sure this," and she hefted the evidence case, "makes it back to the evidence vault in one piece."

"That's your reason?" she said, clearly amused. "In that case, I applaud Homicide for their show of interdepartmental cooperation. It's very kind of you to help out now that the hard work is over."

"Let me try this again." Sofia gave Sara a quick kiss and then nudged her towards the exit. "I'm technically on tonight, but after we drop this off, I'm taking the rest of the night as comp time. I'm here because I didn't want to wait until tomorrow morning to see you. How's that?"

"It'll do." Sara took her free hand in hers and didn't let go until they reached the car. It was good to be home.

Sara ficlet #3 (prompt 17, lack of god)

ctorres — Sun, 25 Jun 2006 18:44:05 GMT

Ficlet the third for philosophy_20. This one is for ariestess, who requested the prompt.

"Grissom! How can you not care about any of this?"

"It doesn't matter what I care about. The case is over, Sara. There's nothing more we do. You need to move on."

She could have screamed in frustration. "I can't believe you're saying that. You have to care. You have to-"

"Sara, can you come look at something for a minute?" She hadn't realized that Nick was there until he spoke. He didn't wait for an answer before he took a firm hold on her shoulder and ushered her out of the room. When she tried to get away from him, he switched his hand to her back and kept moving. "Walk."

She let him push her along, but as soon as the locker room door swung shut behind them, she wrenched away. "What do you think you're doing?"

Nick ignored her question. "Have you lost your mind?" he hissed. "Or can't you remember what happened the last time you got into a shouting match around here?"

"It's none of your business what I do."

He gave her a reproving look. "I'd like to think that after six years we might be some sort of friends, but if that doesn't work for you, it's still my business. We still have a hell of a lot of evidence to process from that robbery yesterday, and I'll have twice as much work to do if you get yourself suspended again. How's that?"

She gave him a tight smile that wasn't quite an apology, and then she ran a hand through her hair and began to pace. "Why do we even bother? A fifteen year old girl is raped, and instead of trying to hide it, she gets mad. She's fifteen, and she's angry enough and strong enough to do everything we could ever ask of a victim. Her brother is angry too, but he takes matters into his own hands and goes after the first suspect even though we had the wrong guy. Now we have two kids dead, another in the hospital, we still don't know who did this to her, and she can't even begin to deal with what happened because the rest of her life is falling down around her. Look where the truth got her. You can't tell me she's better off now than she was before we got involved."

It was a long time before he answered. "She spoke out and someone listened. Someday, it might help."

There was something not quite right in the way he said that, but she was too tired to go after it. He abruptly grabbed his jacket from his locker. "Get your things."

"What?"

"I haven't had lunch, and you still need to calm down."

She should've argued. Would've, usually, but she was hungry and she wasn't ready to go back to work. She wasn't sure that anyone would believe it of her, but there were days when she truly hated her job.

SGA Fic: That Which Holds Promise

ctorres — Tue, 13 Jun 2006 09:22:15 GMT

Title: That Which Holds Promise
Author: Caitrin Torres (ctorres)
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Pairing: Teyla Emmagan/Laura Cadman
Rating: PG
Summary: Each day brings new possibilities.
Disclaimer: Not mine, sadly enough. (Except for Nevi and Metai. They're mine.)
A/N: Written for severusslave for the femslash_today Sweet Dreams and Flying Machines ficathon. She requested training, everyday life, and Athosian dishes.

Teyla hummed happily as she wandered through the village. The lullaby, a favorite of hers from childhood, was fitting for the day. A new baby was always a welcome blessing, but for Amala to have given birth to such a beautiful daughter after twice losing her baby from her womb was especially wonderful. She checked her watch and glanced at the sun, then touched her earpiece. "Major Lorne, do you still plan to return to Atlantis on schedule?"

"Hold on a second," he said. She heard the click of another channel being opened. "Parrish, how much longer are you going to be?"

After a moment, Parrish responded. "I can leave now if we absolutely have to, but I'd rather to stay until I've finished these observations. I could have been done hours ago if the geologists had been a little more careful with my cameras when they were here last week."

Lorne let out a long-suffering sigh. "We know. You've mentioned that more than once today. How much longer?"

"Three hours? Maybe four?"

"Four hours work for you, Teyla?" Lorne asked.

Four hours would keep them in the village until after the evening meal. "That will be fine, Major."

--
After she secured dinner invitations for them all, Teyla's walk took her out into the fields. The chatter of a group of children carried on the breeze, and she found them clustered around a narrow ditch at the edge of the trees. When she saw Jinto kneeling at the edge with an arm extended, Teyla ran towards them, concerned that one of the young ones might be stuck. The flash of red hair she spotted as she approached did much to explain what had actually happened.

A young girl stood slightly apart from the group with a very guilty expression on her face. "Nevi," Teyla asked her, "can you tell me why Lieutenant Cadman is in the ditch?"

The girl clearly wasn't sure what to say until Laura came to her rescue. "Dr. Parrish decided he'd rather do his own heavy lifting. These guys roped me into a game of touch football."

A boy interrupted her. "Colonel Sheppard has been teaching us!"

"Of that, I have no doubt," Teyla said. The most recent set of requisitions from Earth had included several of the balls as well as a pump to keep them properly inflated. He had been extremely pleased when they arrived. Stoked, Elizabeth had said.

Laura, who had finally managed to find her footing, tossed the ball at one of the boys as she continued. "Right, so Wex threw a long one. I moved to intercept, but I wasn't looking where I was going and Nevi did a great job of blocking me. I went down hard and missed the pass, and then I fell in while I was trying to fish the ball out. The Colonel's going to be very proud of her when he hears."

Teyla raised an eyebrow at all that she was surely leaving out of the explanation. As she knelt at the edge of the ditch next to Jinto to offer Laura help in crawling out, Nevi ran up behind her. "Right, Teyla, like that!" she crowed. "And then I tripped like this!"

Teyla went skidding forward. The other children backed away in shock as Teyla and Laura tried to untangle themselves in the ditch without losing their balance or falling further into the mud. Nevi's eyes widened in horror when she realized what she'd done.

Teyla took a deep breath to calm herself. "Nevi," she said evenly, "you will run and ask your aunt if Lieutenant Cadman and I may each borrow a set of clothing. If she has nothing suitable, you will ask Metai's mother. Bring them to us by the river, please." She gave Jinto and the other boys a piercing look. "The rest of you will be wise if you choose not to follow us."

The children scattered, leaving Nevi behind. "I'm sorry, Teyla," she said, eyes to the ground.

Teyla smiled to reassure her. "I know."

She shyly looked up at Laura. "Don't worry about it, kiddo," Laura said. "You didn't mean to push me in."

Nevi blushed and ran off.

When she was gone, they extracted themselves from the ditch. It was a much simpler progress with both of them already muddy. Laura boosted Teyla up, and then Teyla braced herself on the ground and pulled Laura out. In the end, they looked no different than they had when they started. Laura collected her vest from where she'd tossed it before the game, but before they could start toward the water, she stopped Teyla with a puzzled look. "Teyla, I'm supposed to be here next week to help blast some water channels, but I thought we were going to be supplementing what you already had."

Teyla correctly guessed at what she hadn't wanted to ask. "If you would like to demonstrate to the entire village that we were overcome by a child of eight years, the bathing facilities there are somewhat closer."

Laura grinned ruefully. "You have a point there. Lead on."

--
The river was shallow and wide, and the lazy currents made it perfect for swimming. They sat on the bank and cleaned the mud from their boots while they waited for Nevi to return. More than once, Teyla noticed Laura studying her with little looks and sideways glances. She felt her cheeks warm with the knowledge and and did not bother to stop herself from studying Laura in turn. That, far more than the idea of Laura's attentions, made her nervous.

"I believe you have an admirer in Nevi," she said to break the silence.

Laura shrugged easily. "Kids like me. At home, I'm the cool aunt."

"Do you have many nieces or nephews?" Teyla asked curiously.

"Tons. I'm the youngest of four, and all three of my brothers are married now. When we're all together, there are seven little kids under the age of ten. It's probably more by now," she said, suddenly wistful. "My sister-in-law was due last week. They're all great kids."

"You must miss them very much."

Teyla could hear the forced lightness in Laura's voice when she answered. "I knew what I was getting into when I signed on for this tour. I'll see them again soon enough. But yeah... they're the closest I'll probably get to kids of my own, so they're pretty special."

"You do not wish to have children?"

"Hah. No. I'm not opposed to the idea, but I'm not exactly the type to find a guy and settle down."

There were many ways to interpret that, and before Teyla could decide how best to respond, Nevi came running up with Metai in tow. "We ran as fast as we could," Nevi said, breathing heavily. "Auntie says that I should apologize to you again, but I told her that I did already and that I didn't mean-"

Teyla held up a hand, and she trailed off. "You are correct, and it is forgiven. You have no need to worry."

Nevi sighed in dramatic relief, and Metai piped up beside her. "Mother says she's happy you asked to borrow her clothes. She says that it will be good to see you both in something other than your uniforms and that she would have liked to send skirts. She thinks it would look bad if your boots were showing because they're awful, so she sent pants instead. I like your boots, though. They rock."

"The mouths of babes..." Laura muttered.

Teyla had to fight to suppress her own smile. "Please tell your mother thank you, Metai, and that we appreciate her efforts."

The girls ran off. Teyla shook her head in bemusement. "Her mother is overly concerned with appearances," she said by way of explanation. "And I believe that Colonel Sheppard may have spent too much time with the children. I am certain she does not know what that phrase means."

Laura moved several yards downstream to give them each some privacy as they stripped down and waded in to wash away the quickly drying mud. Teyla watched her covertly as she scrubbed at her hair. Her coloring was very much like Sora's with her beautiful hair and pale skin and freckles across her shoulders, Teyla realized suddenly. The thought was startling. She had not allowed herself to think of Sora in many months, and the pain she had felt in the past was nearly gone.

A quickly stifled scream floated upstream. Teyla immediately pulled herself out her thoughts as she focused her full attention on Laura. "Lieutenant Cadman?"

"Never mind! It was just a fish," she called back to her. "I guess I'm more used to swimming pools."

It was then that Teyla decided she liked her laugh. Laura was sometimes brash and bold. She could be playful, insightful, and open. She was attractive; Teyla could easily admit that. Her differences were most intriguing. Tempting, in truth. Alluring.

The water was chilly, and they hurried to finish and get out of the water. When she was dressed, Laura turned to Teyla with a amused look on her face.

"There's a funny thing about having three older brothers... I learned young that if I wanted to keep a leg up on them, I had to know when they were coming. I'm very, very good at knowing when someone is watching me." She pulled Teyla in with a hand on her shoulder and and captured her mouth in a soft, teasing kiss. "Think about that. Meanwhile, you can call me Laura."

Teyla was not used to being shy, but it was precisely how she felt as Laura pulled away to meet her eyes. She took Laura's hands before she could move away completely. "I would like that."

They did not drop their hands until they were nearly home.

--

They returned to the village at dusk. Major Lorne looked twice when he saw them, but he wisely did not comment on their wet hair or the bundles of muddy clothing they carried. The children quickly pulled Laura into their games again and Teyla watched her, conflicted, as she went off to join them. The firelight made her hair glow in approaching darkness, and the contrasts of pale skin and deep brown cloth, military utility and casual frivolity, were at once disturbing and enticing. A year ago, she had hoped to find allies in Atlantis. She found them, and friends as well, but never had she considered that one could become more.

Laura caught her eye and smiled brightly as Nevi pulled her around a corner. Perhaps it was time for something new.

"That Which Holds Promise": best Cadman/Emmagan story, Stargate DiversiFICation Awards 2007.

Sara ficlet #2 (prompt 2, loss)

ctorres — Sun, 21 May 2006 22:15:25 GMT

Ficlet number two for philosophy_20, and it's prompt number two, which is fitting I suppose. Spoilers for "Nesting Dolls".

She's never visited his grave. Not that summer, not that fall, and certainly not now.

Her foster mother - the first of many, the one who took her in as an emergency placement - brought her to his service. It was at a funeral home, and that was fine. They'd gone to church as a family every now and then when her mother's face wasn't bruised, but she didn't think that that meant God would take him. She hoped her mother wouldn't die. Murder was a sin, too.

After the service, she asked to leave, and they did. Later, she'd find out that her neighbors - the ones with the big brown dog that liked to chase tennis balls - organized everything. She asked for an envelope and a stamp and found the right address in the phone book. For all that she hated her father, she did love him, and people were supposed to have a funeral. She wondered if her mother would be proud of her for remembering to send a thank-you note. Later yet, when she turned 18 and took control of the funds her mother put aside for her, she'd learn that those same neighbors - the ones who felt guilty and wanted to redeem themselves - put a few things into storage for her that they thought she might like to have. She didn't bother to send a thank-you note that time. Occasionally, she wishes there'd been more left. Usually, she wonders why she still has any of it at all.

One fall, her foster mother - the second one, who introduced her to chocolate peanut butter cookies - took her and one of the boys to the cemetery. They planted flowers for his mother together, and then she watched from a distance while he planted flowers for her father. She got a hug on the way back to the car. Two weeks later she moved on to family number three and learned that some foster parents didn't like children. She's pretty sure that's when she started to hate her mother.

She was pulling apart a minivan - family of four, drug dealing father who murdered his rival - when Judy brought her the message slip. She assumed that someone in California had information on a case of hers or she on one of theirs. When the receptionist on the other end answered the phone with the name of the prison, she knew.

It was Grissom - the one who held her as she cried when no quotation could have been appropriate - who made the arrangements this time. There was a small graveside service with a minister and the few people who still cared and with him standing at her side. She buried her mother in the same cemetery in a plot far distant from her father's, and when she left, she used the other gate. For all that she hated her father for driving them apart, Sara knew that her mother loved Tamales Bay. She deserved to rest in a place untainted by him. To visit him now would show him respect that he would never deserve.

Sara ficlet #1 (prompt 12, sixth sense)

ctorres — Fri, 12 May 2006 22:05:33 GMT

First ficlet for philosophy_20, and only twelve days late. Oops. This is really more of a snippet than a full story, but it'll do.

"Look, Ms. Daniels, I don't think you killed your roommate. Someone else did. Call it a gut feeling."

The suspect gave Brass a frustrated look. "That's what I keep-"

He raised his voice enough to talk over her. "Thing is, my gut feeling doesn't matter in court. All that matters there is the evidence, and the evidence points to you. If there's something you haven't told us, now's the time."

She looked from him over to Sara's stony expression and closed her eyes in defeat. "I don't know what to tell you. Amy didn't have a boyfriend. We did have a few of her co-workers over last week, but none of them should have been in her room!" She took a deep breath and slowly let it out. "None of them should have been in her room. I don't know why that- that bastard- told you they were sleeping together," she said bitterly. "He was hitting on her, not sleeping with her. I was disgusted by him. I was not jealous."

Sara studied her, eyes narrowed, then straightened up in her seat. "You loved her very much, didn't you?" she asked gently. The woman froze, and tears began to well in her eyes. Sara silently handed her a tissue and waited for her to collect herself.

"No one was supposed to know," she whispered.

"Know what? That you loved her?" Brass asked.

"That we were anything more than roommates."

He gave her a skeptical look. "You shared a small apartment, Ms. Daniels. What did you expect people to think?"

"You don't understand," she said shakily. "We were roommates at first. Her old roommate found a new place just before I moved to Las Vegas, and a friend of a friend hooked us up. We've only been together for a few months. She's- she was so easy to love." She took a few strained breaths before she was able to continue. "She wasn't ready to come out to her parents. They're religious, and she was afraid of what they'd say. She just had a promotion at work and they're so proud of her. They should remember her like that."

"Ms. Daniels," Sara paused to choose her words carefully, "unless it becomes relevant to the investigation, we don't have any reason to make the nature of your relationship with Amy public." She glanced at Brass, who nodded in agreement. "It's your choice what you choose to tell her parents, but I'm not sure that they'll be as shocked as you think." She looked at Sara, completely bewildered as Sara explained further. "When her mother was talking to Detective Curtis, she mentioned that she was glad Amy found you. It's a strange thing to say about a roommate, don't you think?"

Sara smiled wryly at the hope in the woman's eyes. This wasn't justice, but it was a start. Brass flagged down a uniform to escort the suspect out, and when she was gone, he turned back to Sara. "How did you know?" he asked curiously. "There were photos of them together in the apartment, sure, but that's it."

Her grief. Shoes. Stride. Mannerisms. Attitude. Tomb Raider on the DVD rack. Something indescribably familiar....

Sara shrugged. "She couldn't meet my eyes last week when I asked her if her roommate was seeing anyone, but since then she's been vehement that there was no boyfriend in the picture. It was just a guess."

"Good guess." Brass studied her critically, then adopted a carefully casual tone. "It was a good guess about the mother too, especially since Sofia hasn't been at the lab in the past two days and I know I didn't tell you about that interview." Sara turned red, and he laughed as he pulled out his wallet and handed her a twenty. "I thought so. Find my partner on your way out and take her out to breakfast, would you? My treat. I promised her pancakes for catching up on our paperwork today, but something tells me she'd rather see you."