I'll keep you my dirty little secret.

FIC: Five Dances Puck and Kurt Shared, and One They Missed, Kurt/Puck, Rated PG13

cuspofqueens — Fri, 23 Dec 2011 20:06:44 GMT

Title: Five Dances Puck and Kurt Shared, and One They Missed
Author: cuspofqueens
Fandom: Glee
Pairing: Kurt/Blaine, Kurt/Puck
Rating: PG13, R if you're really conservative.
Word Count: 5, 160
Summary: What it says on the tin.
Note: Based off of a prompt on the puckurt fic meme by youaredriving. I kind of took it and ran with it. Thanks to firredheadedelf for the beta, and ubervirgin and kyrdwyn for holding my hand. ♥

***

1. Smooth - Santana feat. Rob Thomas

See, the thing is, Santana’s kind of a crafty bitch. And Puck? Well, he’s kind of got a big mouth. Between the two of them, little things happen, like Puck talking smack to Santana, and her making him back his shit up.

And when that happens, well... It’s a good thing the hobbit is such a good sport?

What happens is this:

Puck and San are walking down the hall to the auditorium for a rehearsal after school. He’s got his arm around her shoulders, more to keep her from lunging at the douches who stare at her than because he’s feeling any more affectionate towards her than normal. In fact, trying to distract her from those looks is exactly how he gets into trouble.

“So, I heard you tried to make a move on Britt and ended up spilling her drink all over her. Smooth, Lopez, real smooth.”

Santana’s face flames, but that doesn’t stop her half-hearted retort. “Bitch, you wish you were this smooth! Besides,” Santana’s smile is sly as she looks up at him from half-lidded eyes. “It got her out of her shirt, didn’t it?”

He laughs. “Bitch, you wish you were this smooth.”

She scoffs. “Yeah, because it takes some moves to get those desperate housewives to drop their panties. Please! Let me see you challenging heterosexual norms and then we’ll talk.”

“Psh, I’ll challenge whatever the hell I want, I’m El Puckerone!” They’re walking into the auditorium now, and Santana shrugs off his arm and crosses her arms as she turns to face him.

“Oh, really? You think you got balls, Mr. Smooth?”

Puck lets his grin tip up into a leer and eyes her up and down. “Oh, Santana, you of all people should know what I’ve got.”

Her nose crinkles up in disgust, even as she laughs and calls over her shoulder, eyes on his the entire time. “Hey, Porcelain!”

Behind her, Puck can see Hummel look over at them from where he’s leaning into Blaine. He rolls his eyes and touches the hobbit’s hand briefly, then saunters over.

“You bellowed?”

Puck watches as Santana smiles sweetly at him and laces her fingers over her shoulder. Kurt shifts a little and then slides his arm around her waist.

“I need a favor.”

Puck’s a little impressed by the way he arches his eyebrows and waits for her to continue.

“You remember that night we danced on the beach until three?”

Kurt smiles a little. “You mean the morning Coach caught us and had us running drills till we puked in retaliaton?”

Santana’s smile widens into a grin. Good times, apparently. “Puckerman, here, is under the impression that he’s got balls. Big enough balls, in fact, that he’s totally cool challenging heterosexual stereotypes. So I was wondering if you’d dance with him. He promises not to punch you,” she adds.

Puck huffs out a breath. Like that’s something Kurt needs to be afraid of. Puck’s all evolved and shit, he knows better than that.

Kurt raises an eyebrow and gives Puck that an evaluating look. “I don’t know if he can handle it.”

Puck bristles. “I can handle anything, and you’re no exception.” Kurt and Santana just smirk at him. “Whatever, how are we playing this?”

“Simple,” Santana says, “You and Kurt just dance before rehearsal starts. I’ll pick the music,” she glances at Kurt, “It’ll be the same stuff I taught you at Nationals. All you have to do is get through one dance with Kurt. No big, right?”

Puck glances between the two of them. “Your hobbit going to have a problem with you dancing with me?”

Kurt arches an eyebrow. “Blaine knows the difference between dancing and flirting. Then again, he also knows that he has nothing to worry about.”

Puck hides his wince by turning it into an exaggeration. “Ouch, Princess. That cuts me deep.”

Kurt just rolls his eyes and saunters off to go talk to the hobbit. Blaine looks back and forth between Puck and Kurt for a minute and then nods. Puck raises an eyebrow at the way Blaine pulls Kurt in for an extended kiss.

Puck has no idea what that churn in his stomach is, but he knows what it’s not, and Puck meant it when he said he was cool with Kurt.

He’s about to prove it, when Santana runs off to Artie and hands him her iPod, then comes back and reaches out to straighten the collar of Puck’s flannel shirt. She’s amused as all hell, but her eyes are serious when she looks at him.

“Alright, all you’ve gotta do, is follow Kurt’s lead. Remember how we used to dance in home room in eighth grade? Pretend you’re me. But whatever you do, don’t punch him for this.”

Puck rolls his eyes. “I’m not gonna punch him. Better grab your seat, or you’re gonna miss the show.”

Kurt’s waiting for him on stage, and some smartass has turned on the spotlight. Puck takes a deep breath and walks forward to meet him.

“You ever done a salsa before?”

Puck shrugs a little. “Not backwards.”

Kurt grins. “You should be grateful you’re not in heels. Ready?”

Puck nods, and steps forward to meet Kurt, fumbling for a second with where to put his hands. Then Kurt’s arm is around his waist, fingers open and pressed against the small of Puck’s back. He nods somewhere off stage and with that, the music starts up; a throbbing, pulsing beat that makes Puck grin. Kurt matches his smile as he pushes back on Puck’s right hand.

It takes a minute to loosen up enough to dance as a follow. As soon as he figures out that his job is to relax and react, he’s got this, and to hell with the audience. Right around the first guitar solo, Kurt leads him into a turn, and then another one back that has Puck’s head spinning and a laugh threatening to break out.

He’s probably stiff or whatever, he’ll definitely never be as limber as Kurt, but damn, he’s having fun, and by the time the song is coming to a close, Puck is pressed up against Kurt from his knees to his chest, and he has to lean back a little to see Kurt’s satisfied grin.

Applause breaks out from the house, and Kurt flushes and drops Puck’s hand. They both turn to the rest of the group and Kurt takes a dramatic bow, pulling Puck’s other hand down so he has to bow, too.

It’s nice. Almost everyone is on their feet, hollering and laughing, and even Santana looks impressed. Everyone gets up on stage and Puck takes a few minutes to laugh and joke around. He keeps an eye on Kurt, watches the way Blaine gives him a huge hug and then appropriates the guy’s hand and doesn’t let go. He watches the way Kurt flushes again, the way the smile tilts up the corners of his mouth and barely twitches when Santana nudges him in the ribs.

He looks down and she’s got a Tupperware container that she’s opening and holding in his direction.

“Welcome to the dark side, Puckerman. Have a cookie.”

Puck laughs as he recognizes Brittany’s special naked cookies. “You buying me dinner later?” He asks as he snags one from her.

“You know it.” She tips a leer at him. “Me and Britt, we’ll take you out, show you a real good time.”

Puck just laughs and shakes his head, pulls Santana into a half-hug and leads her into the fray, where everybody else is finally getting into place for rehearsal.

***

2. Love Me Or Leave Me - Sammy Davis, Jr.

“Rock-step! Trip-le-step, trip-le-step! Rock-step! Trip-le-step, trip-le step! Rock-step!”

Puck and Santana scowl at each other with every rock-step. They’re partnered up to learn this thing while Brittany and Mike walk around the room, correcting stances and counts.

“Man, this is lame!”

“What’s lame is you using that word when we have a guy in a wheelchair in the room.” Quinn retorts from two couples over.

Puck drops Santana’s hand and turns to face Quinn. “Okay, first of all, Artie’s my boy, and he knows I don’t mean it like that. Secondly, if the guy I’m inadvertently offending is actually offended by my words, he knows that all he has to do is speak up. Third, all I meant is that I think we’ve all mastered the freaking rock-step by now, and doing it fifty million times is tedious, and I don’t see why we have to do it at all!”

Mike sighs and snags Brittany’s arm as she passes by. “Look, everyone. This is the end goal, okay?”

They count off, and then they’re moving, this twisty-turny thing that looks less like dancing and more like gliding and it’s smooth and cool and that is something Puck can get behind.

“That’s a basic lindy eight count,” Mike announces when they’re done showing off. “That’s the end goal.”

“So why aren’t we learning that?” Sam asks.

“Because to get there, you have to start here,” Kurt answers, a bored look on his face as he examines his nails. “And if you don’t see the triple step in a Lindy Hop, you’re not looking hard enough.”

Puck huffs out a long sigh and scrubs his hands over his newly shorn scalp. It feels weird, not having the mohawk, but that’s what he gets for losing another bet to Santana.

“Why don’t we all rotate partners?” Brittany suggests. “It’s a good idea to learn how to dance with everybody, get used to different dancing styles. Let’s get all of the follows to move to the right one spot.”

“Yeah, and let’s try it with music this time,” Mike adds, walking over to the stereo.

Puck counts himself lucky that she told them to move to the right, because that means Quinn’s gonna be one of his last partners. He quirks a brow at Kurt when the guy stops in front of him.

“Shouldn’t you be leading?”

Kurt raises his eyebrows right back at him. “Why, can’t you?” He doesn’t wait for Puck to respond. “For your information, I already know how to lead a Lindy. We don’t have enough girls and frankly, the follow has more fun anyway. Problem?”

Puck shakes his head and reaches for Kurt’s hand as the music starts up. “No problem.”

***

3. Angel From Montgomery - Susan Tedeschi

"Oh, God, what do you want?”

Puck frowns at Kurt. “Nice to see you, too, Princess. Can I come in?”

Kurt steps back and lets Puck pass, then swings the door closed. “Finn’s not here,” he says flatly. He looks like shit. His hair’s all loose and hanging, and there’s a little red around his eyes, and he’s only wearing jeans and a t-shirt. Puck takes a moment to appreciate that Kurt’s off days are most guy’s normal days, then dismisses it.

“Oh. We were supposed to hang today. You know where he’s at?”

“No, Puckerman, I’m not his keeper.”

“Dude, what’s wrong?” Puck’s brow furrows as he tries to remember what he could have done lately to get on Kurt’s shit list.

Kurt huffs and stalks past Puck into the kitchen. Puck follows and leans against the counter as he watches Kurt open cupboard doors, stare inside for two seconds, and then slam them closed again. “Nothing’s wrong, I just don’t know where Finn is, and don’t see why everyone expects me to be the tab keeper of this family. Dad and Carole are off God knows where, doing I don’t even want to know what, acting like today’s not important, like I don’t even know what, like things don’t matter, like nothing even matters any more.”

His voice breaks and he leans on a counter, his back to Puck. Kurt’s fists clench and his breathing is ragged and all at once, Puck knows what’s going on.

“Hey, hey, hey! None of that now, stop it.” He reaches forward and hovers uncertainly over Kurt’s shoulder, then lays his hand on it gently. He feels helpless and uncertain and he’s not above begging as he tugs on Kurt’s shoulder and brings the other guy into his arms. “Stop, stop. I don’t even like it when girls start crying on me, and you’re definitely not a girl, so come on. Cut me a break, huh?”

Kurt gives a watery laugh and hides his face in Puck’s shoulder as his arms creep around Puck’s ribs. “Sorry. It’s just - bad day.”

“Clearly,” Puck mutters, earning another laugh. “Where’s the hobbit?”

Kurt pulls away then, rolls his eyes and wipes his cheeks as he takes a few steps back and forth along the kitchen. “I assume he’s at home,” Kurt replies. “I’ve forbidden him from coming over while I’m like this. Maybe tomorrow.”

“Uh huh,” Puck replies. He hops up onto the counter and ignores Kurt’s dirty look. “And why are you like this exactly?”

“I don’t want to talk about it with you,” Kurt says, and reaches into a kitchen drawer for a spoon. It’s the first thing he’s actually gotten out so far.

“Well, Princess, it looks like you have to talk to someone and since I’m the only one here, you might as well talk to me.”

Kurt leans against the counter opposite Puck and folds his arms over his chest. His stare is stubborn and resolute for all of about ten seconds, when blue eyes fill with tears, and he’s turning away again. In a flash, Puck is jumping off of the counter and pulling Kurt close again, this time rocking him back and forth a little.

“Talk to me,” he says. “What’s wrong?”

Kurt takes a ragged breath and lays his head on Puck’s shoulder. This time he clings to Puck and doesn’t let go. Puck tries to ignore the hot breath on his neck; the shuddering under hands.

“Today is the anniversary of my mom’s death,” Kurt says, and Puck’s eyes close. Damn. He had hoped it was something he could fix or beat up for him. “And my dad’s...gone. He took a weekend with Carole, I don’t know why they left, just that they did. I haven’t seen Finn since school yesterday and nobody’s called me, and,” here Kurt’s breath hitches. “It’s just a bad day,” he finishes miserably, curling closer.

Puck shakes his head and silently curses Finn’s inability to pay attention to detail. “Have you been to visit her yet?”

Kurt nods. “I took flowers to her grave this morning.”

Puck nods, too. He can hear music from the other room, a song starting up. He recognizes the chords, but not the voice. “Who are you listening to?” he asks, drawing Kurt away from the counters into the middle of the kitchen. He starts swaying to the beat, taking one of Kurt’s hands in his and holding it to his chest in a loose, relaxed pose.

“Susan Tedeschi,” Kurt murmurs, raising his head and looking at their linked hands. “The Austin City Limits version. My mom - she liked the original, but I think Susan does it better.”

“Blasphemy,” Puck teases softly.

“Probably,” Kurt agrees, nestling closer. “I don’t care, though. I like the violin. Or is it a fiddle in a blues band?”

“Dunno,” Puck murmurs, listening to the music. Kurt’s right, she’s good. “How long have you been listening to it?”

Kurt shrugs. He still won’t look at Puck. “Like an hour or two.”

“Right.” Puck pulls Kurt a little closer and enjoys the rest of the song.

He lets go and steps back, then places his fingers under Kurt’s chin and tilts his head up to meet his eyes. “How about we watch a movie, instead? Did your mom have any favorites?”

Kurt looks confused. “You don’t have to stay with me.”

“I’m not,” Puck replies easily. “I’m waiting for Finn to get his sorry ass back here so I can chew him out for ditching me. It’s not my fault you happen to be here, too.”

The corners of Kurt’s mouth tip up in a small smile. “Ever seen Casablanca?”

“As a matter of fact, I have. My nana’s a fan.”

“Want some ice cream? You can have Finn’s pint.”

Puck grins. “Sounds perfect.”

***

4. Paralyzer - Finger Eleven

“That motherfucking son of a bitch!”

Puck doesn’t think he’s ever heard Kurt swear like that before, and he’s definitely never seen him mess up his hair for the sake of frustration. He almost doesn’t want to interrupt his continued muttering.

“Problem?” Puck asks.

Kurt startles, turns and sees Puck leaning up against the wall next to the sliding glass doors, guitar cradled in his hands. “Oh, it’s you.” He sighs a little. “Why are you always around when I’m not at my best?”

Puck hopes that’s one of those questions that doesn’t require an answer, because saying he thinks it’s cute is probably not conducive to...anything, really.

“What’s up?” he asks instead.

Kurt’s mouth twists. “Let’s just say Blaine and I have decided to part ways, and my feelings right now are less than amicable.”

“Dude, I’ve never been the hobbit’s biggest fan, you can call him a douchebag in front of me. I’m not gonna cry about it.”

Kurt just smiles and shakes his head. “Don’t call me ‘dude’.”

“Why’d you guys pick Nationals to break up, though?”

Now he sighs. “That part wasn’t intentional. We just...got into one fight too many, and quite frankly I don’t want to spend my trip with a boyfriend who is acting like an ass.”

Puck nods. He gets it. “You gonna do all that mopey shit the girls do? You know, the ice cream and the shopping and the badmouthing boys in your nightgowns or whatever?”

Kurt shoots him an unimpressed look. “I realize the whole gay concept is still beyond you, but I don’t actually have a vagina.”

“It’s not beyond me,” Puck replies, “I just wanted to know if the girls had you or if you’re coming with us tonight.”

Kurt straightens. “Why? What are you guys doing tonight?”

“Clubbing,” Puck throws out, wondering if he can get the guys to back him up at the last minute. “We thought we’d get out of here and do it up right, since Lima doesn’t really have a club scene like New York does.”

Kurt snorts in something like agreement. “Yeah. Yeah, all right. I’ll go with you guys. What did you have in mind?”

Puck shrugs. “Somewhere dark and crowded and loud.”

It gets him a little laugh. “All right. I’ll go change. Say we leave in an hour? We can stop somewhere for food first.”

“Yeah, sounds good.”

Puck waits until walks back inside before following him and going in search of Finn. He’s curled up with Berry, holding onto her as they giggle at each other.

“Right, go get dressed, we’re going out tonight.”

“What?” Finn asks, “Why?”

“Bro-code, dude, just do it.”

It’s a testament to how long they’ve been friends that Finn just sighs, gives Rachel a kiss on the forehead and untangles himself from her.

After a brief explanation, Mike’s game, and so is Sam. It looks like Artie’s already been cornered by the hobbit, so he’s out. Puck goes to get changed, pleased with himself. Not bad for a last minute round-up.

Eventually, they’re all ready to go. Kurt looks good, jeans and a basic black t-shirt that he must have borrowed off someone else. He’s wearing that eyeliner shit and chapstick or something that makes his mouth look pink.

They run into Artie and the hobbit in the hallway before they even leave the hotel. Artie looks kind of helpless as he shrugs and follows Blaine down the hall. Kurt just raises his chin and lets them pass without comment.

They stop at a roach coach for dinner while they decide where to go. The food promises to be good, if the crowd is any indication. Eventually they settle on an all-ages mixed club, because Kurt and Mike don’t have fake I.D.s.

The end result is that when they step into the loud, crowded nightclub, everyone is comfortable and kind of excited. Finn, Kurt and Puck all make a beeline for the bar, while Mike jumps onto the dance floor and Sam goes cruising for a dance partner.

It takes all of two minutes for some twink to start hitting on Kurt, who looks flattered and a little overwhelmed when he nods and lets the guy pull him out onto the dance floor. Puck turns back to the bar and orders a Coke, wishing he could add some Jack to it.

“You know,” Finn says, “Things would be a lot easier if you would just tell him.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Puck lies.

“Bullshit. You know exactly what I’m talking about. I haven’t said anything before because Kurt was with somebody but he’s not now, and I think you should tell him.”

“Dude just broke up with his boyfriend, I’m pretty sure he needs some time to get over that before someone else makes a move.”

“Oh, really? Somebody should’ve told the guy feeling Kurt up, then.”

Puck whips around and, sure enough, the twink that’d pulled him out onto the dance floor in the first place was making a move, and the kicker is Kurt’s letting him, with this half-resolved, half-terrified look on his face even though his eyes are closed.

That’s all it takes to get Puck pushing off the bar and threading through the crowd, coming up behind Kurt and forcibly removing the guy’s hands. Puck snarls when he goes to protest, then watches as the guy raises his hands and backs away, vanishing into the crowd.

Kurt turns around, indignant and confused. “What is your problem?” he shouts, more to be heard over the music than with any malicious intent. “We were just dancing!”

“Yeah? Dance with me then.” Puck grabs Kurt’s hips and slots them up against his, rolling with the music and hoping he’s not making a big mistake. Blue eyes narrow, and he must take it as some kind of challenge to freak out the straight guy because long arms wind around Puck’s neck as Kurt starts rocking back and forth in counterpoint to Puck’s rhythm.

That rhythm stutters when Kurt registers the hardness against his hip. Blue eyes fly to his, brow furrowed and mouth open just a little. “Puck?”

Puck covers his nerves and pulls Kurt’s hips a little closer, drawing him back into the pulsing beat of the song, daring to place a hand on small of Kurt’s back.

He gets away with it, but as soon as the song is over, Kurt is pulling away and then pulling him off of the dance floor, pulling him by the hand and then leading him outside into the quiet.

“What the hell was that??”

Puck shrugs and leans against the building opposite the club, eyes on the ground in front of him. “Dancing.”

“That was more than just dancing, and you know it, Noah Puckerman. What in the ever loving hell was that? You’re not gay!”

Now Puck raises his eyes to meet Kurt’s. “I’m not straight either, and just because I’ve learned not to broadcast my shit all over school doesn’t mean a damned thing.”

Kurt throws up his hands with a bitter laugh. “Great, another closeted jock.”

That brings him up off of the wall. “I am not closeted. Everyone that needs to know, does. That includes my ma and my sister and the best friends who can see that I’ve had a crush on you for months!”

”What?”

“I haven’t said anything, and I wasn’t gonna say anything tonight, until I saw that guy with his hands all over you. And what the hell? What does he have, that I don’t? You’re gonna let some total stranger touch you? You don’t even know him.”

“I don’t even know you right now, Noah! Why didn’t you tell me? At any point, why didn’t you say something? And what do you mean, you weren’t going to say anything tonight? Were you ever going to tell me?”

“Maybe!” Puck replies defensively. “You just broke up three hours ago, I’m not gonna be your rebound! I want more than that!”

Kurt’s face softens, and he steps forward. “You still should have told me.”

“I was gonna,” Puck mumbles.

“You’re not going to be my rebound,” Kurt promises. “And you’re right; I need a little time to get over my relationship with Blaine. But until I do, can we go back inside and keep dancing?”

Puck brightens and takes Kurt’s outstretched hand. “Yeah. Let’s do that.”

***

5. East Of The Sun (And West Of The Moon) - Diana Krall

Puck groans and lets all of his weight lean into Kurt, toppling him over onto the sofa and smiling a little at the giggle that he gets. “If I ask you really nicely, can we just not do history?”

Kurt scratches gently over Puck’s scalp and massages his neck a little. “Nice try, but no.”

Puck sighs, then smiles into Kurt’s neck. “What if I blow you? Can we skip history then?”

Kurt laughs. “Tempting... but no. You’re going to get your diploma if Santana and I have to drag you kicking and screaming to graduation, and to do that, you have to study.”

“But my brain is mushy!” Puck whines, pouting and pushing up into Kurt’s hand when he stops petting him. “I don’t think I can take any more!”

Kurt hugs him closer and drops a kiss to his scalp. “We can take a little break,” he compromises. “Want to dance?”

Puck looks up at him. “With you? Always.”

It’s always awesome when the truth gets him that smile, the soft one that leads to kisses. This time it leads to Kurt nudging at Puck so he can slide out from under him, and reaching a hand out to help him up, too.

They move the coffee table and the sofa out of the way. Kurt walks over to his stereo and starts fiddling with his iPod.

“Lead or follow?” he asks.

“I’ll follow today.”

That gets him a smile. Kurt was right; it’s more fun to follow, to let Kurt lead, and dance securely in the knowledge that if Kurt wants something, he’ll tell him. Besides, Puck can’t keep the steps for leading a West Coast Swing or a Lindy Hop straight in his head - so they’ve solved that problem by making it so Puck always leads a Lindy and follows in a West Coast Swing. It works for them, and when Kurt presses play and then leads him straight into a turn, Puck lets himself grin and meet Kurt’s answering smile.

They follow the nice, easy rhythm for a few songs and Puck feels himself relax; all the muscles in his shoulders loosening up and unknotting themselves until Kurt must see that something’s changed, because he draws him into a nice, easy kiss and then pulls Puck back down to the coffee table, ignoring the little sigh and leaving the music playing.

Puck looks over at a happy, relaxed Kurt and thinks there are worse ways to spend his Saturday.

***

+1. Unforgettable - Nat ‘King’ Cole feat Natalie Cole

When Noah Puckerman was in high school, he would have laughed in your face for suggesting this is where he’d end up, right after he decked you.

Luckily Noah’s grown a lot in the ten years since high school. He’d graduated, and surprised everyone with his acceptance into the City University of New York. It’d led to Kurt and Noah’s first big fight. Noah had been hurt that Kurt didn’t believe he could do it, Kurt had been upset that Noah didn’t trust him enough to tell him he was trying in the first place.

Two weeks of not talking to each other saw Kurt swallowing his pride an apologizing to Puck; and not six weeks later, they were on their way to New York.

They both juggled school and work and time together. It wasn’t always easy, but it was worth it, five years later when Kurt was working lighting design on Broadway and Puck was graduating with his Bachelor’s in Architecture.

Another three year program, this time in Architecture and Urban Planning at Columbia finally saw the two moving in together. Damn near seven years they’d been together, at that point, and still they had enough insecurities in themselves and their relationship that they hadn’t wanted to take that step.

Kurt was big on ‘what if’s, and never any good ones. Puck was big on self-doubt, and it eventually took Burt sitting Puck down and knocking some sense into him to make him understand that Noah was going to lose the best thing he had going for him if he didn’t swallow his fear and take that step.

He was right, of course, and it was good. Better than good. Noah still had his studies and his job as an intern at a popular architecture firm, and Kurt still had his two part time jobs to pay bills while he auditioned for everything available to him; but now when they went home, it was to each other.

And on their tenth anniversary, after they’d been together for so long, and no one ever thought of them as individuals any more, Noah finally got the nerve to ask Kurt if he would be willing to make it official.

Kurt had just rolled his eyes and pulled Noah up into a kiss, and danced with him on the roof of their building as the sun rose, humming a tune in his ear, and telling him he loved him with every press of their hands.

Now as the music starts up, Noah looks over at his new husband and smiles, because he’s still the most beautiful thing in the room.

He’s learned to lead in a Waltz, and he does, turning his mother into a graceful spin and catching her lightly, smiling down at the happiness on her lined face.

Across the dance floor, Kurt and his father are dancing, too. Words just can’t express how happy Noah is to have finally made it this far, but he tries when the song ends, pulling his mother into a tight hug and whispering his gratitude for everything she ever did for him growing up.

It makes her eyes well up, even as she pushes him away and he turns to meet his new husband on the dance floor. Both of them bow at each other formally, then step forward and meet in the middle with a clasp of hands.

FIC: Morpheus Calls, JJ/Emily, PG

cuspofqueens — Fri, 23 Sep 2011 05:12:38 GMT

Title: Morpheus Calls
Author: darkhawkhealer
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Pairing: JJ/Emily
Rating: PG
Word Count: 763
Warnings: Slight spoilers for 6.18, Lauren and 7.01, It Takes A Village
Summary: Of all the things JJ is grateful for, she's most grateful for this.
Note: Written for the Fragments of Sappho challenge at dogged_by_muses. I always pick my favorite number, and as a result, always get the same prompt. Thanks to kyrdwyn for the fresh pair of eyes, and the reassurances.

Ever since JJ had Henry, she's become a light sleeper. Sometimes it feels like she catnaps more than anything else. When the light changes in her room, JJ notices, and rises out of her light sleep to slit her eyes open against the spill from the partially-open doorway.

She would know that figure anywhere.

Even after this long, too long, JJ recognizes Emily's long, lean body where it's leaning up against the doorway. Relief slides through her, a slow melting of limbs against the bed even as she can feel the corners of her mouth turning up in a sleepy smile. JJ slides back further towards the wall, and opens the blankets in silent invitation.

It's just a few seconds' hesitation before Emily is crossing the room, slipping off her shoes and dropping her sleep pants on the side of the bed before she crawls into bed. The gentle rocking of the water bed gives JJ a convenient excuse to close the blankets against the cool air and roll closer, bare legs meeting and tangling in the moonlight.

Emily is staring at her, brow furrowed as she reaches up and smooths away stray strands of long blonde hair from JJ's forehead.

JJ can remember the last time they were like this with stunning, bittersweet clarity. It was that case in Alaska, in that little bed and breakfast. Their time together had been cut short by the case, but oh, how precious those few hours together had been. They'd started out in separate beds, facing each other and gossiping quietly while the radiator ticked in the background. Then Emily had gone to the bathroom, and come back freezing, her feet like ice.

Her bed had gotten cold in her absence, and she jumped out of it with a startled yelp that sent JJ into a fit of giggles too strong to protest when Emily had climbed into her bed with her. Emily warming her feet on JJ's calves had only renewed the laughter in them both.

And maybe it was unplanned, the way Emily had leaned forward and kissed her. All JJ knows for certain is that at the same time her brain stopped and stuttered, she was kissing back and holding onto Emily’s shoulders, wrapping her legs around Emily’s and pulling her closer. Long-fingered hands had tickled tentatively at her sides and then wrapped around her waist, holding her still - as if JJ could even contemplate going anywhere.

JJ remembers staring at Emily, seeing the same stunned confusion she felt looking back at her. She thinks she should be excused for the way the softly-uttered “Wow,” came out; her brain still wasn’t functioning properly.

The word caused Emily to laugh again, and JJ remembers the heat that had risen to her cheeks as she ducked her head. Emily squeezed her waist affectionately and then brought one hand up to brush a lock of hair out of JJ’s face.

“I completely agree.”

Then Emily had drawn her closer, until JJ was lying half on top of Emily, listening to a rapid heartbeat slow into the steady rhythm of sleep.

Now it’s JJ’s turn, and she captures Emily’s hand to draw it over her body as she rolls onto her back, waiting for Emily to catch the hint and settle herself closer. Her frame is tense, muscles rigid as JJ runs her fingers up and down the back of Emily’s neck.

“I...I haven’t been sleeping very well,” Emily confesses. Her breath is hot against JJ’s collarbone.

“Good thing you’re here, then,” JJ replies, voice husky from sleep and disuse. She has no idea what, exactly, it is that she’s trying to imply, but the sentiment stands. Of all the beds Emily could be in tonight, JJ’s glad it’s hers. “Just sleep, baby. I’ll be here.”

Emily hesitates, then nods. She squeezes JJ’s fingers with her own and then turns in JJ’s embrace, keeping a hold of the arm that was around her waist and pillowing her head on JJ’s shoulder, back pressed up against her side.

JJ wonders at that for a moment, brow furrowed, before it hits her. She turns, too, cuddling up behind Emily and wrapping her free arm high up around Emily’s ribs, mindful of her obviously still-healing injury.

JJ lets her lips brush against the nape of Emily’s neck and breathes in her scent, quietly, desperately grateful to have this chance again. The last words she utters into the dark are both a prayer and a benediction.

“Sweet dreams, Emily.”

FIC: Graceful Steps, Grace-centric, PG

cuspofqueens — Wed, 29 Jun 2011 01:01:37 GMT

Title: Graceful Steps
Author: darkhawkhealer
Fandom: Hawaii Five-0
Pairing: Grace Williams/Kono Kalakaua
Rating: PG
Word Count: 9,266
Summary: Grace takes her first steps on her own.
Note: This is the second posted in a series of fics I’m calling the State of Grace series, following Graceful Denial and written for the FSAC::DDS11. Thanks to innerslytherin for the beta, and ubervirgin for being my sounding board.

***

New Jersey is always so busy. It’s the thing that strikes her the most whenever she comes to visit her grandparents: how many people there are and how they’re always in this rush to get from one place to the other, like it’s going to disappear if they don’t get there fast enough.

Grace lands in Newark with Danny and Steve and Rachel - the new husband, being more of a hands off kind of guy when it comes to Grace, was off closing a ‘very important’ business deal. It’s irrelevant, because everyone is staying at Danny’s parents' house until she can officially move into the dorms. They’ve already received the UPS packages with all her things, so now it’s just a nice family visit until move-in day.

It helps to think of it as a family vacation. Grace is more nervous and uncomfortable about this than she has ever been about anything in her life - including those nerve-wracking, hand-shaking moments right before Kono shot her down.

In a few days, her parents are going to help her move into the freshman dorms at Rutgers and Grace is going to be all alone. Her parents will go back to their lives of chasing bad guys and making men in expensive suits cry and Grace will be stuck here with people she knows but doesn’t really know and oh, God, it’s gonna suck.

Her parents are getting quieter and quieter, until only Steve is tugging on the ends of her hair and nudging her and offering her small little smiles. Grace leans over until she’s got her head up underneath Steve’s, and his arms have come around her and his hand is running down her back. Steve will let her be quiet and mopey for the rest of the drive, but once they get to Eleanor and James’, she knows she’ll have to snap out of it.

And she does. Eleanor made banana pudding, and it’s almost impossible to stay mopey when her banana pudding is involved. The house is flooded with cousins and aunts and uncles, and then there’s this cacophony of sounds; laughter and joking and the screaming of the littlest ones.

Her dad’s side of the family is loud, certainly louder than Grace is used to, and of course she doesn’t know any of them really well, so she spends much of her time sitting next to Rachel, or shadowing Steve as he wanders from the kitchen to the back yard, trading potshots with Danny across the house.

Grace falls into bed that night exhausted, too tired to be as nervous as she was.

Next thing she knows, it’s two days later and they’re all piling into two separate vehicles. How many people does it take to move Grace into a dorm? She doesn’t know, but she knows how many there are.

There’s paperwork to be signed and boxes to be moved, and Gracie gets there before her new roommate does, so she, Rachel and Eleanor oversee the unloading of boxes and unpacking of linens as Danny, Steve and James bring them in.

With three big guys doing the heavy lifting, unpacking is over, of course, all too fast. Rachel is fretting over leaving her alone, and it’s easier to put on a brave face in the wake of Danny’s semi-serious comment that it’s not too late to bring her back to Hawaii with them, to go to a local school.

Only Steve and her grandparents are calm; Eleanor and James because they’ve done this before, and Steve because someone has to be. Grace knows he’ll miss her later, but for now she’s thankful that he’s not causing histrionics like Rachel and Danno.

It’s the last minute before they all drive off, and only now is Rachel exclaiming to herself and stopping everybody, asking how in the world Grace is going to get around, because they forgot to buy her a car.

Grace could laugh at the clueless look all of the adults exchange at forgetting something so integral, but manages to keep it to the quiet twitching of her lips before James asks why she can’t just buy a bus pass for a while. That seems to reassure Danno, who turns to reassure Rachel that nothing will happen to her on public transportation. She seems dubious, but willing to let it go for now, as long as Grace promises to call if she finds she really truly needs a car. Rachel will come out and help her find something at any time.

Grace presses her lips together and promises, very carefully not thinking about the envelope of cash Uncle Chin had made sure she saw him tuck into her suitcase. He’s known of her plans to buy a motorcycle since she was sixteen and Grace has had her eye on one in the area since before she left Hawaii.

There’s one last round of long, hard hugs, kisses pressed to foreheads and murmured benedictions of love before everyone piles into their separate vehicles and leaves; her parents for the airport and her grandparents for home, reiterating an invitation for her to come by any time.

Grace wanders back to her new home for the next nine months and tries to ignore the loneliness that threatens to overwhelm her. She can do this.

She has to.

***

Okay, so college doesn’t suck as much as it could. Living in New Jersey gives Grace a great opportunity to get closer to the Williams side of the family, especially as Grace goes over to her grandparents’ house for dinner twice a week, and everyone seems to congregate there as a default on the weekends.

Classes are almost ridiculously easy compared to all the hype Grace has heard about how difficult college is in comparison to high school. They must not have meant her high school, because the workload isn’t anything she’s not used to. The freshman general requirements, while not completely fascinating, don’t bore her to tears either.

Grace gets into the habit of waking up ridiculously early to call her family: Steve and Danno get Mondays and Wednesdays, Rachel gets Tuesdays and Thursdays, and Chin and Kono get Sundays. Well, Chin gets Sundays. Kono always seems to find reasons to be busy, to hang up early or brush her off after just a few minutes. It hurts Grace, and she’s shed more than a few frustrated tears over it, but she hasn’t mentioned it to anyone else in Hawaii. She won’t. What’s between Grace and Kono will stay between Grace and Kono, if only because Grace doesn’t want to cause any tension within Five-0.

That doesn’t mean Grace’s Meemaw and Pawpaw haven’t heard all about it, though. They’re good for listening even if they’re awful at hiding their amusement at her teenaged angst. Whatever, as long as they don’t tell Danno, Grace will call it a win. She’ll also let her Meemaw ply her with pudding to make her feel better. It’s a sacrifice, but someone’s gotta make it.

What happens next is almost complete chance.

It’s a Thursday in late October, and Grace has an hour to get from one class to the next. Even though it’s on the other side of the campus, she’s got plenty of time, so she’s not in any particular hurry when her attention is drawn to the recruiters hollering at any passing student, looking for an opening.

It makes Grace laugh, so she wanders over, just to give the guys something to do. It’s military for the most part; she smiles and shakes her head at the Air Force, and the Army recruiters just make her smirk and keep walking. The Marines get a few minutes of her time, the Navy actually makes her pause and talk to them; but no one is really saying anything she’s unfamiliar with.

Grace says goodbye and turns to leave, when her attention is called one more time.

“Miss! Hey, miss!”

Grace raises a brow and turns around, knowing instinctively that the call was for her. Standing next to a table are two police officers in uniform. One guy’s practically sitting on the table and the other one is a few steps in front of him, an engaging smile on his face.

“Have you ever considered a career with the Newark Police Department?”

Grace tilts her head to one side and sizes both men up again, taking a step closer so she doesn’t have to yell. “You know, I can honestly say I never have.”

The first guy’s smile grows. “Are you over the age of eighteen?”

A bolt of amusement shoots through her. “I am.” She checks her watch casually. “I also have a class in ten minutes.”

“That’s fine, that’s perfect. Where’re you headed? What’s your major?”

Grace smiles, she’ll play. “I’m undeclared yet. And, I feel I should warn you, I’m a freshman.”

“No, that’s cool, that’s completely okay, we have programs to help you, we can even help pay some of your college costs if your major ends up being in a related field! Come take a look at this.”

Grace takes another step forward and the guy sitting at the table stands, starts pulling pamphlets an brochures forward.

“We offer competitive pay, education bonuses, hazard pay for specialty teams...” He starts his sales pitch and Grace tunes him out in favor of picking up one of the leaflets. Glossy pictures of focused cadets stare out at her, of them running on a track, listening to an instructor at the shooting range.

Grace thinks of Kono; of her father and every other member of the HPD she’s ever met. She checks her watch again, and interrupts him as he draws another breath. “I have to go...” she says slowly, taking the material with her as she wanders off towards her class.

Grace sits in the back of her women’s studies elective and ignores the lecture entirely, taking the time to read through the promotional material. It’s damned persuasive. Joining a police department isn’t something Grace has ever seriously thought of doing. The downside to living on an island really is that everybody knows everybody else, and in her case, everyone knows Grace belongs to Five-0.

That means that if she had even thought of applying, her parents would all know about it before the day was out, and Grace has never been the type of person to want to tell everybody about everything until she knows for certain one way or another.

It would be good, she thinks, to be important; to be an integral part of making even this little part of the world turn. It would also be a crazy challenge, the concept alone of attempting to be a police officer and still earn her college degree...it feels like something people would do if they had no choice. Grace has choices. The entire concept is crazy, but at the same time...Grace has to wonder if she can do it.

That’s when mention of the Colley Act catches her attention. Grace does some research online and finds out that the Colley Act is a state legislation that says if a student is enrolled in a college or university at the same time they get hired onto a police or fire department, reasonable accommodation will be made to allow them to continue with school; up to - and including - online classes.

This can’t possibly be good, because it’s sounding more and more feasible by the minute; and as soon as the class lets out, Grace makes her way back to where the recruiters are lined up. She goes to the table she left earlier, pulls out an unoccupied chair and takes a seat before looking up at the officers expectantly.

“All right, gentlemen. Tell me more.”

***

That afternoon Grace picks up the phone four times before she finally caves and dials. The line rings five times and just when she’s sure it’s going to go to voicemail, Kono picks up.

“Hello?” Kono’s sleepy, raspy mumble makes the hair on the back of Grace’s neck stand up, and she’s hard pressed to focus her thoughts on something other than the mental images of what Kono must look like when she sounds like that. “Gracie?”

Grace clears her throat and speaks softly, aware of the time difference. “Hey, Kono. Did I wake you?”

Kono sighs, a breath of air that travels through the line and into Grace’s ear. “Yeah. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I just wanted to talk to you for a minute, run a couple of things by you.”

“Can it wait?” There’s just the faintest hint of a whine in Kono’s voice, the frustration coming through loud and clear. “I’m sorry baby, but it’s been a hell of a day, and I just want to sleep.”

Grace stares down at the department application in her hands and shakes her head. “No. No, it wasn’t important. I’ll just talk to you later, yeah? Get some rest.”

“...kay. Bye, Gracie.” The call disconnects before Grace can say goodbye.

Very deliberately, she sets the phone down on the side of her desk, and picks up her pen.

***

Grace takes her written exam the day before Rutgers is scheduled to break for Thanksgiving. She still hasn’t told anybody at home about it, she doesn’t even know if it’s a likely possibility yet. The hiring process is just that, a process, and at any given point Grace could fail to advance to the next level.

She hasn’t studied for it. Grace already went through the night terrors and cold sweats associated with the SAT; and the minute she put her pencil down, Grace swore to herself she would never stress that hard over an exam ever again. If she didn’t know the material, no amount of obsessing over it was going to help.

As a result, when Grace breezes into the building and sets her helmet down next to her, all it takes is a couple of deep breaths, a surreptitious wipe of damp palms against her pant legs, and a quick prayer before she breaks open the test booklet and starts with the easy answers first.

An hour and a half later, Grace looks up to find that she’s one of five who has finished early, even taking into account going back and rechecking her answers. She can’t be sure whether to be nervous or relieved about that, so she gives a mental shrug, murmurs another prayer over it and then turns it in, quietly picking up her keys and her helmet, and slipping out of the door.

***

She can’t go home for Thanksgiving. It’s only a four day break, and it’s honestly not long enough for any of them to justify the travel time. It’s depressing, especially as she’s being kicked out of the dorm for those four days and she has to stay with her grandparents.

Staying with James and Eleanor isn’t the upsetting part; the upsetting part is that all of her aunts and uncles and cousins are running amok over their house, and Grace can’t get a quiet moment to breathe, much less think, and that just makes her even more mopey.

It’s hard growing up an only child and then suddenly being thrown into all of this family.

Eleanor sees her getting frustrated, and sends Grace upstairs for a nap in her dad’s old room. Grace closes the door behind her with a sigh, but it doesn’t do a whole lot to block out the noise.

Grace wants nothing more than her mother’s hugs, or to climb in between Steve and Danno and make them pay attention to her. She wants pineapple-glazed ham and mashed potatoes, for the smell of the saltwater and warm breeze coming off the ocean. Grace misses early morning surfing with Steve and satellite-broadcast football games with Danno, and oh, God, just thinking about it makes her eyes well up.

Grace feels a little twist in her stomach at the thought of seeing Kono again. She hasn’t called since that day when Kono was too tired to talk; Grace has to hope that Kono has misses her. If Kono never calls, well, they’ll see each other for Christmas.

She misses being able to hop onto one of Uncle Chin’s bikes and go on a tour of the island with him. They used to take tours of the waterfalls and share sandwiches and a thermos of lemonade from Grace’s backpack.

Thinking about any of it certainly isn’t helping, so Grace pulls out her cell phone and curls up on the bed, sending out a mass text message and completely ignoring the twinge of guilt at the time.

Marco?

Two minutes later, her phone is buzzing in her hand; her dad’s face is flashing on the caller ID and Grace doesn’t hesitate to accept the call.

“Polo,” comes his warm voice from the other end. “How’s my Monkey doing?”

Grace’s face crumples and she sniffles as a few stray tears leak out. “Fine,” she croaks.

“Don’t sound fine. What’s wrong, monkeyface?”

Grace sighs and shakes her head. “I miss you, that’s all.”

“Oh, that’s all, huh?” Grace can hear him shifting in place, imagines him rolling over to get more comfortable. “Well, all right, let me tell you what your nut-bucket superseal has been up to while you’ve been gone...”

***

The day after classes resume, Grace gets a phone call from Chin Ho.

“Would you care to tell me why I received a phone call from a background investigator looking into you today?”

Grace’s eyes grow wide and she gulps. “To be honest, I didn’t think they would?”

"Grace Elaine..." The warning tone to Chin's voice makes Grace flinch.

"Well, I didn't! I'm surprised I passed the test," she mutters.

"What are you into?"

She can't help it. "Swimming, surfing, and long walks on the beach."

"Grace!" Only Chin had that kind of bark; not even Danno could make her jump that way.

"Okay! You have to promise that you're not going to tell anyone else." There's a silence on the other end and Grace stops her pacing. "I mean it, Uncle Chin. I'm not telling you a thing until you promise me you're not going to tell anybody else. The last thing I need is everybody finding out about this before I know for sure one way or the other."

"Are you in danger?" He demands. "Is this likely to get you or anybody else hurt or arrested?"

She considers that for a moment. "Not...immediately?"

"Grace!"

Grace sighs. "Uncle Chin, you bought me a motorcycle. You have to trust my judgement at least a little, that I'm not going to put myself into unnecessary danger. If you can't trust me that far, we have bigger problems than just what I've been up to."

He concedes, but not gracefully. "Fine. I promise I won't tell your parents."

"Or Kono."

"Why not Kono?" he asks.

"Because I tried to tell her when I started this, and she brushed me off. We haven't spoken since then and if she wants to know what's going on in my life, she can call me and ask, just like you did."

"You know she's just trying to give you some space, Gracie."

"Yeah, well, I never wanted that space in the first place."

"All right, point taken. Your secret's safe with me. If you ever tell me, that is."

Well, this can be like her test run for telling her parents. "I may have applied to the Newark Police Department about a month ago."

There's a long moment of silence on the other end. "I can see why you don't want your mother to know," he says at last.

"Or daddy." Grace rolls her eyes. "He's still convinced I want to be a dolphin trainer."

"And you don't?" Chin checks, "You want to be a police officer instead?"

Grace knows it's the first time he's hearing of it, and she understands his skepticism. "I want to be challenged. I want to be important and needed and I kind of really want to belong to something bigger than myself. I see what you and dad and Kono do, and even taking into account that you're part of a task force, I've seen what the beat cops at HPD do, and it's admirable; and I really think I want to be part of it."

"You know it's not gonna be easy?"

She nods. "I know. But you know easy is never fun for me."

"You also know you could have stayed in Hawaii if you had wanted to be a cop. We could have helped you."

Grace smiles. "Yeah. But the point isn't to see how much help I can get, the point is to see what I can do all by myself."

Chin laughs a little on the other end. "Well, if the woman I spoke to today was any indication, they're doing the background check on you now. What's next?"

"The physical qualifications, the medical and psychological exams, and the board interview."

"And when will you know?"

Grace sighs. "Assuming I don't fail out at any point? They're looking to start Academy in the beginning of March."

"Are you going to tell your parents that you're dropping out of school, at least?"

Grace shakes her head. "No, I'm not dropping out. I wouldn't do this if there wasn't still a way for me to finish school. Newark PD has something set up with Rutgers, where I can take online classes after and around Academy, and trust me when I tell you, I won't be losing much. I was expecting these classes to be harder."

"Considering you went to one of the best schools in Hawaii, I think I would be disappointed if they were harder."

"Fair point."

Chin sighs. "All right, princess. Keep your chin up, and just because classes are easy doesn't mean you get to slack off. I'll see you in four weeks, okay?"

"Okay," Grace smiles. "Aloha, Uncle Chin."

"Aloha, Gracie."

***

Grace is sitting in LAX, waiting for her connecting flight, when she gets the email congratulating her on making it to the next round of the application process, and telling her that her physical test is going to be three days after she is scheduled to get back.

Grace groans, this is information she really could have lived without, at least until after New Year’s.

She wonders what Steve will think when Grace gets up early to go running with him. Grace is not a runner, she never has been. She’s been on the swim team since she was in seventh grade, specifically so she didn’t have to run.

Yeah, Grace thinks as she packs up her laptop, this is gonna suck.

The last hour and a half of her flight is the hardest. Even the plush, super-comfortable seats of the First Class area aren’t enough to keep her from shifting every few minutes. Even though she’s looking out for the landing, the touchdown is still jarring.

She exits the plane, eyes searching for - there, there they are. Rachel and Danny are pushing past people in an effort to get to her as fast as possible, and Steve’s hanging back, letting her parents greet her first.

They sweep her up in a flurry of hugs and kisses and laughter and smiles, and Grace’s eyes well with grateful tears. She’s missed them so much, it’s ridiculous. With one last strong hug for each of them, Grace hands Rachel her purse and Danny her carry on, and takes a running start at Steve.

He just barely manages to brace himself before all hundred sixty pounds of her comes leaping at him, but Super Steve manages to catch her up into a strong hug. Grace’s long legs unwind from around Steve’s waist as he carefully lets her drop to the ground.

Rachel and Danny catch up, all sweeping her into more hugs as they herd her to the parking lot. Grace still has her things at both houses, she purposely packed light so that they could just go straight home.

Everyone piles into Rachel’s SUV, Steve drives while Rachel sits in the back and pumps Grace for information about school, about classes, about boys and girls. Grace answers all the questions as best she can, chattering a mile a minute about everything under the sun and passing on greetings to everybody from the Williams side of the family.

Rachel's house is just like Grace left it, all open spaces and cool colors. Everybody gathers in the kitchen, where Rachel makes everyone some toast with orange marmalade - the same after-school snack Grace has had since she was seven.

Grace's eyes well up with another set of tears, and she sighs. "Oh, man, you guys. It is so hard to live without you."

Rachel pulls her in for another hug, rubbing her back soothingly while Danny straightens. "But you're doing okay, right? I mean, you've got my mom and pop and there's my sisters and all of your cousins."

Grace shrugs a little. "It's not the same. It's not you guys. It's not luaus and shaved ice and tiki torches and surfing."

"You know you can always come home," Rachel says softly.

Grace scoffs. "And be the failure who can't grow up away from her family for a few years? No, thanks."

"Hey," Steve says, "There's nothing wrong with needing your family around you. I wouldn't trade my family for anything and maybe if I had had it my way, I wouldn't have left Hawaii in the first place."

"But you did leave, and you were better for it," Grace argues.

"So what do you wanna do?" Danny asks, "You wanna come back and go to school here? You want me and Rachel to move there? What?"

Grace rolls her eyes and shakes her head. "I wanna pout about it some. And whine, and cry and say 'woe is me'. And then I wanna build a bridge and get over it."

Steve grins, "You're turning into a Jersey girl."

Grace flashes a return smile. "Of course I don't want you guys moving with me. First of all that would defeat the purpose of learning how to live without you; and secondly, I need to have a home to come back to on vacations and holidays and stuff."

Rachel kisses her forehead, and Danno just nods, but Grace can see the love and the pride in their eyes.

***

At 4:15 the next morning, Grace drags her tired, cranky ass out of bed and into a pair of shorts and a stolen, threadbare HPD shirt. She pulls her long, dark hair into a sloppy bun and slides her sandals on. Quietly, she goes downstairs, grabs a bottle of water out of the refrigerator and takes the keys to her Jeep off of the hook by the door. On the chalkboard underneath it, she checks the box marked 'Steve and Danny's', and takes off through the garage, shivering in the pre-dawn light.

Fifteen minutes later, she pulls up behind Steve's truck and turns off the engine, grabbing her water as she gets out and closes the door to the Jeep. Grace doesn't bother with the front door, just treks around to the back and meets a surprised Steve sitting on the steps of the lanai, ignoring his hand on a Glock 23. She just drops down onto the steps and leans into him for a hug, and he sets the gun down to return it.

Grace takes a deep breath. "So," she starts staring out at the quiet early morning water, "I may have either made the best decision or the worst mistake of my life, but either way I need your help."

Steve rubs her neck where she used to get headaches when she started high school. "You're not pregnant, are you?" Grace raises her head from his shoulder to give Steve a look. He just shrugs with a guilty smile. "Had to ask."

"I applied to the Newark Police Academy," she tells him. Steve stops rubbing her neck, and it all comes spilling out. How it started, all of her thoughts and how cautiously optimistic she's getting. "I've made it past the written test and the background check and the physical test is three days after I get back to Jersey." Grace bites her lip and shrugs a little. "Yeah, so I need a crash course in training for the run."

"What's the goal?"

"A mile and a half in fifteen fifty-eight."

"Have you been keeping up with your swimming?"

"Not as much. I'm only doing three days a week instead of five."

Steve nods. "Okay. I’m guessing you want this to go on the list of Things We Don’t Tell Danno About?” Steve and Grace have had this running list of secrets between them since she was eleven years old, and she knows he’s taking her seriously if he’s offering before she even has to ask. She nods, and he gives her a small smile. “Start stretching. We'll go at an easy pace today."

***

Three weeks.

Three weeks of comfort, and laughter, and fun.

Three weeks of good food and better company, of reuniting with friends she hasn’t seen in ages and shopping trips with Rachel.

Three weeks of surfing, hiking, cliff diving.

Three weeks of dragging her ass out of bed at four in the morning to train with Steve, of cooling off in the ocean and eating breakfast with her fathers.

Three weeks of soaking up sunshine and getting back her deep, dark tan.

And in three weeks, not seeing Kono once.

Three weeks of willing herself not to scan the surf for a familiar figure, of keeping her eyes firmly away from the door every time it opened. Three weeks of ignoring the pitying glances her parents and Chin Ho gave her when they thought she wasn’t looking. Three weeks of wondering what she was doing and who she was with, of stifling the desire to seek her out and spend time with her.

Three weeks of laying awake at night, thinking about everything and nothing, of wondering if Kono really will want her later.

Three weeks of wishing she didn’t feel this way.

It’s almost a relief to go back to Jersey.

***

She aces the run.

Grace sends out a simple text message to Steve and Chin Ho after she gets done, basking in the grudging, approving nod she gets from the guys recording down the official time.

10:38!!!

Chin pops back a text two minutes later. That’s great! I knew u could do it!

Steve’s response, That’s my girl!, makes her happiest.

***

Next thing Grace knows, she’s taking a deep breath and walking into the interview, shoulders down and head up, ready smile on her face as she shakes hands with every person in there.

This is where her mother’s legacy shines. Where she’s got her father’s pride and fierce determination, and Steve’s sense of adventure and risk taking, Rachel has this ability to charm rooms full of strangers with nothing but a smile. Grace has to work a little harder than that, but not by much.

The interview panel consists of five people, only one of which is another woman. Years of practice have her matching names to faces with little difficulty, using little tricks her mother has taught her over the years.

The questions start off relatively easy, verifying her name and contact information. She hits her first snag when they ask her about living in the dorms at Rutgers, what she plans to do if she gets hired and can’t live there any more.

“Actually, I have extensive family in the area, and my grandparents have already offered me a place in their home after this school year is over.” Grace makes a mental note to beg them for a place to stay later.

They ask her why she wants a career in law enforcement; how she plans to handle a full load of classes and a full time career.

Thankfully, these are questions she’s anticipated, and she tells them, honestly, about how she's grown up with incredible role models; about how it’ll be a challenge, but one she’s looking forward to.

Then comes the unexpected.

Captain Mann leans forward and shuffles through the papers in front of him, his gaze sharp on her face when he says, "Your father is Danny Williams?"

She nods. "He is."

"There was a Williams I went through academy here in Newark with. Good man. He left Jersey for Hawaii to be near his kid, about ten, twelve years back."

Grace grins. "That's me," she says, "He was with HPD for a little bit until he got recruited into the state's task force."

He studies her. "He know you're doing this?"

"No clue," she laughs. "And I'm not planning on telling him until after everything is said and done. If you remember my dad, then you definitely remember his tendency to be rather...free with his opinion on a myriad of subjects."

The Captain grins with her and nods, "I remember. That man could be running miles til he dropped, and rant about something with every single step. A good man, though. He was a solid officer and a damned good detective." Grace feels a quiet glow of pride at his words. "Are you anything like him?"

"According to my mother, sometimes I'm a little too much like him." She nods. "I like to think I get my determination from him."

Captain Mann nods and sits back, letting the others take over the last few questions. Finally - right in front of her - the rest of the panel passes him their papers, and he files through them one by one.

"We're going to need you to set up an appointment for your medical and psychological screenings by February seventeenth. If everything comes back clear, you can report to the Academy March first. "

Grace's breath catches in her chest, and her heart leaps to her throat. She knows her eyes have widened, and she can't help the elated grin that spreads across her face. "Alright. Okay, I can absolutely do that, no problem."

They're all laughing at her excitement. It's discreet, but the amusement is clear, and she can't even bring herself to care. Grace stands and smooths out her skirt, making sure her palms are dry as she steps forward and shakes hands with the panel one last time. She thanks them for the opportunity, tells them they won't regret it, and leaves.

After she's changed back into jeans and her motorcycle jacket, Grace leans against her bike and takes in a shaky breath. She's still feeling the adrenaline and excitement and tries halfheartedly to calm herself before she climbs on. The last thing she needs is to be busted for speeding after all of this.

It doesn't stop her from tempting fate just a little as she jumps onto the highway and opens her up, laughter ringing freely in her ears and being ripped away by the wind.

The drive back to her grandparents house is fun, all biting cold and sharp wind. It does nothing to calm her down when she jumps off the bike and heads inside, pulling her helmet off and shaking out her waist-length brown hair.

"Hello?" She calls, opening the front door and stomping her boots off on the front mat.

"In the kitchen!" Her grandmother responds, and Grace heads that way, dropping her helmet on the front table.

"Hey!" She finds her meemaw standing over the stove, stirring what smells like that awesome red sauce she's so great at, which only helps Grace's day to get even better. Grace wraps both arms around Eleanor's shoulders and squeezes tight, basking in Eleanor's chuckle as she squeezes back.

"So," Grace hops up onto the counter, then hops back down when she swats at her with a kitchen towel. "What do I have to do to move in around here?"

Eleanor just raises an eyebrow and reaches for the thyme. "I suspect you'll need to rope your cousins into helping you pack, and recruit some of those strong college boys into hauling your things this way. You should probably pay them in pizza, dear. I remember how much college boys eat."

Grace grins in relief. "Have I told you lately how you're the best Meemaw ever? Is Pawpaw okay with the idea?"

"It's not like we didn't already know you were unhappy at the dorms," Eleanor chides, tasting the sauce and opening the cupboard again.

Grace considers that as she wanders over to the table, stopping to dig out a few oatmeal cookies. "I need to work on my poker face," she muses.

“Why?” James asks as he comes into the room. He’s a big man who still carries the air of authority that comes with being a retired fire chief. He hugs her with one hand as he snitches a cookie with the other. “How else are we supposed to mock your father for knowing what goes on with you before he does?”

Grace grins and shakes her head. “That’s mean, Pawpaw.”

He shrugs. “He’ll do the same when you have your kids. You moving back in?”

Grace nods thoughtfully. “If you all don’t mind.” They shake their heads and she nods again. “Want to know another secret you’re not allowed to tell Daddy? Pop already knows,” she adds when James looks at her. “I’m just not telling Dad yet until I’m really sure.”

“Does your mother know?” Eleanor asks, “You know it’ll hurt his feelings if your father finds you’re keeping things from him.”

Grace shakes her head. “Only people that know anything are Pop and Uncle Chin.”

“Not Kono?” James asks with a grin.

Grace scowls. “Kono,” she announces, "is an idiot. And I’m not talking to her for a while.”

Eleanor looks up and raises an eyebrow. “What’d she do?”

“She’s just been ignoring me since like November! And she completely avoided me at Christmas. So I’m not talking to her until she apologizes.”

Both of her grandparents grin quietly, and Grace scowls again. “Shut up,” she mutters.

James protests his innocence while Eleanor chides Grace on her language. “What did you have to tell us?”

Grace sobers a little. “No, really. No telling, okay? It’s nothing dangerous, it’s just a surprise. An epic one.”

“Oh, God, you got a tattoo,” Eleanor assumes. “Your father is going to flip.”

Grace blinks. “Oh, no, I already have one of those. And he did flip,” she adds. “Mom, too. Pop wasn’t very happy but he said it was too late to be pissed about it.”

Eleanor stops what she’s doing and turns to face Grace completely. “You already have a tattoo?”

James grins. “You got it on your eighteenth birthday, didn’t you?”

Grace shakes her head. “I can’t believe you didn’t hear about that. No, I was sixteen; which is why they flipped. I was grounded for like three months.”

Now they both look surprised. “You got a tattoo when you were sixteen and they only grounded you for three months?”

“Well, like Pop said, it was a little late to punish me for something I couldn’t undo, and it’s my body anyway. I should be able to do what I want with it.”

“But a tattoo?” Eleanor asks.

“At sixteen?” James adds.

“Well, to be fair, they were way more pissed at the artist and the establishment for working on a minor. And I had already told Daddy I was going to get one the year before, he just didn’t take me seriously.” Grace shrugs. “That would be why it was only for three months.”

Grace turns her back on them and pulls up her shirt. There, on her right shoulder blade, just under her bra strap is a black and white tattoo of her father’s NPD badge, with Steve’s dog tags on a shortened version of the government-issue ball chain hanging off the top of the badge.

James whistles, and Eleanor steps forward to touch it. “It’s big,” she says, a little surprised.

Grace nods. The entire thing is about the size of her palm. “It had to be, to get all the detail right.”

“Is that his original badge number?” James asks.

Grace nods again. “Yeah. Dad managed to keep it through getting promoted to detective and switching police departments, so that number is his.” Grace pulls her shirt back down and settles back into her chair, breaking her cookie in half. “So, you know, if anything ever happens to me, they’ll be able to identify me through his number, and notify him at the same time.”

Eleanor winces. “Gracie, that’s morbid.”

She shakes her head. “No, it’s practical,” she argues. “There are all kinds of sickos out there, and victims can go unidentified for years, if they’re found with no ID on them, or if steps are taken to rob them of their identity. And especially now, with not being on the island, if something were to happen to me and I were found without my driver’s license or I were found without my head or hands, they could identify me by the tattoo. That’s why it’s Daddy’s badge,” she adds. “Mom thought I didn’t love her or something, but if a medical examiner found a shield tattooed on a victim, they would immediately pull the record associated with it, to see what connection there is.”

“It’s still morbid,” Eleanor insists softly.

“Meemaw, I’ve been kidnapped three times.”

Eleanor presses her lips together and gets up again to stir the sauce. Grace feels a pang of regret at distressing her, then another twinge of apprehension. “Is this a bad time to bring up the job interview I just had?”

***

Convincing her grandparents to keep her secret is tough. They sit around that kitchen table for hours, through dinner and dessert, arguing the pros and cons of trying to hold down classes and a full time job, and then arguing against telling her dad everything up front.

Grace wonders why being eighteen means she can’t be trusted to know her own mind, or why it’s automatically assumed she’s impulsive.

Either way, everything is said and done and even though Eleanor has reservations, James is firmly in her corner - if only because apparently Danny’d done the same thing when he signed up to be a police officer in the first place. Grace grins at the thought of inadvertently following in her father’s footsteps.

Of course, it’s only a matter of time before her aunts and uncles find out, but every single one of them promises eagerly to keep that secret, already anticipating the reveal.

She’s incredibly lucky in the timing. Academy starts in March, and she’s only a week into trying to juggle both when Rutgers lets out for spring vacation. Two weeks of getting acclimated to training - complete with falling down dead at the end of the day - before she’s working with her professors to do the last two months of school in the evening after she gets home from training.

Of course, telling her family that she’s found a job and wants to stay in Jersey for the summer isn’t easy, and convincing them not to come up to visit is damned near impossible; but with a little fast talking, some help from Steve and a stroke of luck that takes Rachel troubleshooting in Sydney for almost a month, Grace manages it.

The workload at the academy gradually increases and then levels off sometime mid-summer, so by the time sophomore year starts, she’s got enough of a handle on things to not be completely overloaded with the new classes. When her parents ask, Grace blames the somewhat more advanced curriculum for why her Rutgers GPA has dropped to a 3.2. Danny wants to be sure she’s not out partying all night, and Rachel just wants to make sure Grace can handle it.

Grace collapses onto her bed with a sigh. She is tired, bone weary, but it’s not a feeling she would trade for the world. Between getting up early for academy and staying up late for school, Grace has gotten used to working on five hours of sleep. Sometimes less, since she still makes a point to call her family once a week. She dreams of a full eight hours, but barring a brush with the plague, it’s not happening any time soon.

Three days a week, Grace will get up at five thirty, roll out of bed and travel twenty minutes to spend an hour in the pool, before reporting to the training field at eight am for even more PT. Somehow, Grace has managed to drop fifteen pounds, though from where, she’s not quite sure. She does notice that her once-slim swimmers’ build has gotten cut; ripped like woah. It takes her about three months to notice the change, and then only because she’s run out of holes on her belt and her pants keep slipping off of her hips.

Police academy is...interesting. In a way, Grace feels like she’s been made for this. Sure, procedure and ordinance codes, being taught the law is all new to her, but thanks to Kono and Chin Ho, Grace excels at hand to hand, and weapons training? Grace has been handling firearms since she was twelve; there’s very little she doesn’t know about cleaning, firing, and assembling a multitude of weapons.

Of course, being good at the physical isn’t earning Grace any brownie points, and it’s certainly not gaining her much popularity with her peers. 2023, and the NPD is clinging to the last vestiges of a boys’ club with all it’s might. It’s kind of ironic, Grace spent years being called the haole in Hawaii; now she has people sneering about ‘that damned Hawaiian, and her martial arts shit’. And just like those hurtful names in school, the snide comments and crude remarks only push her to be that much better.

Grace is in the top three of all her classes, and she’s doing it with a smile and the stubborn mindset of the virtue she’s named after.

It helps that she’s got such a solid support structure. Even if they don’t know everything that’s going on, her family is invaluable to her. Grace still rotates phone calls to everyone once a week, and chatters tiredly but animatedly as she relays news of classes and relatives (Danny), boys and clothes (Rachel), and girls and the academy (Steve and Chin Ho). She still hasn’t called Kono, and Kono hasn’t bothered to call her. Grace is grateful that most days she’s too tired to dwell on it.

The days pass entirely too fast, and before she knows it, Grace only has a month left before graduation from the Academy. She’s excited, ecstatic and terrified out of her mind; this is what she’s been working towards for almost a year now and damned if the thought of actually living the life doesn’t leave her feeling a little helpless. She hopes she’ll be good at it. She prays she’ll be able to do her family - all of her family, extended and adopted alike - proud.

Grace plots with Steve and Chin Ho as she buys the plane tickets; applies judicious use of guilt trips, the little girl voice and “Mommy” and “Daddy” when she calls her parents, tells them she misses them like crazy, and asks them to come visit her. Please, please, please.

She should feel guilty, but instead she only feels devious and maybe a little nervous to know her parents are already in the air the morning of her graduation. Grace gets up and has breakfast with James and Eleanor, hanging on them with strong hugs and taking deep breaths. They’ll be coming with her to the graduation hall; Grace’s Aunt Sarah has promised to meet her parents at the airport and drive them there.

They drive to the graduation hall and Grace gives her grandparents one last hug before she hustles back to the locker rooms, grinning and trading jokes with the rest of the women as she finds her locker and hangs up her uniform.

Grace glances at the clock; if she’s timed everything right, Sarah has just picked up her parents. They’ll be in the car now, and Sarah should be passing the bottle of Jameson to the back, along with the three shot glasses. Grace told Sarah to tell Danny that she didn’t think a beer was gonna cut it this time; she only hopes Sarah remembers.

Either way, when Grace pulls on her uniform, her hands are trembling with nerves, and when she falls in with the other twenty-four recruits, she can only swallow, raise her chin, and hope everything goes well.

What happens next is a blur. They file up on stage and stand at attention as the Chief of Police and the Mayor make speeches about the future of the city, and their futures in their new careers. Grace stares straight ahead and tries to use her peripheral vision to see if her parents have made it yet.

They have. Out of the corner of her eye, Grace sees the familiar faces in varying degrees of shock and pride. She’s called forward; and it’s announced that she’s tied for first place with one other cadet, with the best marksmanship of them all.

Grace raises her right hand, takes her oath, and the crowd goes wild. Her closest friends and all of her family, almost twenty people in all, erupt into cheers, whistles, catcalls, and hollers; and Grace flashes the crowd a grin as she shakes hands with the Chief and the Mayor, and steps back into place.

It takes a long time for the applause to die down.

***

After, when she’s changed out of her uniform and back into jeans and a shirt, she goes out front to meet her family.

Danny and Steve are standing shoulder to shoulder talking to Capt. Mann, of all people; and Rachel and Eleanor have their hands gripped and heads together. Rachel and Danny have visibly been crying, and when Danny catches sight of her, he hastily excuses himself, calls Rachel, and pushes through the crowd to meet Grace halfway.

Both of her parents grab her tight and don’t let go, and Grace lets herself relax into them with a laugh, her own emotions making her cry, too. They’re both in tears again, Rachel is murmuring her name over and over, and Danny’s just holding on.

Finally they pull back, and Danny opens his mouth to say something, pauses, and then stops. Eventually he says, simply, “You have so much explaining to do.”

Grace smiles, nods earnestly. “I will, I promise. Aunt Sarah’s letting us use her car; let’s go eat and I will tell you everything over dinner, yeah?”

Rachel sighs and nods, pulls her in for another tight hug. “You are so dead,” she sighs. “I expect to hear a ridiculously good explanation for this.”

“Would you believe it seemed like a good idea at the time?” Grace gets a long, unamused look - from both parents.

“Unfortunately,” Rachel says after that pointed silence, “Yes, I can.”

Grace rolls her eyes and jumps on Steve with a hug when he walks up, talking about dinner and finding Sarah and taking the opportunity to change the subject

They’ll come around; she’ll make sure of it.

***

Grace is zoning out, floating on the endorphins being released in response to the buzzing in her ears, the burn on her left shoulder and the scrape of the tattoo needle when the phone in her hand starts to vibrate.

Grace startles, remembers just in time not to move, and looks down. There’s a little quiver in her stomach at the sight of that sexy, warm smile flashing up from her caller ID. Grace accepts the call, and puts the phone to her ear.

“Kono, hi.”

“Hey, Gracie. How are you?”

Grace raises an eyebrow. “Fine. How are you?”

“Oh, you know. Good. I was headed out to the beach this morning and I thought I’d give you a call, see how you’re doing.”

Grace knows the disbelief is blatant in her tone. “You did?”

There’s a pause on the other end. “Well, no. Actually Chin cornered me, told me everyone was making a point to stay out of things, but that if I didn’t call you, I was going to lose you as a friend.” Kono sounds a little sheepish, and a little wistful. “We used to be friends, Grace.”

Grace softens, but not much. “We still are friends, Kono.” She injects a note of teasing into her voice. “Friends who never call or text or email, but you know. Friends.”

Kono laughs a little, and Grace feels a warm glow. “Yeah. So, Danny and Steve seemed pretty happy to have gone to visit you. I guess they showed Chin some pictures, but... I haven’t seen them yet.”

“Yeah, we had a lot of fun. I miss you all so much, it’s crazy. Did anybody tell you anything about me?”

“I heard bits and pieces. Something about a hot pink motorcycle and matching helmet? Hey, what’s that sound?”

Grace glances over her shoulder. “Oh, just the tattoo needle. I’m getting some work done.”

“Another tattoo?” Kono sounds kind of incredulous. “Gracie, of what?”

Grace grins. “Newark police badge. On my left shoulder.”

“What? I thought your dad’s was on your right?”

“It is. It’s a funny story, actually, you should call me when you have some time. I’ll tell you about it.”

“I have time now,” Kono offers. “I’ve just pulled up to the beach, but we can talk. I’m just as happy watching the waves.”

“I miss the waves,” Grace admits. “And you should go be in them for me. I’ll tell you all my news later, if you call me again.”

“Well why can’t you tell me now?”

Grace arches an eyebrow, her teasing tone at odds with her serious words, “Because I want to talk to you more than once a year, and this way, I can be sure you really want to know if you make time for me.”

There’s a pause on the other end. “In that case,” Kono says, “I guess I will go surf after all. And Grace? I’ll talk to you later.”

Grace tries not to let that feel like the promise it sounds like. “Likewise,” she replies, and hangs up.

“Boyfriend?” The tattoo artist asks as he pauses to wipe away the blood.

Grace smiles. “Nah. But maybe she’ll come around.”

FIC: Graceful Denial, Grace/Kono, G

cuspofqueens — Thu, 23 Jun 2011 15:38:52 GMT

Title: Graceful Denial
Author: darkhawkhealer
Fandom: Hawaii Five-0
Pairing: Grace Williams/Kono Kalakaua
Rating: G
Word Count: 2495
Summary: Grace knows what she wants for her eighteenth birthday. Now she just has to convince everyone else.
Note: This is the first posted in a series of fics I’m calling the State of Grace series, written for the FSAC::DDS11. Thanks to innerslytherin for the beta, and ubervirgin for being my sounding board.

***

The first time Grace does it, she's sixteen and a half. She's seen Steve do it enough times to know the drill. Wait until Dad's sitting down, and then take him a Longboard. He, in turn, recognizes it for what it is, and visibly braces himself when she sits across from him. She waits for him to twist the cap, but he waits for her before he goes any further.

"I want Uncle Chin to teach me to drive a motorcycle."

He nods thoughtfully, takes a drink and then sets the beer down. "Why?"

Grace hopes a version of the truth will be good enough, since she doesn’t have any really persuasive reasons. "Same reason why I asked Pop to teach me to drive a stick shift. Because I don't want to be one of those girls who can't save herself. "

It's so hard not to fidget when he looks at her like that. She knows her father well enough to worry when he gets quiet.

"You haven't told your mother." It's not a question, but she shakes her head anyway.

"No, I wanted to talk to you first. I figure there's no need to worry her if you say no."

He nods. "Just because I'm saying yes does NOT mean you have permission to buy one," he warns, and she all but wilts in relief as his ensuing rant washes over her.

***

The second time she does it, she’s two days shy of her eighteenth birthday. This is hard, and she’s nervous, but it has to be done.

She hands her dad his beer as she sits down at the table across from him. Her mouth is dry and her palms are damp, and Danny’s mouth twitches as he obediently opens the beer and takes a drink.

After a beat, he prompts, “What’s up, Monkey?”

The familiar childhood nickname makes her mouth twitch up in a half smile. Grace takes a deep breath, reminds herself of all of her arguments, and starts. “I’ll be eighteen soon.”

He smiles, love shining through blue eyes. “Don’t remind me.”

“Daddy, hush. Eighteen. That’s over the age of consent in all fifty states.”

Danny sobers and toys with the label on his bottle. “And you want to make a pass at Kono.”

Grace straightens up. “How did you know that?” she demands, then holds up a hand to forestall Danny’s growing grin. “And don’t tell me that you’re a detective and you detect things. That was old when I was ten.”

“But he is a detective, and he does detect things.” Steve says as he comes into the kitchen and drops down beside Danno, swiping his Longboard and taking a drink. “What are we talking about?”

“Gracie wants to make a pass at Kono, when, on your birthday?”

Grace glances between the two of them and nods, slowly.

Danny sighs. “Well, I can’t say I’m completely happy with this, but I’ve had a few years to get used to the idea, so I’m not completely flipping out.”

“Pawpaw and Meemaw are fourteen years apart,” Grace says weakly.

“And trust me when I tell you that’s the only reason I’m not more upset about this.” Danno says, “Mom and Pop are the ultimate example of how and why a May-December relationship works.”

Steve leans back in his chair and nods, “Yeah, but Gracie, you have to consider that they were also adults when they met.”

Grace bristles a bit. “I’ll be eighteen.”

Danno and Steve exchange another look. “Monkey, Steve’s talking more about life experiences than he is chronological age. And you need to be prepared, because that’s something Kono might object to.”

Grace forces herself to take a stay still and not fidget. “I know that, and I’ve considered that. She may not like brunettes or be seeing someone right now - although I’m pretty sure I would know that one - or she may not ever be able to get past me being twelve years old, or I could get hit by a meteor tomorrow. I get that this is a long shot. But I have to try, because what happens if I don’t, and ten years from now I find out she would have said yes?”

“That’s true,” Steve acknowledges, “And you know we’re the last people to tell you not to take risks -”

“Steve’s the last person. I’m the first person who doesn’t want you getting hurt.”

Grace smiles a little as Steve flicks Danno’s ear casually. “All I meant was that you should be prepared for an answer you don’t want to hear. I know that it’s your birthday and princess, if we could give you everything you ever wanted, you know we would, but some things you just can’t have.”

The sincerity in his voice and his gaze keeps it from hurting as much as it could, or even being as insulting as she could take it. It’s a good thing she loves these guys.

“Look,” she says at last, “Of all the reasons there are for Kono to turn me down - and yes, I have actually thought of most of them - I just don’t want your objection or disapproval to be the reason she says no.”

Danny nods. “Like I said, I’ve had some time to get used to the idea, and I know Kono, and I’ve always liked and respected her. I am not giving you permission, this is not permission to go out and have sex on your eighteenth birthday, oh god, but I am telling you that of all the people you could have possibly picked, you could pick someone worse than Kono Kalakaua.”

Grace smiles. “I’ll take it,” she says, standing up and going around the table to hug her fathers. “I still want to know how the hell you saw this coming, though.”

Danny grins. “Come on, Monkey, you’ve had a crush on her for years. Give me some credit for being able to read my only daughter, huh? I’m old, but I’m not senile!”

***

The morning of her birthday, Grace wakes up nauseated and terrified. It would be fine if she could panic in private, but just like the last seventeen birthdays she’s ever had, Rachel is lying in bed with her as she wakes.

Grace calms at the light touches to her hair and sleepily pulls her mom into a hug when Rachel’s eyes well up with tears. “How did you grow up so fast?”

“Mom,” Grace sighs, too tired to be properly exasperated, but playing the game anyway.

“Oh, hush. I’m allowed to get soppy once in a while, aren’t I? Don’t I do a good job in only being sentimental one day a year?”

Grace smiles again. “Yes, you make great sacrifices.”

Rachel frowns. “You’re not too old for me to ground you, young lady.”

“But it’s my birthday!”

“Quite.” She tries for stern and obviously fails. “Well, you could try to show some respect for your mother.”

“Where would be the fun in that?” Grace wonders, then instinctively dodges the swat to her head, miscalculating the space and rolling right onto the floor.

She sits there and chuckles to herself at the sounds of Rachel’s gales of laughter as she leaves the room, looking around from the floor of her bedroom. Her nervousness returns in full force, and it’s not too late to back out; the only people who know of her plan are Danno and Steve and if she chickens out, she knows they’ll never say a word.

But then, she’s been taught by the best to suck it up and not let nerves rule her, and today is a pretty bad day to start.

***

Tomorrow there will be balloons and flowers and cameras and party hats and well wishers to her heart’s content. Tomorrow there will be friends and frienemies and boys whose hearts she’s broken and girls who tried to break hers, and teachers and rabbis and kahunas in the big ballroom of the country club Rachel and her husband are members at. There will be a DJ and strobe lights and catered food and no official alcohol, by virtue of who her dads are, but what they don’t know won’t hurt them, right?

Tomorrow will be an event, an affair to remember and be spoken about by all her classmates at school; but today?

Today there’s a cookout on a private beach, with the ohana of her heart gathered around an outdoor table. Today there are tiki torches and pineapple chicken skewers and surfing as the sun goes down. The air will be filled with joking and laughter, with insults and Uncle Chin keeping unofficial score on the zingers between Daddy and Steve and a bucket filled with ice and bottles of beer and soda. There’s homemade mango sorbet chilling in the freezer and she’s already had her hand slapped away from the grill twice as Grace goes to hang out on the hammock and enjoy the company of Five-0 and their best, closest friends and family.

She’s been chilling on the hammock, out of the way of most of the action for almost an hour before Kono comes and sits down next to her. She’s all wet from surfing, Grace still can’t help the little shiver that runs through her at the sight of that bright smile and the little nudge she gets for room.

“Hey, princess.”

The long-familiar nickname makes Grace smile, bringing to mind memories of Halloween when she was 10, and her princess fairy costume: a frothy, frilly, sparkly pink confection of satin and tulle, complete with tiara and wand. She’d been escorted by Danno, then handed off to Uncle Kamekona in the middle of a neighborhood when a kidnapped boy had taken him away. After trick-or-treating, she’d gone back to Five-0 headquarters to eat shaved ice and bounce off the walls.

“Hi, Kono.”

“Why are you sitting here all by yourself? Aren’t you enjoying the party?”

Grace nods and looks around the beach with a smile. “No, I am. I’m just taking a breather. How was the surf?”

“It was good! The waves are nice today.” Kono sets them to rocking idly. “So, your dad has been talking about your college applications. Have you decided where you’re going yet?”

This is it. Grace will never get a better opening than this. “Well, that depends.”

“Really?” Curiosity colors Kono’s voice. “On what?”

Later Grace will think it’s a lot like jumping out of an airplane. “On you.” Grace’s hands start shaking, and she raises her creme soda for a sip to cover the sudden attack of nerves.

“Me?” Kono turns to look at her, confused. “What?”

Grace licks her lips and turns to face Kono more fully, drawing one leg up underneath her carefully. Last thing she needs while she’s confessing her love is to tip the hammock and end up on the ground for the second time today.

“I don’t know if you know, but I’ve kind of had this mad crush on you for, like, ever. And I was wondering, if you’re not busy later --”

“Oh. Oh, Gracie, no.” Kono looks horrified and reaches out to touch Gracie’s arm briefly. “I’m flattered, I’m sorry, but no.”

The pain is sharp and hot, but Grace nods anyway. “Okay. Can I ask why? I’m eighteen.”

“Exactly. Eighteen. You might as well be twelve! I remember you when you were twelve! I taught you how to surf! I took you shopping for your first date!”

Grace winces. “Okay, but aside from that. We get along well, and we like the same music and the same foods and--”

“Gracie -”

“It’s Grace, Kono. Not Gracie.”

Kono shakes her head emphatically and scoots back a little. “Baby! You’re just a baby! I’m thirty-one, I’m way too old for you! And you don’t know what you like, you haven’t had time to figure it out yet!”

“Kono!”

“Gracie, really! Really. When I was eighteen, I was just coming off of surfing and recovering from major surgeries and trying to figure out who I was! I couldn’t imagine another life for myself and spinach! I hated spinach.” Kono looks at Grace, dark eyes beseeching. “You know I eat it all the time now. Tastes change, people grow and change, especially at the end of their teenage years. And college!” Kono stops and stares at Grace, “You absolutely cannot base that decision on me. No, Grace. Just, no. You have to go off and date people and learn things and figure out who you are and what you want out of life.”

Kono finally seems to be winding down and Grace just lets her until she quiets.

“Alright, well assuming I go off to college, and I date people and learn things and figure out who I am and what I want; if I still want you, will you give me a shot?”

“Gracie...”

“Kono. Could you ever be attracted to me? If I still want you, will you give me a shot?”

Kono presses her lips together and casts her gaze over to where Danny and Steve pointedly have their backs turned. “Yeah. Yeah, Grace, if you still want me in a couple of years - after you’ve gone to school and grown up a little - we’ll sit and talk about it, okay?”

Grace sighs and tries for a grin. “Okay. Then that’s all I need.”

Kono gets off of the hammock and starts to back away when Grace reaches out and catches her wrist.

“It is still my birthday,” Grace reminds, “Can I maybe get a kiss? Since it’s a special day and all?”

The unamused, faintly incredulous stare she gets makes Grace grin even as she’s tugging on Kono’s wrist. “C’mon, just a little one.”

“Your dad is gonna kill me,” Kono says, not moving.

“He won’t,” Grace promises, smile growing into a laugh and tugging getting more insistent. “I promise.”

Finally, Kono smiles, and shakes her head. Her free hand comes up to cup Grace’s jaw and tilt her head up, even as she leans forward for a brief, chaste kiss.

“Thank you, Detective,” Grace teases gently as Kono draws back. “Better not forget me in five years.”

Kono grins and shakes her head again, backing away. “Grace Elaine, you are unforgettable. I’m going back in the water.”

“Dinner’s almost ready,” Grace calls, watching Kono walk away.

Tonight, in the comfort and safety of her bed at Steve’s house, Grace might let herself sulk and cry and pout. But for now, now Grace is being recruited to go grab the plates from the kitchen.

It’s not perfect, but it’s what Grace has got, and she’ll take it.

FIC: Not The Girl (That I Intend To Be), Santana-Centric, Rated PG

cuspofqueens — Wed, 06 Apr 2011 18:43:02 GMT

Title: Not The Girl (That I Intend To Be)
Author: darkhawkhealer
Fandom: Glee
Pairing: Past Santana/Brittany, hints of Puck/Kurt
Rating: PG (I rate up, just to be on the safe side)
Word Count: 1386
Summary: Life after Brittany S. Pierce.
Note: Title taken from the Sara Bareilles song 'Gonna Get Over You', because I found it aptly fitting. Second in the Life Well Lived series, with thanks to ariestess for the beta. From this point on, consider everything to be both future!fic and thus AU, because if Ryan Murphy has any sense of mercy at all, he'll negate everything I write with regards to the Brittany/Santana thing eventually.

Santana knows that the way she pulls away from Brittany is subtle, but unmistakable. For all that she and Artie talk to each other about their feelings, she must not have told him about her k. d. lang confession in the hallway; because he never looks at her any differently.

She’s grateful for that, at least.

Brittany seems to have gotten the message after the fifth time she called and Santana didn’t answer; or maybe it’s the day Santana walks in to school without her friendship bracelet on. They may only be in high school, but they’re both consummate professionals; so once they’re back on the team, their performance at Cheerios never wavers. They still sit next to each other in Glee, but it’s different. Putting your heart on the line and then watching it get trampled on will do that to a person.

And yeah, they’re only Juniors, but that’s cool, it’s good. Now is the time to start thinking about colleges, because while she may not be as vocal about it as some of her more rabid Gleeks and Cheerios, she’s getting the hell out of this town. A good education is her ticket out.

So she buckles down, assesses her grades. McKinley’s not exactly geared towards academic achievements, so while a 3.6 GPA isn’t anything to sneer at, she can do better. She has to do better.

She studies more, going back to basics when she doesn’t understand a concept and breaking it down like a Cheerios routine until she can put it back together again in her sleep.

And if she’s got the instrumental version of “Forget You” playing in the background while she studies? Well, that’s only because Miss Holiday’s bitchin’ performance has ruined her for Cee Lo’s voice.

Summer is lonely for Santana.

Oh, it won’t be for long. It’s only a few weeks reprieve until she eats, sleeps and breathes cheer and the particular brand of motivation and shine that is Sue Sylvester. She won’t have time, then, for the gaping wound inside her, the phantom pained ache in her soul for something that was never really hers to begin with. And yeah, she’s being dramatic, but fuck off, she got PMS and she’s entitled.

You try getting over the girl you’re in love with when you’re forced to see her and interact with her for over half of your day. See how well you manage to ignore the way she and her boyfriend stare longingly at each other or can’t keep their hands to themselves. Santana just counts it as a win that everybody goes home with all eyes and limbs (and tracheae) intact. She knows it’s not Artie's fault, but she can’t help hating him just a little.

It’s either that or listening to Tori Amos while she cuts herself, and her skin is just too pretty to mar.

Senior year is taken up by essays, tests and admissions applications deadlines. It’s scheduling long discussions with her father about what she wants out of life and where she’s headed. It’s layouts and back handsprings and that nasty metabolic drink she dumps out and replaces with tea when no one’s watching. The sharp pain in her chest has settled into a dull ache, but her fingers still itch at night with the memory of soft skin and long blonde hair.

Artie and Britt are still going strong, and part of Santana is relieved by that, happy by the fact that if she can’t be with her, at least their relationship is still good. Of course, the rest of her gags a little every time they smile at each other, but she’s at least trying to be a better person. It’s a work in progress.

Santana gets her acceptance letter to the University of Washington the same week that Puckerman grows a pair and asks her to be his date for prom. That ship has sailed, they’re friends, just friends, but they’re learning how to be closer even than that, and Santana sees the glances Puck throws at Kurt when he thinks no one is looking.

His denial is painfully familiar, but it doesn’t stop her from smirking as she struts through the hallways. Why bother? She’s on top of the world, and nothing’s going to bring her down.

The night of prom, she even manages to forget herself and dance with Brittany for a few minutes, reveling in bright blue eyes and a wildly happy smile. When she remembers why that hurts so much, she retreats and spends the rest of the night with Puckerman and Kurt, alternately hiding between them and pushing Puck at Kurt.

Then she blinks, and the next thing Santana knows, her name is being called, her diploma is in her hand, and she and the other graduating Gleeks are doing their very last performance.

It’s wildly exciting, and crazy bittersweet. They’re all separating now, and even though there’s Facebook and email and unlimited texting, it’s kind of a big deal for the small town vibe they’ve rocked their entire lives.

She leaves in three days, and she’s already got her stuff mostly packed. This is the last time she’ll stand in Finn Hudson’s ridiculous shadow (literally, Lord knows that boy could never outshine her), the last time she’ll have to listen to Berry pontificate over her future career as a Broadway Star (yeah, good luck with that), the last time she’ll be able to pop over to Kurt’s after a ridiculously stressful day and indulge in that particular brand of snark and cutting humor that brings them so close together. Quinn’s off to Ohio State at the end of the summer, but Santana knows she’ll drift back to Lima eventually. She still looks at Finn with those resigned stars in her eyes, and this is his home.

It’s not the last time Puck throws his arm around her shoulder, she won’t let it be, but it’s the last time they’ll do it here, on the McKinley football field.

She trades hugs with everybody, friendly insults and comments with these people who have run the gauntlet with her and come out the other end. She doesn’t promise to keep in touch - those that matter already know she will, they don’t need the words.

Then she turns, and there’s Brittany, beautiful Brittany, standing there uncertainly in front of her. She’s gorgeous in her cap and gown, and even the way she chews on her lower lip is still heart-meltingly adorable.

Santana can’t help but smile as she reaches out for Brittany’s hand and pulls her into a tight hug, letting her body convey the emotion she won’t express. Brittany’s arms come up around her back, cling to her shoulders, and Santana tries to find the right words to say.

What can she say? She’s not Berry or Hudson or even Quinn, to joke and laugh with like that. Brittany’s special, she always has been, even when Santana insisted they were only friends. She’s worth more than insults and reminisces, and Santana can feel her eyes burning with tears she refuses to let fall. She won’t ruin her eyeliner, there are still pictures to be taken.

Eventually, the only thing she can whisper is the only thing she wants for her best lost opportunity.

“Be happy, Britt. Whatever you do, wherever you go from here, just be happy.”

And now Brittany is crying, a choking sob sounding as she nods against Santana’s shoulder. Santana pulls back and frames Britt’s face in her hands, wipes away the streaming tears with her thumbs. Emotion wells up in her but she won’t give voice to the words inside her. There are some things she refuses to say twice.

Brittany must see it, though, because she smiles a little and covers Santana’s hands with her own, giving them a squeeze before she turns around and goes back to Artie’s side.

Three days later, Santana roars out of town.

Her 2008 Dodge Challenger is gleaming, packed to the hilt and radio blasting as she drives towards a future without Brittany in it. Her thoughts wander everywhere, and the only regret she’ll ever have from high school is not saying something sooner; but college is a new start, and the next time something like this happens to her, she’ll be ready.

FIC: The Best Revenge, Santana-centric, Rated PG

cuspofqueens — Mon, 21 Mar 2011 16:03:22 GMT

Title: The Best Revenge
Author: darkhawkhealer
Fandom: Glee
Pairing: Santana(/Brittany), Kurt Hummel
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1112
Summary:Even still, now, when she’s got seven miles behind her; when her heart is racing and she can’t quite catch a solid breath and she’s straining for one more step, Santana wants nothing more than to collapse into Brittany’s arms and cling for all she’s worth.
Note: Spoilers for 2.15, Sexy. This is the first of what is shaping up to be a series of Santana-centric fics, called the Life Well Lived-verse.

With thanks to ariestess and ubervirgin for the betas. ♥

Santana makes it through the rest of the day without breaking down, but it’s a close thing. No amount of concealer in the world is enough to cover the redness in her nose and cheeks, and her eyes remain bloodshot even through the eye drops a sympathetic classmate offers for her ‘allergies’.

She’s cool, she’s good, as long as she doesn’t think too hard about any particular thing. As long as she keeps her thoughts surface-level, aimless, she’s not gonna hurt too badly, but the minute she thinks about any one thing too long, it all goes back to Brittany.

She throws her bag on her bed and beelines for her dresser, pulling out workout gear and grabbing her iPod, determinedly not looking at anything other than what’s right in front of her. She throws her dirty clothes in the hamper and pulls out her running shoes, lacing them tight, rushing through some down and dirty stretches before she takes her first paces away from her house and down the street, music turned up loud and drowning out everything but the blood rushing through her veins.

So what if Brittany doesn’t want her? There are other people out there. Boys, yeah, the boys are always falling over themselves for her attention, but if she wants a girl, she’s not limited to her best friend. And who says an honest to God relationship with her best friend is even a good idea? This is the one person who knows her as well as she knows herself, and that’s not necessarily a good thing. Brittany has seen every ugly side of her, and even though she says she loves her anyway, things change when you’re in a relationship with someone. They change when it matters.

God, Santana wants it to matter.

Even still, now, when she’s got seven miles behind her; when her heart is racing and she can’t quite catch a solid breath and she’s straining for one more step, Santana wants nothing more than to collapse into Brittany’s arms and cling for all she’s worth. She wants to cry and rail, and say hateful things, and push her away even as she pulls her closer and begs Britt to love her anyway.

She is truly pathetic.

Santana pulls the elastic out of her hair and scrubs her hands through her sweaty scalp and down over her tear-stained face, walking around in a circle and taking stock of where she is. It’s official, she watches too much Criminal Minds, because she can think of at least three cases where women were killed in the woods, and it’s time to walk back to the main road before she gets kidnapped and tortured.

Of course, it’s even more freaky to reach the road and find Kurt Hummel leaning against the door to his Navigator, holding a bottle of water and offering it to her silently as she walks up. He runs a critical eye over her as she takes the bottle from him and cracks the seal, downing half of it in one long drag.

“Saw you running like a bat out of hell,” he offers.

She nods and concentrates on her breathing, still too raw to really open her mouth.

He looks her over again and there’s a faint hint of concern in his gaze. “Want to talk about it?”

She huffs a laugh and shakes her head, well aware of their tumultuous relationship. “Not really.”

He nods, like he expected it. “Want a ride home?”

Santana looks to the east, her house is a solid seven and a half miles from where she stands now, and she’s tired. Physically, mentally and emotionally, she is exhausted.

“That’d be nice,” she answers, and he nods again, this time looking satisfied.

“Stretch first,” he orders. “I may not go there any more, but Coach will still kill me for letting you get cold without doing so.”

She smiles, because it’s true, and stretches.

The ride home is silent, but not uncomfortably so. Santana’s too tired to really worry about anything, and he’s too considerate to intrude. She likes that about him.

“The best revenge is a life well-lived,” he says, breaking the silence as they turn onto her block. His voice trembles a little, like he’s hesitant to even mention it. “It’s a common adage mis-attributed to George Herbert. It means the best thing you can do in any given situation is get through it. Suck it up and smile, and remember that you are better and ten times more fabulous than the best of them.” His smile is a little bitter, hints of self-mockery are coming through in his voice as he pulls up to her house. “I don’t know what’s going on, but whatever it is, I know you’ll get through it. Fabulously.”

It makes her choke up, and again - again, damn it - tears well up in her eyes. “Thanks,” she says, as she gets out. What else can she say to something like that?

She makes it through a shower and a change of clothes. Santana fixes herself a salad and stares balefully at her books. She knows she should study, but she can’t be bothered. She shares too many classes with Brittany and she just doesn’t want to be reminded right now.

That’s her excuse, anyway, for the way she grabs her phone and jumps into her car with only a single text message to serve as her warning.

I’m coming over.

Hummel greets her at his front door with his arms crossed over his chest and his eyebrows arched.

She arches an eyebrow right back and lifts a shoulder in a shrug, hands dug firmly into her pockets. “So I might be ready to talk about it.”

And that’s how she spends four hours in Hummel’s bedroom: pacing back and forth while she rails against labels and circumstances and Rachel Freaking Berry to an audience. Accepting the odd, rare comfort of a no-strings-attached hug that turns into a cuddle on the bed (with the accompanying jokes from both of them about how it’s the only time a girl will ever find herself in his bed) in front of episodes of The West Wing, while running commentary with air-popped popcorn and lemon water.

Kurt’s kind of a rock star, and by the time Santana’s ready to leave, he’s got her cracking real, genuine smiles. She might even be able to face the general populace of McKinley tomorrow, with a fabulous fierceness that six hours ago, not even she saw coming.

FIC: Comic Book Bedroom, Hotch/Reid, Rated G

cuspofqueens — Mon, 28 Feb 2011 16:16:03 GMT

Title: Comic Book Bedroom
Author: darkhawkhealer
Pairing: Hotch/Reid
Rating: G
Word Count: 1513
Summary: Jack's bedroom gets a makeover. Domestic fluff.

The sound of the front door opening and closing pulled Aaron from his work, in time to push back from his desk and catch the flying missile that landed on him with a resounding thump.

"Oof!" Strong arms closed around a small, squirming frame that hugged him back with equal fervor.

"Hi, Dad, hi!"

Aaron grinned. "Hey, buddy."

"We went to visit Miss JJ and Henry and we had lunch and it looked like yellow brains and Spencer hadta change Henry's diaper and then we put him down for a nap and Miss JJ said she sings to him but since her voice got stoled from talking too much we had to try only Spencer doesn't sing so we had to tell a story to get him to sleep and he told us about Alice and the looking glass and it was really cool and Henry has a yellow room and can I paint my room, Daddy? I want a red one with blue stripes and maybe a picture on the wall like Henry has only not of baby Winnie The Poohs, I want something really cool, can we Dad, if we're really careful? Spencer said he has a tart and a roller and we won't make a mess, we promise!"

Jack stopped to take in a great lungful of air and Aaron laughed, and tightened his arms briefly. He rocked from side to side in the chair and looked over to Reid where he stood in the doorway, with a small smile on his face.

"I take it you had fun?" Aaron asked dryly.

"JJ appreciated the company, at any rate."

"I don't think a red room is the best idea, buddy," Aaron answered, "But yes, we can look into options for painting your room."

"I don't want you to do it, I want Spencer to help me."

The mildly amused look dropped from Spencer's face, and he straightened quickly. "What? Jack, your dad can help you paint your room. We can all do it."

"No! Daddy is busy. He has to work and we have to be quiet and not bother him." The words held the painful familiarity of the often-heard, and Aaron closed his eyes against the painful knot of regret and bitterness that welled up in him.

"That's okay," Aaron overrode Spencer's protestations, opening his eyes and leveling a quiet look at him. "Jack and I would be very grateful if you would help him paint his room."

Spencer closed his mouth and nodded. "We promise not to make a mess."

Jack cheered and then raced out of the office, intent on looking for colors to paint his room. Spencer stepped into the room and closed the door most of the way, leaving it open just a crack so that they could hear any noises in the rest of the house.

"I'm sorry," he said, stepping closer.

"Don't be," Aaron stood up and met Spencer half-way, drawing him in for a quick brush of lips. "It's not something I can fix right away, but I'm working on it. It's just a long process."

"You're doing great."

"It doesn't always feel like it. I just have to hope Jack knows that I love him very much."

Spencer squeezed Aaron's hands. "He does. I can hear it in the way he talks about the things you do together."

***

For three weeks, it was all Jack could do to keep from vibrating off of his chair with excitement. He wouldn't say anything when Aaron asked, insisting that it was to be a surprise, and somehow he'd gotten Spencer to promise the same. No amount of kissing or cajoling could convince Spencer to give Aaron even a little hint about their secret. Aaron grumbled, but could admit to being pleased that his new lover and his son could share something with each other.

Finally, on Memorial Day weekend, Spencer woke Aaron with a languid kiss and a few quiet minutes alone before Jack knocked on the door, excited to start their secret project. He ran back to his apartment on Saturday morning and gathered paint and supplies, guarding the car until Jack 'locked' Aaron into his office. Aaron shook his head and focused on his work, occasionally coming back up to listen to the low murmur of voices and the carefree laughter that came from down the hall.

He was pulled from his work a few hours later by the knock on the door, surprised by the face that poked around it.

"Hey," Emily greeted. "We ordered pizza about twenty minutes ago, it should be here any minute."

Aaron rose and stretched, following Emily into the hall. "What are you doing here?"

She smiled a little sheepishly. "We heard about the super secret room, and it kind of turned into a team-building exercise."

"It turned into a team-building exercise without the team leader?"

Aaron shouldn't have been surprised to see Morgan passing out sodas as Jack set the paper plates onto the table. "That's a lot of pizza," he observed, eyeing the four boxes stacked up.

"Painting is hungry work!" Jack piped up, obviously parroting something someone else had said. "And we get to do it again tomorrow and Mr. Derek said we would have a cookout on Monday!"

"Oh, really?"

Morgan grinned. "A good friend pays a man in food for all that manual labor."

"By the way," Spencer said, "Rossi said he's reserved a spot for you at the golf course for tomorrow."

"Golfing?" Aaron looked at Jack, "Are you sure you don't want me to help even a little?"

"No, cause then you'll see it and you can't see it until it's done!"

Emily laughed. "Face it, Hotch, you're going golfing tomorrow."

"I guess so," he murmured, meeting Spencer's amused eyes across the table.

***

Golfing was fine. Dave and Aaron spent more time in the clubhouse, sipping scotch and shooting the breeze than they did actually out on the course, but the highlight of the weekend turned out to be the cookout.

JJ came, and Will and Henry hung out on the deck with Hotch, Dave and Morgan. Garcia stopped outside long enough to put her offerings on the table and steal a cupcake before joining Spencer, Jack and the girls inside.

It was certainly the quietest outdoor activity Aaron had taken part in since Jack was born. Eventually, he came rocketing down the stairs and crashing into Aaron's legs, bouncing and biting his lip in a heroic effort to keep very quiet.

"Are we eating before or after we see your new room?"

"Before," Emily announced, prying Jack away from Aaron and carrying him upside down to the table. "But we can have the dessert after," she compromised.

Everyone studiously ignored the six year-old's fidgeting as they ate and talked around the table, conversations ranging from baseball stats to office gossip. Finally, the last fork was set down and Jack looked to Spencer expectantly.

"Now?"

"Now."

Jack popped up and grabbed for Aaron's hand, tugging. "C'mon, Dad, come see!"

Aaron grinned. "Without running, please, Jack."

Jack bounced. "Okay, but can we walk faster?"

The whole team trooped upstairs and crowded into the hallway when Jack turned and looked at the grown ups. "I am Jack, and this is my room!"

He opened the door and led them inside, jumping on his bed and grinning at the noises of appreciation everyone made.

The room was painted a deep blue color, with red stripes along the ceiling and baseboards. White stars littered the red, and large framed prints hung on the walls. Captain America in front of the flag on one wall, and a traditional Iron Man on the opposite wall. Across from Jack's bed was Captain America's shield, Aaron stepped closer to examine it and saw hints of Iron Man's 'heart' fading in and around it as well.

"This isn't mass produced," he noted.

"Nope," Garcia responded, a hint of pride in her voice. "I know a Deviant."

"I'm sure you do," Dave murmured wickedly, earning himself nudges and pokes from the girls.

"This is a nice room, JackJack."

"Thank you, Miss Em'ly."

"It's a very nice room," Aaron agreed, reaching out to ruffle Jack's hair. He looked over at to where Spencer leaned against an Iron Man light plate. "You guys did a great job."

Spencer smiled. "Next time, you're definitely getting drafted."

"Do you like it?" Jack asked again, "You like it, right?"

"I like it," Aaron confirmed.

"Woohoo!" Garcia threw up her hands. "Now let's go celebrate with lemonade pie!"

Jack's eyes grew wide and he was off like a shot. "PIE!"

Aaron shook his head as he and Spencer waited for everyone to follow Jack out. "He's going to crash so hard later."

Spencer stepped closer and licked his lips, glancing around the room in satisfaction. "But he'll have a nice room to do it in."

"Yes, he will." Aaron reached out and pulled Spencer in for a lingering kiss. "Thank you for this."

Spencer grinned. "Thank me later. You have guests now."

-End-

FIC: We Can Explain, Gen, PG-13

cuspofqueens — Mon, 31 Jan 2011 16:43:48 GMT

Title: We Can Explain
Author:darkhawkhealer
Recipient: jujuberry136 as part of the cm_exchange.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: +/- 4,575
Warnings/spoilers: none
Summary/prompt: There are three sides to every story. Written for the prompt It's Monday morning and Hotch wants to know why he got a phone call from the Jersey police about Reid, Prentiss, and Garcia.
A/N: Thanks to my betas/first readers for the go ahead. jujuberry136, I sincerely hope you enjoy this.

FIC: Sleepsong, Emily/Garcia, PG

cuspofqueens — Tue, 28 Sep 2010 16:00:33 GMT

Title: Sleepsong
Author: darkhawkhealer
Rating: PG
Pairing: Emily Prentiss/Penelope Garcia
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Fragment: may you sleep on the breast of your delicate friend
Word Count: 1,088
Summary: "You're no good to anybody if you can't keep your eyes open."
Warnings/Spoilers: Spoilers for 5.21, Exit Wounds
Disclaimer: "Criminal Minds", the characters, and situations depicted are the property of The Mark Gordon Company, Touchstone Television, Paramount, ABC, and CBS. This piece of fan fiction was created for entertainment not monetary purposes. Previously unrecognized characters and places, and this story, are copyrighted to the author. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. This site is in no way affiliated with "Criminal Minds", CBS, or any representatives of the actors.
Author's Notes: AU sequel to Swagger. Written for the Fragments of Sappho challenge at dogged_by_muses. Thanks to olizashihar for the beta.

Warm hands sliding onto your shoulders startle you. You can’t help jumping and letting out a small shriek. A low, husky chuckle sounds behind you as you put your hand on your chest to calm your racing heart.

“You scared me!” You chide.

Emily’s hands squeeze your shoulders for a moment before they slide down your arms as she leans over the back of the sofa. Her nose brushes your neck and inhales deeply, taking in the faint traces of your new perfume; you can feel her smile slightly against the back of your neck.

"You’re up late," she notes. Her hot breath brushes against your ear and draws a shiver from you.

"I know," you sigh. "I just...I can’t..."

She draws her hands back up over your arms and trails her fingertips across your décolletage, tickle-light sensation wrapping into a hug as Emily rests her chin on your shoulder.

"You should sleep," she murmurs. "At least for a little while.”

"I know," you sigh again, wondering how to explain the sense of urgency that fills you. "It's just that -"

"I know," she says, and brushes a kiss just behind your ear. "But let's try to sleep anyway. Even if it's only for a little bit. You're no good to anybody if you can't keep your eyes open."

It's true enough that you're moving to put your network into sleep mode without another word.

"I hate it when you're right." Well, mostly without another word.

Emily helps you up and draws you into a hug, one hand trailing along the length of your spine, before she lets you go. "I'm sorry, princess."

"Well, I guess I'll go see if Morgan still snores." You comment lightly.

"You know," Emily starts, brow furrowed in a hint of uncertainty. "I won the coin toss for the single room. You could always come sleep with me if you wanted to. You know how Morgan needs his beauty sleep."

The joke makes your lips go up in a small smile, even though it fell flat. You two never really finished having that conversation from a few weeks back; never found the time between the rapid-cycle of horror filled cases and frantic downtime. Sure, Emily's much more free with her affections these days, but neither of you have ever really discussed it. You don't know about her, but you're not willing to examine whatever this fragile thing is between you two too closely.

Still, it's a far cry from flirting touches and whispered innuendo to sharing a bed with someone. Even if it is Emily. Maybe especially because it's Emily. She's a close friend and she brings up all these feelings and emotions that even now, you're not quite sure what to do with.

"I don't know," you hedge, not sure if you should be hopeful or wary, "Are you going to molest me in my sleep?"

Emily arches an eyebrow, and the smile playing about the corners of her mouth holds a hint of naughtiness. "Only if you ask me nicely."

There's a thought. Emily turns to go back up to the rooms and you follow automatically, wondering what counts as 'nice' in Emily's view.

A quiet click of your tongue draws her attention as you stop by the door to your room, where Morgan lays sleeping. You mouth the word 'nightgown' at her, and she nods, leaning against the wall opposite the door so she can wait for you. You shake your head with a smile as you open the door and tiptoe into the room. Your darling mountain of a man's soft snoring accompanies your movements to your bag and you slowly ease the zipper open, wincing at the unavoidable sound, like firecrackers going off one by one. Derek snuffles and turns over, and you freeze, and wait for the snoring to pick back up before quietly rummaging through the bag for your pj's and toothbrush. Errant thoughts run through your head, memories of sneaking out when you were a teenager rising up and making you quirk a smile. You certainly never had this kind of planning and forethought when you would drop out of your window late at night.

Emily greets you with a warm gaze and a small smile as you sneak back out, then takes your hand and leads you into her room. It's a pretty room, cozy and rustic and just about the same as every other hotel room you've been in. The bed is only a full size - it looks like you two are going to get rather close tonight.

A deep breath does nothing to quell the butterflies in your stomach as you step into the bathroom to change and wash your face.

You stare into the mirror, searching for any hint of attractiveness or etherealness or hell, anything. No dice, it's just you, tired and a little plain without your makeup and your hair brushed out. You look like you're twelve, and yeah, part of you hopes that Emily likes that look, because this late at night? It's all you've got.

She's already in the middle of the bed when you leave the restroom, and her gaze goes from warm to hot when she sees you. It's subtle, but the want in her eyes helps to boost your confidence and calm those butterflies.

"Just tell me which way you want me to move," she murmurs, but you shake your head and crawl in.

"You're fine.”

You settle down next to her and lay there rigidly, willing your muscles to relax and ignore the heat radiating from your new favorite profiler. It doesn't work, and after a few minutes of it, Emily sighs and pulls you close to her. You turn into her arms cautiously, and let yourself melt into her when she takes your hand and laces your fingers together, pulling it over her waist and wrapping her other arm around you.

You're held snug, and safe, warm and content as Emily runs her fingers through your hair. She drops a kiss to your forehead, and you smile a little.

"Just sleep, Pen. We'll deal with everything else later.”

A deep cleansing breath and then you're snuggling closer, taking her at her word. Lying next to her is much easier than you thought it would be, and though sleep comes slowly, it's not a hardship to cuddle into Emily and wait.

You will deal with everything else later; and you know that when you do, Emily will be right there with you.

FIC: Swagger, Emily/Garcia, PG-13

cuspofqueens — Sun, 04 Jul 2010 19:58:25 GMT

Title: Swagger
Author: darkhawkhealer
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Pairing: Emily Prentiss/Penelope Garcia...sort of.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1354
Summary: An eye-opening sight at a bar leads to thoughts and revelations.
Note: This was written for the FSAC::DD10, and also fills a slot on my kink_bingo card... Thanks to olizashihar for the beta.

***

The first thing that catches your attention is that ass. Long, lean legs encased in pinstriped trousers end in a lush, apple bottomed booty. She's sauntering passed you towards the bar, hips rolling with every confident step.

You've been coming to this queer-friendly bar for a couple of weeks now, ever since your relationship with Kevin finally fizzled out. You haven't told anyone at work about it, mainly because you're not as heartbroken about it as they would expect you to be. Boys can be so needy sometimes, and while normally you don't mind at all, lately you've found yourself in the mood for something a little more sultry... a little more fierce. This is what brings you to Twist on your nights off, sitting back with a watermelon martini and eyeing the crowd.

You've seen some beautiful and sexy women here. Tall ones, short ones. Girls who wear makeup and ones who don't. Long hair for pulling and tiny little titties on display for everyone to see. It makes for a luscious contrast against your own ample cleavage, prominently displayed in your favorite teal corset.

Everyone is on display here, and it all looks good, especially that juicy number at the bar. Finally, you're turning your attention to black stiletto-heeled boots (you approve), the white long-sleeved top and the matching striped vest. Black hair is pulled sleekly back into an elegant French twist, showing off a slim neck you can already imagine laying kisses along the length of. She's leaning idly against the bar, making time with the bartender, and you kind of want her to turn around, so you can see if the front side is just as nice as that back side.

But you can wait. Your martini glass is half full; so if you finish it before tall, dark and sexy has a chance to turn around, you might just find yourself next to her while you order another.

The crowd is heavy tonight. People move in and out of your way as you continue to scan the bar for other available eye candy.

Then she turns to sit on a barstool. There's a baby punk dyke in front of you, distracting with her spiked collar and clashing eyeliner, so you still can't get a good look at her face, but there is no mistaking that tell-tale bulge around her hips. Eyes wide, you lean back in your seat and fan yourself idly. You do have an appreciation for a woman who packs in public. Your tongue comes out to touch your lips, possibilities swirling in your head.

She looks to be alone, but you doubt it'll stay that way for long. Maybe you should go up and introduce yourself?

You finish your drink quickly and then get up, moving through the crowd with a flirtatious glance here, a curve of your lips there. Some other girl beats you to it, and your heart stops as the stud turns to smile at the tartlet. You know her. That's Emily.

This calls for a retreat. You need to think about your next move - if indeed you make any at all. Knowing that it's Emily doesn't take away the hotness factor of a girl in a strap-on; if anything it exponentially increases it. Emily is smart, funny, and geeky. She's got this beautiful, brave soul and a stubborn streak a mile wide. You've always been a little besotted by her, but it's never been an issue. First, there was Kevin, and then as far as you knew, she wouldn't have been interested. Judging by the way she's running a fingertip down that tart's arm, though...

You need to think about this.

You toss the bouncer a wink and a half-smile as you leave the bar, thoughts swirling. Are you looking for a one-night stand or something more? Emily doesn't seem like the casual kind. And you did just get out of a semi-serious relationship.

But you're getting ahead of yourself. You don't even know if she'd be interested in you, much less in the hearts and flowers forever kind of way.

You have a hard time falling asleep. You're preoccupied with what you saw in the bar, and fantasies of the way it could have gone, if it hadn't been her. Those fantasies, of course, end up morphing into fantasies of Emily. You wonder what she's into, where her limits are, and if they're compatible with yours. You sigh, and curl a little more tightly into your pillow, and resolutely begin stringing code in your head: nonsensical gibberish that, if run, would execute a program of kittens playing with cherries. You know this code like you know the alphabet, and soon enough, you're on the edge of sleep. A part of you wishes like hell that you weren't alone.

The next morning, you hole up in your office and try to avoid the questioning gazes of those damned nosy profilers. Every single one of them has noticed that you're having difficulties meeting Emily's eyes. Derek's even kind enough to ask if you're running a fever, as you look a little flushed. Jerk. You dart a glance at Emily. She's watching you with concern, head tilted to the side, smooth dark hair swinging and catching the light. You're fine, you say, just a little preoccupied.

JJ calls you all to the Round Table Room - then there's nothing to be done but concentrate on how you can best provide your boys and girls with all the information they need to come home safely. The details of the case are laid out in all their icky, gory glory. You shudder and look away as the rest of them eye the photographs with a well-practiced clinical detachment. Wheels up in forty-five, and you hurry back to your haven to pull up flight itineraries and keep an idle watch on air traffic.

It's just your luck that the object of your infatuation chooses now to knock on your door.

"Hey. Is everything okay?"

"Oh! Of-of course it is!" You stammer out a reply as you start stringing code on an empty screen, hoping to look busy. "Everything's fine."

She doesn't believe you. "It's just that you seem a little flustered today."

You could brush it off. You know she'll let you get away with it. You also know that you'll kick yourself later if you don't say anything now. "Did you have a good night last night?"

Emily raises her eyebrows at the apparent non sequitur and nods. "Yeah. I felt like company, so I went out and had a drink."

"I know. I, uh, I saw you. At Twist."

Emily rocks back on her heels a little. "Ahh." Her gaze is dark and searching. "You could have said hello."

You shrug a little. "You looked like you were a little busy." You can feel your face heating as you glance up at her and then away again. "And to be honest, I didn't want to have to compete for your attention."

You'll never understand why you can flirt with Derek all day long, but when it matters, you get flustered and shy.

Emily stares at you, head tilted at that angle that says she's considering her next words carefully. "How's Kevin?"

You offer a half-smile. "I cut him loose a few weeks ago. I just wasn't feeling it anymore."

Derek calls for Emily and she waves him on, then turns back to you. "We're not done here," she warns as she takes two steps forward and then crouches in front of you. "But for the record, you will never have to fight for my attention. Who can compete with a goddess?"

She smiles warmly and draws a feather-light touch over your arm as she rises, then leaves even as you're still reeling, a warm glow unfurling in the pit of your stomach. Five seconds later, you pounce on your keyboard and pull up the surveillance cameras. A fond smile curls the corners of your mouth as you watch the slender line of her leave.

Every step is a swagger.

FIC: Last Night Last (Rossi/Reid, NC-17)

cuspofqueens — Sun, 14 Feb 2010 15:35:26 GMT

Title: Last Night Last
Author: darkhawkhealer
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Pairing: Rossi/Reid
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 3,171
Warnings: Can be found here.
Summary: There's always a fallout after a one-night stand.
Note: crimsonquills requested Reid/Rossi fic for her winning bid at help_haiti. Thanks to kyrdwyn for being an incredibly patient sounding board/first reader, and resolucidity for awesome beta work.

It's shocking, how it happens. He starts out having a drink with Reid, decompressing after that disaster of a case. They leave in the morning, and for now they're haunting the hotel bar, loathe to go back to their rooms. Later, when he's asked, Dave will say that he was drunk. He'll say that he has no idea how he lost control, or how he ended up following Reid back to his hotel room.

That part, at least, is true. All Dave knows is that Reid is looking at him intently, eyes dark and speculative, then he's being pushed back against the door, large, fine-boned hands coming up to cradle his face and tilt his head up minutely and it's weird, it's odd to find himself in a position he's had countless women in. But then Reid's mouth descends on his and he's lost in the heat of a surprisingly skillful kiss.

Dave makes a small sound in his throat and gives as good as he gets, not willing to yield an inch. He may be new to this 'kissing guys' thing -- hell, he's new to everything with guys; this fucking old and though he may have looked once or twice, he's never been attracted enough to make a move. Reid, however, is damned good at it, and the fact that he IS a guy is just enough to have lust shooting sharply through him, combining with the alcohol - more drunk than is probably wise, and they both know it - to make the room spin. His hands come up and rest on Reid's upper arms, tightening in pleasure and looking for an anchor.

He can't help it, he makes a sound low in the back of his throat and Reid responds in kind, growling a little and nipping at Dave's mouth, sharp teeth making him impossibly hard.

"Never took you for a biter," he mutters, and feels Reid chuckle, dark and promising in the back of his throat.

"Just wait," Reid promises, hands dropping to cup Dave's erection through his pants; measuring and mapping and fondling.

Dave can't help the thrust of his hips, doesn't want to, any more than he wants to stop from twining his fingers in Reid's hair and pulling him down for a hot, wet kiss, mouths opening and tongues slickly sliding against each other. They fight for dominance, for entrance past hot lips and hard teeth, with Dave pulling out all his favorite tricks.

He drags his hands down Reid's neck and over his shoulders, pushing off the jacket and pulling on his tie, taking perverse pleasure in unbuttoning another man's shirt while Reid fits their hips together, an equal hardness separated by just a few layers of clothing and just enough send a flutter of nerves through Dave.

Reid does a dirty roll of his hips, his own hands working just as intently on Dave's shirt as he presses open mouthed kisses over jaw and neck, and it turns into a delicious competition, both of them lost in the mutual pleasure of discovering each other for the first time.

Reid's thin, but surprisingly well-defined, all hard planes and sparse hair, a welcome contrast to Dave's own solid build. His chest is hairless, but Dave runs his fingers down the trail of hair over his abdomen, teasing at a belt buckle and pulling a ragged groan from Reid.

Reid nips again, sharp teeth pressing into the skin Dave's shoulder and Dave shudders, fingers faltering for just a second. A sharp gasp, and his head is dropping back to the door, seeking a bit of elusive, teasing friction.

It's a moment to get his brain back up and running, then Dave's unbuckling Reid's belt and reaching for the button and fly beneath, pushing just enough to have the pants dropping off a narrow waist and down long, lean legs. Reid pulls back long enough to reach into the pocket and pull out a small square package, sending a frisson of nerves and a thrill of lust through Dave. He steps out of the pants, losing his shoes and socks along the way and giving Dave an opening to move forward, further into the room.

Dave drops his own pants, suddenly, unaccountably nervous. He clears his throat, then -- "I've never --"

"I know." Reid crowds Dave back, herding him to the bed following him down, laying against the length of his body. He reaches into the nightstand and pulls out lubricant from the drawer, leaving Dave to wonder just what Reid gets up to on his own.

Long fingers play with the waistband of Dave's boxer briefs and Reid meets his eyes, lust receding a little. "Yes?"

He's drunk, it's probably a bad idea on both their parts, and somebody's going to regret this in the morning, "Yeah."

Reid smiles, a slow, blossoming smile that's both shy and a little bit dirty at the same time. It's a matter of seconds and then they're both completely naked, pressed against each other from sternum to knees. Dave spreads his legs a little and shudders at the feel of another man's cock against his for the first time, hands wrapping around slim hips and pulling Reid down, searching for something, anything to take the edge off.

He reaches for the condom and the lube and slides down, pressing suckling open mouthed kisses along Dave's neck and chest, stopping to pay quick attention to pebbled nipples, but intent on reaching Dave's insistent erection, nuzzling the thin skin just inside his hipbone. One hot, wet lick up the length of Dave's dick and then Reid's sitting up, ignoring Dave's strangled moan. Long, nimble fingers tear open the packet and pull out the thin latex. Reid meets Dave's eyes and grins, then places the condom just inside his lips. Dave has just enough time to reach down and tangle his fingers in Reid's hair before that hot mouth envelops him in one long, fluid motion, rolling the condom on at the same damned time.

Dave's dick hits the back of Reid's throat and he arches helplessly, all higher brain function rapidly disappearing. He hears the clicking of the bottle cap being opened and looks down his body, curious and eager for whatever comes next. Reid's bobbing his head and slicking his fingers, reaching behind himself and groaning in the back of his throat. Dave's breath catches and he stares, incredulous and it's impossible, but more turned on than he'd thought he could be.

Dave licks his lips, trying to bring a hint of moisture back to his mouth. "C'mere," he croaks, meeting Reid's speculative gaze. "I wanna-let me..."

Reid comes to a decision and swings around, settling onto Dave's chest and presenting the most beautiful hole for Dave's inspection, handing back the bottle of lube and returning to his self-appointed task of sucking Dave's brains out through his dick. He picks up the lube and considers it while his mouth waters. It's been a while since he's done this particular act, but Dave wants to taste and right now his impulse control is bordering on non-existent. So he drops the bottle and props his head higher up on a pillow before parting Reid's cheeks and darting in to lick a long stripe from just beneath Reid's balls - and that's new and exciting - to his hole. Small, darting licks to the clenching hole and Reid's moaning low in his throat, panting in short, gasping little breaths as he fondles and plays with Dave's balls, making him roll his hips raggedly.

It's easy to lose himself in sensations, in kissing and sucking and licking the flesh before him. It's easy to slick up his fingers and press one inside, to chuckle at the impatient sounds Reid makes as he presses back into Dave's hand. Another, and Dave's marveling at the warmth, and the tightness around his fingers. Already he's aching to be inside of Reid, but this is good, too.

Reid pulls himself off of Dave's dick and pulls away from his hands, turning and rearranging himself to hover over Dave's hips. "Thought you said you were new at this?"

Dave reaches out and fondles Reid's balls, running curious fingers over the hard length of him. "This is new. Other than that, this isn't my first rodeo."

Reid shoots him a filthy smile and sinks down onto Dave's dick, hissing in pleasure at the fingers that dig into his hips. "I find myself pleased to hear that," he admits, rising and then falling again.

Dave gets a good grip on Reid and then rolls them so he can control the speed and angle of his thrusts. "If you can form coherent sentences, I'm doing something wrong."

Reid offers a challenging, mischievous smile as he wraps his legs around Dave and pulls him closer. "Likewise."

***

Six hours later, Dave groans and rolls over. Maybe if he's really lucky, the events of last night are just a really good dream. Or maybe a hallucination, because there's no way Dave slept with his much younger, male colleague. He'll be the first person to admit to being more reckless than is sometimes wise, but Dave also prides himself on not being really stupid.

Reid stirs behind him and Dave groans again. No, no, no, no, no. This is such a bad thing, there's too much hard-earned respect between them for Dave to have screwed it up like this. It's cowardly, he'll admit, but Dave rolls off of the bed and escapes to the bathroom, locking the door behind him and leaning up against it, sense memories of tightness and heat and musk flooding back. His chest itches, another man's dried semen flaking off of his skin and prompting him to reach for the water taps. Maybe he can drown himself in the shower and not have to deal with the fallout.

Twenty minutes later, Dave steps out of the shower and wraps a towel around his waist, grabbing the other to dry off with. He opens the door and lets the steam escape before stepping out, stopping short at the sight of Reid leaning up against the dresser, looking pale and wan.

"You're still here," he says stupidly, looking desperately around the room.

Reid arches an eyebrow and nods minutely, hands shoved into his pockets.

Dave tries not to think of how horribly things can go wrong as he runs a hand through his hair. "Listen, kid. We both had quite a bit to drink last night, way more than was wise..." he trails off as he tries to bring order to his thoughts, glancing at Reid out of the corner of his eye.

Reid straightens, comprehension dawning. "You know, we tend to have kind of an unofficial policy between us. You might not have heard about it, I can't see you'd ever have had need to invoke the rule; but it's a lot like the Vegas rule...what happens while we're out, stays out." He shrugs a little. "So, we're all meeting for breakfast in fifteen minutes. See you."

Dave feels like ten different kinds of an ass as Reid quietly leaves, and it's not until the door closes that he looks up completely. There, on the dresser, is an Alka-Seltzer and a full glass of water, Dave's preferred hangover cure. He doesn't bother questioning it, working with a bunch of profilers guarantees that they'll know you better than most other people. He just drinks it down carefully, thankful and sheepish and kicking himself all over again.

It's a good rule, he thinks. He can't wait to walk out of this hotel room and forget last night ever happened. Denial can be a pretty powerful tool, and it's not one he's afraid to make use of when the situation calls for it.

Last night?

It never happened.

***

Dave can't stop thinking about that night.

It's been three weeks, but every time he looks at Reid over the round-table, he remembers the feel of those lips wrapped around him, sees long fingers wrapped around a leaking prick. It's distracting, is what it is. His concentration is shot all to hell because every time Reid looks at him, Dave sees no recognition in his eyes. There's no acknowledgment of what happened between them.

It'd be one thing if it was just lust. If sex were the only problem, he'd gladly go pick someone up and get it out of his system.

The problem is, combined with those memories of dark eyes and intense arousal, Dave finds himself thinking of Reid's other attributes. His passion and his intensity. The force of his anger and the ruthlessness behind his intelligence when he gets really involved. The leaps of logic that form connections that only Reid can make.

Everything about him is attractive, like a moth to flame. Even his socially awkward tendencies when he's nervous, the way he gets self-conscious is endearing. It's a crime to cover up that beautiful body in so many layers, and yet Dave's not sure he'd be able to handle it if everyone were aware of what lay hidden beneath those clothes. He's touched that body, seen it and tasted it, but he was drunk, and unable to truly, properly appreciate it.

He finds himself wanting a second chance.

It's ridiculous, all the reasons why it was a bad idea three weeks ago still stand today, but it doesn't stop Dave from thinking about it late at night, wondering if it would be possible to possess Reid, to have him and keep him and make something work, make it last.

Just because he's been married three times, doesn't mean any of the divorces were his idea. Dave believes in going into relationships for the long haul, he always has. Who knows, maybe a relationship with a guy would be completely different anyway. Less of the conversational minefields and feeling like nothing he's capable of is ever good enough. And it's not like he's never dated inside of the office. Yeah, it might be 'discouraged', but no one ever really says anything anyway -- or at least, they wouldn't bother saying anything to him.

The question is, can Dave convince Reid -- Spencer -- to give him a chance, after the completely shameful way Dave treated him the morning after?

***

If being married has taught him anything, it's that first and foremost, Dave needs to apologize. He spends a frustrating and embarrassing fifteen minutes at the flower shop, agonizing over flower choices. Roses or tulips? Red or pink? Orange, maybe?

One of the shop girls takes pity on him and is incredibly helpful, directing him away from roses (overplayed), and on to a long stem of purple hyacinth. Apparently they're the flower to use when conveying apologies or asking for forgiveness, and Dave's calling that one a win, because he knows Spencer will know the meaning -- or at least where to find it -- and Dave won't actually have to come out and say he's sorry.

So he goes in early the next morning and lays the flower on Spencer's desk, then wanders off to a coffee shop a few blocks away -- killing time until an acceptable hour and distracting himself with a danish. Then he buries himself in paperwork, glancing up every few seconds until he sees Spencer walk in.

His steps falter, and slow, but he keeps moving forward, dropping his bag by the desk and his coat onto the back of his chair. Dave searches for any hint of expression, but his face is unreadable as he picks up the flower by the stem, twirls it between his fingers and then drops it into his desk drawer.

Dave tries to ignore the disappointment still roiling in his stomach when JJ calls them all into a round table.

The case is in Missouri, and the only hotel available is short a room, so someone has to share. Dave offers to room with Spencer, hoping to have some private time to really talk to him, but he shakes his head and makes quiet arrangements with Morgan, ignoring everyone's speculative glances.

Dave frowns, but keeps moving. His attention is needed elsewhere, and he'll have to deal with this when there isn't an arsonist on the loose.

The day after they get back, Dave brings in two more hyacinths, and this time he leaves a note.

Please forgive me.

This time, Dave thinks he sees Spencer's lips twitch before he sweeps those into his desk drawer.

***

Day three, and three more flowers.

I'm not going to give up until you do.

It earns him a laugh, and Dave watches with rising hope as Spencer climbs the stairs and comes to his office, leaning against the door.

Spencer smiles at him. "Pax."

"You forgive me?" Dave asks.

"There's nothing to forgive," he says, stepping back out into the hall, "But thank you for the flowers."

***

A week later they find themselves in Bellevue, Washington, and Dave's been around this area before. There's a chocolate shop in the next town over, and Dave remembers signing an autograph for the owner the last time he passed through. He's got a few minutes of down time, driving from one of the crime scenes back to the station, and it's the perfect opportunity to call up the owner and apply his not-inconsiderable charm to finesse an after hours personal delivery to the hotel.

Reid's got the room next to his, and Dave listens unashamedly as the best lavender chocolates in the Northwest are delivered to his door. Reid sounds baffled, surprised but happy as he accepts the delivery and then opens the box with the door open.

"What's that?"

Dave frowns, wondering what Emily's doing there.

"Chocolates," Reid answers, still sounding pleased.

"Oooh, give me one!"

"Get your own," Reid says, and makes Dave smile as he hears the sound of the door being closed.

***

The day they get back, Spencer wanders upstairs and leans against Dave's door frame again. "How do you feel about the Newseum?"

Dave blinks. "I've never been."

Spencer shakes his head, fondness and amusement written on his face. "Do you like Elvis?"

"I do."

"There's an exhibit opening up soon, about the impact Elvis had on music and popular culture. I think you'd like it, we should go."

Dave grins, and sits back in his chair. "Spencer Reid, are you asking me out on a date?"

He rolls his eyes. "Yes or no, Rossi?"

"I'd love to," Dave says. "But a museum is the kind of thing that takes all day. We should have breakfast first. And since I make a damned impressive breakfast, we may as well have dinner the night before."

Spencer laughs before stepping back into the hallway again. "Don't push your luck."

He waves, and he's gone, leaving Dave to plot out just how he's going to get Reid to spend the night with him.

Doing my part to help_haiti.

cuspofqueens — Thu, 14 Jan 2010 16:15:53 GMT

To my readers (all seven of you),

By now, I'm sure everyone's heard of the earthquake that hit Haiti a little over two days ago. Relief efforts are underway from all quarters of the world, and greater fandom is stepping up to help as well.

help_haiti is a fandom community dedicated to raising money for relief efforts. People are offering to write fanfiction, to create graphics, to beta stories, to make fanmixes and all sorts of art, all for donations to charities in Haiti.

I'm doing my part.

This is an auction. I'm offering a story between 3,000 and 5,000 words in length, for the fandom and pairing of your choosing. Bidding starts at $10USD, and the auction closes around noon, January 20th. The story would go up sometime around Valentine's Day.

If you like my writing, and you're interested in a story by me, perhaps you can find it in you to bid/donate to the cause. Every little bit helps. =)

Thank you,

darkhawkhealer

FIC: The Set-Up (Alex/Olivia preslash, PG)

cuspofqueens — Mon, 11 Jan 2010 15:22:14 GMT

Title: The Set-Up
Author: darkhawkhealer
Fandom: L&O:SVU
Pairing: Alex/Olivia, preslash
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1059
Warnings: Spoilers for Ghost, kind of AU from there.
Summary:"Well, I'm impressed. That takes some kind of guts, setting Olivia and your mom up like that."
Note: Fourth and final installment of the Left My Heart series.

Antonio

"Mom!" The front door slams shut behind me as I drop my skates and take my coat and scarf off, stuffing the cap and gloves into the pockets and hanging it up. "I'm home!"

I head for the kitchen, rounding the corner to find her bent over the open oven, blowing blonde hair out of her face in irritation. She smiles at me as I give her a kiss and open the refrigerator, digging into my pocket for the liga I always keep for her.

She never thinks to tie her hair unless someone tells her to. It's a small, but noticeable difference between her and my real mother. Mama had to be reminded to let her hair down; it was constantly getting in her way otherwise. Even four years later, little things like that still pop up and make my chest tighten. Though I'm grateful every day that Alex loves me enough to want to be my mom, I miss my mama and wish she hadn't been taken from me. I do like to think that she would approve of Alex, if she'd had to pick a new mom for me.

At least, I hope mama would understand that I needed Alex to adopt me; to know she's not going anywhere, and neither can I. Ask my shrink and he'll throw around words like abandonment issues and lingering trauma. Ask Alex - my mom - and she'll give you words like family and love. I like her words better.

"Have fun?" she asks, taking the liga and tying her hair back. She grabs a glass from the cupboard in front of her and hands it to me so I can pour myself some juice as I nod. She bites her lip and looks around the kitchen, distracted. "What time did you say people would start coming?"

My stomach flutters and I try to keep my hands steady as I put the juice back in the refrigerator, trying for nonchalant. I'd begged and pleaded, and okay, whined about inviting people over for New Year's until she finally gave in. We don't do a lot of entertaining, so now she's nervous. If only she knew who I'd invited, she'd be even more of a wreck. I glance at the clock. "Uh, soon, I think," I tell her, cursing the way my voice cracks.

Of course she doesn't miss a trick. She leans against the counter and crosses her arms over her chest, eyebrows arching behind dark frames. "You think?"

With what has to be the best timing ever, there's a knock on the door. "Oh, look! Someone's here already!" I exclaim, narrowly passing her and sprinting for the door.

"Tonio!" Mom calls, right on my heels -- but it's too late. I'm already turning the lock and throwing the door wide.

"Hey, look who's here," I greet, pleased and yeah, completely nervous. My master plan is either going to go really well, or I'm going to be grounded until I'm thirty.

Mom stops short, completely shocked. I'm watching her reaction just as closely as anyone else, and it's only a matter of seconds before her breeding kicks in, and she's graciously inviting the Detectives of the 1-6 into our home, her narrow look telling me we're going to talk later. Well, in for a penny, in for a pound, right? Only Detective Benson steps completely into the house, after a narrow look of her own to the guys with her as they hang back.

"Hey, Antonio, how are you?" Detective Benson says as she steps inside. Her voice is warm when she speaks to me, and just a few degrees cooler when she says, "Hello, Alex. Thanks for inviting us."

"You're always welcome in my home, Olivia." Mom's voice is just as cool as she responds, completely ignoring the fact that she didn't invite anyone; it was all me. "Hello, Detectives. Were you going to come in? I promise it's very warm in here." She's alluding to the fact that they call her an ice queen when she can't hear them - something I'm not supposed to know about.

"Uh, actually, mom..." I snag my coat and scarf off the hook and take a step through the door to stand with the guys on the other side, edging further back around them. "You know how you and the doc were talking about how I don't have enough interaction with strong male role models? Well, John and Fin were planning a low key night at their place, see, and I know Detective Stabler was gonna join them," my mouth keeps moving and I have no control over this verbal diarrhea. I blame Cindy. "And look, I went from zero role models to three in the space of like five minutes, but you know how they're always busy so I kind of have to cram it all in on one night and we were gonna go do guy things that I'm sure you have no interest in and in the name of preserving your sanity, we were just gonna go, but I invited Detective Benson because I know you don't like to be alone on the holidays and I --"

"That's enough," Fin interrupts, reaching for the door. "Say g'night, Frankie."

I sigh, relieved, and offer a big smile and a wave. Mom looks stunned, and it's best to make a getaway before she gathers her wits about her and comes after me. One thing she and my mama do share? A talent for kicking me in the pants when I deserve it! "G'night, Frankie!"

"Don't worry," John adds, "We got him. Happy New Year."

We're headed down the hall for the elevator when Detective Stabler shakes his head. "Well, I'm impressed. That takes some kind of guts, setting Olivia and your mom up like that."

Yeah, well. We're not counting what's going to happen to me when I get home tomorrow. But on the bright side, "If it works, I'm a hero."

Fin laughs and messes up my hair before I can duck out of the way. "C'mon, kid. We'll teach you how to play poker."

I can't help the bounce in my step even as I try for cool. This is gonna be a great night.

FIC: Missteps and Counterbalances (Lindsay/Cindy, PG)

cuspofqueens — Mon, 11 Jan 2010 15:15:20 GMT

Title: Missteps and Counterbalances
Author: darkhawkhealer
Fandom: Women's Murder Club
Pairing: Cindy Thomas/Lindsay Boxer
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1259
Summary: "Even you can admit that you don't do relationships well. What makes you think your track record with women is any different?"
Note: Third in the Left My Heart series, takes place immediately after A Lot Like Vegas. Thanks to ariestess for the beta.

Cindy and Lindsay drop Alex and Antonio off at the airport with a flurry of warm hugs and gentle threats against forgetting them, and then watch as they disappear behind the security checkpoint, before turning and making their way out of the airport. Outside on the sidewalk, Lindsay turns and looks at Cindy.

She struggles to find words that make sense, then closes her mouth, shoulders dropping. "So."

Cindy's looking back at her with the same trepidation, combined with a hint of amusement. "So," she echoes. "This is going to be awkward, isn't it?"

Lindsay's, "God, I hope not," is both a prayer and a plea.

The silence drags on for what seems like an eternity. Then, "Sooo..."

"So I'll call you," Lindsay blurts, then curses herself for a coward and a fool.

"Oh..." Cindy wavers, a little uncertain, and then she nods. "Okay, well, that's cool. I have a deadline anyway that I should go make sure I'm on top of."

"Right, and I have some cases to work."

"Right. So, call me," Cindy says, backing away. "You know, if you want."

"I will," Lindsay nods, edging back in the opposite direction. It's not until she's made it safely into the haven of her home that Lindsay realizes she just left Cindy stranded at the airport, and feels like a first-class jackass.

***

"You did what?" Jill asks, spitting out her coffee in shock.

"Shh!" Lindsay exclaims, looking around the building lobby nervously. "The last thing I need is for everybody to think I was consorting with the enemy."

Jill rolls her eyes. "You can't blame a girl for being surprised. I mean, unless there's something you're not telling me, the last time you were with a woman was me, and that was --"

"Before Tom, I know."

"I was going to say an unmitigated disaster, but yes, 'before Tom' works, too."

Lindsay stares at her, betrayed. "Jill!"

"What?" Jill smiles and nudges Lindsay's shoulder. "Even you can admit that you don't do relationships well. What makes you think your track record with women is any different?"

"I know it's not," she responds glumly, following Jill into her office. "I didn't exactly plan for this, you know."

"So what happened, anyway?"

"I just woke up one morning and she was there!" The oh, please stare from Jill had Lindsay throwing up her hands. "Even I know not to turn down the feisty, adorable redhead when she's naked and in my bed, Jill."

"Okay, well, how did things go after Cindy's friend left?"

"About that..." Lindsay drops into the chair across from Jill's desk and tells her about that train-wreck of a conversation.

Jill stares quietly into her coffee for a moment, then raises her eyes to Lindsay's. "You're an idiot," she says bluntly.

Lindsay cringes, then nods. "I know."

"No, like you're really an idiot. I didn't know it was possible for you to screw up that monumentally! Did you call her?"

"...Not yet?"

Jill makes a frustrated sound of disapproval and then pushes the phone in Lindsay's direction. "Do it now," she orders.

"What?" Lindsay throws up her hands as if to ward off a blow, then sits on them, dark eyes wide.

"Call her now. Right in front of me so I can make sure you do it."

"I can't call her now! She's working! I'm supposed to be working! Besides, what would I say?"

Jill purses her lips and picks up the phone, stabbing at buttons. "Start with, 'I'm an idiot and I'd like to humbly beg for your forgiveness,' and finish up with 'So how do you feel about dinner Friday night?' It's ringing." She holds the phone out expectantly and then smirks when Lindsay snatches it from her.

"Cindy?" Lindsay runs a hand through long, dark hair and slouches sideways. "How are you? I'm all right. Listen, about the other night...at the airport? Oh... Lunch?" Lindsay brings her gaze up to Jill's, looking a little like a deer caught in headlights. "Tomorrow? Really?" Jill quirks a smile and nods encouragingly. "Yeah, that'd be great. I mean, if nothing comes up...yeah. Okay. I'll see you later. Bye."

Jill takes the phone back and gives Lindsay a few seconds, letting her stare at the phone in bewilderment. "So?"

Lindsay transfers her gaze from the phone to Jill. "We're having lunch tomorrow. Like a date."

"Well, I know that," Jill says, impatient. "What did she say?"

"I brought up the airport thing, and she told me not to worry about it, because that was partly her fault as well. Then she said that she'd had time to remember exactly how bad I was at relationships... so she asked if I was free for lunch tomorrow."

Jill sits back and grins. "I didn't think she had it in her."

Now Lindsay's expression is resigned as she pushes herself up from the chair. "You know, having met her ex, I can't say I'm entirely surprised."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Apparently her nickname in college was 'Sin', as in, 'You could drive a saint to sin.'"

Jill's grin grows. "And we already know she's tenacious."

Lindsay stops in the doorway and shoots Jill a wry look. "Which is why I asked if the temptation was to strangle her."

***

The next day, Lindsay's cell phone rings at eleven, while she's sprawled over her desk. She answers without bothering to look at the caller ID. "Boxer."

"This is your hour-long reminder, Inspector." Cindy's voice is amused and a little husky. Lindsay sits up straight. "You and I have a date at noon."

Lindsay fidgets a little as she glances around the squad room, trying to hide her smile. "Thanks for the reminder."

"Mm-hmm. See you in an hour." Cindy hangs up and Lindsay stares at her phone, pointedly ignoring Jacobi's smirk.

"Hot date?" He asks.

"Shut up," she responds, turning back to her work.

Forty five minutes later, she receives a text message, Fifteen minutes, Inspector, and starts to panic.

"Oh, my God." Lindsay turns to see Jill and Claire hanging out in the doorway, staring at her. Jill's the one that speaks, while Claire can only stare. "Please tell me you are not going out like that."

Lindsay looks down at herself. "What's wrong with it?" she asks defensively.

"Other than the fact that you look like you just rolled out of bed?" Tom asks, strolling by with a cup of coffee. "Nothing. Why? Got a hot date?"

"Shut up."

Tom and Jacobi trade smirks. "That's a yes."

Lindsay rolls her eyes and turns back to Jill and Claire. "Come on. I don't look that bad...do I?"

Cindy pokes her head around Claire's shoulder and takes in the scene, then gives Lindsay a thorough once-over, prompting Lindsay to flush. Her small smile widens into a smirk. "You look just fine to me, Inspector."

"I'll bet she does," Tom mutters, hiding his grin behind his coffee and turning towards the stairs. "See you in a couple hours, Boxer."

Lindsay waves and allows Cindy to pull her into the hallway. Finally she stops and tugs on Cindy's hand. She can't help it, she feels compelled to say, "I'm probably going to mess this up, at some point."

Cindy arches a brow and offers a small smile. "I know. Lucky for you, I'm probably going to help you fix it."

Finally, finally, Lindsay relaxes. "I guess I'll just have to let you lead, then."

"That, Inspector, is a very good plan."

FIC: A Lot Like Vegas (Cabot/Thomas/Boxer, NC-17)

cuspofqueens — Mon, 11 Jan 2010 15:02:18 GMT

Title: A Lot Like Vegas
Author: darkhawkhealer
Fandom: WMC/SVU cross
Pairing: Cindy Thomas/Alex Cabot/Lindsay Boxer
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1151
Warnings: I played around with timelines a bit.
Spoilers: None that I know of.
Summary: That's it. Cindy's never leaving Alex alone unsupervised again.
Note: This was written for the FSAC :: DW09, and is the second in a series of loosely related stories all taking place in the same universe. I'm calling it the Left My Heart series. With thanks to darandkerry for the beta, takes place maybe a year and a half after Of Ignorance and Bliss.

Alex shimmied out of the bed and scooped up the first shirt she came across, pulling it over her head and looking around for her underwear. The doorbell rang again and she poked her head out of the bedroom, scanning the floor and finding her panties on the stairs. She took her time putting them on and pulled her shirt down. It was Boxer's, and it barely covered the tops of her thighs, but Alex knew who was at the door, so it didn't matter much.

Or so she thought, until she opened the door and was frozen by a blast of frigid air. Alex hissed and grabbed a stunned Cindy's hand, yanking her inside. It wasn't anywhere near as bad as New York, but that didn't mean Alex appreciated it any more.

"Christ, it's cold outside," she muttered, shivering. She looked around for her glasses and then shoved them on, leading the way to the kitchen she'd barely seen the night before. "It's early, Sin."

Cindy spluttered quietly, ignoring the college nickname and taking in the clothes on the staircase. "Tell me you didn't," she pleaded, following behind Alex and eyeing her bare legs. "Tell me you did not sleep with Lindsay Boxer."

Alex turned an arch look over her shoulder. "There was very little sleeping involved, actually."

"You know, when I asked you to come visit for the holiday, I wasn't exactly planning on you riling up my Inspector and then sleeping with her!" Cindy hissed, overtaking Alex and starting coffee, comfortable in Lindsay's home. "If anybody was going to be getting laid this week, I was kind of hoping it would be me!"

Alex smiled and wrapped her arms around Cindy from behind, sliding chilled hands under a sweater and over hot flesh. She dropped a kiss to Cindy's neck, inhaling sweet perfume. "That can be still be arranged," she murmured.

For just a second, Cindy let herself sink into Alex's slim frame, before she straightened and batted Alex's hands away. "No! God, you just slept with my Inspector! You can't make a pass at me while she's still sleeping it off!" Her lower lip poked out and she sank into a chair. "I can't believe you slept with her."

Alex tilted her head and leaned against the counter, blue eyes soft behind black frames. "I hardly think she's going to be expecting to exchange commitment rings after one night, Sin. Or were you hoping you'd get a chance yourself? Because I could probably say something to her..."

Cindy looked up, horrified. "No, I do not want you to say anything! I'm not interested in her! And if I were, I wouldn't need a matchmaker, I'd say something myself." Cindy nodded firmly. Alex just smiled and pulled down a mug, rummaging around for a spoon. After a minute, she heard, "Why? Did she say something about me?"

"She wouldn't stop talking about you all through dinner."

Cindy gaped, brown eyes wide. "And you still slept with her?"

Alex glanced back with a sly smile. "It shut her up."

Cindy groaned and buried her head in her arms, whimpering a little.

"Sin." Alex took a sip of coffee and waited until Cindy looked up, her expression miserable. "Do you want her?"

Cindy made a face and nodded, her lower lip poking out. Alex nodded, too, and set her coffee down with a snap.

"Well, let's go get her then." She reached out to pull the redhead up from her chair.

"Wait, where are we going?"

Alex smiled mischievously, "Upstairs."

"To her bedroom?" Cindy squeaked, stopping in her tracks. "I can't go there!"

Alex laughed and turned to face her friend. "Do you really think Boxer is stupid enough to turn down two beautiful women in her bed? She'll wonder what lottery she's won!" Seeing the hesitation and uncertainty written on Cindy's face was enough to have Alex stepping closer, cupping her face and leaning down to press a kiss to parted lips. "You didn't hear the way she talked about you last night. The things she said. Trust me. She's not going to be upset about this."

Cindy fidgeted, unsure. "But what if she is?"

Blue eyes rolled. "Then we'll kick her out of her own bed and you and I will just have to continue on without her."

"I can't believe I'm doing this," the redhead muttered, blowing out a breath.

Alex laughed and tugged at Cindy's sweater. "Come on! Clothes, off!"

"Coming, jeez." Cindy struggled with her sweater and toed off her shoes, following Alex up the stairs and shedding her clothes at the same time. "Bossy boots."

Cindy hesitated at the doorway, in just her panties and her bra, peeking in at the sleeping woman burrowed under the blankets. One last bolstering glance and then she was following Alex in, dropping the last of her clothing and carefully picking up the blanket on the other side of Lindsay's feet, giggling with nerves and anticipation at the miles of smooth, warm skin ahead of her.

Together, they crawled under the covers and up Lindsay's body, stopping now and then to press nipping, suckling kisses along the way. At about hip-level, Alex reached out and drew Cindy in for a slow, sensual kiss. It held the comfort and familiarity of former lovers, Alex knew all the ways to make Cindy shiver, and Cindy knew just how to leave the blonde breathless. A small, friendly eskimo kiss and then they were crawling back up Lindsay's body. Cindy got distracted by the brunette's navel and nuzzled it, dragging her open mouth up and over to a darkened nipple. Part of her was still expecting to be kicked out, but she was damned if she wasn't going to make the most of every single second until then.

Lindsay moaned sleepily, mouth captured in a kiss with Alex by the time Cindy dragged herself away from Lindsay's chest and propped herself on one elbow, watching avidly as Alex woke Lindsay up gently. She traced invisible patterns over the woman's collar bone, feeling an arm tighten around her and watching it finally register that there was another woman in bed with them.

Dark eyes shot open and stared at her in shock. "Cindy! What...?"

"Call it an early Christmas present," Alex interrupted, drawing Lindsay's attention back to her. "And say thank you."

Lindsay stared at Alex for a long moment, and Cindy bit her lip when the bewildered woman turned that dark gaze on her. She offered a nervous, hopeful smile and then squeaked when Lindsay growled and flipped them, settling her long, lanky frame over Cindy's and pressing against her in all the right places.

Lindsay smiled over at Alex and then stared at Cindy again, brushing red strands out of her face. "Thank you, Alex," she murmured, voice husky, before leaning down and claiming a kiss.

Thanks, indeed.

FIC: Of Ignorance And Bliss (Cabot/Thomas, rated R)

cuspofqueens — Mon, 11 Jan 2010 14:46:00 GMT

Title: Of Ignorance And Bliss
Author: darkhawkhealer
Fandom: WMC/SVU cross
Pairing: Cindy Thomas/Alex Cabot
Rating: R
Word Count:
Warnings: I played around with timelines a bit. This is pre-series for WMC.
Spoilers: Post "Ghost" for SVU.
Summary: Cindy's not entirely sure where she knows the new T.A. from, but she does know her from somewhere.
Note: This was written for the FSAC :: DW09, and is the first in a series of loosely related stories all taking place in the same universe. I'm calling it the Left My Heart series. With thanks to darandkerry and innerslytherin for the betas, any mistakes remaining are because I'm stubborn and hard headed. <3

Cindy's not entirely sure where she knows the new T.A. from, but she does know her from somewhere.

She's a slim, blue-eyed brunette, sable-brown hair pinned up out of the way and glasses just a little too big for her face. Her clothes are kind of bland, if a little baggy. She's either lost weight recently or she's shopping at thrift stores. She's got these classic high cheekbones and a pursed mouth that says she's just dying to comment whenever the prof says something stupid. She's not really wearing much makeup, just mascara and a clear lip gloss that makes Cindy wonder if it's flavored. Cindy's not sure what it is, but something about the woman is niggling at the back of her mind, trying to figure out how she seems so familiar.

That's the problem with an eidetic memory. It's not actually total recall. As she sits in the back of the lecture hall, taking absent-minded notes on intro to law and ethics, Cindy wonders if asking the pretty woman out for coffee will help jog her memory.

Her name is Caroline Warner, and that's not ringing any bells at all. At first, she looks startled, then amused when Cindy asks her for coffee. The let-down is gentle, some flimsy excuse about professionalism and not dating students that sounds completely made up, but it's the hint of a smile curling around the corners of a pink mouth that keeps Cindy from feeling completely shot down.

Well, if the lovely Caroline won't go with her for coffee, then Cindy's just going to have to bring the coffee to her; and that's what she does, carefully balancing books and an overflowing bag and two hot cups through the door of the lecture hall, picking her way up the stairs to deposit her belongings and re-tighten hair that's practically gone loose. She jams the pens back through her ginger hair and snags the coffee, narrowly avoiding a collision on her way back down the stairs. She presents a cup with a flourish and an impish grin, earning herself a helpless giggle and a grudging smile as Cindy digs in her pockets for packets of cream and sugar. They've got ten minutes before class, and Cindy fills it with easy chatter, talking about everything from the weather to the school football team's chances this season. Caroline looks a little shell-shocked, but Cindy's totally used to that reaction, it doesn't phase her. When Professor Wheeler walks into the room, Cindy pops up and scurries back to her seat, throwing a wink and a wave over her shoulder.

And so it goes. It's turned into a matter of principle at this point; Caroline's excuses range wildly from the flimsy ("I don't date girls shorter than me.") to the semi-serious ("I have to pick up my son."), and each one makes Cindy all the more determined to get that eventual yes. Even after she passes the class, Cindy finds a few minutes every day to go flirt with Caroline. Eventually, Caroline starts flirting back.

Cindy's calling that one a win.

For the record? Her son Tony looks nothing like her. Where Caroline's light, pretty/fair skin with a hint of roses beneath it and blue eyes the color of cornflowers; he's dark, all black hair and brown eyes and a darker, duskier colored skin. Not that it matters or anything; Cindy may be insatiably curious, but even she knows better than to ask about it when she runs into them at a local pizza parlor. Instead, she plops herself down next to Tony with a sunny smile and introduces herself. He speaks clearly, with just the barest hint of a Spanish accent, so Cindy asks him if she can practice her accent on him while she waits for her pizza to finish.

Tony glances at Caroline and asks Cindy if she's interested in his mother, prompting a brilliant flush and a horrified scolding. Delighted with his question, Cindy admits that, yes, she's trying to get a date, and asks if he has any tips for her. Brown eyes study her solemnly, and then he tells her what feels like the secret to the universe -- Caroline's favorite flower. With Tony's approval and unabashed encouragement, Caroline finally caves. Waiting for pizza turns into sharing it with them, the perfect first date as far as Cindy's concerned.

This relationship, what there is of it, is lighthearted and fun, the epitome of being friends with benefits. Cindy's the one that wanted that first date, but it's Caroline that extends the offer into her bed, and between the stress of classes and papers and phone calls home, it's good. It's really good.

Tony's pretty shy, but sly as hell once he starts to open up. He'll make the most random comments that have Caroline and Cindy cracking up, smiling in pleasure at the combined sound of their laughter, though his eyes are all for his mother. Cindy understands, Caroline's something else. She's quick to smile at the world around her; but when she's not aware of it, her focus turns inward and she loses her smile, the warmth in her eyes fades. She speaks only vaguely of her past, and though Cindy's dying to know, she won't pry. The few times she's tried, Caroline's shut down completely, and Cindy'll give anything to avoid that.

She figures it out seven months into their relationship, a year after that first cup of coffee.

It's a fluke, really. Cindy's doing comparative research on the difference between East Coast and West Coast journalists -- which is to say, she's trolling through old copies of The NY Times for fun, feet kicked up on the chair next to her -- when she comes across an article that has her sitting up in shock.

It's an older picture. Assistant District Attorney Alexandra Cabot looks fierce and triumphant, striding down the steps of the courthouse in a suit that does crazy insane things for her figure. The hair is different; while Cindy knew she was a natural blonde, Caroline keeps her hair in wavy curls, where in the picture it's pin-straight. The glasses are the same, while the mouth is harder, a little more stern than Caroline's. The headline shouts about another win for the ADA, and Cindy notes the date and the journalist, and then puts in a long-distance call to the crime beat of the NY Times.

A little fast talking and some minor embellishment of her assignment, and Cindy's getting copies of the original coverage of Alex Cabot's 'death', and her subsequent return from witness protection for a sensational trial, as well as rumors of her disappearance into the night. The journalist hasn't heard of anything since, doesn't know what happened to Alex, but Cindy's got this shaky, jittery feeling in the pit of her stomach that says she knows all too well what's happened since then, to both witnesses.

Cindy sits in the library until well after dark, stunned as the enormity of everything finally hits her. What should she do? Should she say something? Would it make any difference at all? Does this change the person that she knows? Is everything a lie?

Well, no.

Maybe Cindy can better understand the times when Caroline grows distant, or the connection she and Tony seem to have, even though he's clearly adopted. Now Cindy knows how, and why, and everything makes sense; how quiet he is, how cautious Caroline is. And it won't do any good to say anything. What happens if she knows her cover is blown, and she has to leave?

Cindy loves being a reporter, it's always been her life's dream, but more than anything she appreciates knowing things, even if she can't tell anyone. It's enough that she knows this, even if she'll never breathe a word.

That night, she pours all of her caring and heartache for Alex into her kisses to Caroline, marveling at the strength required to live the life Alex has been handed. If her lovemaking that night is more reverent, more passionate, Caroline's certainly not complaining. Somewhere along the way, Cindy must have fallen in love with her, because her heart breaks quietly in the dark with the knowledge that eventually Caroline's going to leave her.

From that night forward, Cindy throws herself into every minute spent with the two of them, determined to enjoy it to the fullest, because sure enough, that day comes sooner than she's ready for.

Caroline and Tony meet her at the pizza place and they both look so shattered, fragile. There are what Cindy can only guess are federal agents standing just inside the doorway, waiting with hands in pockets and keeping an eye on the crowd. Cindy's heart leaps into her throat and she swallows against it, pulling Tony into a tight hug, even as Caroline opens and closes her mouth, at a loss for words.

Cindy just shakes her head. She swore when she found out that she would make this as painless as possible, so she tilts Antonio's face up to press a kiss to his forehead and then wraps her arms around the lost woman before her.

"I know, Alex," she murmurs into her ear. "Call me when you get settled."

Alex looks lost, confused even as Cindy presses a fleeting kiss to her lips and squeezes her hands one last time. "Don't make me track you down," Cindy mock-threatens, voice cracking through her smile, and then she turns and hurries from the building.

She's going to break down if she has to watch them leave, and she has a paper due in a week that she should really get started on.

Besides, she'll want to be by the phone. If - when - Alex calls, Cindy will be there to answer.

FIC: Garland Shenanegans (Morgan/Prentiss, PG)

cuspofqueens — Fri, 08 Jan 2010 14:56:51 GMT

Title: Garland Shenanigans
Author: darkhawkhealer
Recipient: madeofsequins
Pairing: Morgan/Prentiss
Rating: FRT
Word Count: 1,302
Warnings/spoilers: Spoilers for everything up to and including 5.05, Cradle To Grave, implied AU from there.
Summary/prompt: A couple's first Christmas in their new joint place.
A/N: Thanks to innerslytherin for the beta, written as a pinch hit for the cm_exchange

FIC: Hope On Fire (JJ/Prentiss, NC-17)

cuspofqueens — Fri, 08 Jan 2010 14:54:45 GMT

Title: Hope on Fire
Author/Artist: darkhawkhealer
Recipient: calleigh_j
Pairing: Emily/JJ
Rating: FRAO
Word Count: 4,483
Warnings/spoilers: Spoilers for everything up to and including 5.05, Cradle To Grave, implied AU for everything after that. =)
Summary/prompt: When the streets are aflood like a fever / It's a holiday of the new / We're coming closer now to the truth
Fits prompts 1. Emily's absolutely not going home for Christmas. Not this year, 3. The BAU Christmas drinks outing involves far too much drinking; Garcia has photographic evidence of the results, and 5. JJ gets a call from Ambassador Prentiss.
A/N: Thanks to ctorres and innerslytherin for the beta work. Written for the cm_exchange. Title and summary from the Vienna Teng song of the same name.

FIC: The Game Night (Reid/Rossi, PG-13)

cuspofqueens — Fri, 08 Jan 2010 07:01:35 GMT

Title: The Game Night
Author: darkhawkhealer
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Pairing: Reid/Rossi
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: just under 1200
Summary: Rossi learns to share.
Note: First person sequel to The Nice Girl

"Mmm." Spencer gasps and squirms against the tickle of my goatee against his neck, shivering when I move aside his shirt collar and start nibbling at the skin there. "David, stop seducing me! I--mmm-- I have to go! I -- ohhh-- I can't be here tonight, I haven't seen Cassandra in a month and she's going to kill me if I skip out on Game Night."

I make a grumpy noise and pull at his shirt, sliding my hands underneath it to wrap around his waist and pull him closer to me. "You could skip it," I say, waggling my eyebrows and leering playfully at my new lover, sliding one hand up to toy with a hard nipple. "Play a different kind of game with me tonight."

Spencer tilts his head for another kiss and I gladly oblige. "Mmm. You're a bad influence on me," he accuses. The way he melts in my arms and runs long fingers through my hair makes me grin.

"You like it," I murmur, before leaning in again.

We're just getting going when the theme song to the Twilight Zone sounds off. I haven't even gotten out a muttered curse before Spencer's scrambling to get to the phone before it goes to voicemail.

"Cassie! Hey!" My boy is flushed and breathing heavily from jumping over the sofa, straightening out his shirt and ruining all my hard work. I can hear Cass clearly through the phone when I move to 'help' him.

"I know you're not standing me up again."

Spencer made an apologetic face at me even as he bats away my hands. I roll my eyes at him even as I reach to pull him closer. No, I'm not going to distract him, I just want him close to me. "No, of course not. In fact, I was just leaving now! What are we playing tonight? Trivial Pursuit? Battleship?"

"Battleship would be great, but apparently Lindsey has a new squeeze."

"Uh-oh. You sound excited."

"I'd be more excited if my game partner wasn't standing me up to have wild monkey sex with his older lover. Lolita." Her voice was amused over the line, just a hint of annoyance bleeding through.

Spencer rolls his eyes. "I really am coming tonight!"

"I'm sure your bedroom activities are none of my business."

His head drops down to his chest even as I chuckle. He walked into that one. "It's just, we've been really busy with cases lately and we haven't had much time to spend together and --"

"Just bring him with you," Cass interrupted. "I don't care. If he's not freaked out by me, he's welcome to come for pizza and root beer. Just come! I miss you."

Spencer raises his eyebrows and looks at me, "Want to come play Trivial Pursuit with us? We're having pizza for dinner."

I knew it was coming, but it's still a surprise that he would be okay with me being around his other friends. "You want me to come?"

A teasing smile tugs at his lips. "Cassandra promises not to channel the dead while you're over," he says, mock-seriously.

"No, I don't."

"Hush," Spencer says into the phone, "It's not like you like doing it anyway."

"This is oppression!"

"Cass!"

"Fine! Twenty minutes, and pick up the pie on the way, will you?"

"Okay," Spencer agrees instantly, hanging up and turning to wrap his arms around me. He leans down to touch his forehead to mine and smiles a little when I return his embrace. "Thank you," he says seriously. "Cass is important to me."

I reach up for another kiss. "It won't be a hardship. She was lovely when I met her." She was a firecracker, is what she was, but I'm not going to tell him that. I have a feeling Game Night at the Cunningham household is going to make for a very interesting evening.

Spencer sighs and gives me one last squeeze, then pulls me to the door. "Come on, we have to go get the pizza."

***

About two blocks away, Spencer tugs me to a stop. "Kiss me here," he says, holding the pizza boxes out of the way and backing me against the building, nibbling at my mouth and then sweeping his tongue inside. I reach up to bury one hand in his hair and pull him closer, matching him inch for inch and giving passersby a serious show. If this kiss gets any hotter, our clothes'll burn off.

"Not that I mind," I tell him when he breaks the kiss and I can breathe again, "But what brought that on?"

Spencer shrugs and starts walking again. "If you kiss me any closer to the condo, Cass'll hear it. And then I'll hear it for procrastinating when there's pizza on the line."

"She'll hear it?"

"Clairaudience. If it happens within a certain radius of where she is, she can hear it."

I'm sure the look on my face is disbelieving, but I keep quiet out of respect. I can see Spencer watching me sidelong, waiting to see if I'll make a response. I'm not entirely sure there is anything to say. I mean, I've seen first-hand that she can do what she says she can do, but that doesn't mean that I'll automatically believe the things they tell me. Or that I want to.

"Did you ever read Douglas Adams?" He asks me as we cross a street.

I should be less surprised, but Spencer makes the most interesting mental connections sometimes. "Hitchhiker's? Yeah. Why?"

"What was your favorite part?"

I can't help the warm rush of amusement, or the smile that comes. "It's only a little detail," I warn him. He smiles at me encouragingly. "I think I've always liked the concept of having a drink in the face of impending doom."

Spencer grins quietly the rest of the way and leads me into a very nice building. Cassandra and her brother live on the top floor, and the elevator ride up is quiet. Spencer reaches out to hold my hand, and I bring our hands up to kiss his knuckles.

"Finally!" Cass cries, throwing open her front door as the elevator doors slide open. Sunshine comes out to greet us, and she reaches unerringly for the pizza boxes Spencer holds. "A girl could starve, the time it takes you two to come over."

Cass turns and puts the pizza on the coffee table, leaving Sunshine to herd us inside. She's in a black tank top and jeans, her hair's up in a sloppy ponytail, and she's barefoot. Huh. She's smaller than I remember. Spencer squeezes my hand and then disengages, taking his coat and scarf off and hanging it up, then turning for mine. I hand them over and turn to where Cass is waiting patiently by the sofa, smiling in our direction.

"Cassandra, you remember David Rossi," Spencer says, tugging me to stand in front of her.

I smile at her, unaccountably nervous. "Hi, Cass."

Cassandra's smile widens into a mischievous grin. "Of course." She hooks a thumb over her shoulder. "Can I offer you a drink? It's Game Night, and you're doomed."

FIC: Reflections In Candlelight (Hotch/Reid, NC-17)

cuspofqueens — Fri, 08 Jan 2010 06:39:23 GMT

Title: Reflections in Candlelight
Author: darkhawkhealer
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Pairing: Hotch/Reid
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1136
Warnings: schmoop like woah.
Summary: Working late, and this is what makes it all worth it.
Note: innerslytherin was having a horrible, terrible, no good, very bad day. I wrote this to make her feel better.

You're quiet when you sneak into your own home, wary of waking anybody up this late at night. The relief of being in your own space again makes you sigh as you shed your jacket and drop your briefcase by the sofa. You can see the remnants of the after-dinner experiments your son and your lover like to do, and you wish you could have been there tonight.

You unbutton your shirtsleeves and loosen your tie as you wander through the house, checking that Jack is sleeping deeply and well. He is, and you move back towards your room, opening the door and sighing at the sight before you.

Spencer hates it when you call him beautiful, he thinks it too feminine a term for him, but that's what he is. The room smells of candle wax, and a few of the scattered tealights have already guttered out, but there's enough candlelight remaining to send a warm glow over him. He's fallen asleep while reading again, curled up on his side and hugging your pillow close to him, the book just a few scant inches away.

You hate having to stay late at work, but it's this very sight that makes it worth it. The door latches firmly closed behind you and you begin to quietly undress, already planning what to do with the warm, pliant lover in your bed.

Naked, you creep to the other side of the bed and quietly retrieve the lube from the nightstand; then lift the blankets and ease into bed, shushing Spencer's sleepy murmur and running a hand over his bare waist.

Spencer's on his side, facing away from you, in the perfect position for you to lube up a finger and circle his opening, easing it past the sleepy muscle. He moans as you begin to move, setting an easy pace, and you ghost your mouth over his neck, licking warm flesh until he settles.

When Spencer moved in, he brought a free-standing, floor length mirror with him. It's set up across the room, and sometimes you wonder if he did it on purpose, when you can look over his shoulder and see yourself behind him, watch the way his chest flushes with arousal even in sleep.

Eventually he's ready for a second finger, and you can't help gently scraping teeth over his shoulder at the tight heat around your fingers. Your erection is an insistent ache, but you ignore it, more focused on taking your time and making sure you don't wake him until you're ready.

Three fingers, and by the time those are finally moving easily, he's making the most delicious mewling sounds and moving restlessly against you.

God, you love him. You love him when he's focused and intense, you love him when he's hiding behind his knowledge, you love him when he's irritable and restless, but it hits you hardest when he's like this; open and wanting and yes, beautiful.

You can see him in the mirror, the little frown he makes when you pull your fingers free and reach around him to stroke his erection to full hardness. It doesn't take long, and then you're tugging on his hip, encouraging him to turn onto his back so you can kneel over him. You pull his legs over yours and move over him, again ignoring that teasing brush of cock against cock to brush the hair away from his face and kiss him gently.

You could drown in his kisses, in the way he opens so sweetly for you, even in his sleep. You draw his lower lip into your mouth and nibble on it gently, reaching down and adjusting the head of your aching erection to his entrance, just hovering there until he begins to kiss you back and blink the sleep from his eyes.

He reaches for your shoulders, grip tightening with a gasp, eyes widening in pleasure as you steadily sink into him. You may have walked through the door earlier, but now is when you feel you've finally come home.

You can't help yourself, you're murmuring into his ear, telling him the things you can't say during the day - how much you love him, how beautiful he is, how sexy his is, what he does to you, what you'd like to do to him. All of it combines to have him moving more purposefully against you, catching your mouth in a hungry kiss as he rakes his nails over taught nipples on the way to fist his own prick.

He can touch himself, you tell him, but he's not allowed to come until he's in your mouth. It earns you a shudder and a strangled whimper, the reaction pleasing you beyond words.

You're moving faster now, intent on achieving your own release so you can suck him off, the sweat glistening off the both of you in the flickering candlelight. The sounds he makes, the way he looks and feels beneath you all culminates to send you soundly over the edge. You bury your face in his neck, inhaling the scent of him as he runs his hands over your back and shoulders, murmuring to you until you push yourself back up onto your arms and kiss him quiet, pulling free and kissing down his chest, stopping to worry at his nipples until he's making breathless threats and pushing you further down.

It makes you laugh, and you love that you can do so like this, and that makes you nuzzle the dip of his hip affectionately as you lick a stripe to his leaking prick. He's close, and you suck teasingly at the head of his cock until his threats turn serious, and you take him deeper, savoring the taste of him, the weight heavy on your tongue.

It's not long, you've been doing your best to rile him up since before you woke him in the first place, and it pays off in the muttered obscenities and the hot liquid pulsing against the back of your throat. You suck him through it, then lick him clean when he pushes at you, too sensitive for you to keep it up.

You slide back up his body, and pull him into your arms, sharing another kiss and holding him close for a minute. In a little while, you'll get up and get a cloth to clean up with, and then you'll fall asleep with him on top of you, because he'll make faces at being in the wet spot, and he'd rather use you as his pillow anyway.

But right now, you're sated and comfortable, and you just want to soak up the sight of yourselves entwined together and reflected back in the mirror, before the last candle gutters out and leaves you in smoke and darkness.

FIC: Experimental Habits (Reid, rated R)

cuspofqueens — Fri, 08 Jan 2010 06:27:20 GMT

Title: Experimental Habits
Author: darkhawkhealer
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Character: Reid
Rating: R
Word Count: 1395
Summary: Reid confronts his body-image issues.
Note: I had the story idea for Reflections in Candlelight, and started wondering just how in the world Reid got into that habit of sleeping naked in the first place. This is that story.

It started as an experiment.

Years of teasing and mockery had far more of an effect than Spencer was willing to admit to, leaving him painfully, transparently unsure of himself - of his body and the way he looked. Memories and conjecture circled in the back of his head for weeks, overheard speculation and taunting words flared up when Spencer had a moment to himself, when he wasn't working, alone in a room with the lights out.

He studied the people around him, the way they walked, the clothes they wore. Morgan's nonchalant saunter and charming smile, the way Jason would slouch down and sprawl into a chair, the set of Elle's shoulders and the way she would lean against a desk when talking to a local law enforcement officer. Morgan and Elle didn't dress with any appreciable difference between work and the times they'd all get called in on off-hours. Even Hotch always looked confident, cool and untouchable, no matter what he wore. Granted, Spencer didn't have much opportunity to see Hotch dressed down, but his bearing tended to remain the same. The question was this: did their confidence come from the clothes they wore, or their comfort in their own bodies?

At first, he'd thought it must be the clothes, so he'd gone to the mall one Saturday, determined to find his confidence. Logically, he'd known it would be crowded, but somehow he still wasn't quite prepared for all those people. Then, as if darting through the crowds wasn't nerve wracking enough, there'd been the problem with the clothes. For someone used to wearing jackets or sweater-vests over long-sleeved shirts - he had a high metabolism and low body fat percentage, it wasn't his fault he was so prone to being cold - the fashionable short sleeve shirts he saw in every window left his arms looking thin and emaciated. He was practically swallowed in the jeans he saw everybody else wearing, they threatened to fall off his hips even with a belt. Instead of inspiring confidence, he felt helpless and uncertain, out of his element and positive - paranoid, he knew - that every time he met a sales clerk's eyes, she was laughing at him in some way. Or worse, full of pity for the gangly, awkward boy hopelessly trying to fit in.

So the clothing was out. That couldn't be it; no matter how shallow Morgan liked to lead people to believe he was, Spencer realized his confidence came from something deeper than his outward appearance - though that certainly didn't hurt. Now came the puzzle of figuring out how to become comfortable in his body.

Feeling foolish and more than a little nervous, Spencer signed up for dance lessons. Hotch could dance, both comfortably and well. He'd seen Hotch draw Haley in close for a slow dance just as often as he'd seen him spin her in a twirl and make her laugh. There were some upsides to having an eidetic memory. While he signed up for the traditional lead role, it was just as easy for him to watch and memorize the follow's part as well. It did grow to be fun, if awkward and difficult in the beginning. Spencer had to constantly be reminded to forgive himself, and to listen to the music, and pay attention to his partner and not his feet. He found that while he could lead, he much preferred to follow, finding a certain ease in letting someone else decide which move to perform next.

But, for all that he enjoyed himself every week, and for all that it did help his confidence, Spencer still didn't feel comfortable in his own body. What would it take, he wondered, to be happy in his skin? Clothes hadn't helped, and the dancing, while helping his coordination, still didn't make him feel less than awkward and geeky. It was an overheard conversation between the girls that had Spencer's head snapping up, his brow furrowing in thought. A shared lament over body image, and perceptions, and Garcia's declaration that candlelight made everything beautiful, in all ways. Spencer glanced around, watching Morgan nod in agreement, and Hotch's muted grimace of sympathy.

It occurred to him then, that maybe he wasn't the only one with body image issues, which prompted him to wonder if maybe Garcia was right; candlelight made everything beautiful.

He tried it that night.

Breathless, chest tight, Spencer bought a package of tealights from the drugstore, and littered all fifty of them throughout his room, everywhere. He burned his thumb from flicking the flint on the lighter so many times, and brought it to his mouth absently while he looked around. There was the mirror over his dresser, reflecting the soft glow of the fire throughout his room. It was a little high for his purposes, so with some trepidation, he removed full-length mirror from the bathroom door and moved it into the bedroom, panting with the effort and staring at himself uncertainly.

Spencer took a deep breath, and a cursory look at himself in the mirror. He saw what he normally saw: long, unruly hair, pinched features and small eyes, thin lips. His wrists jutted out from the cuffs of his sleeves, his hands long and awkward. The rest of him was covered in clothes, and for a moment, Spencer considered blowing out the candles and burying himself in numbers and theories until it was time to go back to work. Then he firmed his resolve, and lifted his hands to his neck.

The tie went first, un-knotted and pulled out of his sweater, ruffling his collar. The sweater followed, then the collar and the buttons on his sleeves and shirt. His hands were sweaty, fingers fumbling against the small, hard plastic. He pulled the shirt out of his pants, and then his white sleeveless undershirt. Hazel eyes glanced into the mirror and then away, as he reached for his belt buckle, the click of metal against metal unnaturally loud in the quiet of the room. He stepped out of his shoes, and pulled off his socks. Spencer pulled off his pants and then his underwear and for the longest time, he gazed at his toes.

They were regular toes, he supposed, if a little long and bony like the rest of him. Hesitantly, Spencer raised his eyes a little more, watching the play of golden light around the knobby mounds of his knees. It really didn't matter how much he ate - and he had tried, before - he didn't have the body type to put on muscle mass. It led to thin thighs and slim hips. He only had the barest hint of body hair, something that always made him feel as if he'd never really made it out of adolescence. Shadows flickered around his stomach, over the faintly defined lines of his abdomen and chest, in the valleyd expanse between one pectoral muscle and the other. His nipples were a dusky rose color in the light, collarbones showing prominently under a slim neck.

Everything about him was...delicate. He wasn't built like Morgan, or reassuringly solid like Hotch. Even Jason had a comfortable presence to him that Spencer lacked. He was fine boned and bird-like. Who would want that? And why did sexual attractiveness equal validation anyway? Was that what made the others so comfortable with themselves? It wasn't as if he'd never had sex before, he just didn't place the kind of importance on it everyone else seemed to. Maybe he was doing it wrong.

Spencer took one last, hard look at himself in the mirror and then sighed a little. Maybe it was a habitual exposure thing. And if it was, then no amount of staring tonight was going to give him confidence tomorrow. He'd try again later. Spencer pulled open a drawer and reached for fresh clothes, pulling on his underwear and pajama pants. He picked up the shirt and looked in the mirror again, taking in his bare chest. Comfortable in his own skin was not hiding from it. Spencer re-folded the top and put it back in the drawer, then began to move around the room and blow out the candles.

Garcia was right, they did make everything look better. Maybe he'd try again in a few days, see how he felt about himself then.

FIC: Insomniatic (Hotch/Reid preslash, PG)

cuspofqueens — Fri, 08 Jan 2010 05:07:17 GMT

Title: Insomniatic
Author: darkhawkhealer
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Pairing: Hotch/Reid preslashy tones
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1540
Spoilers: Takes place after/around Elephant's Memory.
Summary: Reid's not sleeping again.
Note: Third in the Elle series, follows Sharing Secrets and No Place Like Home.

"Reid's not sleeping again." Morgan's voice cuts quietly over the radio. Aaron glances over at him in the passenger seat and concentrates on the road again. "Hasn't been for a couple of weeks now, he's doing that walking around thing again."

"I thought he'd stopped that," Aaron murmurs. "Back before Jason..."

"Yeah," Morgan agrees, "Me too. It's pretty bad this time."

"Okay." Aaron pulls into the police station and cuts the engine. "Switch rooms with me tonight. I'll talk to him."

Morgan shakes his head, hand on the door. "Good luck."

***

"Hotch?" Reid straightens as Aaron walks through the door that night, glancing behind him with a puzzled look. "Has there been a development? Where's Morgan?"

"No developments. Morgan and I have switched rooms." Aaron takes in the layout of the room and then drops his bag on the bed closest to the door, moving Reid's things to the other bed. He's not getting out that easily.

Reid watches with a frown. "What? Why?"

"Because you haven't been sleeping again," he states, and watches Reid scowl. "And we need to discuss that."

"I don't know what he's been saying to you, but Morgan's wrong."

"Really. So you haven't been leaving the hotel room at all hours and walking around? And you get more than an hour or two a night? Those circles under your eyes have been getting steadily darker lately." Reid sets his jaw and crosses his arms. The silence draws out, then Aaron says, "What is it, Reid? Should I be helping you find an NA meeting?"

"I am capable of finding meetings on my own. When I need them."

"Do I need to point out how your performance is suffering?"

That gets his back up. "I am performing just as well as any other member of this team!"

"Yes, you are," Aaron acknowledges. "But you and I both know you usually bring more than just any other member of the team. Lately you've been distracted, it takes you just a few seconds longer to respond or make an observation than it normally does. If you're not having trouble paying attention, you're running in the opposite direction -- too hyper, too amped up, your words are coming too fast."

Reid sighs and drops into a chair. "I can see why you'd be concerned," he admits. "But it's not actually anything that can be fixed right now."

"Maybe if you tell me what it is, I can help."

Reid stares at him so long, Aaron starts to become uncomfortable with the measuring gaze. Then, "I lost my iPod."

Aaron sits on the end of the bed, mirroring Reid's posture. "I'm sorry?"

"I have an iPod that I listen to at night, it helps me sleep. I've misplaced it somewhere, I don't know if I lost it on a case or at home or what, but I haven't been able to find it for the last few weeks, which means I haven't been sleeping."

"I assume you're not talking about the one you were listening to on the plane?"

Reid shakes his head, eyes tired. "This one is small, a second gen iPod shuffle. It's only got the one file on it. It was a gift." He shrugs one shoulder. "Basically, it's my security blanket, and I can't find it, so I can't sleep."

"Oh." Aaron's silent for a moment, thinking. Then, "What was on it?"

Again he gets that measuring look, like Reid can't decide whether or not to share this next bit of information. "You know, the problem with having a 187 IQ and an eidetic memory is how hard it is to turn something like that off. It's gotten...appreciably worse since Hankel. It's difficult for me to focus enough to sleep."

"And this iPod helps you do that?"

He nods, studying his hands intently. "Right before Elle left, she gave it to me as a gift."

"What was on it?"

Reid looks up at Aaron and smiles a little. "Her heartbeat. When she was recovering in the hospital, after - after Randall Garner? She talked someone into making a recording of her heartbeat." He shrugs, embarrassed. "I've always slept better with something else to focus on. Someone's breathing, or their pulse, and she knew that I have a hard time sleeping on cases, so she recorded it for me. I think she knew even then that the BAU wasn't for her."

"Well, what do you do when we're not in the field?"

Reid licks his lips and glances at the door. "I sleep with people."

Aaron blinks. "Oh."

"Not like that." Reid's lips twitch in a smile. "Well, not usually like that. I have a few friends that I trust to spend the night with in the same bed. I know it's weird, I just. I can't stop thinking long enough to sleep otherwise."

Aaron looks around the hotel room and just knows he's going to regret this later. "All right. Then you can sleep with me."

Reid's voice raises a full octave. "What? What? No, no - Hotch! That's not what I meant. I wasn't - I didn't - I'm not trying to suggest that -"

"Reid." Aaron gives him a look and Reid falls quiet, fingers twitching. "I'm hardly suggesting anything improper. But I need you at your best, and if, for now, this is the solution, then I'm willing to...sleep with you."

His brow furrows and he pushes to his feet. "I hardly need you to take one for the team! I've already called Elle, I should be fine again in a couple of days. I don't need your charity."

"I'm not suggesting that this is charity! You have a problem and I fail to see why you'd turn down a viable solution. You've said yourself that you do this with your other friends when you're home, and it's platonic." Aaron picks up Reid's pajamas and shoves them at him, "You know better than I do the statistics on law enforcement fatalities or serious injury due to sleep deprivation. This is a difficult case and I need you at your best, so stop being petulant and go get ready for bed."

He's got wide eyes, and he's doing a commendable impression of a fish, but Reid's moving into the bathroom and shutting the door behind him without another word. Aaron pushes down his grim satisfaction as he undresses with methodical purpose and pulls his own sleepwear on. The bathroom door opens as Aaron is turning down the bed and turning off the overhead light. Reid hesitates in the doorway and Aaron ignores him as he fluffs the pillows.

"Grab the ones from your bed, just in case we need more," he orders, watching out of the corner of his eye as Reid moves to do his bidding.

It's nine o'clock, which is a little early for him, but Aaron can use the sleep just as much as Reid probably can, so he gives a mental shrug as he climbs in bed and waits for Reid to join him. He does, and lays rigidly on one side of the bed, as far away from Aaron as he can possibly get.

Aaron sighs. "Reid. What do you need to get to sleep?" Reid makes a face and then tentatively reaches over, fingers wrapping loosely around his wrist. Tired eyes close, even as his brow crinkles, as if in concentration. "Is that it?" Reid nods, and Aaron relaxes further into the bed. "Get some sleep, then."

A few minutes later, Reid murmurs a quiet, "Thank you," and turns to face Aaron, hand never leaving Aaron's wrist.

He lies there quietly for a little while longer before he succumbs to sleep himself.

***

Aaron wakes first the next morning and holds his breath as he catalogues his position. They must've moved at some point during the night, because now Aaron's wrapped around Reid, one arm under his head and the other over his waist. Their fingers are interlaced over Reid's stomach and his morning erection is snug up against Reid's form. Aaron squeezes his eyes shut as he reminds himself that he can't help his biology, no matter how unfortunate the situation, and tries to extricate himself without waking Reid.

Reid moans a little and tightens his hold on Aaron's hand before letting it go and rolling over onto his back as Aaron gently leaves the bed and escapes to the relative privacy of the bathroom, turning on the shower and adjusting the temperature down a few more degrees than normal.

He's awake and dressed by the time Aaron comes out, eyes clear for the first time in days as he grabs his wallet and smiles at Aaron.

"So I think I know where he's keeping her. We should get to the station so I can double-check on a map."

Aaron stops short and stares at Reid pointedly, waiting for the way his eyes drop to the floor and the tips of his ears turn red.

"I really am working on getting a replacement," he promises sheepishly.

Aaron finishes getting ready and pulls open the hotel room door so Reid can go through first. "See that you do."

FIC: No Place Like Home (Elle, Reid, Gen)

cuspofqueens — Fri, 08 Jan 2010 05:03:19 GMT

Title: No Place Like Home
Author: darkhawkhealer
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Characters: Elle Greenaway, Spencer Reid
Rating: G
Word Count: 1733
Spoilers: Uh. Everything through The Bogeyman.
Summary: Spencer Reid is just full of surprises.
Note: Second in the Elle Series

It's not actually that surprising, Spencer showing up at her door. The helpless look in his eyes is. It breaks her heart and has her opening her arms to him. He moves into them carefully, mindful of her still-healing body.

"You heard, huh?"

He nods, reaching out to touch her hair. "Any way I can talk you into staying?"

Elle shakes her head, helpless and hurting inside. "I can't."

He nods again. "What are you going to do?"

Her laugh is bitter and slightly hysterical as she sinks onto her couch and looks around. "You know, I'm not quite sure."

Spencer crouches down in front of her and catches her hand, tugging gently. "Come on," he coaxes. "Let's go for a ride."

Elle looks around for her jacket and keys. "Where are we going?"

"For a ride." He repeats, ushering her out and taking her keys to lock the door. "There are some things I want to talk to you about."

She's surprised when they get onto the Interstate. Spencer takes one hand off the wheel to hold hers as they drive. With as close as their friendship has grown, Elle still finds it odd when Spencer willingly reaches out to touch her. Odd, but also incredibly comforting, so she doesn't tease him about being touchy-feely, or even driving one-handed. Sitting in the passenger seat, staring out the window and taking in the passing scenery, it's easy to zone out and lose track of time, which explains why she jumps when Spencer's voice cuts over the quiet music.

"Do you remember when you first joined the BAU, and you bought me lunch?"

Her brow furrows for a moment before she remembers. "You forgot your wallet, borrowed some money."

The grin he shoots her is full of remembered mischief. "I asked for ten dollars; you handed me a twenty and told me I was skinny enough that I should have two meals."

The affection was audible, even as she stares at his reflection in the window. "And it still didn't do you any good, look at you."

Spencer smiles again, before turning serious. "I didn't forget my wallet."

"What?"

"That day," he clarifies. "I didn't forget my wallet. I just wanted a stake."

Silence reigns in a car for a few moments as she tries to make sense of that. "I'm confused again."

"You know I'm good with numbers, right?"

"All those doctorates may have tipped me off, yes."

"And you know I grew up in Vegas?"

Now she has a strong suspicion of where he's going with this.

"Spencer." Elle turns to face him fully. "What did you do with the twenty dollars I gave you, and why is this important to me?"

"I put it in my pocket, bought my lunch with my own money, and that night I walked into a casino."

"With twenty bucks."

"With twenty bucks," he confirms.

Her mind whirls, but she waits, trusting that he'll explain the convoluted kind of logic that usually only make sense to him.

"Did you know that at one point my mom was so sick she wouldn't work, and we were in danger of not being able to eat? I was fourteen when I got into gambling. It started out as a statistical math exercise. I was too young to go to the casinos, which is good, because it gave me a chance to get really good at it before I went up against the House. There were plenty of very illegal, very lucrative games all over town, I just needed to get into them.

"So I started playing against all of the jocks and the guys in the fraternities. Of course, they never told anyone they got fleeced by a fourteen year old. It was too embarrassing. I got into some of the better pool and poker games in town, the ones that weren't held in casinos. I started saving money, and as I got older, I started splitting it up, sinking some of it into the stock market, having a friend buy up a few pieces of real estate for me, just diversifying it.

"I was determined to never be at the point where I where I would wonder what was going to happen to me financially."

"Okay," she says, resettling in her seat. "I'm following you so far."

"Remind me to tell you the story of how Gideon recruited me at some point," he says absently. "When I got to the BAU I had no idea how long I was going to last, whether it was for me or if I was going to just give it all up. The only reason I decided to stay was because I got emotionally invested in my team. Garcia was awesome, Hotch was larger than life and Jason was encouraging. When I decided I was going to stay, and I realized why, I knew I didn't ever want anybody I cared about to have to worry about finances in a crisis."

Spencer flips on the turn signal and takes the next exit, driving them to a well-kept neighborhood.

"So because I never wanted any of my team to have to worry about money if things went south," he continues, "I started a few emergency accounts."

"Emergency accounts," she repeats.

"Major catastrophe, drop everything and walk away from the FBI, death and dismemberment kind of emergency accounts."

Elle knows. She knows, but refuses to acknowledge where this is going. "How much? For whom? Why?"

"I already told you why. I worry about you all, and I want to make sure everybody is safe. For the team." Spencer rolls up to a light and turns to face her, hazel eyes serious. "Garcia, Morgan, JJ, Hotch. You."

"You're the reason my hospital stay was so unreasonably smooth," she realizes, sitting back.

"I am," he acknowledges. "I walked into that casino with twenty dollars of your money, and I walked out with eight thousand, twenty dollars."

"Eight thousand for you to start your emergency fund," Elle begins.

"And twenty to return to you," he confirms.

Spencer pulls into a driveway and turns off the car, pulling the key from the ignition. Elle looks around, taking in the big bay windows and cheery flower beds on either side of the front door. It's a quiet, middle-class neighborhood, with comfortably beautiful homes lining the street.

He opens the door, but she doesn't move. "Do I want to know where we are?" she asks quietly.

Spencer fidgets, finally nervous. "I'd like for you to hear me out," he answers, "But if you want me to take you back, I'll understand."

Elle bites her lip and looked around again, before reaching for the door handle and getting out.

"Every emergency fund is set up the same way mine are. There are stocks and bonds, silent partnerships in small businesses, and real estate." Spencer pulls out a set of keys as they stand in front of the door. "This house is attached to the account in your name. I wanted to help you in Ohio, and I couldn't manage it. I'd like to help you now."

The conversation stops for a few minutes as they step through the door and begin to look around. The house is functional, and furnished with the basics. There's a sofa set in the living room, and bedroom set in the master bedroom and a table in the dining room, all of which coordinates with everything else.

"Please tell me you didn't decorate yourself."

It's not the reaction he's expecting, and he turns to look at her, a little bit surprised. "I didn't. I know some desperate college students."

"Oh, good," Elle's laugh has an almost desperate quality to it. "I'm positive I wouldn't have been able to handle your unrecognized decorating prowess on top of everything else!"

Spencer huffs, lips quirking up at the corners. "If I decorated, you'd have lava lamps and fish tanks."

Elle sits down on the sofa and looks around again. "So what is this place?"

"Well," he replies, sitting gingerly next to her. "If you want it, it's your new home."

Silence reigns for a few moments as she digests that. "And if I don't?"

He shrugs, "Then it becomes rental property and the proceeds get funneled back into an account."

Elle looks around again, craning to see out the window. "Where are we, anyway?"

Spencer smiles faintly. "About fifteen minutes north of Baltimore. Close enough for me to come bother you all the time," he teases.

It really is a beautiful house. Two bedrooms, though the second has been set up as an office; wood floors in the kitchen, natural lighting in every room, including skylights in both bathrooms.

"This place must have cost you a fortune," she says.

He shrugs again. "Not really. The skylights in the kitchen and bathrooms are new, the carpeting was this really ugly shag thing, the whole place had to be repainted and that wall had about three square feet of dart holes in it. Like I said, I know a lot of college students. They make for cheap labor."

Elle looks around again, this time with a hint of longing. "What would I do here?"

"Write a book," he suggests. Showing her his hands. He has nothing. "Read a book. Work at the flower shop down the corner. Teach art to third graders. Talk to a counselor. Become a counselor. Open a bar. Heal. Become whole again, in a place where you don't have any bad memories, or anything holding you back.

"You have some time to figure it out. You don't really have to work for a while unless you'd like to. Maybe just work on piecing yourself back together first."

Brown eyes fill with tears and her head bows as she wipes them away. Elle sniffles and looks up at him. "I'm going to hug you now," she warns, respectful of his reticence with touch.

Spencer blinks, and opens his arms, catching her as she all but falls into them. Arms wrap tight around her, and he rests his head on top of hers, while her tears get soaked up by his shirt. "Shh," he says, helpless. "It'll be alright."

Elle laughs and pulls back just far enough to look at him, wiping impatiently at her eyes.

"You know, I think it will be."

FIC: Sharing Secrets (Reid, Elle Gen, rated G)

cuspofqueens — Fri, 08 Jan 2010 03:57:45 GMT

Title: Sharing Secrets
Author: darkhawkhealer
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Characters: Reid, Elle
Rating: G
Word Count: Around 850
Warnings: None
Summary: Elle wants to know why Reid hasn't been sleeping.
Note: First in the Elle Series.

"Hey. What's up with you? You're off your game today."

Reid snaps around to look around Elle, alarmed. "I'm off my game?"

Elle sighs and leans against the coffee counter, waiting for the team's order to come up. "It's not there unless you look for it," she reassures, "But you look tired, almost run down. I know we haven't had that hard a time of it lately."

Reid shrugs. "I just haven't been sleeping well, that's all. Nothing to worry about."

"I do worry about you," Elle says, taking a chance and lightly resting a hand on his arm. "Are you having nightmares again? What's going on?"

He glances from her hand, up to her and then back again, debating silently. "The last thing I need is to give Morgan more of a reason to tease me."

Now she drops her hand, and straightens, offering a distracted smile to the barista as he gives them their drinks. "So what, I'm a snitch now?"

"Wouldn't you?" He challenges, squinting at her as they walk back out into the bright sunshine.

"If you ask me to keep something private, I will." The look she shoots him over the roof of the car is solemn. "If you can't trust me past that, then we need to be having an entirely different type of discussion."

Silence reigns as she starts the car and pulls out of the parking lot smoothly. Then,

"My friend's out of town."

Elle frowns a little, trying to make sense of that. "I'm sorry?"

"My friend's out of town," he repeats, taking the lid off his coffee and blowing on it. "I look tired because I'm not sleeping right now."

"See, it sounds like English, but it makes no sense to me," she admits. "With as often as we're on cases, you must be used to sleeping alone by now."

"What makes you think I sleep while we're on a case?"

And thank goodness they're at a red light, as Elle turns and stares at him. "What do you mean, you don't sleep when you're on a case?"

"Did you know that it actually is possible to catch up on sleep? Or to stock up on sleep? Scientists have discovered that the body is capable of adapting and storing away --"

"Reid."

"Sorry. I have a hard time blocking out my thoughts sometimes," he waves a hand in the air. "Too many ideas running around in my head."

"I've noticed."

Reid shrugs. "It's worse at night. I usually don't sleep while we're on a case, because I can't get my brain to shut off."

"How does that relate to your girlfriend being gone?"

"We're actually not dating right now, it's a pretty platonic relationship."

God, it's like getting a puppy to focus. "Reid."

"I've found that I sleep much better when I'm sleeping with someone. If I can focus on someone's breathing, listen to their heartbeat or feel their pulse. It's so faint that it takes most of my concentration to feel it.”

Now she gets it. “And if you’re concentrating on that, you’re not thinking so hard.”

Spencer smiles faintly at her before they walk back into the building. “Exactly.”

***

A few hours later, Elle steps up to the bar and turns to Reid. “So then what do you do when we’re working?”

It's enough to surprise a smile out of him. “The same thing that keeps me from sleeping in the first place. Think.” He hurries on quickly at her look of alarm, “I catch catnaps here and there, but when I say I don’t sleep, what I mean is that I have a very hard time actually reaching REM sleep without someone with me.”

“Reid! That’s not good for you!”

He shrugs, glancing across the restaurant to where the rest of the team is joking over their restaurant menus. “Neither is a candy and caffeine diet, but it gets me through the day.”

“You’re sleeping with me tonight.” Elle announces, determination written all over her face.

Reid laughs. “Are you going to explain to JJ and Morgan why you want to switch rooms?”

That gives her pause, but only for a moment. “You need to sleep.”

The plaintive note in her voice and the worry in her eyes makes him try to reassure her. “I’ll sleep on the plane.”

“Well, when does your girlfriend get back?”

Now he rolls his eyes. “We’re not dating.”

“Reid!”

“In a few days,” he relents. “Abby‘s at a conference, and it ends on Friday.”

Elle bites her lip, tentative. “Do you want to sleep with me until then?”

Spencer squeezes her shoulder as they sit back down with the team. “Thanks,” he says, “I’ve got someone I’m going to call.”

JJ glances between the two of them. “Call about what?”

“There’s this algorithm I’ve been having some trouble with lately,” Spencer responds easily, “It’s really fascinating, the problem is --”

“Nevermind,” she cuts in, laughing. “I’m sure whatever it is, it’s great.”

Elle watches thoughtfully as Reid shifts in his chair, his glance at her filled with secrets.

FIC: Non-Negotiable Negotiations, mostly GEN, rated PG

cuspofqueens — Sat, 28 Nov 2009 15:36:10 GMT

Title: Non-Negotiable Negotiations
Author: darkhawkhealer
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Pairing: You can find Hotch/Reid preslashy tones if you squint.
Rating: G/PG
Word Count: 490
Spoilers: Spoilers for 5.09!
Summary: Some days, Aaron can't win an argument to save his life.
Note: With thanks to innerslytherin for the beta.

"You don't have to do this."

Sean Hotchner threw an irritated look over his shoulder at his brother, from his position in front of the stove.

Aaron was leaning tiredly against one counter, face haggard and drawn, and arms crossed as if to ward off a chill.

"I know I don't," Sean said. "I want to. The owner of my restaurant knows a guy here in D.C., and when he heard what happened, he talked to him and they set it up so that I could have a job here."

"I just don't think you should give up your life for --"

"Aw, stuff it, Aaron. You're my brother, and I'm not leaving you to deal with all of this on your own. Especially since you've decided to move back into the house."

"Jack wants to go home," he murmured, staring off into the distance.

"And I'll go with you," Sean said implacably. "You're not dealing with that alone."

Someone knocked on the door before Aaron could come up with a suitable reply. He glanced at the door and straightened, muttering as he passed, "Nobody's letting me be alone."

A minute later, Jack was running to the living room, a big smile on his face. He was quieter than the last time Sean had seen him, but that was to be expected, considering the circumstances. Sean stirred the risotto one more time and then rinsed his hands, snagging a kitchen towel on the way to see who had just come.

It was one of Aaron's team, the tall, lanky one. He was hooking a cane to the back of Aaron's couch and then sitting carefully, eyes going wide when he caught sight of Sean.

Aaron looked confused for a moment, then said, "I don't know if you two ever formally met each other. Spencer Reid, this is my brother, Sean. Sean, this is Reid."

"I hope I'm not interrupting," Reid said, glancing between the two of them and making room for Jack on the couch.

"Not at all," Sean replied, "Aaron and I were just discussing the details of my moving in with him."

Jack bounced a little, and Reid gave a small, relieved smile. "In that case, please don't let me stop you. Jack and I will go play with the Erector Sets Dave brought by last time."

Aaron hesitated a second and then shrugged, reaching out to ruffle Jack's hair before he followed Sean back to the kitchen. "I think he draws the short straw a lot," he said lowly. "Reid comes over to check on us more than anyone else does."

"Oh, yeah?" Sean raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment. "Well, he can stay for dinner, and we can talk about moving my waterbed."

Aaron sighed and pulled another piece of salmon from the freezer. "The lava lamp stays in New York. I'm not having you be a bad influence on Jack."

Sean just grinned quietly.