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Forget Consequence (Ashes to Ashes, Gene/Alex).

2010-06-16T23:50:51Z

Title: Forget Consequence.
Fandom: Ashes to Ashes, Gene/Alex.
Rated: PG.
Author Note: Written after watching episode two, but left unposted until now because I didn't get around to it. AU post-ep snippet, 801 words. This show was amazing ♥ I miss it!

--

It's quiet when she steps outside, shivering in the cool night breeze. The doors shut behind her, blocking out the noise and warmth of the party that continues without her. Just like life will, she supposes, when she finally leaves them behind to return home. She's no longer surprised by how much the thought of that hurts.

Gene's words are in her head, resonating inside her skull -- teams stick together (don't help him) -- and she feels so very confused. Lost in a way that goes deeper than being misplaced in time. For all that she doesn't belong here, she still considers it a home.

"Fancied a bit of star-gazing, did we?"

She turns her head to see Gene standing there watching her, smoke curling up into the air around him. He takes a final drag of his cigarette and tosses it carelessly to the floor, grinds it beneath the heel of his boot and exhales on what could almost be a sigh.

No matter what Keats says, she doesn't think Gene killed Sam Tyler. She thinks he knows more than he's ever told her, about Sam and about how he died, but she doesn't think he killed him.

"'ave you gone deaf, Bolly?"

"Just thinking," she says softly, tilting her head back to look up at the stars. The moon shines brightly and the stars shimmer against the inky darkness of the night sky.

"Anything you'd care to share?" he asks, moving towards her until he's standing right in front of her, and she tears her gaze from the sky to look at him instead.

It's hard to look at him now without seeing him kissing Elaine inside Luigi's, and she doesn't like remembering the flash of jealousy she felt as she watched it happen. Somehow she's fallen just a little in love with Gene Hunt, right as he's apparently decided he doesn't feel anything for her at all.

"It's nothing important," she sighs and forces a smile for his benefit.

"Y'know, whenever you have this particular look in your eyes it means you're lying to me, Alex, and I don't like it."

She closes her eyes instinctively and nearly jumps out of her skin when his fingers touch her cheek, brushing strands of dark hair away from her face. He knows her so well for someone who hardly knows her at all and she's so used to him being part of her life that she's not sure she ever wants to give him up.

'We make a good team, Bolly,' he'd said.

They are a good team. They're the best.

"Alex," he says now, his voice a soft growl, and that's it-- end of the line.

She opens her eyes and looks at him, searching his face for a hint of what she used to see there whenever they were alone together. For a long, painful moment she thinks she isn't going to find it, that she really has missed her chance, but then something changes, a flicker in his expression, and she kisses him before she lets herself think about the consequences.

He tastes like wine and whisky and smoke and something else, something Gene, and he kisses her back fiercely, pulling her against him. She twists her fingers into the fabric of his jacket, holding on to him as if he might disappear if she lets go.

When the kiss ends she buries her face in his shoulder and takes a deep breath, dizzy with emotion and the events of the day. She wants to tell him everything Keats has told her. She wants him to tell her all about Sam Tyler. But she knows that one kiss hasn't changed things; he still has his secrets and she still has hers.

"What's gotten in to you, Bols?"

His voice is gruff but she can hear the emotion lurking deep beneath the surface, can feel the tension threading through his body where it's pressed against hers, and she smiles into his shoulder.

Somehow they're going to be okay.

"Uptown girl wanted her downtown man," she murmurs, lifting her head to look at him.

His eyes are shadowed but his grip on her is still firm and he responds when she kisses him again, softer and briefer than before.

"Tart," he says but there's a smile tugging at his lips, and she only laughs in response.

Her secrets are still a weight on her shoulders but this one secret at least, how she feels about him, is finally edging its way into the open.

"Do you think they'll be missing us?" she asks, glancing towards the door.

"They're drunk," he says, shrugging as if he doesn't care. "I doubt it."

"Good," she says, and leans in to kiss him again. "Then let's stay here for a little bit longer."

The Changes Time Brings (Crime Traveller, Holly/Slade).

2010-06-16T23:37:09Z

Title: The Changes Time Brings.
Fandom: Crime Traveller, Holly/Slade.
Author Note: I write fic for this show for an audience of... me ;P Clearing out fic I wrote on my phone. 1,394 words.

--

The sun begins to set as they walk out of the theatre, streaking the sky with reds and oranges and purples, burning the edges of the clouds that still linger. It's beautiful and she takes a minute to admire it, imprints the image in her mind and wishes for a camera. She's gained an appreciation for the simple things in life over the last few months, but then she suspects that nearly dying at the hands of an conniving ex-boyfriend would do that to anyone.

Slade stops when he realises she's no longer beside him, turning to look at her, waiting patiently while she stares up at the sky. She appreciates him more than she did before too, appreciates his loyalty and trustworthiness, the way he puts her well-being ahead of his own and never fails to watch out for her.

She sighs and reluctantly steps out of the moment, catches up to him in a few steps; shifts closer as they begin to walk and waits for him to take her hand in his. He does and she thinks that this, this is what she's been wanting, the comfort of touch, of connection, of... whatever it is that they're slowly becoming. She thinks that maybe they've been becoming this the entire time they've known each other.

"Want to get a drink?" he suggests, his voice quiet and his thumb brushing gently across her skin, his hand warm in her own. "It's early yet."

She nods then shakes her head. She doesn't want the evening to be over but she's not in the mood for the bar. She's unwilling to be around so many people, unwilling to let the noise of other people's idle conversations interrupt the peaceful quiet that seems to have settled over them.

"Is that a yes or a no?" he asks, gentle amusement in his voice.

"Both," she says, exhaling on a sigh. "I have wine back at the flat."

He nods, changes direction, and they wander along the streets, the sound of the night time traffic somehow muted. His hand in hers is an anchor, keeping her here when her mind tries to take her away, back to the events of a few months ago, when she was so wrong about someone else she thought she could trust. She knows she isn't wrong about Slade, that he really is the man she thinks he is, but Alex's betrayal left her uncertain of everything, froze her in more ways than the obvious, and sometimes she thinks that the cold lives on inside her.

"You're quiet," Slade says softly, his voice still loud in the silence that lingers between them. "Everything all right?"

"I'm just thinking," she says, equally softly. "I'm sorry, I'm not very good company tonight."

She hasn't been good company for weeks, if not months, but she doesn't want to go there. After the first week, where she secluded herself away from everything, including him, they went back to spending a lot of time together, but it still feels as though their every interaction is tainted by the ice that seems to have settled in her heart.

"You're always good company," he says lightly, turns his head to kiss her cheek, and she smiles at him as best she can, the action foreign where it used to feel natural.

This is the legacy Alex has left her with. Even in death he's destroying her life.

They turn left on to her street and she tenses as they approach her flat. Every time they walk back from the theatre it reminds her of the beginning of that nightmare, and she half expects Chapman to leap out from the shadows shouting her name.

Slade glances sideways at her as she speeds up the pace, wanting to get inside, away from the memories, and then stops dead, using their joined hands to bring her to a stop as well. She frowns and tries to get away, confused by his actions, but he wordlessly pulls her into a hug, wrapping his arms around her as they stand on the corner of the street. She relaxes into the contact, twists her fingers into the fabric of his jacket and buries her face in his shoulder.

Faintly, she thinks she can still hear Chapman's voice.

"It's over, Holly," Slade says softly, his voice gentle and his breath warm as it ghosts across her skin. "It's all in the past, and not one we'll be revisiting any time soon."

"I know," she says, the words muffled, and intellectually she does know, just like she knows her fears are irrational. It doesn't take them away.

But the longer they stand there, the easier she finds it to breathe and believe that nothing bad is about to happen, that it's just her and Slade and they're safe, no manipulative ex-boyfriends lurking in the shadows. She wants to kiss him, she's wanted to kiss him for a while, but she's afraid at the same time.

She lifts her head to look at him, thinks of how difficult she's been to deal with over the last few months, how hard he's had to work to reach her through the defences she kept building against her will, and asks, "Why do you even bother with me?"

"What are you talking about?" he frowns, genuinely confused by the question.

"I've been a nightmare to be around," she says, forcing the words out past the lump in her throat and trying to ignore the tears that sting her eyes, threatening to fall. "And you've never given up trying to reach me, even when I kept pushing you away. It can't be because of the machine, we've hardly used it since then."

At first she thought that seeing what happened to Alex, seeing him sucked into the loop of infinity, had scared Slade away from time travel, but he's still happy to use the machine when he's struggling to solve a crime, he's just used it less. It's what she wanted from him, for him to solve the simpler crimes on his own and save the machine for the big ones, but she never expected him to take that on board the way he has.

"Holly," he sighs, and she tenses again, waiting for the blow to come, for him to say something that'll hurt, even though she knows he won't. "I'm never going to give up on you, machine or no machine. You're my best friend."

He's hers too, but what she feels for him goes beyond just friendship. She used to be certain that his feelings for her were the same but she's not sure anymore, and she suspects that if she wants to find out, she'll have to be the one to make the first move; he won't push before he's sure she's ready to go there.

She looks up at him, at the warmth in his eyes, and the ice around her heart seems to thaw a little as she takes a shaky breath. She closes her eyes and kisses him, tentative and uncertain, and he kisses her back without hesitation. She presses closer, slides her arms around his neck and loses herself in the feeling of being wanted by someone she wants in return, the bad memories kept at bay by the new ones they're making together.

She's flushed when the kiss ends, cheeks warm, body wanting, and she smiles at him, half-shy, half-delighted. He smiles back at her and kisses her again, softly, briefly, before he steps back and takes her hands in his. The sky has darkened to deep indigo and navy and there's a chill in the air, but she doesn't feel cold.

"I'm glad you didn't give up on me," she whispers, tightening her grip on his hands. "I didn't want you to."

"I'll never give up on you," he says, and she takes it for the promise he intends it to be, feels the words settle somewhere inside her, dissolving any lingering chill.

They aren't perfect people, no one is, but they are perfect for each other, and as they cross the street, hand in hand, towards her flat, she thinks that no time she could exist in will ever be as good as this, and that the future, while unwritten and uncertain, is looking better and better.

The Decisions We Make (Entourage. Shauna, Vince/E.)

2009-03-17T19:55:42Z

Title: The Decisions We Make.
Fandom: Entourage.
Characters: Shauna, Vince, Eric (Vince/Eric implied)
Rating: PG-13? Nothing you wouldn't get on the show itself.
Notes: This is a new fandom for me so I haven't really mastered the voices yet, but it's a fun fandom, y'all should write for it! There are pretty men and snarky women, it's awesome. 2,000 words, give or take a few.

-

Shauna wouldn't put up with this from most of her clients. She's a good publicist -- no, actually, she's a great publicist -- and she has enough clients on her books that losing one, especially one that causes her this much trouble, wouldn't exactly break her. But Vincent Chase has a way of inspiring loyalty and she's sort of fond of Eric too, so when she sees the picture of the two of them that's splashed across the cover of US Weekly she manages to keeps her lecture to just over an hour and only threatens to quit once. Well, okay, twice. Per half hour. But she doesn't quit, that's how they know she still likes them.

No matter how many times she repeats herself, neither of them have ever learnt that she needs advance notice when there are things they expect her to control. She's good at her job but that doesn't mean she can work magic, even the best need a heads up every now and then, and the problem with Vince is that he doesn't seem to believe in sharing information, outside of with his boys, until he absolutely has to.

So here she is, pacing back and forth around their living room while they wait for Ari, with Vince and Eric sitting on the couch -- Eric looking a little worried and vaguely apologetic and Vince looking nothing of the sort -- wishing she didn't care about either of them so she could give in to the impulse to tear their fucking heads off and possibly save what little is left of her sanity.

"Look, Shauna. We're both really sorry, okay, but--"

"No, Eric," she snarls, "It is not okay. You assholes ever pull a stunt like this again and I am fucking done with you, do you hear me? I should let you drown in this mess."

"Shauna."

"Do you have any idea how this makes me look? Like I have no control over my fucking clients is how, when there are pictures like this out there for everyone to see and I didn't even fucking know about them until it was too late to do anything about it! You should have called me the second they got the fucking shot. Christ. How stupid are you two?"

"Shauna, c'mon, it wasn't like that," Vince says, holding his hands out to placate her as he trains his big, puppy dog eyes on her and silently pleads for her to understand. "We didn't know they got the picture, I swear, or of course we'd have called you."

Shauna's encountered just about every brand of Hollywood charm there is and she can resist all of them, but even she isn't entirely immune to Vincent Chase. Mostly but not entirely and it pisses her off.

"Don't look at me like that, Vincent. Do you have any idea how badly this could fuck up your career?" She spins away from him, still angry. "Was it worth it, huh? Was it?"

"Yes," he says simply, as open and honest and sincere as she's ever seen him, and she thinks great, now we're all fucked because that's something she can't ignore. She'd like to pretend she can, but she has a heart, as much as she usually tries to hide it, and she's not against them being happy. She just doesn't need them being happy on the cover of a magazine unless she's personally approved it.

Her rage fades and she sinks down on to an available chair, drops her head into her hands and tries to figure out where they can possibly go from here. She has to find a way to spin this and she will find a way to spin this, just as soon as her head stops pounding so she can think again.

She sighs and looks up and even Vince looks contrite, although she's pretty sure he's never really been acquainted with the emotion. Some days it's hard to remember why she ever wanted to get into this business to begin with.

"What can we do?" Eric asks quietly.

He's frowning, more concerned what this will mean for Vince and Vince's career than Vince is, darting worried glances at her, and she groans as Vince reaches out to rest an arm across his shoulders, rubbing his neck in soothing, circular motions.

"You can stop doing that, to start," she snaps at Vince, who pays absolutely no attention to her whatsoever. "Do you even know the meaning of the word 'discretion' or do I need to find you a fucking dictionary so you can look it up?"

"We're in our own home, for fuck's sakes," Eric snaps back and Shauna glares at him in a way that would have him laid out cold on the floor in seconds if looks could actually kill.

"And if you kept it to your own home we wouldn't have this problem, would we? But no, you had to go all Brokeback in public instead."

"You know what-- fuck this," Vince says, turning to Eric with a wild look in his eyes that makes Shauna's headache increase three-fold and her stomach sink with dread. She doesn't exactly know where this is going but she already knows she doesn't like it.

"Vince," Eric says, and Vince shakes his head.

"E, I'm serious." He grabs Eric's arm. "Fuck it. We came from nothing, right? I mean, yeah, I like this life but I don't need it and neither do you."

"Vincent," Shauna warns, rising to her feet to stare them both down. "Do not even think about doing what I think you're thinking about doing, because I swear to God--"

"Why not?" Vince challenges, staring right back. "I'm not putting my life on hold for anyone. Not for the business, not for you and not for Ari. Fuck that. Either you help me or you can leave right now."

"Enough," Eric says, putting a hand on Vince's arm and shooting Shauna an apologetic look. "Vince, just think about this for a second, okay? Ever since we were kids, this is what you've wanted to do. We fucked up, we weren't careful enough. Shauna's just trying to protect you. It's what you pay her for."

"She's not protecting me, E," Vince says, "She's covering her own ass, and Ari's and any one else who makes money off my pretty face."

Shauna's opening her mouth to respond to that when Eric shakes his head at Vince and pinches the bridge of his nose, looking as tired and drained as Shauna feels, and instead of speaking she watches. Watches Vince's expression soften as he puts his hand on Eric's shoulder, squeezing gently, and the way Eric reacts to it, and stamps down on the impulse to strangle them as she mentally switches tracks from deny everything to minimise the fallout. She hates that she can't ignore this.

"E, I don't want this life enough to give you up if I have to choose," he says sincerely, and Shauna thinks he might well have forgotten she's even in the room, as focused as he is. "You and me, that's the way it's always been and that's never gonna change, you have to know that."

"I do know that," Eric says. "But we do this, you know it can't be undone, right? You put this out there and it's gonna follow you for life."

"I don't care, E," Vince says, and Shauna thinks that's probably true.

Vince doesn't care because things have always worked out for him somehow. She doesn't think he knows what it's like to not eventually get whatever it is he wants.

"I don't care," he repeats, and this time he's looking at Shauna when he says it, eyes full of defiance and only the tiniest hint of fear.

It's that hint of fear that gets to her and she sighs -- briefly, but only briefly, regretting the day she agreed to take on Vincent Chase as a client -- then nods and waves a hand in resignation, sinking back into her chair. This whole situation is fucked up and any minute now, Ari's going to come barrelling up the driveway to out-rant her when he gives them his thoughts on the matter, and Shauna already knows she'll step up for them when he does. Because as much trouble as it's going to be and as much as it could potentially cost them, their feelings for each other are all too real in a town where everything is fake and no one can be trusted.

"Fine," she mutters, rubbing her temples. "It's your life, Vince. This is what you want then this is what you want, but don't think it'll be easy."

"Nothing ever is," Vince shrugs, his smile movie-star bright and his eyes shining. "But there's no other option, Shauna, not for me."

"Morons," she sighs, but she only half means it. Damn them both. "I need a drink."

"I think we have champagne," Vince offers. "And we have beer, or scotch, or, uh, other stuff. I'll go see."

He leaves and Shauna looks at Eric.

"Is there any chance his career's gonna survive this?" Eric asks, and his eyes are pleading for hope she's not sure she should be giving him when she doesn't know the answer. But then that's part of her job: making other people believe things, whether they're true or not. Whether she believes them or not.

"He'll survive it," she says, and thinks that, hey, maybe it'll even be true, maybe Vince is the one who can survive this unscathed, since god only knows he's been lucky so far. "But it'll take time."

"You actually believe that?" Eric asks, tiredly, because he knows too much about this business now to trust what she says without question. "Or are you just trying to make me feel better?"

"Like I give a fuck about your feelings," Shauna snorts. "Vince is a star, Eric. He's still gonna be a star, even romantically attached to your Irish ass."

"I'm not sure I want to know why you're thinking about Eric's ass," Vince says as he returns to the room, juggling an assortment of bottles and glasses and ignoring the way she rolls her eyes. "And, um, Ari just got here."

"We are so fucked," Eric says, reaching for a bottle of beer.

Vince drops down to sit next to him and Shauna pours herself a drink. She can hear Ari yelling even while he's still in the driveway and Turtle's voice raises in argument as the front door slams behind him. Eric's eyes harden and Vince slumps into his side, stealing his beer and taking a swig from the bottle.

Ari crashes into the room, full of fury and bluster and blind threats and Shauna takes a deep breath, jumping in before Eric can, in the hopes that she can control this and prevent any of them making it worse than it already is.

"Ari, sit down and shut the fuck up," she snaps, handing him a tumbler of whisky and refilling it when he downs it in one. "We need a plan."

The boys look both surprised and then pathetically grateful for the support and she thinks it'll do them no harm to remember that she is ultimately on their side. Maybe next time the shit hits the fan she'll get a call when it happens, instead of when she already knows. Of course, she doubts that, but Vince and Eric aren't the only ones who sometimes need a little hope.

"Fucking US Weekly!" Ari howls, throwing his glass against the wall where it shatters into a million pieces. "My top star is kissing his fucking manager on the front cover of US-fucking-Weekly! We need more than a fucking plan!"

He's off again, dire predictions and insults, the usual Ari Gold overreaction well under way, and she lets him rant for a few minutes while she digs in her bag for aspirin, swallows a handful of pills down with a healthy dose of alcohol and wills it to kick in soon.

One thing she knows for sure is that if she leaves this to them they'll never find a fucking solution, they'll still be yelling back and forth about it a week from now. She thinks it's probably one of the reasons why there are so many women in publicity; women get things done.

So she slams her glass down on the table to get their attention and says loudly, "Listen up, assholes, this is what we're going to do," and hopes that the next thing she says contains the basics of a workable plan.

Hiding Out At The Raven (Forever Knight; Natalie, Janette)

2009-02-13T06:15:54Z

Title: Hiding Out At The Raven.
Fandom: Forever Knight (Natalie, Janette).
Rated: G.
Notes: After I got through re-watching Hunters, the episode from season one where Schanke stays at the Raven (I did love that episode, heh) I thought 'What if Natalie was forced to hide out at the Raven because someone was trying to kill her?' and then there was this. AU, assume it's set somewhere in season one after 'Hunters'. 3,202 words.

-

"Alma. Have there been any problems?"

Alma and Miklos are in conversation when she approaches them but both immediately look up and stop talking when they hear her voice. Miklos turns to fetch her a drink and Alma stops leaning on the bar, turning to face her as she processes the question.

"None," she says, nodding towards the corner of the club. "She's been working over there for most of the day."

Janette glances over at the table where Natalie sits, papers spread out in front of her, pen in hand. Unlike when Nicholas asked her to guard Schanke, who required near constant babysitting, Natalie has stayed out of the way and left her fledglings alone.

"She's all right for a mortal," Alma continues, shrugging when Janette looks at her and raises an eyebrow in disbelief. "Unlike that other one, we barely know she's here."

"The good doctor is different," Janette agrees and takes the glass Miklos hands her. "We'll open shortly, make sure everything is order."

The two of them scurry to do her bidding and Janette takes a sip of her blood wine, surveying the club briefly as she walks over to the table. Natalie jumps when Janette slides into the seat opposite her and looks at her watch in reflex.

"Janette," she says, "Sorry, you startled me. I didn't realise the time." She starts organising her paperwork into piles and adds, "It must be nearly time for you to open, I'll get out of the way."

"There is a little time yet," Janette says, "You could have done your work upstairs if you'd preferred it, I would not have minded."

"You were sleeping, I didn't want to disturb you. I'm sure having to look after me isn't something you're all particularly enjoying." She piles everything together and offers a tired but genuine smile. "I appreciate you letting me stay here."

"You wouldn't have disturbed me," Janette says. "And you're welcome. Any friend of Nicholas, after all...."

Natalie's expression says she doubts that but she's polite enough not to say so out loud. It's almost a shame, really, Janette thinks. When she'd allowed Detective Schanke to stay at the Raven she couldn't get rid of him and had to force herself to listen to his inane chatter for hours on end to keep him out of trouble, but Natalie, who she wouldn't mind getting to know a little better, has stayed out of the way and hardly said a word.

"Come," she says, standing up and smoothing her dress. "I'll show you where you can work upstairs. Have you eaten?"

"I'm not really that hungry," Natalie says. "I'll be fine."

"Everyone has to eat, Natalie. I cannot allow you to leave obviously, Nicholas will never forgive me if something were to happen to you, but I can send one of the others out to get you something."

She waits while Natalie picks up her work and checks to make sure she hasn't left anything behind, then leads the way upstairs to her personal rooms. She allows few people up here but she's prepared to make an exception in this case.

"I'll send someone up," she says, waving Natalie towards the couch. "Tell them what you'd like to eat and they'll fetch it for you. I don't have anything to offer you here. There's a desk if you prefer," she indicates the door on the far side, "In the office. Drinks that are suitable, on the other hand, I can provide. You only need ask."

"Thank you," Natalie says, rubbing a hand tiredly across her eyes. "I need to check in with Nick at some point. Can I borrow the phone?"

"Of course. You'll find one in the office. But I'm sure he'll come and check on you personally once the sun has set."

She surprises even herself with the lack of bitterness in her voice. Perhaps, she thinks, she's just starting to see what it is that Nicholas likes about this mortal.

"He said he'd bring me some case files to look over," Natalie says, "So he might."

Janette lounges against the arm of the chair and regards Natalie thoughtfully. "I must oversee the opening," she says, "But I'll come up and check on you later. You should try and rest-- Alma said you've been awake most of the day."

Idly she wonders about the amount of concern she feels for this mortal woman's well-being. Mortals have never held much interest for her before now, only useful to pass the time or as a snack, but there's something about this one, even if she won't admit it to anyone but herself.

"I couldn't sleep," Natalie says. "I'm not used to being hunted." Her smile is wry, acknowledging that Janette, of all people, obviously does. "But I'll try."

Janette smiles at her and stands up, says, "Hopefully you will not need to get used to it. Enjoy your... work." Paperwork has never been something she tolerates well but the advantage of being as wealthy as time has made her is that she doesn't need to, she can hire people to do it for her. "I'll send Nicholas up when he arrives."

She takes her leave and returns to the club, taps Alma on the shoulder and sends her upstairs to fetch whatever Natalie requires in the way of food. She's strangely unsettled by the way Natalie isn't phased by being in what is, essentially, a vampire nest. Unlike Schanke, Natalie knows who they are and she knows to be careful but she still doesn't appear to be scared of them. She intrigues Janette and after so many years of life, few people truly intrigue her anymore.

She perches on the bar so she can keep a look out for Nicholas and an eye on her club, shooing away anyone who tries to keep her company. She watches as Alma leaves and returns and admits she's surprised that it takes two hours for Nicholas to arrive. He's carrying a bag in one hand when he does and several files in the other.

"Nat called," he says by way of explanation. "Insisted that she was fine and that I should go to work first and see if there's been any progress in finding out who's behind all of this. She said you've taken good care of her." He leans in to kiss her cheek. "Thank you, Janette, I owe you one."

"You owe me several," Janette says, "But not for this. She's been no trouble at all. I think the fledglings actually like her. Alma says they've barely noticed she's here."

"Speaking of here," Nick says, glancing around with a frown. "Where is she? I brought her some clothes Grace packed for her and some paperwork she wanted."

"She's upstairs. I sent Alma out earlier to get her something to eat, since I don't exactly cater for her needs here. You can go up if you like."

His expression is one of surprise and she resists the urge to twitch uncomfortably. Really, she supposes, she should be insulted that her hospitality surprises him. She said she'd look after his precious mortal and she's doing just that.

"I'll go up and see how she's doing," he says, moving away from her. "I can't stay long, Stonetree wants all hands on deck, but I'll find you before I leave."

She watches him walk away and hands her glass to Miklos for a top up when she senses him behind her. Though normally her main source of entertainment, the club and its patrons are boring her tonight, and she decides that once Nicholas departs she'll go upstairs and find out how her guest is faring.

He stays for little over half an hour and finds her, as promised, on his way out.

"If I can get back before sunrise I might spend the day here," he says, "If you don't mind. Nat says she's fine but I think this is bothering her more than she lets on. I'll come and keep her company."

"I'm sure I am more than capable of entertaining your friend," Janette says, feeling mildly insulted by what she perceives as a slight to her abilities. "But of course, if that's what you wish, you may stay here."

"You don't like entertaining mortals, Janette. You've said so yourself. Numerous times if I recall correctly." He gives her an amused look then but she doesn't respond to it.

He kisses her and heads for the exit and Janette sets her glass down with a clink, slipping off her seat on the bar as she waves Miklos over.

"I'm going upstairs to check on our guest," she informs him. "Bring up a bottle of the house special and a red wine suitable for the doctor when you get chance."

"How long will be she be staying?" Miklos asks.

"That remains to be seen," Janette says. "She'll stay until it's safe for her to go home, so I suppose it will depend on how good at his job our dear Nicholas actually is. Keep an eye on things down here. You know where I'll be if you need me for anything."

Miklos nods and says, "I'll bring the wine upstairs. I don't think there'll be any problems, it's quiet tonight."

"It has been all week," Janette says with a sigh. "It's a good thing it doesn't much matter to me whether or not we turn a profit. Though it is always preferable."

She heads upstairs and finds Natalie still on the couch, curled up with a file on her knee and a few others spread out on the coffee table. She doesn't appear to be doing much reading, her eyes unfocused and her mind clearly elsewhere. She looks up when Janette clicks the door shut and her gaze refocuses as she closes the folder.

"Still working, I see."

"Not really," Natalie says, tossing the file onto the table. "I can't concentrate."

"Then perhaps you should take a break," Janette says.

There's a tap on the door and then Miklos enters, setting down a tray where she directs him to before nodding to them both and leaving.

"Wine?" Janette asks, pouring herself a glass and hiding a smile when Natalie looks nervously at the bottle. "Not from this bottle, obviously." She indicates the second bottle and Natalie laughs.

"Please," she says. "Though remind me not to lose track of which glass is mine."

"I'm sure you'd soon realise your mistake."

"I'd rather not have to," Natalie says, wincing at the thought. "No offence, but I don't think yours will be anywhere near as appealing to my human tastebuds."

"None taken," Janette says, pouring a second glass and offering it to Natalie before taking a seat on the other end of the couch.

"It's so quiet up here," Natalie remarks as she shifts to face her. "It's soundproofed?"

"Sometimes I do not wish to be disturbed."

"And your hearing is more sensitive than most."

"Indeed," Janette agrees, smiling at the understatement. "All the rooms up here are soundproofed, it blocks out almost everything."

"But not everything?"

"Not everything, no." Janette frowns. "Surely your experience with Nicholas has taught you how much a vampire can hear."

"Nicholas," Natalie says, imitating Janette's pronunciation perfectly, "Doesn't always tell me useful information like that."

Janette rolls her eyes. "He does tend to be that way."

"You'd know better than I would."

"You would think he'd be more... forthcoming, given what he wants you to do for him."

Natalie looks uncomfortable at the mention of her quest for a cure. She's aware of Janette's thoughts on the matter and clearly doesn't want to discuss it.

"You will fail you know," Janette says mildly. "There is no cure for vampirism."

"Not yet," Natalie says. "But if Nick isn't giving up, then neither will I."

"Does this life really seem so bad to you?" Janette asks, genuinely curious. Personally she thinks Natalie Lambert would make an excellent vampire, but she can only imagine Nicholas thoughts on the matter if she were to bring it up.

"Does it matter? This isn't about me."

"It could be," Janette says. Natalie looks away and Janette continues, "Don't tell me you haven't thought about it since meeting Nicholas."

Natalie gives her a thoroughly exasperated look, which Janette counters with her best imitation of an innocent smile, sipping her blood wine and waiting patiently.

"Nick would never bring me across even if I asked," Natalie says finally, which Janette suspects is probably the truth. "And I don't know who else I'd trust to do it. So thinking about it would be a waste of my time."

"But you have thought about it, yes?"

"Yes, Janette, I've thought about it," Natalie says. "Is that what you wanted to hear?"

"My my, you are defensive. It was just a question."

She smiles, perfectly relaxed, while Natalie frowns and drinks another mouthful of wine, her body radiating tension. This is far more entertaining than the club.

"I think the lifestyle would suit you, myself," she continues. "I suppose there is the small matter of not being able to walk around in the daylight but at least one must no longer hunt down one's food. If you're against killing people..."

"I am against killing people," Natalie snaps. "You know that."

"Well, as I said, it's no longer necessary. In fact it's rather frowned upon these days, what with all these police officers around to hunt down those responsible for mortal deaths."

"Damn them," Natalie says, rolling her eyes. "It must cause you no end of grief."

"It does," Janette agrees, amused. "But there's something to be said for having lunch available at any time of the day or night."

She raises her glass in a mock salute and reaches over for the bottle to top it up. Natalie shakes her head and laughs, relaxing somewhat as if giving up.

"You enjoy trying to piss me off, don't you?"

"I must find my fun where I can."

"And the mortals downstairs just aren't doing it for you."

"Most mortals are dull creatures," Janette says with an elegant shrug. "You appear to be an exception. Even the fledglings like you."

Natalie doesn't respond to that, holding out her glass silently when Janette raises the other bottle with a questioning look.

"I'd bring you over myself if I had the control," Janette says, picking up their previous conversation without missing a beat. "Unfortunately I'm rather prone to not stopping at the appropriate time."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"Now Nicholas, he has the control. A little too much control if you ask me. But he's not very good at the after. Fledglings must be trained to control themselves and Nicholas... well, let's just say he's not very good at following through with his responsibilities."

"I know that," Natalie says tightly and Janette frowns at the return of the tension that had faded a few moments earlier.

It takes her a moment to figure out the reason why, but then she remembers Natalie's brother, Richard, and her expression softens. She doesn't say she's sorry, it's not in her nature, but she does change the subject by way of apology.

"You aren't afraid of us," she says. "Why is that?"

"Would you rather I was?"

"No. It's quite the refreshing change actually, but most mortals probably would be."

"You said yourself that I'm an exception," Natalie says flippantly, then sighs and continues a little more seriously, "I'm careful but, no, I'm not afraid of you. Well," she amends, "Not exactly. I'm not stupid enough to think you wouldn't kill me under the right circumstances, but Nick wouldn't have put me here if he thought that was going to happen."

"Nicholas always did like to believe the best of people."

"So you're saying I should be afraid of you?"

"No," Janette says, although she's not sure if she's saying it because she believes it's true or just because she doesn't want Natalie to fear her. "I won't harm you. Neither will anyone else under my roof."

"You have a lot of control over them to be able to guarantee that."

"It's one of the benefits that comes with being older than they are. And with being a child of Lacroix." Janette pauses thoughtfully. "I do a lot to protect the community, that doesn't hurt. They know if they cross me I won't hesitate to throw them out."

"It's very maternal of you," Natalie says, smiling sweetly when Janette glares. "I'm sure they appreciate it."

"I am not maternal," Janette says firmly, wrinkling her nose in distaste. "But they do appreciate it if they know what's good for them."

"They obviously do. They've all been very kind to me while I've been here."

"Well, as I said, they like you."

"Why?" Natalie asks, looking genuinely puzzled. "I mean, Nick's not exactly beloved by the community, is he? He can't be, not with his quest to be human again and I'm tied into that. So why do they like me so much?"

Janette stays silent for a moment as she thinks about how to answer that. Truth be told, she doesn't know what it is about Natalie that makes her so easy to like.

"You would have to ask them that," she says finally, guessing correctly from the expression on Natalie's face that Natalie will never do so. "I don't know."

"If you don't mind, I think I'll leave that for another time," Natalie says dryly, hiding a yawn behind one hand. "Maybe a time when we're not all living on top of each other."

It's on the tip of Janette's tongue to make a comment about how she must be boring her but she knows Natalie hasn't slept much lately, so she decides to leave it be. Human she isn't, but it doesn't mean she lacks compassion.

"You should rest," she says instead. "I have some work to do in the office."

"I guess I am kind of tired," Natalie admits. "I think it's catching up with me."

Janette stands up and holds her hand out to take Natalie's empty glass, placing it with hers on the table.

"You can take the second bedroom," she says, indicating a closed door on the far side of the room. "You won't be disturbed."

Natalie stands up, fighting back another yawn, and picks up the bag Janette saw Nick bring earlier. When she looks at the paperwork still covering the table, Janette waves a hand at it dismissively.

"Leave that if you like," she says. "I promise not to read it."

"There's nothing interesting in it anyway," Natalie says, shrugging her shoulders. "Unless you really enjoy reading illegibly written police reports, in which case, knock yourself out."

"I think I'll pass," Janette says. "Good night, Natalie."

"Good night. Thank you for the company. It was almost fun."

Janette returns her smile with one of her own, acknowledging the truth of Natalie's words, and watches her mortal not-quite-friend leave the room. She'd been put out when Nicholas asked for yet another favour but this one is turning out to be more of a pleasure than a hardship.

Almost fun, she thinks. Indeed.

Patience (Crime Traveller, Holly/Slade)

2009-02-11T05:24:31Z

Title: Patience.
Fandom: Crime Traveller, Holly/Slade.
Notes: For daily15 #744, patience and/or patients. 514 words.

-

Grisham sees a lot from the vantage point of her office and not just because she has large glass windows.

People are so used to her being there that they often forget she's there, which makes it an excellent way to observe her team without actually having to be in the room. It doesn't hurt that it means the two people she usually wants to keep an eye on are within her line of sight, either. Slade because she deliberately placed him at a desk that allowed her to keep an eye on him, and Turner because she can normally be found hanging on the edge of his desk, or in her office with the door open so she can see his desk from hers.

Their department has had too many science officers. Promising, intelligent people who usually didn't last thanks to Slade's ability to piss them off -- and sometimes due to Morris, who has always been equally adept at sending them screaming from the office because of his own stupidity -- so naturally it bothered her when the two of them first got together.

Holly Turner has outlasted them all so far and, as an added bonus, Slade respects her intelligence as well as her looks. So when they finally got together, six months after that fiasco with Turner's ex, Marlowe, she'd groaned and started keeping an eye out for potential replacements. Grisham likes Slade, thinks he's a brilliant detective when he wants to be, if a little unconventional, but he does have a tendency to get himself into trouble.

If she's honest, she thinks Jeff Slade would try the patience of a saint and Holly Turner is no saint. She is, from what Grisham's observed, prone to jealousy and often insecurity (which usually manifests itself as jealousy... either way, it's a problem). So while she supported them getting together as long as they kept it out of the office, she also worried, for their sakes and admittedly for her own, that they weren't going to make it.

But they're nearly a year into their relationship and they still seem as strong as ever. There have been fights (she made them both take a two month paycut to pay for the equipment Turner threw at him in their first truly bad public argument) and there have been problems (the number of times she's had to call Slade into her office for a time-out, to let him pace and rant about "women!" and how "I've never given her a reason not to trust me!" are incalculable) but despite it all they are still an excellent team. Her best team without question.

Which doesn't mean Slade's off the hook for the bill that's sitting on her desk.

So when the two of them round the corner together, his hand resting on her hip and a happy smile on her face, she gives them exactly one minute to enjoy themselves and then snaps, "SLADE! My office! Now!"

Slade would try the patience of a saint and Turner may be gunning for sainthood but she certainly isn't.

Transformation (Crime Traveller, Holly/Slade)

2009-02-11T05:14:29Z

Title: Transformation.
Fandom: Crime Traveller, Holly/Slade.
Notes: For daily15 #738, transformation. 433 words. There will come a time when I actually write in a mainstream fandom, heh. But that day is not today ;)

-

She smells something delicious as soon as she walks into the flat. Slade's home and he's cooking and her stomach growls as she throws her keys on the table next to his. She kicks off her shoes as she heads for the kitchen, enjoying the gentle strains of the music that permeates the air.

She can still remember back to a time when she'd have come home to nothing but silence.

She doesn't miss those days at all.

She pads silently across the kitchen to curl into his side and he smiles, happy to see her, kisses her briefly and waves a hand towards the wine on the side. There's a glass waiting for her to fill it but she puts it off for a few minutes in favour of staying where she is.

"How was your day?" he asks, turning the heat down so he can divert his attention to her without burning down the kitchen.

"It went okay," she shrugs. "Long but they liked my presentation. How was yours?"

"Stopped a burglary, caught a killer," he says. "Missed you though."

She twists her fingers into his shirt and tugs, silently asking him to turn round and face her. His arms wrap around her waist and she leans up to kiss him properly, his body warm and familiar under her hands. She misses him whenever they aren't together.

"Dinner'll be ready in five," he says, brushing his fingers across her cheek before he tangles them gently in her hair. "Get changed if you like. I picked up a What's On for the cinema if you want to see a late showing-- but I'm begging you, nothing with subtitles."

She shakes her head. "Let's stay in tonight." She smiles at him and kisses him again. "We can find something to do here."

She reluctantly disengages herself to go and get changed, takes the glass of wine he pours for her with her and pauses at the door to look at him.

He's humming as he puts their meal together and she thinks back to a time when they were just friends and knows she never wants to go back to that. Her life with him is so much better than the life she had before, transformed from its previous state of loneliness into something she looks forward to every day.

They aren't perfect and they bicker and argue over the stupidest things -- he doesn't think, she gets jealous -- but she loves him and she knows he loves her. It's just them and their life and it's better than anything else she could imagine.

Unfinished Business (Forever Knight, Natalie/Janette)

2009-02-10T00:38:47Z

Title: Unfinished Business.
Fandom: Forever Knight.
Pairing: Natalie, Janette.
Rating: G.
Word Count: 1000.
Author Note: Written off an old prompt from writers_choice - #30, old friends. I haven't seen this show in years ~~I'm in the process of acquiring it :)~~ so the voices are probably a little off.

-

"I didn't expect to see you here," the woman says, as she takes a seat at the bar. "I was informed -- wrongly, obviously -- that you'd all left a few months ago."

"Natalie."

"It's Natasha now," she says with a shrug, "But that's due to change again soon, so. Close enough."

Janette offers her a glass of house blend, noting the changes in the woman in front of her that time and immortality have wrought. The pale skin and perfect features are down to the vampire blood that now courses through her veins but the chill to her eyes and the distance of her body language are purely down to time.

This is not the Natalie Lambert she met in Toronto.

"So," Natalie says with another smile that doesn't reach her eyes. "What are you still doing here? It's been ten years, surely it's time to move on."

"Nearly," Janette allows. "I had a little... unfinished business to attend to first."

She reaches out to lay a hand on Natalie's arm, noting the tension beneath her fingertips, and says, "Join me. We can, as they say, catch up on the last few years."

Natalie doesn't look thrilled by the suggestion but she stands obligingly, picks up her glass and follows Janette through to the back of the club. Janette leads her upstairs, into the suite of rooms she used to share with Lacroix and Nicholas, and motions for her to take a seat.

"What do you want, Janette?" Natalie asks, setting her glass down before meeting Janette's gaze. "I don't want to play games with you today."

Janette sighs. At least some things haven't changed. Natalie is as direct as she's always been.

"Nicholas and Lacroix still believe you to be dead," she says. "That you died that night, thirty years ago."

"I did," Natalie says without humour. "Just not all the way."

"Who brought you across? It cannot have been Nicholas, I would have been able to sense you if it were, even accidentally. And Lacroix would never have allowed you to remain on your own."

"It wasn't either of them, you're right." Natalie shrugs. "I'm not your family's problem. You don't need to worry, I know the rules. I'm not about to expose the community."

"You didn't expose us as a mortal, I didn't think you would now," Janette says honestly.

That isn't why she's been waiting here. She's not concerned about what Natalie's doing, she's concerned about the woman herself.

"Then what do you want?" Natalie asks in exasperation, and Janette's relieved to see that another hint of the woman she used to know still lurks under the cool exterior. "You waited here for a reason, you obviously knew I'd think you'd left. I've been careful."

"Careful not to run into us."

"Clearly not careful enough."

Janette pays more attention to the community than Lacroix, who just rules sections of it when it suits him, and Nicholas, who stays on the outskirts. Enough rumours had circulated to intrigue her and when she started questioning and prying, she eventually had her suspicions confirmed. She'd wanted to see the truth for herself, which is why she'd left with Lacroix and Nicholas before doubling back on her own.

"Why didn't you come to us," she asks, genuinely puzzled. "We would have helped you."

"I didn't know that for sure. Lacroix never wanted me to be a vampire, I didn't trust him enough to go to him. Nick would have angsted about it for months before he got around to being any actual help, and you never seemed to like me very much."

Janette opens her mouth to protest that but Natalie shrugs and continues, "It seemed just as easy to stay where I was. I knew a few members of the community there. I couldn't stay long but I stayed long enough to adapt. Vachon helped. Aristotle set up my first move. It all worked out."

"I would have helped you," Janette says, a touch of sorrow in her tone. "You should not have had to do it alone."

"I wasn't alone," Natalie says. "And you did help me, indirectly. I stayed at The Raven for a few weeks after I changed." She breaks off to glance at her watch. "But speaking of help, I'm actually here to meet Aristotle, so if you don't mind--"

"He's being entertained downstairs," Janette says, a nostalgic smile lingering on her face at the memory of her old club. She's run many clubs in her time but The Raven remains one of her favourites.

"He has paperwork for me," Natalie says pointedly. "I can't move on without it."

Janette places her glass on the table and moves to sit next to Natalie on the couch. It was Natalie's choice to hide her transformation from them but Janette knows from experience that never-ending life can get boring without companionship, and this woman has always intrigued her.

"Why don't you and I travel together for a while," she suggests, meeting Natalie's startled gaze with her own steady one. "We don't have to join Lacroix and Nicholas if you don't want to--"

"I don't."

"--but I could be of help to you, if you'll let me."

"And what do you get out of this deal?" Natalie asks suspiciously.

"Your company," Janette says, offering up a smile. "That's all I want."

"My company?" Natalie repeats and Janette sighs softly.

"In my extremely long life I've made female acquaintances too numerous to count. But not many of them are true friends, the kind I can talk to freely or spend time with. You and I, I think we could be friends."

Natalie looks thoughtful now, her body language softer, more open. She's still guarded, but less so.

"Some company would be nice," she admits.

"Then we shall talk to Aristotle together, yes?"

Janette stands and holds out her hand and after a moment Natalie reaches out to take it.

"Yes," she agrees with a genuine smile. "I'd like that."

Letting Go (CiC, Joan/Becca)

2009-02-09T16:47:21Z

Title: Letting Go.
Fandom: Commander in Chief, Joan/Becca (unreq.)
Notes: Aw, my sekrit CiC otp ♥ Prompt from contrelamontre: 'letting go', 24 minutes. Rough/unedited, etc.

-

She stays angry for the first week. It helps her cope.

She tells herself it's anger at Becca for talking her into something she should never have asked for in the first place, but knows it's mostly at herself for giving in when she knew better.

She liked Becca too much, wanted to be her friend as much as her protector and accepts, deep down, that it could never have ended well. Don't care too much is one of the rules of the game; you get too close you lose objectivity.

-

The anger fades and by the second week she's just sad, in mourning for the job she'd worked so hard for and the girl she misses constantly. It hurts to imagine what Becca must be feeling but Joan thinks she can probably guess. Becca might have missed her for a few days but then she'll have moved on, grown used to her new agent and forgotten Joan ever existed.

Joan tells herself it's time she did the same, time to find a new assignment and get on with reconstructing her life.

-

To her surprise Becca does call, but she can't bring herself to answer the phone. Lets it go through to voicemail instead and then deletes the message unheard. Calls the phone company the next day and has her number disconnected.

She doesn't want to hurt Becca but her feelings for her former charge have never truly been appropriate and she won't risk placing herself in a situation where things could get so much worse than they are now. Instead she settles for following the news, watches for glimpses of the first family and freeze-frames the picture when Becca's face is on the screen.

-

It's not her fault she feels the way she does. She'd never have acted on it but something about Becca just attracts her. She knows that Becca can never know and she's done everything she can to sever the ties between them, to let her go so that her feelings can never cause her concern.

It's for the best, Joan knows, because Becca is only sixteen and she isn't Joan. Becca, like most girls, has boys on her mind.

-

With time she hopes these feelings will fade, that she'll stop thinking she's seeing Becca wherever she goes; that her hands will stop shaking whenever she sees the press getting too close, putting that look of fear in Becca's eyes that always made her heart ache in sympathy.

She can't be there anymore, not the way she wants to be. She can only watch and sometimes, when she feels particularly weak, she can close her eyes, remember a different time, and dream of the things that might have been.

Best Intentions Gone Awry (RPFS, Emily/Zooey)

2009-02-01T20:22:51Z

Title: Best Intentions Gone Awry.
Fandom: RPFS.
Pairing: Emily/Zooey.
Author Note: ...hi. I'm not dead! ;) For Porn Battle VII. Prompt was the fandom, pairing, and these: true love, throw it all away. (I haven't written in nearly a year and what do I write? incest!porn. Huh.) Posted as this comment.

--

Her hands grip your wrists and pin them to the bed, fingernails digging into your skin in a way that's going to leave marks you can't explain, but you don't care because it's been months since you were last together like this and you won't let anything put a stop to it now. Her kiss is bruising and desperate and part of you wants to soothe her, to force her to slow down and breathe, but the bigger part of you is kissing her back just as fiercely because god you've missed this. Missed her. Missed the way she knows you like no one else ever will or can because she's Zooey and you're you and this is everything.

She releases one wrist and her fingers slip between your legs to make you cry out and arch into her touch. You were wet from the minute she climbed into your bed and kissed you but now you're dripping and her fingers are inside you, thumb brushing your clit, and you're gasping for air as she sucks a bruise onto your neck, your pulse leaping beneath her mouth and your body already shaking with too much, too fast because this feels like drowning and you think you've forgotten how to swim.

Another finger and you're a writhing mess beneath her touch, whimpering her name and a babble of endearments that wouldn't make sense to anyone else but will to her. She kisses you again, thrusts harder and deeper, and you can feel an edge of anger to her every movement that you suspect has been building for a while. Your free hand twists into her hair and you pull, not gently, to break the kiss, whisper, "Zo..." and she cuts you off with a growl as her fingers curl inside you in a way that makes you see stars.

"Don't," she snarls. "It wasn't my idea to throw this all away."

"You knew-- fuck-- you knew we couldn't--" your voice breaks as you grind helplessly against her hand and she lowers her head, sucks one erect nipple into her mouth and bites a little harder than you like. "Couldn't-- not forever--"

"Shut up," she hisses and crooks her fingers with practised ease to find the spot that makes you scream and break apart.

Your heart is racing, your body soaked with sweat and aching, and you haven't felt this alive since the night you gave her up for good (or so you thought). You love her -- 'once in a lifetime don't ever want to give you up' kind of love her -- but she's your sister and what you have can never be more than a twisted secret.

"I love you," you whisper. "You know that."

"Then love me, Em," she says fiercely, "Don't walk away again."

She's still in a way she rarely ever is, the boundless energy that's always been a part of her all controlled and focused into this one moment. Her eyes are dark with arousal and bright with something else and you look at her helplessly, feeling the twitch of her fingers still inside you, and know that, no matter what you do, neither of you will ever be free of this.

The Lies That History Tells (Greek Mythology, Aphrodite/Hephaestus)

2009-02-01T20:13:21Z

Title: The Lies That History Tells.
Fandom: Greek Mythology.
Pairing: Aphrodite/Hephaestus.
Author Note: for Porn Battle VII. Prompt was the fandom, pairing, and these: quiet love, forgiveness. Originally posted as this comment.

--

The history books will say she never loved her husband. That she was given to him as a way to free Hera from her prison of a throne, and maybe it's true that that's how they first began.

They'll tell stories of his kindness intermixed with tales of how he raged against her for her affairs, how he divorced her when he found her twined around Ares in the bed that should be theirs and later took his revenge on her daughter, but they'll forget the most important part of it all. That they are gods, powerful and playful, and their lives aren't governed by the same rules that govern the rest of the world.

The follies of their youths will be endlessly documented. The changes that occur many, many years later won't be. And long after the world forgets them, long after their power fades and their subjects abandon them, when they reunite in the shadows of the world they once lorded over, older and wiser and ready for what they hadn't been before, those are the stories that will never be told.

They don't have the once in a lifetime love-lust that she's seen destroy so many and they've both loved other people -- gods and demi-gods and mortals alike -- but in the end none of that matters, because what they do have is rarer and more precious, the kind of quiet love that's built upon a foundation of life experience and compounded by the passage of time.

When she eventually returns to him and the secluded comfort of the home they shared a lifetime ago, when she's in his bed and he's writhing beneath her touch, she knows that this is the kind of love that endures. Flaws and all, he's hers and she's his, and all the things that have come before and come between them are lost to who they are now.

When he kisses her she tastes forgiveness and forever and knows that their marriage, which never really ended but was merely put on pause, is the one thing that remains true in the face of everything else. Their world has changed but this-- this hasn't.

The history books will say she never loved her husband. But the history books will be built on the tales of mortals who do not know her, and the history books will be wrong.

With Time Things Can Change (RENT (movieverse), Maureen/Joanne).

2008-02-18T23:01:01Z

Title: With Time Things Can Change.
Fandom: RENT (movieverse)
Pairing: Maureen/Joanne.
Author Note: Post-movie. 2,117 words.

As Amy closes the door behind her the music softens to near nothingness, no match for the sounds of New York at night. She looks up to where the stars twinkle against a backdrop of not-quite darkness, the sky cloudless and the moon full, and then lowers her gaze, glancing back and forth until she locates her friend.

Despite the chill in the air Joanne isn’t wearing a coat, which makes Amy shake her head in faint dismay.

"Joanne," she says, as she joins her friend in the shadows, "Are you okay? You've been crying."

"I'm fine," Joanne says as she brushes the lingering tears from her cheeks and shrugs to dislodge the hand her friend has placed on her shoulder. She can't stand casual touches any more.

"Are you sure?" Amy pushes gently. "Because in all the time we've known each other, I can probably count on one hand the times I've seen you cry."

Joanne sighs to herself and repeats the words she's already said at least fifteen times today, wondering how it is that none of her friends seem to remember this fact about her.

"I always cry at weddings."

Amy frowns in thought, which makes Joanne suspect she's mentally running through their shared history for another memory that might confirm this to be true. If she thinks about it long enough then Joanne knows she'll find one because it's a silly, sentimental little quirk she's never been able to shake off; she doesn't cry very often but weddings get her going every time.

"You just don't seem yourself," Amy says, apparently giving up on her mental index, crossing her arms as she leans against the wall next to her. "You haven't for a while now."

"It's nothing," Joanne lies. "I'm fine. Really. I just needed some air and a few minutes to myself."

Whether she believes her or not, Amy accepts her excuse with a nod and returns to the party, leaving Joanne to her solitude without probing further. It's one of the things Joanne has always liked about Amy, she doesn't push if you don't want her to. And Joanne definitely doesn't want her to.

She closes her eyes and takes a ragged breath, cursing herself for her own stupidity -- for letting today's ceremony get to her, for letting it remind her of the ceremony she never got to have.

It's been months since she woke up alone with her returned engagement ring on her bedside table and I'm sorry scrawled across a piece of paper in Maureen's distinctive handwriting. Months and yet Maureen's still in her head, still imprinted on her mind and lodged inside her heart. She can't get rid of her and, if she's honest with herself, she's not sure she wants to.

She doesn't bother opening her eyes when she senses someone else in front of her, just assumes it's another of her friends until she feels hands cup her cheeks and gentle fingers brush away the tears, and then she knows, with an instinctive kind of half-horror, half-joy, exactly who's just joined her.

"Joanne."

Maureen's voice is softer than she remembers and it makes her tremble to hear her name fall from those lips. It's something she never thought she'd hear again; she can barely bring herself to acknowledge that it's more than a figment of her imagination.

"Joanne, Joey, baby-- c'mon, open your eyes."

She closes them tighter in response and her silent refusal prompts a gentle sigh from her former fiancee, who seems to take it as a sign to move closer. Joanne finds herself suddenly surrounded by warmth she doesn't have the strength to turn away from and that she is, in fact, reaching towards against her will, filled with an aching need to drown herself in the only woman who still haunts her.

"What are you doing here? You left," she accuses without planning to say the words, mumbling them into the shoulder her head now rests on. "Fuck you, Maureen, you left me."

"I know," Maureen's voice shakes as the words ghost across Joanne's skin. "I know I did, baby."

Anger surges through her at the straightforward admission and now Joanne does open her eyes, wrenching herself out of Maureen's arms to step back and look at her, shivering without the warmth of Maureen's body against her own.

The woman standing in front of her is definitely the same one who left her with a note and without a word, but she's both familiar and unfamiliar all at once; a somehow softened version of the wild woman she remembers.

"What are you doing here?" she repeats, trying to make her voice as cold as she can. She won't give Maureen the satisfaction of knowing how much seeing her again is affecting her. "This is a private party and I know you weren't invited."

"I don't think the street actually counts as private property, Jo," Maureen says wearily as she runs a hand through her hair, pushing wayward dark curls away from her face. "I know you're probably not exactly happy to see me--"

"Damn right I'm not," Joanne snaps. "We're done, remember? I asked you to marry me, despite what happened the first time, and you said yes. And then you left my fucking ring and you left me."

Maureen looks genuinely pained at the reminder and Joanne has to force herself not to reach out and touch her. She wants Maureen to disappear again so she can hate her memory in peace and she wants her to stay forever because she doesn't want to let her go. She wants to grab her and shake her and demand the fucking truth for once and still the smallest part of her wants Maureen to lie, to promise-- to say or do anything that'll make things okay again.

Because Joanne still misses her and she still wants her; still needs her, no matter how often she tells herself she doesn't. Even the sight of her makes her skin tingle and her heart clench painfully.

"Why?" she says, hating herself as soon as the words pass her lips. "Why did you leave me?"

"I had to," Maureen whispers, wrapping her arms around herself and closing her eyes as if she can't bear the truth of her own words. "I knew I'd fuck it all up again. I was scared, I freaked out and I'm sorry. I wanted to take it back, but..."

She shakes her head and takes a deep breath, opening her eyes to meet Joanne's gaze. "I wanted to but I knew by then you'd already be cursing me to hell and back and there again and. I just-- I didn't know how to fix it this time. I didn't think you'd want me to."

"What?"

Maureen bites her lip and shifts uncomfortably, her eyes darting to the sky as if she might find the words she's looking for scattered among the stars.

"I was scared, okay," she says finally, so quietly that Joanne barely hears her, each word sounding as if it's being forcibly torn from her throat.

"I was fucking terrified, Jo. You act like you think I've forgotten what happened the first time-- as if your mother would ever let me forget! Every time we visited I could see her thinking about it and judging me, 'cause I'm never going to be good enough for you to them. And every time I talked to someone I'd have to wonder if it was going to set you off on one of your jealous rages--"

"Don't even start--"

"--because I couldn't ever convince you that you were the only one I wanted," Maureen continues as if she'd never been interrupted, the words flowing out of her in an unstoppable flood of repressed pain and hurt, "Even our friends were waiting for us to fall apart! We'd go to your stuffy work things and we'd turn up and your snobby, super-smart lawyer friends'd look at me like I didn't belong there, like they couldn't believe you hadn't gotten bored with slumming it yet, and... they were right," she says, her voice cracking.

"I didn't belong there. I didn't fit in. I was never going to fit in and you'd have gotten bored of that, bored of me, and then you'd have left me and I'd have had nothing. You'd have hated me by the time you gave up trying, and there would have been nothing left of me then, and who I am is all I have!"

She pauses to take a breath, gasps in air through the tears that are falling, and Joanne kisses her before she can say anything else, needing to shut her up long enough to absorb what she's just said.

For a moment Maureen doesn't react at all and then she slams them both back against the wall, their lips crashing together in a bruising kiss. The wall scrapes Joanne's skin, stinging and burning, and Maureen's fingers dig painfully into her hips as hers tangle in Maureen's hair, but none of that matters because this is the most alive she's felt since she opened her eyes that fateful morning.

It's Maureen who breaks the kiss first, pulling away with a whimper and a gasp, burying her head into Joanne's neck when Joanne refuses to let go. She's afraid that if she does Maureen will run again and this time she'll never catch her.

"I love you," Maureen whispers, "I love you, but I don't think it's enough."

"It's enough," Joanne whispers back fiercely, "It's enough, it's always been enough."

She angles her body to trap Maureen against the wall, threads her hands into her hair and forces Maureen to look at her.

"Nothing in my life is better without you," she says vehemently. "Nothing! I miss you. I've missed you every minute since you left and I've never been able to let you go."

She chokes out a bitter laugh and thinks back to the nights she's spent trying to drink Maureen out of her head without success. No relationship she's ever had has affected her like this one, that's how she knows it's more with Maureen.

"I tried but it never worked because I didn't really want it to. I couldn't leave you, honeybear," she says softly, her fingertips brushing Maureen's cheek. "I love you too, and without you there's not much left of me."

Maureen's eyes are closed again, a tear trembling on her lashes. Joanne wipes it away and leans in to kiss her again. She knows that they have a lot to talk about, things they should probably have talked about months, if not years, ago, but tonight she just wants them to be together so she knows that there's still hope.

"Come home with me," she says.

"We're still the same people," Maureen says quietly. "Nothing's changed."

The irony of Maureen being the sensible one isn't lost on her but she knows that although Maureen's right, she's also wrong. Something has changed even if they, themselves, haven't. Although they can aggravate each other without meaning to, despite the fact that they often drive each other crazy, they're still absolutely right for each other.

"I know," Joanne says. "We're still the same and I still love you. Come home with me." Her fingers brush against Maureen's cheek, slide down her neck and twine into her curls as she silently pleads for her to say yes.

"I've never loved anyone as much as I love you," Maureen says finally, by way of an answer, opening her eyes to gift Joanne with a look of absolute honesty. "I really hated these last few months."

Joanne nods her agreement. Right now, standing here together, the loneliness of that time seems far away and unreal but she knows they've yet to work through the pain it caused them both.

"Let me get my jacket and we'll go, okay?" she says, belatedly remembering the party she hasn't thought about since Maureen appeared in front of her. "It'll only take a minute."

"What's it for anyway?" Maureen asks, ignoring the hand Joanne holds out to her in favour of wrapping an arm through Joanne's and hugging it tightly. She starting to bounce back with the same sort of resilience that Joanne always admired, even if it seems like a paler imitation of what it used to be.

"An old classmate of mine got married," Joanne says and Maureen nods, as though a puzzle piece has just slotted into place.

"So that's why you were crying," she says.

Joanne gives her a curious look and Maureen shrugs as she snuggles closer.

"You always cry at weddings."

Confrontation Situation (2/2)

2008-02-18T21:48:28Z

Confrontation Situation (2/2)
NCIS, Tony/Ziva. 1,572 words, author note &c. in Part 1.

They've moved from their earlier positions to ones that are more comfortable. Tony leans against the headboard, legs stretched out, and Ziva sits facing him, legs crossed, keeping her distance until he's given her answers to the questions she can no longer ignore.

He's not surprised that she breaks the silence first. Patience is not generally her strength.

"I didn't know you and the Director were so close."

"We've been working together."

"So it seems."

He guesses she's going for light-hearted but she can't quite pull it off. He doesn't blame her, he's not sure he could either, but it does nothing to alleviate the tension between them.

He takes a deep breath, counts to five, and releases it. Outline only, he reminds himself, and metaphorically steps over the edge.

"For the past several months I've been working on an undercover operation with Jenny. She approached me about it not long after Gibbs left, asked me if I wanted to be involved— I said yes."

"And all the times you were mysteriously gone, running ‘errands' for her?"

"I was working on this, yes."

Ziva takes a minute to absorb that, then shakes her head unsatisfied. Although it goes a long way towards explaining some things, it doesn't explain others.

"The hospital bracelet?"

He was afraid that she'd choose to focus on that.

It's the part of all of this he'll find the hardest to tell, because beneath the flirtatious teasing they often indulge in lies something deeper. They don't talk about it or even always acknowledge it but they both know it's there, and even though the operation is responsible for placing Jeanne in his life, it still feels as if the things he's done with her to maintain his cover are somehow a betrayal.

"This is the part I'm afraid you won't like."

"Then that must mean that it involves a women, yes?"

"Yes."

"Is she the target?"

"No."

"But she is connected to him or her."

"She is."

"And she works at the hospital?"

"She does."

"That's why you had the bracelet. She put it on you."

And that was deliberate. She was claiming you.

Ziva feels jealousy rear its head and has to consciously fight it down. She knows has no real right to feel possessive of Tony but it doesn't stop her from feeling it anyway; undercover operation or not, she doesn't like the idea of him belonging to anybody else.

"Are you sleeping with her?"

"It would be suspicious if I wasn't, Ziva. I couldn't put her off forever."

He wonders if the fact that he didn't jump into bed with her straight away will make a difference to his often unpredictable partner. Somehow he doubts it. He knows she's familiar with the demands of undercover work, that she knows there are times you have to do things you don't necessarily want to do, but he's not sure he can count on that swinging things in his favour.

"I thought you were seriously ill, Tony. I was actually worried about you, and now I feel like a donkey's butt."

"Ass."

The automatic correction fails to evoke its usual reaction, she feels too many things to focus on any one of them. Anger, pain and betrayal are swirled together with confusion and hurt, each one overwhelming and yet indistinguishable from the rest.

She imagines Tony with his mystery woman, the two of them laughing together while she sits at her desk, worrying unnecessarily, and tries to decide if she hates him or herself more. She finally cares for someone enough to worry the way she worries about him and this is her reward; lies and secrets and damaged trust.

"I'm sorry, Ziva."

"I know."

"I didn't want to hurt you."

"You managed anyway."

The words are faint but he hears them and they hurt.

He sits up, reaches for her hand and tugs gently until she ends up in his arms. Burying his face in her hair, he whispers apologies over and over as her silent tears soak his shoulder. Despite her tough girl exterior and ‘I can handle anything' attitude, he knows that Ziva is just as fragile as anyone else.

"If I could change this, I would."

"I believe you."

"Can you forgive me?"

She nods, doesn't trust herself to speak. They have to get past this because she doesn't want to lose him, what they are together means too much to her to let that happen. If that involves her forgiving him for putting her through this, then she'll find a way to make that happen.

"How much longer is this operation going to last?"

"I don't know, I don't think even Jenny knows for sure. Another month or so, maybe."

"All in secret?"

"All in secret."

"Would it not be easier if you let everyone know? We can help you then."

"Easier, maybe, but it's not a good idea. Gibbs isn't going to like this and we're in too deep to back out now."

He can easily imagine Gibbs' fury when he finally discovers what's been going on under his nose, and it makes him shudder when he thinks about it for too long. Assuming La Grenouille doesn't kill him before he can complete his mission, and assuming Jeanne doesn't kill him for lying to her, Gibbs will definitely kill him for keeping him out of the loop.

"You could get hurt, Tony."

"That risk kind of comes with the job, you know that."

"Let me go in with you, I can be your backup."

"You can't. We can't risk it, Ziva. The target is the suspicious type and, not to mention, two of us missing at the same time will definitely get Gibbs spidey-sense tingling."

"His ‘spidey-sense'?"

"Never mind. It's not an option, is my point. Jenny supports me from MTAC and there's backup in place— I'll be okay, I promise."

"I want to help you."

"I know. And I wish you could but you can't."

Ziva doesn't like any of this. It's preferable to her original theory — she'd rather find out he's working undercover instead of facing complications from the plague — but she still doesn't like it. She watches his back, he watches hers; letting him do this alone goes against everything she's learnt here.

"So— what happens now?"

"Now, we sleep. Early meetings with Jenny are early, spy-girl, and she wants you there."

"So she can reiterate everything you just said, yes? And swear me to secrecy."

"Probably. I can lend you something to sleep in if you want to crash here."

"I can't wear these clothes to work, Tony."

"So, we'll stop by your place on the way in and you can change."

He shrugs as if he doesn't mind what she does while his mind spins through plans and arguments. If she isn't at that meeting with him in a few hours, Jenny is going to tear him apart.

"If you want to go home, I'm not stopping you. Just make sure you're in Jenny's office at 04:30."

"Before anyone else arrives, you mean."

"Exactly."

If she goes home now, it won't be worth trying to sleep; if she stays here it will, and she can keep an eye on Tony. It's not a difficult decision to make.

She pulls away from him and shrugs off her jacket, folds it neatly and stands up. He takes the hint and slides off the bed to open a drawer, from which he produces a soft, well-worn t-shirt almost identical to one she has at home.

"Funny thing, you know... I used to have two of these."

"Oh?"

"Mm. And then after our little undercover escapade, the other was missing."

He knows that she took it because no one else has had access to that particular item of clothing. He doesn't really mind, he kind of likes the idea of Ziva in his shirt.

She gives nothing away, her expression pure innocence, but he doesn't expect her to.

"Huh. That is a shame... still, I'm sure that its new owner appreciates it."

"Good to know."

She catches the shirt and changes into it without a hint of self-consciousness. She isn't shy about her body, which he's seen before, and part of her thinks it doesn't hurt to remind him of what he has right here in front of him.

He's already under the covers when she finishes folding her clothes, and he yawns as she slides in next to him. She waits while he reaches over to turn out the light and then aligns her body to his, using his shoulder as a pillow and silently swearing that one sarcastic comment will have him limping for weeks.

Fortunately, his sense of self-preservation is stronger than it appears, because he only wraps an arm around her and settles in to a more comfortable position, whispers a drowsy good night and closes his eyes.

He's asleep within minutes while she lies awake. There's so much more to all of this than he says, there has to be, but if she wants answers she's going to have to ask Jenny. Tony will only tell what he thinks he can, less if he can get away with it.

She closes her eyes, lets his heartbeat lull her into a state of tranquility, and vows, before sleep claims her, that she isn't giving up on this without a fight.

Confrontation Situation (NCIS, Tony/Ziva).

2008-02-18T21:30:43Z

Title: Confrontation Situation (1/2)
Fandom: NCIS.
Pairing: Tony/Ziva.
Author Note: This is kind of a 'what if' fic, written and then abandoned in favour of Conversations at Night, which is why the style is so similar. Tony/Ziva are my favourite pairing in the show but despite that (or maybe because of that) I find them the hardest to write. I'm not thrilled with how this turned out but I've finally had to give up trying to rework it for the sake of my sanity, heh. 3,164 words total. 1,592 for this part.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?!"

"I can explain—"

"—breaking into a co-workers apartment and watching them sleep? Really, Ziva? Because I'm thinking that counts as a definite Red Light Situation, don't you? Not to mention, it's kind of creepy."

He stands with his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes narrowed and stormy. His disapproval of her actions is clear but she finds herself distracted by his hair, which is sleep-tousled, spikes pointing in a dozen different directions. It reminds her of their under cover operation, when she'd woken to the same sight the first morning only to realise she finds it undeniably attractive.

His anger abates somewhat as the adrenaline surge subsides, the shock of finding her in his bedroom is slowly wearing off. His body language relaxes as he sighs a resigned sigh and pushes her over so he can reclaim his side of the bed. She sits up, moves obediently, curls her legs underneath her and waits for his eyes to meet hers.

"I want to know what you're hiding from me."

"What?"

"How can you ask me 'what'? The hospital visits, the two cellphones, the exhaustion and you, leaving work at all hours! Why?"

"It's none of your business!"

"You were wearing a hospital bracelet, Tony!"

"Which is also none of your business!"

"Of course it is! You are my partner, correct?"

"Yes."

"Then that makes it my business, you taught me that. Partners are supposed to trust each other, are they not? After all the time we've spent together, do you still not trust me?"

She's telling the truth — these are things that he has tried to teach her, qualities he's tried, in his own way, to instil. He's the one who encouraged her to talk, to open up, to share with him the way he thinks friends and partners should. It just figures that she's finally learnt those lessons now that he has to lie to her.

"I do trust you, Ziva, I just..."

"You just do not trust me enough to tell me what's wrong."

Hearing the words spoken out loud hurts so much more than she thought it would.

Tony often annoys her, can drive her crazy and sometimes make her want to kill him with her bare hands, but he's her partner and beyond that she considers him her friend, possibly even the best one she has. Despite the act he puts on, and she's sure it is mostly an act, she knows that if she ever needs his help and asks for it, he'll be there. Even with the tension and mistrust currently between them, she still believes that holds true.

"I can't tell you, Ziva. I swear, it's not that I don't want to, I can't."

"What do you mean you can't?"

He's caught between wanting desperately to tell her truth and knowing he absolutely can't blow his cover. He doesn't want to hurt Ziva and he knows that he is the longer he maintains his silence, but she can't know about what he's doing. He doesn't have permission to tell.

She swipes a hand across her face in what would seem to be an angry gesture if not for the sheen of tears he sees on her cheek as she turns her head, and that's the straw that breaks him because Ziva doesn't cry, has never cried in front of him, and knowing he's the cause breaks his heart.

"I think I should go, I can see that you clearly are not going to talk."

"Ziva, wait a minute, okay? Just—"

"No. I'm sorry I let myself in to your apartment. I will not be doing it again."

She takes a deep breath and makes to move from the bed, but Tony moves faster, slips an arm around her waist to keep her in place. She can break free of his hold if she wants to, they both know that, but she chooses to stay in his arms, press her cheek into his shoulder and wait to see what comes next.

His presence is a comfort and his body warms hers, chasing away the chill that set in when she first saw the hospital bracelet on his wrist. Under normal circumstances she would never allow herself to indulge in this kind of behaviour with him but tonight she doesn't care.

He tightens his grip and when he speaks his voice is a whisper.

"Don't go."

"Then tell me the truth."

There's a pleading note in her voice that he doubts she intends and it tears at his heart.

Although he feels something for Jeanne that he thinks could be genuine, he knows that a large part of them is who she thinks he is. She doesn't know Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo and all the history that belongs to that man; Ziva does. She knows who he is, has seen him at his best and at his worst, and what he feels for her has always been more than just affection for a partner and friend.

He owes her the truth. Partnerships rely on trust — without it, they crumble.

"I need to make a phone call."

"To who?"

"Just— stay quiet while I do, okay?"

He waits until she nods her agreement and then lets her go as he reaches for the phone by his bed. He knows Jenny isn't going to be happy about a two am wake-up call, but he figures that'll soon be forgotten once he tells her what he's calling about.

Ziva shuffles closer so she can resume her earlier position, her head against his shoulder and her body close to his. It gives her the added benefit of being able to listen in on his conversation but he mentally shrugs that off in favour of keeping her close. She's going to find out who he's calling eventually.

"Sheppard."

Ziva's eyes widen and Tony puts a finger to her lips, his eyes commanding her silence. He can see the wheels beginning to turn and knows that whatever the outcome of the conversation, she can figure out at least the basics now. Ziva's smart and subterfuge is only one of the many languages in which she's fluent.

"Jenny."

"It's two am, Tony."

"I know. I have a slight situation here."

"Where are you? Are you all right?"

"It's okay, I'm at home, I'm fine. I have company, actually."

"You caught the part where it's two am, right, DiNozzo?"

"Right. Getting to the point. Your favourite ninja girl and mine is here— want to say hi?"

Ziva lifts her head momentarily to glare at him but it's mostly an act. She'll never admit to it but she likes some of the nicknames he's given her and ninja girl happens to be one of them, especially when it's accompanied by that particular teasing smile.

"Ziva's with you?"

"Uh huh."

"What does she know?"

"Hard to tell at this point. I need to tell her the truth, Jenny."

Jenny doesn't reply immediately and Tony feels a sinking in his stomach. He's blown this one, after months of preparation, just because he couldn't distract his partner long enough to do his job. He can imagine the disappointed look on Jenny's face and the guilt he feels at that is overwhelming.

Ziva's grip on him tightens and her breathing quickens ever so slightly as they both wait, silently, for an answer. He doesn't know what he's going to do if Jenny says no.

"Do we have any other choice here?"

"I don't think so. But I would have ended up asking eventually even if we did."

"I know, Tony."

Ziva feels better, somehow, knowing that Tony has wanted to tell her the truth. The pain his lies have caused her lessens, soothed by the new knowledge. It doesn't make things better but it does make them a little easier to accept.

"Outline only, enough to explain yourself and nothing more. The details remain under wraps."

"Understood."

"I'll see you in my office in the morning. Be early."

"I hate that you're a morning person."

Tony listens to Jenny's chuckle and relaxes. If she can take a joke then she can't be too mad at him. He's not thrilled with the early meeting — 'early' translates to 'before Gibbs gets in' which translates to 'should still be in bed, sleeping' — but if that's his only punishment, he'll gladly take it.

"Hey, Jenny?"

"Yes, Tony?"

"I'm sorry."

"Don't apologise when you have nothing to apologise for. We'll work around this."

"And here's me thinking it was 'don't apologise, it's a sign of weakness.' Or... oh no. Don't tell me I have to learn 'Jenny's Rules' now too?"

Ziva thinks his sarcastic tone will surely annoy Jenny, but she hears only faint laughter echoing from the phone. This entire evening is turning out to be somewhat unbelievable, yet she's still grateful she chose to come here and set this particular chain of events in motion.

"Make sure Ziva knows that anything you tell her is confidential. And bring her with you tomorrow."

"I will."

"Try and get some sleep."

"I'll see what I can do. Good night, Jenny."

"Good night, Tony."

He clicks the phone off and throws it onto the bed. Ziva is still pressed against him; his arm still snug around her waist. He breathes in deeply, absorbing her familiar scent, and tries to collect his thoughts.

Now that he has permission to tell her the truth — or some of it at least — he has no idea where to start.

Part 2

Conversations at Night (NCIS, Jenny, Tony, gen-fic, PG)

2008-02-17T10:02:17Z

Title: Conversations at Night.
Fandom: NCIS.
Rated: PG.
Author Note: Tony&Jenny-centric gen-fic, set just after Gibbs resumes his role as team leader. Non-specific general spoilers for the end of season three & beginning-to-middle of season four. 1,480 words.

An hour after he walks out of her door, he walks back in.

He doesn't knock but she isn't surprised. She's been waiting for him.

"You know, I never thought I'd see Gibbs with a moustache."

"People change."

"So I've heard. In fact it seems to be the theme of the day."

He takes a seat on her couch and she joins him. She hands him a glass of whisky, he takes a drink.

"You're a damn good agent, Tony."

"Then how come it doesn't feel like he knows that."

"He knows."

"He doesn't show it."

"Has he ever?"

Jenny learnt a lot about Tony over the months Gibbs' was gone. She learnt to appreciate his quick wit and humour, his focus and his dedication. He isn't Gibbs, it's true, but she'd partner with him any day.

"Are you reconsidering your decision?"

"No."

She respects the decision he's made to stay, though a tiny part of her wishes, for his sake, that he'd taken the other option. The rest of her wishes she'd made the same decision herself, once upon a time, because of the many things she quietly regrets, some of which they've discussed, that's the big one.

"You're considering something though."

"Perhaps my foolish attachment to a team of people who wouldn't care if I left?"

"They'd care."

"When they eventually noticed, maybe."

The problem, as she sees it, from her lofty position on high, is that the team take Tony for granted. It's not entirely their fault that they do, but they've become set in a pattern that prevents them from seeing all that Tony's capable of and who he truly is.

"Disenchantment leads to problems, DiNozzo."

"I'm not disenchanted."

"Restlessness, then. Boredom. Lack of challenge."

"Ah, my old friends. Boredom and I are well acquainted, it's true, but it's not a problem this time."

"No?"

"No."

He grins at her then, mischievous and flirtatious, Anthony DiNozzo at his finest.

"We have a mission, Jenny."

"La Grenouille."

"Exactly. So, boredom won't be a problem. And staying ahead of Gibbs' is challenge enough for anyone."

"Worried?"

"Excited."

She laughs and he laughs back. They raise their glasses in a silent toast and drink.

Staying ahead of Gibbs while they pull off this operation will put all of their skills to the test, and neither can deny that there's a certain thrill to be found in trying to fly under his radar.

"It's going to be tough to explain at the end of the day."

"I'm not worried about explaining it."

"Jethro's going to be furious."

"'Jethro' quit. He doesn't get to be furious."

"Has that ever stopped him before?"

"You have a point."

If they survive this intact — a fairly uncertain 'if' for them both, but for Tony especially — then Gibbs' will certainly eviscerate them, for lying to him if nothing else. Pulling off an undercover operation right under his nose will piss him off, that she's using one of 'his' agents to do so won't help.

"Your team mates will be hurt that you lied to them."

"They'll get over it."

"And Ziva? She is your partner."

"Hm, you know, you're right… she's gonna be pissed she didn't get to play."

"That's not what I meant, Tony. She cares about you."

"You— look, what are you trying to accomplish? You want to talk me out of this, is that it?"

"No! I just— I need to know you've thought it all through, that's all."

"It's a little late for that now, don't you think?"

Next to Jethro, Tony's the best agent Jenny's ever worked with. But undercover work is a tricky animal and she's seen agents destroyed by roles less demanding than the ones Tony's playing. She doesn't want to lose him when this is all over, not even La Grenouille is worth that.

"There are things we can control. Situations we can try and avoid—"

"No, there aren't. You want him, you can't let it go."

He knows her too well now, their habit of sharing after-work chats in her office has given them an understanding of each other. There are parts of Tony she sees that Gibbs' doesn't, things she knows about him that Gibbs never will, and there are things she's told Tony that Gibbs' will never hear from her.

She wants La Grenouille and everything he'll lead to, but their plan allows for some variation if it's needed. She won't sacrifice him to her obsession.

"I won't let this break you."

"You think that little of me?"

His serious gaze belies his light tone. She doesn't look away. She can't, she still needs an answer.

"The opposite. I don't want to lose you."

"I'm not going to walk away, Jen, no matter what. I give you my word on that."

"And if the lies you have to tell ruin your relationship with this team?"

"There are other NCIS divisions. Maybe my replacement needs a probie in Spain."

"Ziva—"

"—Can always partner McGee, if she doesn't want to deal with me."

Jenny sighs and leans back, rests her head on the couch and stares at the ceiling, briefly regretting that she ever got either of them involved in this. Tony gets up and refills their glasses, moving around her office with an easy familiarity that speaks to how much closer they've become.

With each other they are always honest. The secret they share involves more than enough lying for anyone, lying to each other as well would only complicate things unnecessarily.

"I'm sorry they don't see what I see."

"Me too."

"You don't let them see it, you know."

"I didn't choose to let you see it either, but you did."

He taps his glass to hers and drains it, holds it up high and admires the way the light reflects from the crystal. His expression is thoughtful, tired and resigned; he looks the way she feels. She wants to be the one who has the answers for him but there aren't any easy ones, there rarely are.

"I'm glad that you stayed."

"Thanks."

"I mean it, Tony. I couldn't do this without you."

"Next you'll be telling me that the team needs me."

"They do. So does Jethro."

Most of the time she almost believes the old Jethro is back but then she'll see a kind-of-blank confusion flicker across his eyes at the mention of a memory, or the appearance of a junior agent whose name he can't quite recall, and it brings it home to her that no matter how recovered he is, he isn't recovered.

"Not that any of them will ever agree with you."

"Maybe not."

She finishes her drink and puts her glass down on the table. It's late and she's ready to go home.

They might have to make a move on La Grenouille at any time and that requires them to be rested; tired agents make sloppy mistakes, get themselves injured or killed.

"Walk me out?"

"Of course, Madam Director."

"Watch it, DiNozzo."

"Sorry, Ma'am."

"Better."

She smiles and collects their glasses, puts them aside to be dealt with tomorrow. Tony absently straightens her desk while she collects her coat and bag, then offers her his arm as he escorts her out and over to the elevator, his eyes drifting automatically to the bullpen.

It's a hive of quiet efficiency now, far removed from the constant chaos it normally resembles during a case. The others are long gone, desks empty and lights switched off.

"So peaceful."

"So strange."

"So very, very true."

They share another smile as the elevator arrives and make the journey to the car park in companionable silence. Jenny's driver waits for her at the door and, as has become his habit, Tony watches until she's safely inside before stepping back.

"You'll be ready if I call."

"Of course. Any time."

Their shared mission binds them together inside a web of secrecy they might never fully escape, but it's genuine friendship that makes them the team they've become. It's unlikely that anyone outside of the two of them will ever fully appreciate it but, then again, they don't need to.

"Good night, Tony. Get some rest."

"You too, Jen."

She waves and he waits for her car to pull away before he walks over to his own. His team isn't his team anymore, might never have been his team in the first place, really, but he held them together when they didn't think they'd make it; he remembers that, even if they don't.

Gibbs' return shifts the focus away from him and although it hurts to be discarded so easily, it does mean that his other job is now easier to do. It gives him a purpose to replace the one his demotion took away; they're going to catch La Grenouille. They won't quit until they do.

By necessity, everything else becomes secondary.

Addicted (Boston Legal, Shirley/Lori).

2007-05-09T01:55:14Z

I started playing catch up for femslash100's remainder #100, but didn't get any of them posted before it ended. I've been writing for challenges I've missed since then, on and off, so I figured I might as well post some of them here.

Title: Addicted.
Fandom: Boston Legal.
Pairing: Shirley/Lori.
Author Note: For #65 (smell) and #100 (remainder). 250 words.

--

You can smell her perfume, sneaking across the conference table to torment your senses, and it's driving you crazy. It doesn't help that she's combined the perfume with a perfectly fitted black suit that she knows you love, or that she's sitting opposite you with an innocent expression on her beautiful face.

You can't focus on anything but her and that perfume (and you have to find out what brand it is so you can order her a lifetime supply right away) and you hope you aren't going to be called upon to add anything to this meeting, because today you don't really think you can.

When you finally get out of here you plan on dragging her into your office and locking the door to keep everyone else out, while you make her feel exactly how you feel now; out of control and emotionally crazed. Thinking of the different ways you could pay her back for this torturous meeting makes your blood hum in your veins and your body heat until you're sure your skin is flushed.

You've never been quite this addicted to anyone before (except maybe Ivan, near the beginning), but this is Lori and everything has always been different with her.

When you got here you were focused on the job you came to do – resurrecting Crane, Poole & Schmidt was your only thought – but then Lori kissed you, turning your life upside down, and now all you want to do is hold on to her always.

Control (Firefly, Inara/Nandi).

2007-05-09T01:54:35Z

I started playing catch up for femslash100's remainder #100, but didn't get any of them posted before it ended. I've been writing for challenges I've missed since then, on and off, so I figured I might as well post some of them here.

Title: Control.
Fandom: Firefly.
Pairing: Inara/Nandi.
Author Note: For #61 (night) and #100 (remainder). 200 words.

--

She's learnt to be the very model of a perfect Companion; demure and refined when called for, always backed by a core of personal strength. She can read anyone she allows into her bed, can detect their desires and their needs, and can ensnare their senses until they lose all sense of themselves, without losing her head and self in them.

She's calm and centred, confident and controlled under pressure, and very little leaves her confused or rattled. She's the pride of the Institute and she's proud of herself for that, for the reputation she's forged during her years as a mere student.

It's only Nandi that's marring her perfect life, only Nandi who can invite herself into Inara's bed and turn her world upside down before leaving her, seemingly unaffected.

She keeps swearing that next time she'll say no, that she has more self-control that this, but Nandi turns up at her door and kisses her, and she finds she has no self-control at all.

When she graduates she'll leave Nandi behind and the thought makes her heart ache. She whispers it to Nandi late at night, but Nandi just closes her eyes and pulls her closer.

Mesmerised (CiC, Jayne/Kelly).

2007-05-09T01:53:43Z

I started playing catch up for femslash100's remainder #100, but didn't get any of them posted before it ended. I've been writing for challenges I've missed since then, on and off, so I figured I might as well post some of them here.

Title: Mesmerised.
Fandom: Commander In Chief.
Pairing: Jayne/Kelly (-ish).
Author Note: For #75 (cigarettes) and #100 (remainder). 250 words.

--

Jayne fake-smokes better than you do, you think, as you watch her blow perfect smoke rings into the night sky. They blend and blur against a backdrop of navy-black darkness, before dissipating in the same gentle breeze that ruffles your hair.

You watch, mesmerised, until the last faint traces have faded away and then look at Jayne, who's staring at nothing in particular with an unreadable expression on her face, the cigarette forgotten as it burns a path towards her fingers.

"I thought you quit," you say, for lack of anything else. "Smoking, I mean."

"I'm making an exception," she says, tossing the cigarette to the ground so she crush it with the heel of her shoe. "Busy week."

"Thanks to your boss," you fire back, defensive despite her casual tone.

"Don't tell me yours can't handle it," Jayne says, amused.

"President Allen can handle it," you say, meeting her probing glance head on. "Templeton can do whatever he wants – she's still going to win."

"You have an alarming amount of faith in her," Jayne murmurs, straightening from her slouched position against the wall to move closer. "But then that's always been your problem."

It isn't a problem. It's your life, your choice and your political path, and while you still believe in the values you're affiliated with, it's the one thing you won't compromise on.

"I can live with it," you shrug.

"I hope that's true, Kel," she says quietly, turning to walk away. "I really do."

The New Year's Party That Never Was (multifandom, multipair).

2007-05-09T01:49:36Z

Title: The New Year's Party That Never Was (And Never Will Be).
Fandom(s): Bones, Boston Legal, CSI, Studio 60, V.I.P.
Pairings: hints of/implied/etc: Catherine/Brennan/Jeannie, Shirley/Lori, Tasha/Val, and Matt/Danny).
Author Note: Look, I just... I don't know, okay? I opened a word document one day and words fell out everywhere and then there was this. For femslash100's remainder #100 and also #57, #58, #59, #56 –- crack, blood, water, toy. I think the crack is in the crackfic, which is the only way I can classify this :P

1.

"Holy shit, look at that!"

"Nikki! Language!"

"Val, look!"

"I don't care, missy," Val reprimands from her position in Tasha's lap. "Swearing is always bad."

"And why is it always 'holy' shit?" Matt asks, leaning across Danny to look at Nikki. "How come God finds a way into everything?"

"Because he knows all and sees all, Matthew," Harriet says, looking at him smugly from across the table. "He is omniscient and infallible."

"Bullshit," Matt says, ignoring Danny's warning glare in favour of looking around for support. "Does anyone else think that's bullshit?"

"Language!"

"I agree with you," Brennan says. "There's no scientific proof that God exists."

"Thank you!"

"There's no proof he doesn't, either!"

"Booth. If you look at it logically--"

"Don't start with that 'logically' crap, Bones," Booth says, shaking his head. "There are plenty of things we can't see that we believe in, and plenty of things we can't prove that people take as fact--"

"Oh right, name three..."

"You really want to start this now, huh? Okay--"

"Um, hello? Tempe?" Jeannie cuts in, looking from one end of the table to the other. "Cath? Do you not want to, maybe, try doing your crime-solving thing?"

Neither of them respond and, to Jeannie, the fact that no one's actually doing anything even after Nikki brought the very dead body on the floor to their attention, is beyond disbelief.

"HEY!" she yells, startling the room into silence. "DOESN'T ANYONE CARE THAT THERE'S A DEAD GUY ON THE FLOOR?!"

2.

There's an extended moment of silence and then half the room bolts towards her.

Catherine's one of the first, shouting her claim over the blood spatter and pausing to kiss Jeannie on the way past. Brennan's right behind her, looking intrigued and focused, and she touches Jeannie's arm reassuringly on her way to join the growing group.

"Any bugs are mine!" Hodgins yells.

"I'll take the body," Brennan adds.

"Denny Crane!"

"Which means if anyone needs a lawyer, we're available!"

"Except me!" Lori calls over, interrupting Alan, "I don't like murder cases."

"And me," Shirley adds, taking a sip of her drink, "Because I just don't want to."

Denny raises his glass to them in a toast and proceeds to watch the others in fascination.

"Is anyone else wishing they were somewhere else right now?" Matt asks, pulling a face as he turns away.

"Kinda, yeah," Harriet says. "This isn't exactly how I thought New Year's would go."

"I'm only surprised we haven't been shot at," Tasha mutters, recoiling when Val pokes her.

"I'll have you know I haven't been shot at in over a month," she says proudly.

"...so you're choosing to ignore the guy that tried to run you down in the street?"

"You're the one that specified shot at," Val says with a shrug and a mischievous smile. "So yes, I'm ignoring that guy. And his disgusting, greasy hair."

She mock-shudders and Tasha rolls her eyes before asking with mock-sweetness,

"Does anyone have a glass of water?"

3.

"Water?" Danny asks. "I'm sure the waiter can bring you some."

"A large glass," Tasha smiles, more devil than angel. "To pour over my girlfriend."

Danny laughs and Val says "Hey!" in a wounded tone that's quickly followed by a pout.

"I've considered that route myself once or twice," Danny says, smiling back at Tasha as he glances at Matt.

"Good thing you never took it," Matt says smartly, "Or you'd be sleeping on the couch tonight."

"Which is exactly where Tasha's going to be," Val sulks, glaring at Tasha. "Because she's mean."

"C'mon, Val, you'll never stick to that," Tasha whispers in Val's ear, making her shiver. "You have no willpower when it comes to me."

"I do too," Val mutters, turning her head instinctively to kiss Tasha. "When I want to."

"No you don't," Lori says, smiling sweetly when Val looks at her. "Not from what I've seen."

"Do you have to cause trouble?" Shirley sighs, looking at her with affectionate annoyance.

"Exactly," Tasha cuts in. "And who asked you anyway?"

"Tasha!" Val scolds. "Be nice. She's a little sensitive sometimes," she adds to Shirley.

"I am not sensitive," Tasha snaps automatically.

"God, Tasha, chill--"

"See!" Matt says. "God! And right there-- he's back in the conversation!"

"Matthew--"

"Matt--"

"Please tell me we're not still having this conversation," Booth says, arriving back at the table with Brennan in tow.

"If it's any consolation," Danny sighs, offering him a helpless shrug. "I'd love to be able to tell you that."

4.

"There's nothing wrong with discussion, Booth," Brennan says reasonably, breaking the lingering silence as she takes a seat next to Jeannie, who smiles and curls toward her.

"This isn't discussion, Bones," Booth says in exasperation. "It never is with you and your squinty little way of looking at things."

"Squinty?" Danny echoes. "What the hell is that?"

"Please note, yet another religious concept..." Matt throws in, then yelps when someone kicks him hard under the table.

"You know what, God does exist," Booth says in exasperation. "Because He sent all of you here to test me! To toy with my beliefs and strip me of my sanity."

"Does he always go on like this?" Jeannie asks, leaning her head against Brennan's shoulder.

"Not always," Brennan says as Catherine joins them, tossing her bloody gloves into a nearby bin.

"What's happening with him now?" Harriet asks, nodding her head towards the body.

"The victim?" Catherine asks. "He had a wallet in his pocket with ID and the cause of death's fairly obvious if you look--"

"No, thanks."

"--so we've called the local PD."

"That's it?" Tasha asks. "You're turning the case over to the locals?"

"Hey," Catherine shrugs. "It's New Year's Eve. I have people to be with. Better things to do."

"I'm definitely in favour of the plan where you can spend time with us," Jeannie says, backing her up, and Brennan nods her own fervent agreement as Catherine kisses them both.

They have a party to enjoy after all.

To Study Distraction (Roswell, Alex/Isabel).

2007-05-09T01:06:21Z

Title: To Study Distraction.
Fandom: Roswell.
Pairing: Alex/Isabel.
Author Note: I've admittedly kind of fallen back in love with seasons 1 & 2 of Roswell. I don't know why exactly ~~but I bought them on DVD in the sale, heh~~. Maybe because I adore Katherine Heigl like whoa but haven't been able to bring myself to be enthusiastic about Grey's in forever. Isabel/Alex were my all time OTP for this show & I was pissed when they killed Alex off and married Isabel to what's-his-name (I failed to watch season three). I do find it kind of funny that Katherine Heigl's played two characters name Isabel/Isobel, who've both dated Alex's :P 2,639 words.

--

Normally Isabel likes studying with Alex.

He takes it seriously, for one thing, and actually focuses on the work they're supposed to be doing for another, and whereas when she studies with her girlfriends they end up discussing boys instead, when she's with Alex the topic of conversation doesn't usually stray.

Plus, she's starting to find that her 'friends' grate on her nerves and test her patience, so the more time she spends with Alex and the less time she spends with them? Well, that's fine with her.

She's studied with other guys before but she typically finds that they spend most of their time studying her and trying to 'get to know her'. Alex already knows her, so that problem doesn't arise.

Alex keeps study time for studying and she appreciates that. He wants good grades as much as she does and she suspects it's for the same reason: they both want out of Roswell, and college is the best chance they have.

So, normally Isabel likes studying with Alex but right now she has a problem: Alex is distracting her.

She's trying to focus on the book she's reading but her eyes wander to him seemingly of their own accord and she sneaks glances as he turns the page, biting absently at the end of the pencil he's holding. She really, really wants to lean over and kiss him and the fact that she can't is making her twitchy and restless.

Her concentration's shot -- the words she's trying to read are dancing across the page, incoherent black squiggles against a white background -- and every dream she's ever had about Alex and every dream of his she's ever wandered into are swirling around in her head on repeat. It's like she's flipping through a mental photograph album of Alex and the two of them together, and she can't seem to put it on pause.

"Isabel?"

Alex's fingers wrapping around her wrist make her jump and she meets his eyes with a wide-eyed, startled gaze. He's looking at her in concern, his books lying forgotten and abandoned on the table.

She normally has more self-control than this, so she can't figure out if she's feeling this way just because she's finally realised how much she wants him, or if there's some alien cause at the root of it all. Max and Michael have never mentioned anything like this but, then again, Michael isn't the type to, and Max and Liz are all about the angst and tortured-romance, so they'd probably chalk it up to another facet of that if they had.

"Iz? What's wrong?" Alex asks in a low voice, squeezing her wrist gently to get her attention and leaning in closer to avoid incurring the wrath of the librarian.

"Nothing," Isabel says quietly, sneaking a look at him to see if he's buying it.

His expression says he isn't and it doesn't come as much of a surprise since she didn't even convince herself. She takes a deep breath and closes her book, pushing it away from her. She's not getting any studying done anyway and maybe clearing the air between them, even if Alex doesn't know it needs clearing, will let her regain her focus.

"Can we just go outside and talk?"

"Sure," he says, looking worried and slightly hesitant, as if he suspects something bad is about happen.

He starts to gather his books together, waiting for her to do the same, and follows her out into the quad. The sun is bright after an hour inside and they both squint as it stings their eyes, walking over to an unoccupied spot on the grass where they can sit and talk in private.

Alex takes a seat with his back against a tree stump and Isabel stretches out on the grass next to him, resting her head against his thigh. It's probably crossing a boundary of their friendship but what she's about to tell him could decimate it anyway, she thinks, and she really doesn't want to have to look him in the eyes while they talk this out.

Alex is one of those people who focuses a hundred percent on whoever he's talking to. At least, that's what she's discovered. She's not sure it applies to everyone he interacts with but she certain that it does to his friends. It's one of the things she loves about talking to him -- she always knows he's actually hearing what she says and that he thinks about what he's going to say in return before he answers a question or offers her his opinion -- but the intensity can sometimes be unnerving.

"So," Alex says eventually, "What did you want to talk about?"

He's stroking his fingers through her hair and she doesn't think he's aware that he's doing it but she hopes he doesn't stop. It's soothing and she can feel herself relaxing as she tries to figure out how to bring up what she's realised.

This wouldn't so hard if she hadn't spent so long telling Alex that she wasn't ready for a relationship, that they couldn't do this, and whatever other excuses she's thrown up over the last few months to disguise the fact that she wants Alex and it scares the hell out of her. None of the previous things she's said apply any more -- she wants Alex and that's that -- but she's put him through a lot and she's not sure he still wants to be involved with her the way he used to.

She won't blame him if he doesn't but it will break her heart, and she's not sure she'd be able to face him afterwards. He's her best friend, her safe place, the rock she can turn to when she needs to feel as if she has some sort of stability in her life, and it would devastate her to lose that.

"Isabel?" Alex says quietly when she remains silent, lost in her thoughts. "You're starting to scare me now. What's wrong?"

"You!" Isabel explodes suddenly, feeling pressured and cornered, caught unaware by his gentle pressing of the question when she's still so unsure of what to say. She sits up, turning to face him with flashing, pain-filled eyes. "You're what's wrong! I can't concentrate around you any more!"

He shies away from her vehemence and she can't blame him for his skittish confusion, because she's confused too and she's the one with all the information. Alex doesn't even know what the problem is yet.

"I can't focus, Alex," she says, willing him to somehow understand what she can't bring herself to verbalise. "I have to study and I can't because you're there!"

"I'm... sorry, I guess," he says slowly, still clearly confused and uncertain of how exactly she expects him to react. "I didn't realise my company was causing you so much trouble."

She curses herself silently because that's not what she's trying to tell him.

"No! Alex it's not you, it's just-- it's me, okay? I don't know what's going on with me right now but this isn't your fault. I didn't mean to yell at you."

They lapse into an uncomfortable silence. Isabel's afraid that her frustration with the whole thing will make her snap again if she tries to speak now and she doesn't want to drive him away. It feels like it's up to her to say something that'll fix this but she doesn't seem to have the words.

"Maybe it's best if we don't hang out together for a while," Alex says finally, when they've sat in silence for several minutes under a thundering cloud of tension. "I'll avoid the Crashdown for a couple of days and study with someone else. Maybe that'll help fix... whatever it is that's the problem."

He moves as though he's going to get to his feet and she leans over to grab his arm, holding him in place. She doesn't want him to avoid her. She wants to see him more not less.

She sees his lips part, probably to say something that starts with Isabel, and she doesn't want to hear it, whatever it is, because she doesn't know what she's going to say in return, so she leans in closer until she's close enough to kiss him.

His lips are warm and soft against hers and his arms wrap around her waist automatically, steadying her and holding her close. She forgets about books, school and studying; forgets about everything except him and them and this moment right here, which is about as close to perfect as she can imagine.

When they pull apart she buries her head in his shoulder and hugs him as tight as she can. He nuzzles her neck and kisses her cheek, smiling as he says, "So... does this mean the whole 'dating embargo' is over?"

"Only with you," she says, smiling shyly. It's really been 'only Alex' ever since they started getting to know each other but she hasn't been willing to admit to it before now. Max's life wasn't the only one that changed when he saved Liz's.

"I can live with that," he says and hugs her again.

His smile is wide and bright and she smiles back because his happiness is infectious and echoes her own. He settles back into his former position and she curls up next to him, resting her head against his shoulder and her hand on his chest, feeling the rhythmic thumping of his heartbeat, solid and reassuring, under her palm.

"What made you change your mind?" he asks curiously, his fingers sliding back into her hair to tangle in the long, blonde strands. He seems to have developed some sort of fascination for playing with her hair but she isn't objecting.

"I don't know," she says, although she kind of does. "I just-- I like you and I want to be with you, and I have for a while now," she admits, closing her eyes because it's easier to admit these things when he isn't looking at her. "And denying it just started to seem really stupid, you know? I kept wanting to kiss you and I've been having these dreams-- not, like, those kind of dreams," she rushes to clarify, "Just dreams where we'll be hanging out together, or watching a movie, or something else, just, I don't know. Ordinary things, I guess, but--"

He cuts her off with a kiss and she kisses him back, pushing everything else out of her mind.

It was pure chance that had put her in a position to eavesdrop on Alex talking to another girl -- a pretty, sweet girl from their year that she'd seen Alex with before in the music room -- but hearing the other girl ask Alex out had made her realise she could lose him to someone else if she pushes him away for much longer, and the idea of seeing someone else dating Alex, the idea of him looking at someone else the way he looks at her now, makes her sick to her stomach.

The combination of that, the dreams and her never-ending obsessive awareness of his presence had finally convinced her that maybe, just maybe, her feelings for him were more than platonic.

It wasn't that she hadn't already known that, because she had, kind of, but she hadn't realised how non-platonic they were until that moment.

"I have dreams like that sometimes," Alex says. "Where we're just doing ordinary things. Maybe we've had the same one."

"I didn't dream walk you," Isabel says, tensing up as if his words are some kind of accusation when she knows he probably didn't intend them to sound that way.

She didn't dream walk him. She'd promised a long time ago, when they started to become friends, that she wouldn't ever dream walk him again without permission, and she doesn't want him to think she's forgotten that.

"I know you didn't," he says, surprised by her response. "You wouldn't. I'm just suggesting we might have had the same dream -- people do, y'know."

"I know," she says, relaxing again. "And, who knows, maybe we have."

Her alien powers add a strange level to their relationship that she doesn't always like, and forming a steady relationship seems like hard enough work even without them. She's used to casual dating and so putting her whole self into one relationship, letting someone get to know her so well, seems like a terrifying prospect. She doesn't think she could do it with anyone but Alex. She doesn't think she'd want to.

"Are you okay with this?" he asks then, because he does already know her well, tracing idle patterns on her arm with the fingertips of his free hand. His touch raises goose-bumps on her skin, makes her shiver in an only-good way.

"Yes," she says with absolute certainty, meeting his eyes so he can see the truth for himself. She wants this and she wants him, and those are things she's sure of.

"So if I ask you if you want to go and see a movie tonight...?"

"Yes," she says again, giggling when he smiles.

"And if I kiss you again..."

"Yes," she whispers, welcoming the pressure of his lips on hers, one arm snaking around his neck to pull him closer.

She doesn't pay any attention to the other students that are scattered around, many of whom are finding the spectacle of Isabel Evans and Alex Whitman kissing extremely interesting, and she doesn't even notice the approaching Max and Michael until Max clears his throat to announce their presence.

She really, really doesn't want to hear what Max thinks about this new development in her relationship with Alex, but the hint of disapproval lurking in the depths of his eyes suggests she'll be listening to it later whether she likes it or not. Max loves to make his disapproval known, particularly to her.

"We're going to be late for class," Max says pointedly.

"Don't let us keep you," she says sharply, not moving from where she is.

Max's eyes darken with annoyance but Michael taps him on the arm to get his attention and jerks his head toward the school.

"C'mon, Maxwell," he says, already moving away, and she makes a mental note to thank him later. "Let 'em be late if they want to be."

Max isn't happy but he turns and follows Michael towards the building as she presses her forehead against Alex's shoulder and groans.

"What is his problem?" Alex sighs, glancing at his watch to check the time. "Other than being right. Which he is -- class starts in two minutes." He angles it so she can see.

"He's Max, that's his problem," Isabel mutters, debating the pro's and con's of asking Alex to cut out with her for the afternoon. Sitting in a classroom without being able to touch him right now is going to seriously test the limits of her self-control.

"I don't really want to go to class," Alex says, echoing her thoughts. "But we probably should unless we want to get into trouble."

Part of her wants to get into trouble if it means staying right where she is but the more responsible part of her makes herself sit up. She watches Alex stand up and takes the hand he offers her, letting him help her to her feet. As they collect their books and walk towards the doors she links an arm through his and says,

"So... you mentioned something about a movie tonight?"

"Uh huh," Alex agrees, "Around seven? I'll grab a paper after school and see what's playing."

She nods. "That sounds good to me."

"Yeah?" he asks softly, meeting her eyes.

"Yeah," she says, equally softly. "It's perfect."

Fire (Roswell, Liz/Tess).

2007-05-09T01:05:19Z

Title: Fire (G)
Fandom: Roswell.
Pairing: Liz/Tess.
Author Note: Originally authored in early 2001 under the name 'Aphracia' (oh, I know *sigh* I was YOUNG then :P) Rescued from the Roswell Slash Archive, which is still up! :) 722 words.

--

I'm wrapped in Max's arms. My Max. He's holding me so gently, so carefully, as though he's afraid I'll break if he holds me too hard.

I'm back where I'm expected to be, where part of me always wants to be. Despite the fact that I ran, despite the fact that I avoided him the entire summer, I'm back in his arms.

Running was pointless, I've never been able to escape my feelings for Max. I could run forever and he'd still occupy part of my heart and thoughts. But... I have one more secret from Max and this one's big, even if it's not life-threatening.

How do I tell the guy of my dreams that I've been fantasising about his former wife? NC-17 rated dreams?

If our alien's pasts are to be believed -- if Tess's memories are to be believed -- then Max and Tess were married. They were in love. But that was in their last lifetime and in this lifetime Max is mine. He loves me. He's giving up destiny every second he holds me in his arms and I'm starting to feel guilty that it doesn't mean as much as it should anymore.

I love Max, no one can change that. But when I look at Tess... it's like seeing the future in sparkly colors, I want to dance just because. Every time she looks at me, I smile even when I'm sad, even when I'm frustrated, even when I'm angry. I can't help it. I look at her and this involuntary smile just appears on my face.

And when she touches me, fire explodes in every vein of my body.

I feel guilty that I can't bring this up with Max... but how can I? He threw over Tess for me. He gave up his destiny, his principles, to be with me, and I'm fantasising nightly about how amazing it would be to kiss the girl he gave up.

I know Tess knows, I've seen her look at me with this slight smile that says "I know your secret", and I think she likes me too. You can't fake the tension that fills the air everytime we're alone together. You can't fake the feelings I have, the feelings I see mirrored in her eyes. We're torturing ourselves really. I can't leave Max after everything he's gone through and given up for me. And I think Tess knows that.

But I want her, oh god I want her. Touching me, kissing me, taking me with passion and fire. Somehow I know it would be like that. A sixth sense tells me how we'd be together. I want her more than I've ever wanted anyone. Even the desire I felt for Max pales in comparison to this.

But I'm scared. Changing my life like that. Abandoning my relationship with Max. Max&Liz. Liz&Max. Soulmates. That's what everyone thinks of us. Tess is supposed to make a play for Max, not me. No one expects Tess and I together, we're supposed to hate each other. But how can I hate someone who makes me feel like she does.

I look up at Max and smile, and he takes it at face value. He doesn't look deeper into my eyes like she does to see if I'm hiding my pain and confusion. He just assumes I'm being honest with him. Sometimes I want to scream at him, to tell him to see me when he looks at me.

As I tilt my head back to feel his lips on mine, I know I don't have the strength to change my life so drastically. That the want and need will be buried beneath the love I have for Max. Maybe not always, but for now it will. It has to be.

I love Max. I'm in love with Tess.

When the sun shines down on us, it's his arms that are around me, his lips on mine. But when the night falls and the stars start to sparkle, things change. Even when I'm sleeping in his arms, our naked bodies pressing against each other, in my dreams it's Tess who holds me, Tess who kisses me, Tess who sets my blood on fire.

I'll always be grateful that Isabel isn't the only one with the ability to dreamwalk.

Lightning (Roswell, Isabel/Maria).

2007-05-09T01:04:16Z

Title: Lightning. (G)
Fandom: Roswell.
Pairing: Isabel/Maria.
Author Note: Originally authored in early 2001 under the name 'Aphracia' (oh, I know *sigh* I was YOUNG then :P) Rescued from the Roswell Slash Archive, which is still up! &omg, so. so. corny. heh :) 2,056 words.

--

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..."

Isabel Evans spoke the words with a desperation she rarely felt as she backed away from the girl in front of her. She didn't know what had possessed her, or she did, but she didn't understand it.

She'd kissed half of the popular guys at school; playing her part, never letting them in close, letting them kiss her when she felt like it, maintaining her "Ice Princess" look when they got angry and wanted more. Never letting on how much it hurt to hear them call her names, even though she could handle it because she was the appointed "Queen" of Roswell High.

And she wasn't even attracted to girls. She never had been, not until this one became a prominent part of her life, until she found out their secret and still smiled at them. Bouncy, full of life, but so much more than she appeared to be.

The closest thing to genuine attraction that Isabel had felt till now was with Alex, who made her feel alive and warm and loved. But this ... this transcended that, this felt like being hit by lightening.

The connection between them had become too much for Isabel to ignore, even if she didn't seem to feel it. It was that connection that had been haunting her dreams at night, invading her waking moments. It was all she thought about, it hummed through her body constantly, pulling her towards what felt like her destiny.

She smothered a bitter internal laugh, she'd dealt with enough "destiny" to last her several lifetimes. But this... this was everything. She felt like she needed the girl in front of her to survive, to feel alive, to feel like life was worth living.

And she could have kept her as a friend, but this -- letting herself get carried away, holding her and kissing her... she'd ruined everything in a second of carelessness.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered as her dark brown eyes filled with tears. Turning she ran blindly, not knowing where she was going, not caring. Just knowing she'd ruined the best thing in her life.

Maria DeLuca watched her go, lifting a hand to touch her lips, feeling the imprint of Isabel's against her own. She'd been shocked when Isabel caught her arm, pulled her in and kissed her, but only because she'd not been expecting it. She'd always had a sort of crush on Isabel, and lately she felt like there was something between them she couldn't explain, something real and warm, something promising.

"You don't have to run," she whispered back to the slim figure disappearing into the distance. "You never have to run from me."

--

It had taken Maria a good two hours to track Isabel down. She'd tried Liz's, the Crashdown, Isabel's house -- she'd had to listen to a half hour of Max-and-Liz drama to get out of there -- and after trying Michael's -- "No, I am *not* stalking you, Michael" -- she'd finally given up and headed to one of her favourite places to think: the quiet part of the park that few people bothered to use because it was so hard to get to.

When the darkness fell and the stars came out, it was one of the most beautiful places in the world in Maria's opinion. Apparently, she wasn't the only one who thought so because when she pulled herself up onto the stone at the top she nearly collided with someone.

"Sorry," she muttered without looking up, "I didn't know anyone else was... Isabel?"

Maria had finally looked up to see who she'd crashed into and come face to face with the girl she'd been looking for. She was shocked to see Isabel's beautiful face swollen with tears, her makeup ruined. She was even dressed in an old grey sweatshirt and black jeans. Okay they were the tight-fitting kind of black jeans that Maria could definitely appreciate, but this was not Isabel's usual look.

Right now Isabel had that deer-caught-in-headlights expression and she was trying to flee. Stumbling as she tried to get past Maria she fell.

Maria dove for Isabel to break her fall and they both wound up on the ground, Isabel cradled in Maria's arms. She was shaking and Maria instinctively pulled her in closer, placing a soft kiss on her forehead.

"Isabel ..."

"I'm sorry about before," Isabel choked out. "I didn't mean for that to happen."

"Stop apologising," Maria said firmly, taking charge. She had a feeling that if she didn't fix this right now, she wasn't going to get another chance. Isabel's defenses were down, and Maria knew instinctively that right now she could break Isabel with a word. She also knew she never would.

"Isabel, you don't have to apologise for before, okay?" she said softly as she stroked strands of long blonde hair away from her face.

"Aren't you angry with me?" Isabel asked quietly, feeling her skin tingle where Maria's fingers traced the features of her face. Her body shivered involuntarily from the touch, and she cursed herself for the day she'd figured this out.

"Why would I be angry at you?" Maria asked, keeping her tone as soft as the light touches she was applying to Isabel's skin. Taking a mental deep breath she added, "You did what I've been wanting to do for months -- how could I be angry?"

Isabel's dark brown eyes snapped up to meet hers and Maria could see the insecurity and fear lurking there; insecurity that Maria could like her for her, fear that she was playing a game with her.

"You mean that?" she asked, and her tone was serious, desperate, pleading and hopeful all at once.

Maria was caught in her gaze, overwhelmed with the urge to kiss her insecurities away.

"I mean it with my whole heart," she replied equally seriously, her shimmering green eyes holding Isabel's. Something like joy shot through Isabel's eyes and she tilted her head up as Maria leaned down to cover her lips with her own.

The lightening was back, striking them both with an intensity that left them tingling, the world narrowed and it felt like it was just them, only them, always them. Something seemed to be wrapping around them, pulling them together, trying to break down the walls around their minds, blending them seamlessly into one. They could see each others memories, feel each other's feelings.

A young Isabel, discovering her powers with Max and Michael by accident. Watching the glass around them shatter. Turning to Max, fear in her dark eyes. "How did we do that?"

A young Maria, hitting a young boy who was picking on Alex. Liz in the background, warning her it wasn't good to hit people. Silently giggling at the fact that Maria could beat up on him. Turning to Alex, Liz behind her now. Both of them smiling. Maria's voice. "Let's be friends forever."

An older Isabel, coming home from a date she didn't really want to be on. Shrugging out of her jacket, collapsing on her bed, wondering if she would always feel lonely. Wondering if popularity really meant anything.

Maria and Liz, making mistakes as they started waitressing at the Crashdown. Colliding with each other, spilling sodas all over the floor and just laughing, because they knew it would be okay.

Isabel's tongue flicked lightly, tentatively against Maria's lips. Maria opened her mouth, her own tongue meeting Isabel's, stroking gently as they explored what was happening between them, as they explored each other.

Isabel looking across the quad at lunch, looking over at Maria and Liz, wishing she had a warm real friendship like theirs instead of just her ditzy shallow friends. Watching Maria, wishing the fiery blonde was her friend instead of Liz's.

Maria, watching Isabel, remarking to Alex and Liz that there must be more to Isabel that they knew. Ignoring their responses and laughter, knowing that there was something in Isabel that made Maria want to go over and hug her and tell her everything was okay.

Whatever was growing between them was warm, passionate and real. A connection forged from the deepest places of their hearts and souls. A place neither of them had opened to anyone else till now. Maria's hand rested on the warm skin of Isabel's back, under her sweatshirt, sending shivers down the older girl's spine.

Isabel, getting annoyed that Maria knew their secret, silently panicking that it would put her in danger. Wanting to grab her and hide her from their world. Unable to express this to anyone. Watching as Michael and Maria's relationship grew before her eyes, sharp shocks of jealousy running through her each time Michael touched her.

Maria, wishing she could take away part of that lonely look that always seemed to linger just beneath the surface of Isabel's gaze. Watching as Alex and Isabel danced one step forward and two steps back. Secretly glad, and hating herself for that because she wanted Alex to be happy and she knew he worshipped Isabel.

Both of them wishing for someone to understand them completely. To know their deepest fears, deepest secrets, fiercest ambitions; and support them all the way, love them even when they made mistakes, even when everything around them spun in chaos...

Finally they pulled apart just enough to breathe and the flashes faded, suddenly aware of their extremely close proximity. They were still lying together on the ground, but now they were interwined so closely it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began. Isabel buried her head into Maria's shoulder, feeling Maria's arms holding her close, keeping her grounded as she fought to recenter herself in a world that had just changed dramatically.

"Um, wow ..." Maria tried to center herself, aware that this was not the most intelligent thing she'd ever said. But it didn't matter, Isabel didn't think she was capable of speech right now. "I'm not the only one that felt and/or saw that, right?" she frowned, looking momentarily insecure.

Isabel shook her head, not trusting her voice. Finally she managed to add, "I saw it too. I wish we hadn't taken so long to..."

"I know, Is," Maria echoed, stroking blonde strands away from Isabel's face.

She would have moved them into a more comfortable position, but her entire body felt jellified and she couldn't move. If that was what one kiss from Isabel did to her, god only knew what... Maria cut that thought off in a hurry. Thinking about what else she wanted to do with Isabel wasn't a good idea whilst her body was still throbbing from the kiss.

"What are we going to do, Maria?" Isabel asked her quietly, lifting her head from Maria's shoulder so that their eyes met. Isabel's eyes sparkled with the love and contentment she felt right now, Maria's seeming to glow with an inner light.

Shaking her head, Maria replied, "I don't know. I don't want to lose this, whatever we do."

"I don't, either," Isabel returned wholeheartedly, glad to hear Maria say it.

She wasn't really in doubt about Maria's feelings for her, but hearing Maria say she wanted to keep whatever was between them chased away any lingering thoughts and feelings of doubt.

"Whatever it is, Isabel, it'll wait till later," Maria tickled Isabel playfully, having the advantage in their current position. Isabel squirmed and giggled, trying to bat Maria's fingers away, catching her hand in her own and intertwining their fingers. "I can think of better things to do right now, hmm?" Maria arched an eyebrow at Isabel, a mischievous grin pulling at the corners of her mouth.

Focusing on Maria's lips was Isabel's downfall. Immediately she leant in to kiss her, nipping lightly at Maria's lower lip. Maria moaned softly and kissed her back, pressing her tongue gently against Isabel's lips until she parted them to let her in.

Whatever decisions they would have to make could wait. Somehow, they knew it would work out, that it would be okay for them. That as hurt as their significant others would be at first, they would eventually understand and move on. Lying intertwined beneath the stars, both of them understood this was a new beginning.

And both of them were looking forward to finding out where it led.

In the face of constant motion (Gilmore girls, Paris/Rory).

2007-03-18T16:40:06Z

Daxia! If you see this before I send you an email this evening: I've been offline and haven't been checking my email. I don't know if there's any way I can still swing meeting up with you on your trip? Or do anything to help at this point, but if I can, I will.

My gran's been in (and still is in) hospital and I've been spending a lot of my time there as a consequence. This was partly written by hand, during one of my visits, which may or may not explain its slight suckiness. &no, it has nothing to do with hospitals :P

Title: In the face of constant motion.
Fandom: Gilmore Girls.
Pairing: Hints of [unrequited] Paris/Rory.
Author Note: Set early season six, when Rory was living with Emily and Richard. Approx 2,300 words.
Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing, everything belongs to ASP.

One, two, three, four, five, six--

Six steps one way, six steps another. Back and forth (then turn; repeat).

Paris paces as she waits because she can't sit still. Can't stop, can't relax. Has to keep moving, to keep striding forward. Even if it's only back and forth. Even if it's only in front of the Gilmore's pool house.

The Gilmore's empty pool house.

Rory should be back by now but she isn't, and Paris doesn't know where she is. Doesn't know where she might be, or where to try and look for her. She's out of her element, working against a Rory she doesn't know or understand, and she's floundering, lost and uncertain.

Rory isn't here – the dark silence of her new home attests to that – and Paris needs to talk to her. Has to talk to her. Has to talk some sense into her. Needs to talk some sense into her.

She needs to talk to Rory. And Rory isn't here.

One, two, three, four, five, six--

Six steps one way, six steps another. Back and forth (faster, now).

Paris paces as though she can outpace her thoughts if she just keeps moving. As though she can outpace the truths she doesn't want to face. As if constant motion will change the reality she refuses to accept and convert the truth into a web of lies.

Step.

Rory isn't here.

Step, step.

Rory isn't here and she isn't going to be there, either, because--

Step, step, step.

Because. Because she isn't. Because Rory isn't coming back.

Turn--

Because Rory isn't coming back to Yale.

--and repeat.

Her heartbeat quickens and her chest grows tight. Her steps are faster, closer to a stomp or march than anything else, and she sways a little as she spins to retrace her steps; dizzy from lack of oxygen and too many thoughts.

(It's always hard to breath when she lets herself think about it.)

One, two, three, four, five, six--

Six steps one way, six steps another. Back and forth (left foot, right foot, left-right-left).

Paris likes to keep her life ordered. She likes to know what she can count on and what she can call constant. She likes to know she can depend on herself, that she can stand alone, and up to now she's believed that she can.

But up to now the theory hasn't really, fully, been tested and it doesn't seem to be holding up. She's uncertain and a little less sure of things, a little more panicked and a little less able to assume her 'All Go, All The Time!' persona. She hates that now she's facing a future without Rory, she feels somehow less than she did before.

Chilton to Yale and enemies to friends; they've challenged each other, pushed each other and made each other better. They've studied together, graduated together, chosen Yale together and roomed together, and Rory has become as much of a constant in Paris's life as the air that she breathes.

Rory's her best friend, her only real friend, and Paris can't remember if she's ever told her that. If she's ever actually said to her that she's the only one who listens to what Paris says, the only one who's ever voluntarily hugged her, or kept her company when she's feeling sad.

But now Rory's the reason she's sad and that isn't the way it's supposed to be. She doesn't quite know how to handle that. She's going to be alone (at least that's the way it feels to her) and she's scared, despite knowing she still has Doyle.

Doyle isn't Rory. As an addition to her life she enjoys him, but as a substitute for all things Rory she finds him... lacking.

One, two, three, four, five, six--

(It's getting harder to keep moving.)

She gasps for air, dragging oxygen into lungs that don't want to expand, and stubbornly forces one foot in front of the other. If she just stays in motion she'll be able to get past this – she'll be able to figure out how to react and adapt. She doesn't let anything affect her life plan, so she doesn't know why it's so hard to shake this off and leave Rory behind.

Her heart races and blood pounds at her temples. Little flickers of light dance at the edges of her vision, at war with the darkness sneaking in, and she closes her eyes, just for a moment, just for the respite, and feels herself falling.

One, two, three, four, f--

"'ive, six--"

"Paris!"

"One, tw--"

"Paris!"

The voice sounds more desperate this time and very close by.

She fights to open her eyes and figure out why she's lying outside on the floor at the same time, before she gives up and abandons one in favour of the other.

Her reward is finding Rory's panicked blue eyes only inches from her own and that halts any thought processes she's managed to cobble back together.

One of Rory's hands clasps her arm, her grip tight enough to bruise, and the other rests against her cheek, the whisper-soft pressure stark in contrast.

There's a faint tremble to the touch that surprises her but it's a pleasant feeling, Paris thinks dreamily, having Rory look at her with such concern, and her heart stops for a second as she registers what it might mean when combined with everything else.

Except-- no. That isn't it. She won't let that be it.

The bottom isn't falling out of her world because Rory's leaving her, or anything stupidly girlish like that. Her world is rocking – slightly – because her friend, her challenger, is 'taking a year out,' and she's afraid the lack of competition will affect her drive.

She doesn't get chance to dwell on it either way because Rory's started to babble, relating the tale of How She Found Paris Unconscious with a speed that Paris thinks might surpass her previous best.

"--and then I tried to wake you again, and I was just about to go and get my grandmother! That's how worried I was!" Rory's eyes are still wide as her fingers tighten further around Paris's arm. "What happened? How did this happen? Were you waiting for me? Wh--"

Paris groans and the sound cuts off the flow of words. It's too many questions to even hear with Rory so close and so focused on her. Too many questions to process when she isn't sure of the answers herself. (And, on top of that, her arm is starting to go numb.)

"We need to get you inside," Rory says softly, biting her lip when Paris fails to say anything else and finally relaxing her grip. "Do you think you can stand up?"

No.

"Yes," Paris says, gathering what little resolve she has left and allowing Rory help her to her feet.

She sways, dizziness washing over her in waves, but Rory's there to support her, one arm wrapped firmly around her waist as she digs her keys out of her pocket. They navigate the door, which Rory kicks closed behind them, and make their way over to the couch.

It takes them six steps. Paris counts them and feels hysterical laughter bubbling up in her stomach, chased by exhaustion and something else she can't quite name.

"You're surprisingly strong," Paris says then, breaking the silence because she can't stand it any more. Things are strange enough without adding a silent Gilmore into the mix.

"You did most of the work," Rory quirks a smile that doesn't reach her eyes. "Do you want something to drink? Water, or--?"

"Water's fine," Paris says, and watches Rory retreat to the kitchen.

She still feels weak and a little shaken but the weight on her chest has lightened up and her heartbeat is closer to normal. She's surprised to realise that she's still counting repetitions of six in her head. She gets to six four times before Rory returns and settles next to her.

She gets to six twice more before Rory finally repeats her earlier question.

"There's room for six steps," Paris says, as though it makes perfect sense as an answer, when really it doesn't answer anything at all. "Did you know that? Six steps, then turn by that potted plant your grandmother probably imported at ridiculous expense, six steps back and turn by that ugly little statue. I got dizzy by the statue. I suppose that was better than by the plant. The plant's closer to the pool and I didn't come here to go swimming, so--"

"Paris!" Rory yelps. "Forget the six steps! What happened?"

When she looks back at this moment, she'll blame her rambling confession on an overload of too many things at once, but at this moment it's all just too much. There are too many words in her head and she can no longer contain them all.

"You!" Paris explodes, pointing an accusatory finger in Rory's direction. "You happened! You came to Chilton and then you went to Yale! And you listened to me and studied with me, and I thought you were just as focused as I was, only you're not, are you, because here you are and there Yale is, and you aren't coming back! You're my only friend and you're supposed to be there and you won't be there, and you're supposed to be constant because you're Rory and now you're changing all the rules and I can't breathe--"

"Paris!"

Rory's staring at her, pale and even wider-eyed than before, and Paris feels the sinking sensation in her stomach that's previously only accompanied a bad grade or some form of academic failure. She's screwing up by telling this to Rory, when she doesn't really understand the 'whys' of it herself, and she knows it.

If Rory wants to take a 'year out', there's nothing Paris can do about it. And if Rory's precious Logan can't convince her it's a bad idea, and if her mother and her grandparents can't convince her it's a bad idea, then Paris is pretty sure she doesn't stand a chance.

"I have to go," Paris says abruptly, rising to her feet and ignoring the dizziness that rushes back as a result. "I have things to do."

"Wait," Rory says softly, grabbing her arm to stop her leaving. "Paris, just-- wait."

"No," Paris says, shaking her head. "I can't."

"It's only a year!" Rory sounds sort of desperate to convince Paris of this point and Paris isn't sure it's really her that Rory's trying to convince. "I just need to work a few things out."

"Sure," Paris says, with a forced laugh that sounds it. "You'll be back."

"I will!"

Paris doesn't answer. Refuses to look at her. Rory might believe what she's saying, but Paris isn't so certain that it's the truth. It's easy to get side-tracked without realising it, to stumble through the years without realising they're passing, and she doesn't want to see Rory give up – or suddenly realise what she's lost and not be able to get it back.

Rory's supposed to be going places, just like Paris is, which is one of the things Paris has always admired about her, and she doesn't want Rory to trade that for a life as Logan's trophy wife. Paris grew up surrounded by that life and she knows it isn't for Rory, that it can't be all Rory becomes.

"You didn't act like this before that stupid internship," Paris says, because she needs to say something or she needs to leave, and Rory still has a death grip on her arm. "Something happened, didn't it?"

Rory releases her abruptly and Paris takes an automatic step back.

"It's not the internship," Rory denies, looking defensive. "I told you, I just need to make sure I know what I want."

"You've known what you wanted since I met you," Paris says.

"Well maybe now I'm not so sure."

Paris shakes her head and turns towards the door. Coming here today was a waste of her time. She can't talk to Rory if Rory won't talk to her. Rory isn't giving her the whole story, the whole truth, and it hurts to think that there are things her best friend won't share with her.

"I'm sure you'll figure it all out," she shrugs as she begins to walk away.

Rory follows her over to the door and surprises her with a hug when they get there. Paris hugs her back without thinking, remembering back to a time when she wouldn't have known how to react at all, and listens as Rory whispers,

"I will. This isn't forever, Paris."

(It only feels that way.)

Paris doesn't say anything, but the smile she gives Rory as she steps out of the door is a little more genuine than the others she's managed so far, and Rory seems to appreciate the effort.

She knows she'll be back. That she isn't giving up on Rory yet (that she can't, ever, if she's honest with herself). She just needs to take a step back and rethink her strategy.

She calls good bye over her shoulder without looking back and feels the weight of Rory's gaze burning into her as Rory watches her walk away.

Rory's words echo in her ears. This isn't forever, Paris.

Paris wants to believe that and, by the time she reaches her car, she thinks she almost does.

Reconnecting (CiC, Becca/Jo).

2007-01-08T02:29:07Z

Title: Reconnecting.
Fandom: Commander In Chief.
Pairing: Becca/Jo, pre-slashy.
Author Note: I've never tried writing Becca/Joan before but they're my super sekrit OTP for CiC :) Hopefully I'll get the hang of them with practice. 960 words, set mid-S1.

Becca's left seven messages already and she's almost abandoned hope. It took a lot of effort to track down a phone number for Joan but she figured it'd be worth it, and it probably would be if Joan would just pick up. She's been talking to a machine for six days (Hi, you've reached Joan Greer. Leave a number and I'll call you back) and she's left the same message each time, unable to hang up without a word.

She needs to talk to Joan. It's been three weeks since she left the White House and Becca misses her way more than she thinks she's supposed to. She's confused over how she feels about everything and even though she knows that Joan's an adult, with better things to do than talk to her, she can't seem to stop calling.

She keeps replaying the memory of the last conversation they had, over and over again in her head, and it makes her feel more awful every time. She wants to tell Joan again that she's sorry – really, really sorry – and be forgiven, because it felt like Joan was kind of mad at her when she left and, even though she has every right to be angry, Becca doesn't want her to stay that way.

Joan made her feel safe on her first day back at school when the rapid-fire click, click, click of the photographers cameras sounded deafening and the flashes were blinding her over and over again. Joan was right there beside her, protecting her and convincing her she could handle it. Joan understood her, Becca thinks, and there's a thousand little things she remembers and appreciates about Joan now that she didn't then.

But more than that Becca misses her. It's that simple. She's not sure if it's appropriate or not to miss Joan as much as she does but, if it isn't, she doesn't care. She's become kind of obsessed with this 'Joan thing', at least according to Horace, but she can't help it. Joan's in her head and Becca can't get her out.

She's about to get up to find a CD to listen to when her phone rings. She has it open before it rings a second time and answers with a hopeful, "Hello?"

"Hey, Becca. It's Joan."

"Hey," Becca says and then her voice trails off. She'd kind of assumed that the right words would come to her once they started talking but here they are, talking, and she's coming up blank.

"You left messages on my machine," Joan says. "I'm sorry I couldn't call you back sooner, I was out of town."

"No, it's okay-- you know, I figured-- I figured you might just be busy. Or whatever."

Becca's starting to think she might not have thought this plan all the way through. Joan has her own life and her own plans and her own things to do; her own friends to hang out with, her own holidays to take and, presumably, her own job to fill her days. She probably doesn't need or want this complication as well.

"I'm not too busy to talk to you," Joan says. "Is everything okay?"

Joan's being nice to her, which is better than the anger she expected, but she also sounds a little confused, as though she's not entirely sure why Becca called her. Which is okay, 'cause Becca's not sure how or what to tell her.

"Becca?" Joan asks. "Are you still there?"

"No-- Yes, I'm still here," Becca says quickly. "And everything's okay. I just-- god, I must sound like such an idiot. I had to call you, I mean, I wanted to, so I could tell you again that I'm sorry. Because I am really, really sorry, and I know you're probably mad at me, and that you must hate me, but I miss you and--"

"Becca, I don't hate you," Joan says softly. "Why would you think I did?"

"Because I got you fired!" Becca says, the beginnings of tears stinging her eyes. "It was all my fault and I didn't mean to, but my dad wouldn't listen."

"It wasn't all your fault," Joan says firmly. "It was my fault. I should have known better. It was my job to know better because you could have been hurt. When we talked that day... I was upset I lost my job, but I've never hated you."

"Really?" Becca asks doubtfully.

"Really," Joan confirms. "And I miss you too, you know."

Becca smiles. "Do you, um-- do you miss me enough that you'd come and meet me? For, like, coffee or something?"

"I'm not sure your parents are going to think that's a good idea."

"I don't care what they think," Becca says stubbornly. "I want to see you."

"I care," Joan says. "Your mother runs the country, Becca, I don't want to piss her off."

"You won't, it'll be fine," Becca assures her. "C'mon, Jo, please?"

Joan sighs and Becca smiles because that means she's won.

"I guess I could meet you after school," Joan says finally. "We can get coffee and talk."

"On Wednesday?" Becca suggests. "At four? We could meet at that coffee place we always went to, I can't remember what it's called."

"Four o'clock, Wednesday, at the coffee place," Joan repeats. "Okay, sure."

They say their good bye's then because Joan still has a list of calls to return and Becca has homework to do, but instead of doing it she sits there and daydreams about Wednesday.

It's only forty eight hours away but those forty eight hours feel like they're going to last forever.

Possibilities (Joey, Gina/Alex).

2007-01-08T00:05:33Z

Title: Possibilities.
Fandom: Joey.
Pairing: Gina/Alex.
Author Note: For raregirlslash's #6, using option b) New Year. 573 words. Set post-s2, not that it really matters.

--

Gina's having trouble keeping her eyes off Alex.

She suspects it's the red dress that makes it so hard to look away – it's short, velvet and moulds to her slender body like it was custom-made. Which it wasn't, Gina knows, because she was there when Alex bought it. She's almost insanely jealous that her brother's the one who gets to slide his arm around Alex's waist, to pull her closer as he introduces her with a smile and a flourish, and she's kind of mad at herself for that because it's completely irrational.

She's happy with Jimmy most of the time. He has the same crazy animalistic-wild passion for her that she has for him, and if the never-ending cycle of love-hate-scream-and-shout-then-fuck-for-hours sometimes leaves her drained and tired, that's just the trade off. But every once in a while she finds herself drowning in a sea of lust that's focused on Alex and she finds herself fighting the urge to do something inappropriate.

Alex is holding her own with their family surprisingly well so far and Gina's starting to think this party might not have been a mistake after all. Joey's idea to invite their entire family to LA for the new year had given her nightmares when he first announced it, but it's going... okay, if not always well. She loves her sisters and she's happy to see them, she'd just forgotten how much they can annoy her when she's around them all the time.

"I think I'm drunk," Alex says, making Gina jump as she collapses next to her on the couch.

"Oh yeah?" Gina says, smiling as Alex slumps into the cushions and rests her head on Gina's shoulder. "I think you're right. How much have you had to drink?"

"Don't know," Alex mumbles. Her eyes are closed and Gina's sure she'll be asleep soon if she's not careful. They have another hour before midnight but earlier Alex made a big deal out of the countdown, so Gina doesn't think she'll want to miss it.

"Maybe you should stick to water," Gina says. "You want to be awake at midnight don't you?"

Alex's eyes snap open and she lifts her head. "I am awake!" she insists. "Wide-awake."

"Sure you are," Gina says, going along with it mostly because Alex always looks so cute when she's trying to pretend something is true.

The way Alex is wriggling next to her, ostensibly to make herself more comfortable, is causing Gina's skin to tingle and her pulse to pound. Drunken Alex often leads to Affectionate Alex (and sometimes to Mildly Inappropriate Alex, if she's lucky) and Affectionate Alex tends to touch her a lot. This isn't normally a problem but she's more sensitive to it today.

"Just so you know," Alex says, snuggling back into her former position, "If Joey's had too much to drink and he's unconscious at midnight, I'll be chasing you for a kiss."

Gina glances down but Alex's eyes are closed and Gina can't tell how serious she's being. They joke about it sometimes, the little hint of attraction that's buried under their friendship and their other relationships, but they haven't for a while – ever since she got married – so she's not sure how seriously to take her now.

Despite Jimmy, and Joey, Gina wants to kiss her.

"Maybe I'll let you catch me," she murmurs. "You never know."

Alex smiles against her shoulder.

"You never know," she agrees.

Reflections (CiC, Jayne-centric).

2007-01-06T22:23:20Z

Title: Reflections.
Fandom: Commander In Chief.
Pairing: None, Jayne-centric. Undertones of Jayne/Mac if you squint really, really hard.
Author Note: This was originally intended to end up as something else, then it became this. Set mid-season with a spoiler warning for general season events, although it's not particularly spoilery in my opinion. Jayne POV, 819 words.

--

You've been the sole focus of her intensity only once, an experience diluted by Jim's presence and the job you were there to do, and yet you still remember every minute of that encounter clear as day. You were genuinely honoured to meet her, this woman your newly-previous career had been devoted to discrediting, and genuinely awed while in her presence.

Now that you're back in Nathan's office (which is, if you're honest, where you feel you're meant to be) you watch the news feeds by his side, catching echoes of that same intensity whenever she looks directly into the camera. She's the thorn in Nathan's side, and in yours by extension, so you'll do whatever he asks to help bring her down but, still, a part of you can't help but respect her.

Mackenzie Allen is kind and rational, fair and intelligent, and completely focused on the job she's doing; a mother whose maternal instincts seem to have extended to the millions of people she's sworn to guide and protect. You've never known a politician to survive long on truth and honesty, never known one who's chosen to walk only the high road and still won elections, but there's something about Mac that suggests she might be just the person to carry it off.

Nathan wants her out of the White House and out of power – he's made no secret of it, even to Mac herself – but you know him better than anyone, excluding his wife, and you can see the respect he holds for her hidden behind everything else.

It takes a lot to earn Nathan Templeton's respect, you know that from personal experience, and so his respect for Mackenzie Allen means something, even if it goes unacknowledged.

Mackenzie Allen is a good president who has the potential (not that you'd ever say so aloud) to be a great president, and you're sometimes torn, just a little bit, between wanting to see it happen and wanting her gone.

When you were younger, just after you started dreaming of the White House and living for politics, you imagined a woman elected into office and wanted to see it happen almost desperately, certain that a woman could run the country just as well, if not better. Now your dream has (sort of) come true and you're one of the people trying to tear it down.

Your inner child wants to cry and protest the actions you've taken and the people you side with, but your older self has long since locked down your allegiances. Templeton's a good man and the two of you share a strong bond – sometimes you can't trust him, it's true, but you never fail to understand him.

It's just that, when you're replaying her broadcasts (under the guise of 'studying the opposition') and you're listening to the things she says, you can almost imagine the future she's capable of creating and... you like what you see. You have faith in Templeton to be a good president but you've never bought in to the idea that he can become one of the greats.

It is what it is -- politics and power games; a mindfuck of the highest degree – and there's nothing you can do now but play your part as best you can. The teams have been chosen and the lines have been drawn and Mac's side intends to play fair, which your side probably doesn't because you never do, because this politics and politics is often about power and the game.

Mac has plenty of time left to stumble and fall, to make bad decisions and lose the people's favour, and when she does your side will be there waiting. You won't go as far as Templeton will to destroy her (something you suspect will come back to haunt you one day) but you won't stand in his way either; you can't because Mac isn't perfect. Her ideas don't always match yours and, besides which, you've already pledged your support to another leader.

If Templeton runs and loses, the last few years of your life will have been more or less in vain. This is his last real chance at the Presidency and you could lose everything right along with him.

If Templeton runs and wins you'll finally get your place in the White House, the 'right hand' of the Templeton Administration. You'll have power and control and America to answer to.

If Templeton runs and loses you'll get both get drunk and rant about what should have been. You'll watch Mackenzie Allen sworn into office for the second time, this time as the people's choice, and when the disappointment fades you'll secretly look forward to seeing where she'll take the country next.

If Templeton runs and wins you'll celebrate but later on, when the party's over and you're alone, you'll mourn the loss of what could have been.