SAS In Short

Ten Sentences, Ten words or less: The Unusuals; Eric Delahoy/Leo Banks

justspaz — Tue, 12 May 2009 02:01:06 GMT

So yeah, if you've never watched the Unusuals, you probably have no interest in this. But yeah, this couple is taking over my life.

Angst:
Banks makes it to 43, without Delahoy.

AU:
Brain tumor equals hallucinations: Leo, the high school boyfriend.

Crack:
Zombies, Delahoy learned, did actually exist.

Crossover:
Kissing Banks, Delahoy remarked, “I think Shraeger sees God.”*

First Time:
Banks makes him disinfect, but it is totally worth it.

Fluff:
Nothing says 'I love you' like death-proofing your apartment.

Humor:
“This fortune cookie says: Leo Banks is a sexy beast.”

Hurt/Comfort:
Leo never left the hospital bed, and that’s saying something.

Smut:
Eric could do amazing things in spite of the vest.

UST:
There was something incredibly sexy about caution, Eric decided.

*Obviously, crossed-over with Amber Tamblyn's other tv masterpiece, Joan of Arcadia.

Heroes fanfiction: Peter/The Haitian: The Debts of Brotherhood.

justspaz — Sun, 14 Dec 2008 02:01:40 GMT

Title: The Debts of Brotherhood.
Pairing: slight Peter Petrelli/The Haitian. More alluding to something.
Rating: PG, perhaps hitting some more mature themes.
Word count: 1242.
Spoilers: Only up to The Eclipse: Part Two.
Summary: In the Jungle of Haiti, Peter muses on what it is to be a brother and a hero.
Note: Mistakes evident due to no beta. I'm open to all of your input.
Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes.

The sun isn’t covered anymore, but Peter’s brain is still cloudy with information.

He’s never really been someone to go outside the city limits, but here he is in the jungle of Haiti for goodness sakes. The trees above seem to be mocking him, as their roots continue to trip him as he makes his way, safely, to the American Embassy in Port-au-Prince.

The Haitian just destroyed the mind of the local ‘God’. He’s glad that it happened, but he just wishes that they didn’t have to be so tentative in their trip.

“Peter, be careful. As a boy, I often found myself in dangerous situations because I, hotheadedly, roamed these areas. They call New York City the Concrete Jungle, but it doesn’t really compare to here, does it?”

This is the most he’s even heard from the Haitian, and he’s glad that they have this trust. Peter just wishes that he wasn’t such a liability. He wishes he was like…

‘No, none of that,’ his eyes search the vines and branches for webs, ‘you know Nathan better than anyone. Why would you be him? Look at his choices…his choice, a short hour ago…’

Nathan has done some stupid things in the past (plan to sacrifice his brother for the presidency, check), but not one of those choices measures up to the stupidity of turning to Arthur Petrelli.

“My father was very much like my brother. In fact, my father was our village God. He was everything to everyone. And I took that away. You Peter have only done what you wanted for everyone. I, as a boy, did what I wanted for myself.”

Peter stops for a second, and the Haitian follows. He doesn’t look, doesn’t search Peter for a reason, and takes the rest opportunity to survey the area. Possibly to make sure they are still on track, but that thought isn’t the most comforting.

“I’ve learned more about you in an hour than I have in all the other times we’ve talk.”

“You know that hasn’t been much. In fact, I believe this hour is longer than all the other times we’ve talked.” Is that a smirk?

“One,” Peter says, ignoring it as he takes a drink, “you constantly refer to yourself ‘as a boy’. That means you are either living in the past or unsure about your adolescence and adulthood. Two, you are ridiculously good at reading people. Which is not apart of your gift, or is it?”

They are walking again, and Peter thinks he sees a road ahead.

“I know you are a nurse, so I’m guessing that statement is evidence of your psych rotation? Peter, you yourself are very gifted in reading others. You wouldn’t have become a nurse, you wouldn’t have been an empath, if that wasn’t so.”

Peter actually laughs, despite the fact that it seems like forever since he did that last. There is a road ahead, and as the trees begin to part, something just seems to hit him.

His companion, The Haitian, recently completely fried the brain of his brother. Sure, they were not close like certain others, but they were blood. He was able to look over that to see the truth: the pain his brother caused others was more than the pain it would cause himself to take care of it.

Arthur Petrelli, Peter knows this best, can turn anyone into something dangerous. Anything. Including Nathan. And in that moment, if Nathan becomes someone searching for power more than aid, would Peter be able to do the same thing?

Of course not. Nathan would never turn into that. Nathan was stronger than he seemed. Nathan could…

There he went again. His mother was always right; Peter let his hero worship of Nathan cloud his judgment too many times before. But destroying, perhaps even killing…that was something completely different than waking up to smell the roses.

Peter speaks before he realizes it:

“How did it feel? How did you know it was the right thing? To destroy all that your brother could remember? I…I am not condemning it. I just know…”

“That it is something you could not do. It is not something many could, Peter, and that is a good thing. What I did was the greatest slight against the bond family share. But my brother, my half-brother, was the product of my father’s flippancy. He was exerting his power over the weak, both of them. I’ve known for a very long time that the weak, Peter, were not those without powers. They were those without souls. My brother was a part of them. He seemed strong, seemed powerful, but was only a man with impenetrable skin. And that needed to be shown to all whom he wronged.”

The road is under their feet and they rest, the Haitian clearing his throat from the atypical usage of it. Peter is amazed, completely enthralled, with everything around him.

“All my life, I’ve been the younger son, the younger brother, the dreamer, or the sweet kid. I’ve never been the person someone looked up to. Then I had powers and I could do more than anyone else in the world. I went from a hospice nurse to powerful enough to blow up half of New York. And yet, I’m still Nathan’s little brother, whose hair he can ruffle and push away. I’m powerless, stuck, and confused. Yet you…you’ve been through a million times more, and end up stronger than anyone I know. You are a hero, to all of those people you saved from your brother, and I’m just a liability.”

It’s self-pity and it is annoying. Peter just can’t help from feel that despite all he’s learned he hasn’t grown, and it is the most frustrating feeling he can think of; even more so than trying to find a way, any way, to Port-au-Prince.

Peter feels the slight glare on him before he turns to meet it. He’s always been a bit unnerved by that stare. The Haitian, a man of good build and tall height, is most intimidating when he is just staring, curiously or angrily or passionately (he’d imagine).

“That is ridiculous. You, Peter, are not a liability, to anyone. A liability is someone who rushes into what they cannot fix yet thinking they can. They are the people who bow down to power and not good. Most of all, they are those who set out with themselves in mind, instead of others. You are none of those, and I would think that you’d know that.”

The road connects to a major intersection, and they turn down the next street with a renewed purpose; a complete knowledge, on the Haitian’s part, of where they are and where they are going.

Peter, despite hearing this speech in one way or another from his family (Nathan, Mom, Claire) and his lovers (Caitlin, Simone), finally starts to believe it.

As a taxi moves into their view, Peter looks up to the bright sun, not even cupping his hand in protection over his eyes.

"Once we get back to the city, everything will be different. Nathan, my father; the way the world works could be completely changed by this one decision. Hell, I've seen what happens."

The taxi notices the Haitian's flag, and pulls to their side of the road. Leaning over, in rapid French, his guide negotiates the price of their ride. As the cab driver grumbles, The Haitian looks back at Peter.

"Then we will make sure it doesn't. Together."

And that is something Peter can believe in more than anything.

Drabble Dump: Fandoms with 'H': Heroes and House.

justspaz — Fri, 28 Nov 2008 17:29:22 GMT

So, I've been a bit prolific with the drabbling lately, so I've got a few to post.

House: Move on now if you don't like Thirteen or especially the ship 'Foreteen'. All PGish.

“You look exhausted.”

She turns back to face him, a bit confused as to why he showed up at her door with Thai food and one of his patented half-smiles.

“You really know how to flatter a woman, don’t you?” She’s smiling though, and opens up a bottle of wine saved for some occasion.

“I’m sorry for the way I’ve treated you, Foreman. I’m a bitch.”

She’s not making eye contact, and then she almost drops her glass.

“Don’t apologize. Besides, they call me House-lite. I think that means I’m an ass myself, Hadley.”

He steadies her hand and they eat.

She’s asleep when you enter her room at first, and you just wait for a minute. She’ll hear you; she always seems to know about you.

No girl has ever worried you more than she does. Your mother is a woman, in charge of her lack of control over memories and death. This girl is just that, going through everything without a thought for control. She’s wild and you’re wild in worry that one day she’ll overdose on chaos.

You don’t know why; human flaws are a weakness, right? But she’s a negative magnet, and you’re positive.

And opposites attract.

The beep-beep of the dialysis machine alternatively lulls her to sleep and keeps her awake, depending on the time. She’s given the week off with pay, and Cuddy hugs her and apologizes for what happens. It seems insincere, since Remy knows Cuddy doesn’t like her much, but she accepts it.

Kutner and Taub stop by bringing hugs and Taub even twists her hair while telling her how stupid this is, even more so than cocaine. Kutner probably thinks she’s like one of those femme fatals in action movies. Chase doesn’t apologize for his abandonment, but Cameron does for him.

Foreman was the first to come by, and she thinks that means something. He apologizes for leaving the differential behind and she remembers his offer. Sometimes she thinks that, even if nothing else in her life (her life, she thinks hopefully, because she gets to live) is constant, Foreman is.

Wilson apologizes for House and fumbles with his jacket. He makes a few jokes, and she genuinely laughs, but she knows what this is about: Amber. He grabs her hand right before he leaves and tells her to not give up, because not everyone gets her chances. She won’t, not anymore.

The next day Remy wakes up to House fiddling with his cane by her bedside. He notices her staring and opens up, says nothing, and tries again.

“You know, the diagnosis was correct. He’ll be fine, apart for the whole ‘easy target in jail’ thing.

“I don’t really care about him…I’m almost died because of his paranoia…his curiosity.”

Remy’s eyes are still red and she’s damn tired, but she’s not weak. She’s got a life to live, and she’s going to start on the right foot.

Right before House leaves he says, “you did good, kid.”

Yes, yes she did.

Heroes: Character Development pieces, canon pairings only. All PG.

Meredith’s daddy was a bastard. Meredith’s momma died in childbirth, but she could never blame Flint; that would be hypocritical. Flint was her little brother, the person she needed to protect because he couldn’t himself.

They had their abilities, of course. Flint just didn’t know that what he could do couldn’t stop everything. He didn’t have the capability to comprehend that. Meredith could, and so she did.

When she met Nathan the first thing he said was that his little brother was going to be so mad that he forgot to call.

Meredith understood. Little brothers were like that.

Sometimes, Peter sits and wonders about a world where 93% of the population has died due to a disease virtually unstoppable.

He’s not good with the time stuff; it requires more than just brunt power. It takes an intricate knowledge of the space-time continuum. Peter’s no good with that.

Sometimes he thinks about asking Hiro what would happen if you left someone in a future, and then changed that future completely.

But he knows he never will ask him about that situation. Peter’s afraid of what he’ll hear. Because he’s sure it isn’t good.

Especially for the person; for Caitlin.

Peter’s been doing this for years.

Ever since he could talk…even before he could, Peter was able to draw all the negative energy of the room into something more productive; calmer.

Nathan tends to get a bit hotheaded sometimes, but whenever Peter’s around he just grabs Nathan by the head and stares right down and stops it.

Nathan wants to be angry at everything his father’s done, but Peter reminds him like only Peter can that his wife and the mother of his children needs him more than he needs anger.

He needs Peter as much as Peter needs him.

She wonders if it is actually possible to run back time.

Growing up, she visited the comic shop with her neighbor; he was never fazed by the braces, one of the only ones. They would read all about superheroes. Last she heard, Sam had his own comic shop.

Daphne always hated The Flash. He was so lucky; he could run anywhere. He didn’t need metal to keep him going. And in comics he, or Superman (he did everything, the bastard, kinda like Arthur Petrelli), ran so fast they pushed back time.

She’s tried a million times and nothing has happened.

*I recommend you read at least this graphic novel, if not them all, because it is utterly beautiful and opens up a lot about my girl Daphne. All 113 of the Heroes Graphic Novels are linked here.

Thanks for sitting through my creative dump, and I hope all of you had a happy Thanksgiving, regardless of where you are!

Writer's Block: Your Favorite Series: One Last Go Round

justspaz — Thu, 21 Aug 2008 16:53:34 GMT

The Black Donnellys, dammit. I don't just want to know what happened, I want to see it in all its deserved glory. It was a masterpiece of tv, a family drama that was deeper on so many levels. It wasn't just a mob story, it was a romance and at parts even a comedy. I read all the other answers and my entry is the first to mention TBD, which is such a shame.

justspaz — Sun, 22 Jun 2008 18:31:18 GMT

Title: Of Jam Jars and Mobsters.
Fandom: The Black Donnellys.
Rating: PG-13 for language.
Pairing: Tommy/Nicky; Canon also (Sean/Nadine, Tommy/Jenny).
Summary: The Jimmy. The Agitator. The Responsible One. The Deceased. The Best Friend. The Italian. A rundown of the many labels Tommy Donnelly can fit on those in his life.
Warnings/Notes: Spoilers for the whole series. Takes place after the end.
Word Count: 443.

He has no idea what to label any of the main relationships in his life.

Jimmy is his older brother, and that means that he should be his idol; the person he is always admiring and looking up to because Jimmy makes everything look cool.

Jimmy isn’t cool. He’s a recovering junkie. He’s got anger problems and is a bookie with a bar and extortion on the side. He’s just Jimmy.

Kevin and Sean are younger than he is which means he should feel the need to protect them constantly. The trouble with that is Kevin only frustrates him and Sean he knows he can’t protect. For God’s sake, the kid is his younger brother, but he is in school, has a part time job, and is getting married. Who would have thought that Sean would be the most responsible? Not his older brother.

His parents were his role models, but they are both dead and they both would not have any clue with how to deal with his current position.

Jenny Reilly is his childhood love, his first love, and his only love. Jenny is the only girl in the world he could see himself married to, with a normal job and a normal family. Yet, Jenny is too wrapped up with keeping her father alive and her business afloat to notice that her best friend is now the leader of one of the most influential rings of organized crime in New York City, and therefore the world. She just can’t make herself look up and see that he has accepted a life of crime. She remembers the conversations they would have about him never ever choosing that path.

So Jenny is his friend, his closest friend around, but he loves her and she loves him and all this just makes him too damn confused to do anything about it.

Then there is that damn Italian, Nicky Cottero. They bitch and fight one minute, anger boiling to the surface and then the next moment they are laughing it over. Nicky is the only one in this damn world that Tommy can go to for both advice and conversation, and shouldn’t that scare him?

What should scare him more are their long, heartfelt stares and the heat in his stomach every time they bump elbows. What should scare him the most is the fact that not only does he seemingly care for the guy, but the guy seems to reciprocate it.

And the scariest thing in his whole life, Tommy Donnelly thinks, is that the last person he kissed and touched and fucked isn’t Jenny Reilly at all, but that same damn Italian.
-+-

That was a bit of Character study. Now, it wasn't the first fic I've written for this Fandom. The first is a 4,554 word 'epic' that I'm a bit apprehensive to post since I'm still revising it. I wrote this quickly after a burst of inspiration. It isn't the best, but it sets up a stage.

Fic for 5_loves: Thirteen/Chase; PG-13

justspaz — Sun, 08 Jun 2008 16:25:29 GMT

Title: A Look is the Fire Itself.
Fandom: House MD.
Rating: PG-13.
Pairing: Thirteen/Chase (Chase/Cameron).
Word count: 2,804.
Summary: If you play with fire, you're gonna get burned. If you play with beauty, you're going to catch on fire.
Notes: Written for 5_loves, prompt list 4, for the prompt beauty. Spoilers for all of S4, especially Wilson's Heart.

The first time Chase laid eyes on Thirteen wasn’t dramatic, romantic, or anything like in the movies. He had that beginning with Allison, and besides, Thirteen wasn’t his girlfriend at all.

They ran into each other…almost. None of that cheese ‘literally’ stuff, where they bump into each other in the hall, maybe one falls, and then they start bumping uglies.

Simply, after Thirteen’s eighth day at Princeton Plainsboro, she happened to meet Chase as she walked to her car. He looked familiar to her; she didn’t to him.

“Hey, you used to work for House, right? Dr. Chase?”

“Oh, oh yeah. Are you one of the adoring mass of hopefuls he hired?”

“Yeah…I’m probably not going to last very long. There’s this one chick and she is seriously the most competitive and frigid bitch I have ever met.”

“I’ve heard about her. Dr. Volakis, I think. If you need any tips, don’t be hesitant to ask.”

“I won’t.”

He wasn’t sure if she meant hesitant, or if she meant she wouldn’t ask. This was the first of many mysteries to come.
---

Chase was going to be a bit late for dinner. He had called Cam and told her to just go home and change like she wanted, because he was going to be late meeting Foreman anyway.

He saw Thirteen in the parking lot again. Time had passed, and their conversations had never included tips on charming House; Thirteen was a master at that.

He recalled her apprehension. She really had nothing to worry about back then. Then he thought about the ‘competitive and frigid bitch’. Oh, the irony of it all.

“Dr. Hadley, how you holding up?”

“Oh…Chase. I’m okay. Not the best night of recent times, you know.”

Their eyes met quickly, and Chase knew that Amber’s death wasn’t even resonating in the front of her mind. She wasn’t cruel; she obviously felt upset over it. She just had some bad news of her own. A dead pet perhaps, or maybe a beloved aunt.

He thought about hospital gossip: she was in her late twenties, pretty, average height, svelte, gorgeous, brunette, bisexual, and mysterious. Most of those things, Chase noted, were physical.

He glanced at his watch. He was going to be late.
---

Chase was a surgeon and surgeons loved to talk about women. Even a few of the female surgeons sized up their competition with sardonic praise.

The surgeons loved Dr. Hadley. Chase was a bit split on this, and not just in two directions.

There was no doubt in his mind that Thirteen was pretty. Hadley was more than pretty, she was smoldering. Sexy. Vivacious.

She was the new favorite doctor of the surgical staff. She replaced Allison Cameron quicker than House popped Vicodin. Guys generally do not enjoy having their girlfriends ogled and discussed in front of his face.

Yet Hadley was not a girl to be gossiped and fantasized about by slightly overweight men with hairy backs and erectile dysfunction.

Chase should have seen this as the beginning of the end. Instead, he was too busy focusing on his patients. At least he had his priorities in order.
---

They had to stop meeting like this.

It was pouring out, and Chase had forgotten his umbrella. It wasn’t just rain, but that annoyingly persistent cousin, sleet. He attempted to run to his car, but that just caused the pellets of ice to hit harder, so he slowed down and began to duck and cover.

Suddenly the deluge stopped. He raised his head and saw an umbrella. Then he saw green eyes.

“You looked like you needed a little help. Nasty, isn’t it? I hope House hits one with his cane and does a slip and slide.”

“Bad day?”

“Not exactly. Just some more of the usual: bisexual jokes, vicodin binges, and Wilson is getting all mopey.”

It had been a year since Amber. Chase viewed Wilson’s depression as more of a Wilson Habit than a Wilson Sadness. He was talking with House on occasion. He was even properly dressing himself! Everyone, come look at the amazing, fully functioning James Wilson!

“What do you dislike more, the fact that the jokes about bisexuals or that the jokes are about you being a bisexual?”

“Why, Mr. Chase, didn’t you ever learn to give the ladies some privacy?”

“You, Miss Hadley, have too much privacy.”

“The former, if you must know. This is your car, and this is where I say goodnight.”

As she walked away, he noticed her umbrella was the Sunday comics from a Connecticut newspaper.

He savored the knowledge.
---

The argument was monumental. Chase and Cameron exited the elevator, quietly joking about the new, slightly insane doctor in the ER.

Then the yelling hit their ears like an atomic bomb.

“HOW DARE YOU. House, this is my hospital and therefore my liability. Now, you have done some stupid things in the past, but this is the icing on the damn cake.”

“You noticed NOTHING, Cuddy. I’ve known for over a year and you haven’t even noticed a tear in the department. No one has died, no one has sued, and no one will. You have my word.”

Cameron whispered into his ear, “I wonder what House did now.”

“I think it is more of what he didn’t do, Al.”

Cuddy walked straight up to House, eyes flaming and mouth foaming. Half the doctors in the hospital seemed to be watching this. Chase searched, locating Foreman and gesturing for him to come over.

“House. This is not a new kind of treatment, or even just a strange one. This is the health of a doctor. You do not keep these things from me. You could have risked everything. Is it that important for you to keep quiet?”

“I made a PROMISE. It was the only way to.”

“Oh, that’s rich. You never keep promises. What makes this one so special?”

Foreman walked over and greeted both of them. Cameron, being enraptured in the battle, needed to know what House was dying from this time.

“It’s not House’s health in debate. It’s Hadley’s.”

Chase’s head snapped up. He barked out a ‘what?’

“She has Huntington’s Chorea. She was going to quit after she found out, the night Amber died. But he promised to keep it secret if she continued to work. Why, I don’t know. She’s a great doctor, but House isn’t known to worry about these things when the opportunity of firing someone comes to mind.”

He looked at Chase. Chase hardened his eyes.

“How did Cuddy find out?”

“She diagnosed it herself…a bit, after Hadley dropped her papers and spilt her coffee on Cuddy’s coat.”

“The poor girl. I can’t imagine what having that disease must be like.”

Chase was already walking over to the girl in question, seeking her out in the crowd. She was shaking, but from the Huntington’s or being found out, he didn’t know.

“Hey Remy. How you holding up?”

“Dammit Chase, what the fuck am I going to do. Everyone knows about me now, and I’m surely going to be fired and…and…Just fuck.”

“This was what you were upset about last year…in the parking lot?”

“Very astute, doctor.”

“I do what I can, you know.”

She smiles and Chase forgets that House and Cuddy are giving it their all in the same lobby, that he is dating the most gorgeous girl in Jersey, and that the girl in front of him is supposed to be mysterious.

Chase is reading her like a medical journal.
---

He kisses Cameron that night, passionately and she just can’t get enough. He’s glad that Thirteen’s name feels foreign on his tongue, because it keeps rushing through his mind with every peck, every lick, and every bite.

The first time he kisses Thirteen for real is when he visits her at her apartment one night. House saved the day, but does that even mean anything anymore?

There are boxes everywhere and she’s carrying all her clothes, still on the hanger, into the living room.

“Going somewhere?”

“Yeah. Home. Well, to New Haven. I got offered a job up there in the major hospital. My dad and brother live up there, so I’m going to go and rejoin the family.”

She started separating the clothes and the hangers.

“Why? It isn’t because everyone knows now, is it? Because I know you, Remy, and I know that shouldn’t bother you.”

She doesn’t even react when he says that he knows her, which is quite different than what he has seen in the hospital. This was probably sign number 100 that he should back off, but he just inched forward.

“My dad is one of my best friends. So is my brother. Well, they were. Then my mother died, my brother went off to college, and I immersed myself in school. I need to recapture what we had, before…Besides, I know how life was between you and your father after your mother died. I don’t want to end up there. Please, Chase.”

He stared into her eyes. He should be more concerned about getting home or how she knew about his past so well. He just kept on staring into her eyes. They were just beautiful. No if, ands, or buts about it. He grabbed her by the arms.

“I just want you to make the right choice. You’ve been here for a long time, Hadley, and I can understand you wanting to go. I didn’t leave…I couldn’t leave when my fellowship was up. You’re much different than me. Go.”

She started shaking; Chase knew it wasn’t from nervousness at all, and knew that is was time for her life to take a new path.

So he kissed her goodbye.

She kissed him back, and that’s when it hit Chase that she was very different from Allison.

“What about your girlfriend? What about your cookie-cutter life?”

“It’s time I made my own decisions.”
---

“Why is Dr. Hadley leaving?”

House looked up, baffled as to why Chase was in his office when he clearly knew it was soaps time. He arched an eyebrow and bent his finger.

“News reaching the grapevine of Princeton Plainsboro, I see. Who’d you hear it from? Was it Dr. Cameron?”

“I heard it from Dr. Hadley herself. Last night.”

House was obviously stunned, but the shock melted into mirth and then excitement. He had something new to torture Chase over.

“Oh really? I didn’t know you were on such good standing with Miss Thirteen. How does the lady feel about that?”

“Cameron is not in the equation, because there is nothing for her to be involved in. I run into Dr. Hadley in the parking lot occasionally, and we exchange pleasantries.”

“Pleasantries in Hadley’s mind are things like ‘hi’, ‘goodbye’, ‘you’re an idiot’ and ‘why yes, I would be interested in joining you for sex’. They do not include such things as her life history or her job plans.”

“Fine. I went to her apartment last night because I was worried about her. You know, with the whole ‘House vs. Cuddy over Hadley’ showdown. She was packing.”

“I’m just going to ignore the fact that the fight was over two weeks ago. She told me that she wanted to move back to her hometown. She actually told me that the night she tried to quit on me, but she is a bit forgetful sometimes. Not good when I need my coffee, but good when she thinks about moving to Connecticut. It isn’t like she’s irreplaceable, is it?”

“She told me that also. Well, I guess I just should have expected that kind of answer from her in any circumstance...”

Chase turned to leave, and House stood up and limped to meet him in the doorway.

“You’ve got a lovely girlfriend and a great life, Aussie. Don’t go screwing it up because you wanted to play with the mysterious fire eater from the circus troupe.”

Well then, wasn’t it obvious why Remy wanted to leave House behind? He just knew everyone’s business.
---

He continued to show up at Remy’s room, for only a quarter of an hour each time, and in random intervals. She still had a month to go before she left for New Haven, but her lease had run out before then. She was staying at a local hotel.

“House told me I was playing with fire.”

Remy laughed, eyes sparkling like the embers in a flame. She handed him a scotch.

“Well, you know what they say…about getting burned.”

“I once burned my hand on the stove. That was a lot less interesting and a lot more painful than this.”

“Just wait until it all unravels. It will. Allison will get curious, and you’ll get too cocky. Emotional pain can sometimes far outweigh the physical.”

“What are you, some emo fourteen year old who plays too much Panic at the Dancing Hall or whatever it is and comes into the clinic for cutting?”

When he arrived at his apartment last night, Allison was just taking off her coat and pumps.

“Hey stranger. Come here and give me a kiss. I had two car accidents, and some preteen who almost bled to death because her ‘boyfriend’ turned ‘gay’ on her.”

Chase laughed at the irony and whisked Allison up into his arms, with a fairy tale kiss to finish the display off.

“Well aren’t you just Prince Charming, Robert.”

More like Prince Masochist, but he just kept on carrying on.
---

Their goodbye is just words. Hadley’s car is packed up, with her whole Princeton life fitting in a mid-sized sedan.

“Call me sometime, okay. Don’t just disappear off the face of the planet like all the cardiologists bet you will.”

“I won’t. And don’t you get all mopey because your ‘cool, artsy friend’ is moving away.”

Chase knows that she means she will miss him and that she hopes he will miss her to. It’s scary that Chase, who always put off his school reading assignments to the last minute, can read someone as cryptic as Hadley.

He’s about to hug her when House pops by. The way he looks at them is just too strange, and then House pats her on the back and tells her that at least she won’t be spilling coffee on an irate cripple anymore. It is callous and just the perfect amount of House. She bids farewell to them both, and drives away.

Chase doesn’t know what he’s more upset about: her leaving, or House getting the last word.

Truth is, he was expecting both of them, and that predictable expectation was the sorriest of all.

“You won’t miss her. You have a fabulous new person lined up. Just as hot, less mysterious, smart, and not too talkative. You’ve reached the Holy Grail of fellows.”

“Yeah, but you probably won’t be having adulterous sex with this one. Too normal for you.”
---

They never call each other; never write or meet for coffee. Allison Cameron becomes Mrs. Allison Cameron Chase, and Wilson finally goes for the future Ex. Mrs. Wilson number four. Foreman moves and Chase makes head surgeon. Life is perfect; he has someone he loves and someone who loves him and their first house together is absolutely perfect. Even House showed up for the ceremony.

Perfection is boring, like icy glass, and he hasn’t felt the burn in quite awhile. He’s done everything to get those beautiful eyes out of his head. He never mails her invite to their wedding and no one ever mentions Dr. Hadley in the halls of the hospital again.

He thinks of it like an old time movie. The passionate affair that dies out and becomes the unspeakable horror. All that it needs is a death to bring them back together…perhaps even her own.

Instead, it’s a party. House is retiring to a life of bad backs, golf, and more time for Wilson torture. She shows up, black circles under her eyes and a constant state of the shakes. She looks like death, not even warmed over. The fire is cooling, but those damn eyes refuse to die out.

Allison grabs his waist and looks in the same direction of him. She spots the younger woman, all bones and uncertainty, and just keeps muttering ‘the poor girl’.

He encounters her in the parking lot and runs to match her location. She looks up, knowing what to encounter.

“Dr. Chase. How are you?”

“Good, good. And you, Dr. Hadley?”

“I’ve been better.” A glance downward. “I never got to offer my congratulations over the marriage.”

It isn’t spiteful or condescending. But it is small talk and it is what they do. He hugs her goodbye, smelling her shampoo of some rich herb blend.

The fire never died, and never will. Chase is just immune to the burns.

Fic for 5_loves: Thirteen/Taub; PG

justspaz — Sat, 17 May 2008 20:53:29 GMT

Title: Emotional Tummy-Tuck.
Fandom: House MD.
Rating: PG.
Pairing: Thirteen/Taub.
Word count: 322.
Summary: Taub loved his wife more than he loved plastic surgery. But only by a bit.
Notes: Written for 5_loves, prompt list 4, for the prompt play pretend. Spoilers for all of S4, but they are mild.

Taub loved his wife and would do anything to keep the secret of his affair safe. Which he did. He chose to leave behind the glitzy world of glamour, change, and beauty for his wife.

He couldn’t help but say that he would do it again, yet he also couldn’t help but miss that lifestyle. With House, it was all about the truth; the need to find the reason behind the disease. He felt like his mother before dinner parties; picking up the furniture covers in order to expose the couches underneath.

Taub liked to ignore the truth once and awhile in order to play pretend. Hey, if you’re a sixteen year old with a giant honker, you can pretend to have been born with the most perfect nose on the eastern coast. Till someone else, just like you, comes along and does it again.

Taub’s wife called it a vicious cycle. Taub thought of it as humans being the fickle creatures that they are, attempting to survive and thrive with the best looks suited for their environment. Masks upon masks weren’t a disguise, it was evolution!

Thirteen loved masks. She had them in every color, every shape, for every mood. She masked her favorite scents with internal rhinoplasty and stiffened her face with self-willed botox.

In some way, she was like every person who came in for new boobs or a flatter stomach, except not so shallow. Thirteen did it because she could, not because she felt like she needed it or wanted it so badly it felt like a necessity akin to water or shelter. Yet she still did something to change who she was, for herself, for her job, or for her peers.

Thirteen was the closest thing that Taub could get to plastic surgery that did not break the deal he made with his ex-colleagues one bit.

Besides, Taub didn’t have a problem with playing pretend at all.

House fic; House/Thirteen-ish. PG-13.

justspaz — Sat, 03 May 2008 02:27:49 GMT

Title: One Question to Rule Them All.
Rating: PG-13.
Pairing: Genish lead up to possible House/13.
Word Count: 2,589.
Summary: Thirteen gets one question in the entire world to ask Greg House. Let the games begin.
Beta?: None, as usual. You guys can beta if you wish.
Note: Thirteen's name comes from here.. This is known in some circles as the canon name for now.

"Would a patient who was bleeding out of the nose, eyes, ears, and mouth spontaneously interest House, or would I just be wasting time?”

The ER of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital was oddly quiet, but then again Tuesday midmornings were not the time when most children fell out of trees or adults decided to staple themselves whilst DIY-ing. Dr. Cameron pushed her hair behind her ear and looked down at Taub (and not just physically).

“Taub, you’ve been here for almost a year. Do you think it would interest House?”

“Not in a normal case, but this girl is exceptionally hot. Great tits, nice eyes, you know. I thought House wouldn’t mind the eye candy while berating her for an obvious PCP addiction or whatever else he could pull out of his ass.”

Cameron smirked, initialing a chart and turning back to the other doctor.

“Then go for it. Better yet, is she single? Because then he wouldn’t have to deal with some significant other.”

“I think she swings the other way, you know?”

“Then why come to me in the first place, Taub? I’m busy.”
--#--

“21 year old female, Caucasian, 5’6” and 125 pounds, presenting with intense bleeding from the nose, eyes, ears, and mouth in that order. Differential Diagnosis, people.”

House took very warmly to the case, especially after hearing ‘definitely natural Double D’s’ from his plastic surgeon fellow. He was pretty sure he knew what the hell was going on, but he knew it could be fine enough for him to reach the ‘necessary to visit the patient stage, since my incompetent employees can’t figure it out’ stage.

“Any history of blood disorders: anemia, hemophilia, clotting, or unusual hemorrhaging?” House took 10 points from Kutner, for asking the simple question. It had to be done, though.

“How heavy was the blood flow? Did she pass out from the blood loss? Still bleeding? I’m guessing she needed a transfusion, so what type is she? You’re being unusually vague, even for you House. Something’s up.”

That was more like it. Trust Thirteen to need more information. The girl was like an imperialist nation; lots of taking and hardly any giving. Didn’t her mother ever teach her to share?

“Did in fact pass out, from dizziness resulting from the, oh I don’t know, LARGE AMOUNT OF BLOOD LOSS! Type O negative, and the bleeding has finally stopped after about an hour. What more do you want from me, Thirteen? I’m a very sensitive person in the mornings.”

“AVM, if the bleeding is coming from the head, than most likely cerebral, but not exclusively. It could be a simple aneurysm, though nothing is ever that simple here. Von Willebrand fits too, but we’d need a family history.”

“Sooooo, I guess that means we can just sit down and relax for the rest of the day? MOVE, people move!”

The fellows scattered out, and Wilson tip toed in.

“Sounds like a happy campfire song between friends. What are you up to tonight? Amber is out of town, and I am in dire need of an excuse to get out of playing Bridge with my mother. And of course, how could I deny your glorious presence?”

“I knew you’d come back for more. I’ll definitely be free tonight. Thirteen will come in here, talking about normal platelet count and family history of bleeding disorders, Taub will suggest further tests, Kutner will say something vaguely insulting, and Thirteen will realize it is Glanzmann's thrombasthenia and treat it, and then ask the patient out for drinks and have hot lesbian sex.”

The right eyebrow of House’s companion rose slowly.

“So maybe the last part is my imagination, but it could happen.”

“I’ll pick you up at 6. We’ll eat somewhere with a great bar and go watch crappy Lifetime movies in the middle of the night.”

“Ah, just like your first divorce. Does ‘out of town’ mean ‘no longer allowed in Cut Throat Bitch’s happy town’?”

“I don’t feel like I can answer that now. I’m leaving.”

“Did she cheat on you? Meet someone new? Meet someone more like her? Just so you know I’m totally NOT FUCKING YOUR GIRLFRIEND.”
--#--

House was, in fact, not fucking Amber Volakis. Neither was Wilson or anyone at that moment.

The day had gone exactly as planned, with an obviously pleased Thirteen correctly diagnosing and treating Hot Boobie Patient (otherwise known as Catherine Rickard) for
Glanzmann’s. Wilson admitted to the painfully boring breakup with CTB.

“So, basically we just drifted apart and were too different anyway. She took all her stuff last night, and that was that. I feel free. I always feel free at the end of a relationship. I am a terrible, terrible person.”

“With a terrible, terrible taste in women, but that is beside the point here Jimmy. The definition of freedom is the end of a relationship. That, and porn, pizza, and palliate.”

“Oh, look at you and your fancy alliteration. That was a good catch by Thirteen today. Not many people without a limp, drug addiction, and stack of porn hidden in the kitchen cabinets could diagnose Glanzmann’s that fast. You must be rubbing off on her. The poor girl.”

“I know for a fact, or as close to one as possible, that she has at least one of those things. Not in the kitchen, but definitely somewhere. The linen closet, perhaps.”

“You dirty dog. Want to see who can recite the alphabet after 6 shots the fastest?”
--#--

Kutner always arrived at 8:45, looking weary and stoned. Taub was earlier, coffee clutched in hand and yawn plastered on his face. Thirteen was always prompt, awake, and smirking. House had no idea how she did it without caffeine. She must be from the same mutant planet as Wilson.

“Dr. House, do you want to engage in some friendly War while the others are in clinic?”

“Now, now. I think you are smart enough to know there is nothing ever friendly about war. Besides, I wouldn’t want to break the glass in this office. Cuddy would kill me if our bullets missed their targets.”

“I didn’t know that you were so violent with cards. Come on over, sit down. I’m bored, you’re bored, and Wilson isn’t. Bet you 20 bucks I can beat you before Taub comes back with a ‘special case’. 50 bucks it turns out to be an infection.”

“You are on. But I raise you one question that must be answered. If I lose, you ask. If you lose, I ask. Anything.”

“Of course you would raise like that. I accept. Although, I haven’t lost a game of War since middle school. And I play it all the time.”

“Well, France, meet your Germany.”
--#--

“So that is fifty dollars for me, and one answer from you.”

“Lucky try. So, Thirteen, what are you going to ask me? Was I hugged enough as a child? Do I ever feel guilty over being such an ass? Do I think you look pretty today?”

“Just because I’m an attractive female, doesn’t mean my name is Allison Cameron. My question is--”

Thirteen was cut off, with good timing, as she had no idea what to ask House. She smiled apologetically, and made her way out the door with a quick ‘to keep you on your toes’.
--#--

“Thirteen gets to ask you one question, any question in the entire world that you have to answer, and she can’t figure out what to ask? My goodness, that girl is an enigma.”

Wilson’s coffee was getting a bit cold because of the wind, but he didn’t care. House liked eating outside because Cuddy hated it.

“Oh, she’ll come up with something by the end of the day. And despite her protests that she is ‘totally not Dr. Cameron’, it will end up being something about my past or ‘do you need a hug?’”

“I think you are underestimating her. She really is a lot different than Cameron. She probably could surprise you with a question that seems simple, but turns into a huge unraveling of your psyche.”

“You wish. Then that would mean someone other than you would understand me. And it just doesn’t work that way, Jimbo.”
--#--

“Figure out your question yet?”

“No, Dr. House, I haven’t. Now move out of my way, because I have clinic work to do. Actually, don’t you have clinic work too? If not, you shouldn’t be hanging out around here, because someone just might page Dr. Cuddy. And that wasn’t my question.”

“I know, I know. Now, I have a professional question for you, Thirteen.”

“This wasn’t in the program, you know.”

“Just a basic question that a boss should be able to ask their employees. Now, what do you tell your patients to call you? Dr. Thirteen would be a bit out. Perhaps Dr. T? Nah, too A-Team.”

“Dr. Hadley, just like it says on my pin.”

“I’m just quivering with anticipation over what question you will ask me, Hadley.”
--#--

Thirteen cursed whatever friend of hers in medical school said to just ‘google that bitch’. Because, this action led to the wikipedia page for ‘question’, things like ‘what is your favorite color?’ and the ever popular ‘what are your thoughts on yaoi?’

Googling ‘questions you should ask your surly, annoying, unstable boss’ was just as helpful, as it seems the wise Google does not have a surly boss.

A ring from her telephone knocks Thirteen out of the revere of hers where she is seriously considering taking the anti-climatic route and asking him about his favorite color.

“So, Hadley. Feeling like you’re ready to ask a certain someone to the prom?”

“You aren’t going to trick me into asking you about how you obtained my number. I’m not Kutner.”

“Oh, why damn. I can’t believe you saw through that. Anyway, my dear Ms. H, I’m out to do something with someone.”

“Lovely. Take pictures if it gets naughty, House.”

“You don’t want to know?”

“Drinks with Wilson at that bar on Fuller with the waitress with the fantastic tits.”

“I’m so glad you think she’s sexy. We agree on something.”

Click.

Thirteen does think she’s sexy, but she was actually just quoting House. And he knows it. So the score settles at 0-0, and all she has come up with in that whole conversation is ‘have you ever played chubby monkey?’
--#--

She briefly thinks about bringing Kutner into this, but that would just end up with something along the lines of ‘HOW HAVEN’T YOU FIGURED OUT SOMETHING YET?’ or ‘Oo, ask him if he wants to do vodka shots with the hot tit chick at that bar on Fuller.’

Taub might be a better choice, but this is her question, with her rules, and she should have the opportunity to fulfill this chance.

“I’m thinking that a certain person in this room should fulfill their task by the end of the day or I see a big red ‘fired’ in their future. And not the gum, dude.”

Thirteen sighs. He won’t really fire her, but he will push her to the point where she wishes he just had. She isn’t going to let him have that kind of fun, not today and not on her terms.
--#--

“House calls you three idiots, but he actually likes you. Really, I mean it might be hard to tell but it is the truth.”

Wilson snuck up on her in the cafeteria and she couldn’t deny the oncologist at least one conversation. His wonky eye was peering into her soul, so it seemed.

“I know. He wouldn’t have kept me around after my fuck up, or Kutner after he fired him, or Taub…well, I know that. You don’t have to go explaining to me, Dr. Wilson.”

“I’m not questioning your intelligence…”

“Remy.”

“…Remy, but I just want to help a bit. I know you a bit, not as much as I should from all the engrossing things House tells me about Kutner and Taub, but still. You have no idea what to ask because you don’t like questions. You don’t like guessing games and ‘let’s get to know each other’ talks. You observe others, and that’s how you learn. House observes, but it isn’t enough for his soap opera-raddled brain. He needs answers as soon as possible, while you can wait patiently for something to occur that opens your mind to the situation.”

“Like the fact that you and Amber broke up because you wouldn’t let her try some crazy dominatrix fucking thing?”

“Er, well, yes, like that.”

“I just don’t want to regret not being able to ask the perfect question; to unravel House without him noticing.”

“I do it all the time. It is easier than you think.”
--#--

“You know who she reminds me of? Stacy. Of course, she doesn’t have that same ability to spar, but she could definitely get up there one day.”

“I’ve told you before, Wilson. I think your mom is a MILF in theory, but I’m scared of your father too much to go after a piece of that.”

“That is not who I mean, and you know it. In fact, you probably muse over it all the time. This is probably a major reason why you chose her over Amber.”

“Other than the fact that Cut Throat Bitch is an evil little pixie? Besides, she’s missing something very Stacy in the core of things.”

“Like the ability to make you feeling something like love for another person?”

“I was thinking the ass, actually. She does not have Stacy’s ass.”
--#--

“Thirteen, wait up.”

Lisa Cuddy had looked in many places for the mysterious female fellow, and finally found her in the pediatric oncology ward, spending her break with the kids in the playroom. Really. What went on in this girl’s brain?

“Dr. Lady, the other lady wants to see you.” A particularly adorable little boy grabbed the younger woman’s sleeve.

“Oh, hello Dr. Cuddy. Walk with me?”

“Sure. Dr. Hadley, I would not expect to see you here.”

“I like to spend time with the kids. They remind me of my niece.” A tone that signified the end of that conversation.

“I heard that you get to ask House one question. I just wanted to-“

“Meaning no disrespect, ma’am, but I’m no Cole. I won’t ask him a Cuddy approved question for less clinic hours or immunity.”

“I was only going to say that you should aim for the kneecaps. Surprise him with something small, and then make your way past the façade.”

“Well, thank you for your advice. I’m sure it will be helpful.”

Cuddy waited, staring at her favorite of House’s fellows.

“Oh! Oh, thank you Dr. Cuddy!”

Lisa smirked. House would definitely not be expecting this.
--#--

Knock, knock on House’s door came around eight o’clock, just as he was settling down for some Dancing with the Stars.

“Oh, so it is you. You could have just called, my dear.”

“It is apart of the question.” Thirteen shifted her weight, bringing a bottle of the most amazing bourbon House had seen into view.

“Oh, and what would that question be?”

She had reached an epiphany. The only way to get past House’s walls would be to get past House’s door.

“May I come in and share some of this lovely drink with you?”

House had not been expecting that. Damn, she must have talked to Cuddy.
“Yes, yes you may. As long as you don’t mind a little dancing.”

“I’m tivoing it myself.”

The door closed.

PS: Check out the Female Character Drabble-a-thon. I wrote a couple drabbles (One Thirteen and one Cho Chang). So mosey over and participate, gals.

Fic for 5_loves: Thirteen/Kutner; hard R

justspaz — Mon, 14 Apr 2008 23:21:43 GMT

Title: Always in Moderation.
Fandom: House MD.
Rating: Hard R.
Pairing: Thirteen/Kutner.
Word count: 1,370.
Summary: Defibrillator, alcohol, sex, Kutner. A small list of the things Thirteen found electric.
Notes: Written for 5_loves, prompt list 4, for the prompt electricity. Spoilers for all of S4, but they are mild.

Handling a defibrillator for the first time, having the ability to bring someone back to life through just those paddles, is an electric feeling (in more ways than one).

The first time Thirteen had ever touched them, in medical school with a highly realistic ‘doll’, was a bit of a power trip. She enjoyed that feeling of being able to shock someone back to life, getting that heart beating faster and faster again and again. Some people take it too far, using them at any time with a bit of a God complex.

Thirteen knew better. Just like drinking, defibrillation was meant to be enjoyed only when necessary, in moderation, and when the other options were just plain crap.

Kutner, on the other hand, was a big drinker and a big defibrillator kind of guy. Someone goes into cardiac arrest and there he is paddles in hand. He liked to scarf down a delicious meal, while she would take her time, teasing those around her with small bites and playful faces. He was out for the thrill, while she was out for the power.

The day started like this: Taub was out sick and Foreman had clinic duty. House was sitting in his office, looking at some porn with an eager Wilson over his shoulder. They were finding it to be either very enjoyable or very funny, but all Thirteen could do was stare at Kutner.

There he was, tapping his fingers against the table in some sort of fast rock beat, his head bobbing and his foot keeping time. Kutner was like a set of drums, loud and wild and something anyone with simple skills could learn how to play.

Thirteen had more than just simple skills. She smirked and caught his attention by placing her hand over his, cutting off ‘Don’t Stop Believin’ sharply.

“Hey, Kutner, I was wondering if you’d be interested in going to that little indie theater downtown. They are showing Bruce Lee films this week. Tonight is Enter the Dragon. You know, we could get some food and chill, since there is no way I could rope anyone else into an action flick.”

“What about House? I’m not declining, not at all. I’m accepting without a doubt, but House seems like an action movie kind of guy…”

She smiled and turned to look at their boss in his office. Wilson had left and now the man seemed to be engrossed in some online gossip blog.

“It would be the movies. With House.”

“Good point. What time should I be ready?”

Her plan was already sliding perfectly into place.
---

6:04 pm, and Thirteen’s doorbell rings once, twice, thrice in uneven intervals. Someone is impatient. She is almost too giddy when opening the door, and has to chime her face down a notch.

Gone are the slacks, turtlenecks, and suspenders. Her skirt is short and her top is clingy. The lipstick is red, bright, and messy, which will definitely prove interesting later. Kutner is finding it already interesting, looking like this ‘casual’ trip to the movies between ‘friends’ should turn into a fuck fest right there and then.

The car ride could have been awkward, but for someone so keen to hide certain things, Thirteen knows her way around small talk and pre-movie conversation.

“First Bruce Lee movie you ever saw? Please don’t say Enter the Dragon in college.”

“It was Enter the Dragon, but my dad sat me down at ten years old to say ‘Son, this is one of the keys to you becoming a young man’ and watched it with me. He had a whole collection. It was an awesome childhood.”

“My dad did basically the same. He had been expecting a boy, you see. Ah, there it is. Say, where should we head for dinner afterwards? There is this awesome deli down the street from my place…”
---

The number of people in relation to the space in the tiny little one screen theater was very small. Kutner noticed this with despair as they were getting their seats down in the front.

“All these new ‘action’ movies coming out hold not a single card to the classics, and yet kids just flock to a new Saw movie every year. This is a shame.”

The movie started, the action shown in grainy quality and heard in loud volume. With every kick, punch, grab, and chase, Kutner’s face lit up more and more. By the last quarter of the film, he was gesturing wildly with his hands, knowing all the moves and prepared to impress Thirteen. She looked over at him from time to time, smirk curving at his goofy antics.

The awkwardness had dissipated in the ride to dinner. Kutner was speaking fast and loud, sometimes taking both hands off the wheel to show off his own kung fu skills. Thirteen was laughing real and heartfelt laughs, and added in her own commentary in a somewhat raspy version of her own voice.

Dinner was quick, since Thirteen had a job to do and Kutner seemed to be going along with that job mighty fine.

The car pulled up to Thirteen’s apartment building, slowly. Kutner awkwardly patted his hands on his thighs, smiling and saying things like ‘I had a great time’ and ‘maybe we could do this again’.

“You could come in, Kutner. You know, I have some beer in here. We could chill for a bit, talk about how House looks like a drowned cat on rainy days or why Wilson keeps ducking out of dates with Amber. Good times.”

“Sure. I love beer. I love talking. Um, yeah, let’s do this.”
---

Kutner could hold his liquor very well, but Thirteen could hold it better.

“How you doing over there, buddy? Looking a little defeated.”

“Oh, don’t you play me like that there, ten plus three. I can totally make it to ten shots.”

“But I’m already on numero twelve. That means I win. You have to wear my pink t-shirt tomorrow, you do you do.”

“Fine, be that way.”

Kutner looked at Thirteen, her lipstick smudged and shirt dangerously low. How, how could anyone deny this girl anything? She was amazing! He needed to give her a gift worth all of her greatness!

He moved, bringing his lips to hers in a flash. She smiled against his mouth and pushed forward, opening her mouth for his tongue.

Soon, the kiss turned to groping, as Kutner pulled off her top and moved his hands down her side. She shivered, moving closer to him in order to better reach his own shirt. They were soon both completely topless, walking in a lip lock to the bedroom.

They didn’t make it. Kutner pushed Thirteen against the wall, pushing her skirt up and panties down. She unbuttoned his pants swiftly, unlike the fumble of other girls. Rolling his hips, she pulled on condom out of her back pocket. Something resonated in his mind that she had expected this from the start, even had the intention of this from the beginning, but it was lost as he entered her, her legs curling around his back and body withering.

He would have been embarrassed that it didn’t take long, but he was more distracted by her slow gasps of air. She was quieter than most girls, but her small chuckles and deep breaths were more erotic than the full out screams his med school girlfriends had been partial to. With one last deep thrust, he came, knees buckling, as Thirteen’s own orgasm erupted with one last ‘oof’.

It had been electric. Nothing like Kutner had experienced before, and he wanted more. Just like that first taste of a defibrillator, he could imagine the power of what he had experienced becoming something he could get used to so much.

Too bad for him, though. Thirteen was one for savoring the moments when they were needed, and as she moved over to the couch, slowly searching for her shirt, she knew her plan had worked. The ball was in her court, with her power. The thrill had nothing to do with her decisions.

“Well, that was interesting. Is it really that late? I’ll, well, see you tomorrow.”

Always in moderation.

Chaz picspam! Aka, thank God for snow days.

justspaz — Wed, 13 Feb 2008 15:50:37 GMT

I'm sorry with all this Chris/Shaz posting, but they are positively adorable and amazing.

Thanks to khallandra for caps.

Without further adieu, my first picspam.

The background is such:

DC Chris Skelton:

& WPC Sharon 'Shaz' Granger:

from Ashes to Ashes are utterly adorable. The are both young in comparison to the rest of the detectives and everyone thinks they are a bit naive. They bond through this.

Here is Chris being all tired of this 'this world is FAKE' shit:

Chris takes a suspect's new and fancy Walkman and gives it to Shaz. She is very happy:

Chris has awesome white pants this series. Very lovely.

The suspect notices the Walkman and makes Shaz very sad:

She expresses this through AMAZING FACIAL EXPRESSIONS (which is a big reason why I LOVE her):

The infamous table scene (not like that, you cheeky pervs):

They are very smooth, as you can tell:

I love this camera work here:

The ultimate 'omgwtgbbq' face:

Shaz really likes hairspray:

Chris is a bit drunk here, but he is still fabulous:

And they have eye sex across the table:

They are undercover, trying to catch some bad guy Alex has been wailing about all episode:

The suspect from earlier kidnaps Shaz whilst she is jamming:

Chris attempts to save her, out of the lurve in his heart:

Chris threatens Alex in a very dramatic way that would make Sam proud:

Gene and the gang go on a valiant quest to stop the drug runners and save Shaz. Chris attempts to dodge bullets. He must have done ballet:

Shaz is understandably frowning up this kidnap attempt:

Gene, Ray, and Chris go to stop this terror and repair Alex's own attempts to 'go home'. Those modern day people have such a dramatic flair:

They save Shaz and she rewards Chris in a special way. Ray wants beer:

Chris shows off that he is so not nervous by shooting the mean suspect in the foot. Yes, the foot:

Thanks for viewing this picspam. Here's a happy Shaz as a present:

I want to be Shaz when I grow up!

justspaz — Sun, 10 Feb 2008 04:52:44 GMT

Three drabbles, all PG-13 or less.

Fandom(s): Life on Mars, Ashes to Ashes.

That New Kind of Feminism: Shaz gen.

When you are the only child of a single mother, it seems to be ingrained in your mind to be some kind of women power, feminist rally type of gal.

Shaz wouldn’t exactly call herself the definition of women power, with her girlish giggles and pastel bedroom, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t expect respect. She wouldn’t have followed her daddy’s footsteps into Law Enforcement over her mum’s secretarial job if she wasn’t after that sweet smell of well-earned success.

The WPC work she does might seem secretarial, but Shaz has her mind, and her pink sweater, set on greatness.
---

Living is Feeling, but Chris feels like death: Chris gen.

They interviewed the Guv because DCI Hunt and DI Tyler went together like plonks and hairspray. Ray’s shocked face fell under the headline in the initial report. Hell, everyone flocked to Annie like she was some goddamn widow, forgetting the fact that Sam and Annie split four years before.

He wasn’t completely forgotten; Nelson gave him a free drink and a pat on the back when he walked in looking like Ray after a tit grab gone sour. But this was no bird, this was Sam Tyler and dead together in the same sentence.

Chris just sat it out alone.
---

Don't We Look So Perfect: Chris/Shaz (would that be Chaz? It should).

Her blouse was the right shade of blue for her, and he obviously noticed this as he couldn’t stop that damn stupid grin of his from illuminating the street.

He took her hand like a preteen girl would, and gave her a little twist as they danced down the street.

Reaching Shaz’s flat, Chris walked her up to the building’s entrance, making last minute small chatter that obviously pleased the WPC enough to have her plant a chaste kiss on his lips as they continued their “cautious” little waltz.

Gene almost felt bad about interrupting them for a robbery case.

Flist: If you don't watch LOM or A2A, check my post below! *pimps self*

a Pushing Daisies post of great thought.

justspaz — Mon, 05 Nov 2007 22:52:48 GMT

Alight, spoilers ahead, so I will put some things under cuts.

Romance on Pushing Daisies.

Pushing Daisies is a very romantic show, no doubt about that. We have a love crossing many boundaries, and one unrequited so very strong. I was thinking today about the possible ships of the show.

The Obvious:

My personal PD OTP, the wonderfully quirky relationship between Ned and Charlotte 'Chuck' Charles is perfectly deserving of my favorite adjective for this show: adorable. Chuck lived with her dear, reclusive aunts most her life, and has a wide spectrum of booksmarts but not a lot of room to use them in real life. Ned created a life of solidarity for himself due to his 'gift', and needs someone bursting with loads of energy to break him out of his shell.

We know that Chuck always wanted to do this for her aunts, but they were in much deeper than Ned was. Through the five episodes so far, we have definitely seen a more involved, cheerful Ned, and he has been able to keep his childhood sweetheart grounded and amused.

They seem to have a wonderfully normal relationship, save for the fact they cannot touch and that Chuck was briefly dead. They have small little problems to overcome (as Chuck herself said), they have things in common and differences, and they have a routine.

The underdog ship: Olive Snook is dearly besotted with Ned, but he is too wrapped up in Chuck and his work to notice. Would a relationship between them truly work?

The factors are these: Ned hasn't showed his true self to Olive at all. Currently, she is in love with an idea of Ned being her perfect prince charming. But no one is perfect, and how would she feel if she knew all his baggage, his true personality, or his 'gift'?

Could Ned fall for Olive? She is definitely not afraid of touch, some Ned is very afraid of. Would she drag him out of his shell or push him farther into it? Do they even have a thing in common?

Emerson Cod is a sarcastic, greedy, impatient, loud, and opinionated man. Watching the show, there has not been one person that I could imagine him with. He seems to be very annoyed by both Chuck and Olive, who get in the way of his daily flow (and cash flow). In fact, the only person he does seem to get along with, and only on his own, is Ned. So, as a natural slasher, I will start with.

Emerson/Ned:

I don't really even see this ship, and I can find slash for anyone. Let's face the facts, Ned is completely enthralled by Chuck, and only met Emerson by chance. They interact mostly for crime opportunities where Ned can use his 'gift' for good. Emerson seems to enjoy Ned mostly for the fact that Ned rakes in the cash. But Emerson seems to be the first adult friend Ned ever had, and is also the first person to find out about his 'gift'. In my eyes, it doesn't go farther.

Emerson/Olive:

It is obvious to see that Emerson has no problem bringing Olive down a notch, which he has done before. She only uses him as an outlet for information on Ned and Chuck, and he seems to blow her off at any opportunity he can. But, they both seem to be extra wheels when it comes to Ned and Chuck and share a distaste for Chuck.

Emerson/Chuck:

She definitely annoys the hell out of him. She just barged in, alive again, to interrupt the flow of his life. She wastes his minute, barges in on conversations (with Ned's permission, which doesn't matter to Emerson), and follows him and Ned around. I don't see it, but I could see how someone would go about shipping them.

Chuck/Olive:

Chuck is a perpetually happy person (unless remembering her aunts). She is always polite to Olive, because she doesn't see a reason not to be. Olive hates Chuck for 'taking away' Ned and for 'faking her death'. They seemed to bond a bit in the latest episode, and it might even go further. They are the only gals around, and a friendship could form (but more likely an acquaintance). As for shipping, femmeslash can be mighty fun, and they both do share a passion for the same guy, who doesn't want one of them and can't touch the one he wants to.

Olive/Alfredo Aldarisio.

Alfredo is the charming traveling herbal remedies salesman, who definitely seems to like Olive (fixing the espresso machine, giving her his opinions, lending an ear, and offering his material). She doesn't really notice him, wrapped up in Ned so much, and finds his selling to be annoying in the Pie Hole. But they both share similar types of fears and he could be just the balance she needs, Ned be damned.

Any others you see? Aunts/someone? Digby/Pidge? Explain!

Notes:
-I refer to what Ned can do in ''s because, as Monk always says, "It's a gift, and a curse".
-Does anyone else think it weird we don't know Ned's surname?

Just me, writing again. Drabble Post.

justspaz — Sun, 14 Oct 2007 18:21:32 GMT

Four Drabbles. All rated PG. Het and slash.
Fandoms: Pushing Daisies; Chuck; Gossip Girl.
Spoilers: Just up to all the episodes shown so far.

Notes: You will notice that none of these pairings is actually solid, and they all deal with crushes or pre-relationship. The judging is up to you.

Title: Challenge.
Fandom: Pushing Daisies.
Pairing: Future(?) Manuel the floor guy/Olive Snook.

Olive Snook is a weird girl, but there is something about her that seems nice to Manuel.

Perhaps it is her dedication; he has seen the ways she sticks around Mr. Ned. Perhaps it is her caring quality and love for animals. Or maybe it is her smoking rack. Manuel doesn’t know, and doesn’t really care.

Because every night when he comes to clean and Olive is closing, he can see how sad and miserable she is. He can see how she wishes to be with Ned. It would be a challenge to change her mind.

Manuel loves a challenge.
---

Title: Special
Fandom: Chuck
Pairing: John Casey/Chuck Bartowski pre-slash(?)

It takes a special kind of person to kill people for a living.

Major John Casey is great at what he does. Therefore, he must be a pretty special guy. Killing assassins, underground arms dealers, drug runners, and other generally nasty scum of society is what he is paid to do.

Killing people isn’t easy, or guilt free, but the people being bad makes it a bit easier.

But this is Chuck Bartowski. Chuck, you see, isn’t evil. He is a nerdy, amiable guy. It would take a special person to kill him.

Maybe Casey isn’t so special after all.
---

Title: Family.
Fandom: Chuck
Pairing: Unrequited Morgan/Ellie and Morgan/Chuck (?)

People think Morgan comes around the Bartowski house out of an infatuation with Ellie, or a friendly obsession with Chuck.

This, you know, is partly true, because Ellie is such a beautiful nice girl with a great head on her shoulders, and Chuck has been his best friend for years.

But that is more of the tip of the iceberg. It is also because Ellie once helped him through his mother’s death, when Chuck was at Stanford and Chuck has the best smile he has ever seen.

More than anything, Morgan (whose own is long gone) just wants a family.
---

Title: Smile
Fandom: Gossip Girl
Pairing: Unrequited Blair/Serena

Serena van der Woodsen is perfect (in the looks department) and near perfect (otherwise).

People cling to her, radiate towards her, like opposite magnets in science class.

Blair has the same effect, but only on the people she wishes she did not. She remembers a time when Serena attached to her, and Blair was the spotlight.

Half the time, it isn’t that she once was Queen when Serena was gone or that now she is set in the back again. Blair just wishes that Serena would look down from her throne and smile.

Blair thinks Serena has a lovely smile.

Fandom...ahh!

justspaz — Mon, 30 Jul 2007 00:47:39 GMT

Well, I've gotten to the point where I can read fanfiction of a certain ship without wanting to crawl into a little hole and weep some more. And I haven't wanted to cry over looking at my books, so I guess I'm improving a bit. Watching a JK Rowling interview didn't help much though, so alas. Tomorrow morning at 9 am is the live chat, which will be very exciting just to be in the same chat room as the almighty Jo. Not so lovely is the 9 am part, but eh.

I couldn't think of a question to send in, and then I realized that, stubborn fan that I am, I have no questions for Jo.

If I wasn't such a brainy Ravenclaw, you'd think I would be a Hufflepuff. But not really, because there are like, 231289 holes in my loyalty.

I've been on such an acid kick lately. You must, must, MUST for me at least look at some of her art. Especially the Hands Series *points to the sidebar*. Better yet, read her fanfiction.

I was thinking of all the people who go "oh, woe is the Slytherin house, no one cares or understands them", and I realized that all the houses get there fair share of slander. Hufflepuff is often the forgotten house that people think everyone else who doesn't fit the other three is shelved into, Ravenclaws are 'the smart ones with no life', and Gryffindors are always made to be perfect, when they are just normal too. So, I wrote a drabble about Ravenclaw!

The O.W.L.s are coming this year, which would be hard enough, if it wasn’t for the fact that there will be hundreds of teacher-run tests.

Well, I could start studying tonight, but no, wouldn’t it make more sense to work on this essay now, and then study for these exams later? When will I ever find the time to formulate my preparations for the Ordinary Wizarding Levels?

The Hufflepuffs are inviting us to play a fun game of Quidditch this weekend, but like there will be any time for something as meaningless as that.

Or time for something like living.

*waves farewell*

Short fic: HP, gen: The Positives of Great Oral Hygiene.

justspaz — Sun, 08 Jul 2007 18:37:23 GMT

Title: The Positives of Great Oral Hygiene.
Rating: PG
Genre: Gen
Lenght: 1,010 words
Summary: Having two dentists as parents really taught Hermione the reason for good teeth care. And so she taught it to Ron and Harry.
Author's note: Unbetaed, as usual, until my beta comes back. I'm oddly proud of this. Also, it is basically a really big metaphor, the emphasis on brushing your teeth, for the trio's friendship.

After the troll incident of Halloween Nineteen Ninety-one, the already friends Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, and the newest addition to their group Hermione Granger, became the best of friends. This is something of a well known fact.

The other well known fact I will enlighten you to is the fact that best friends teach their dearest friends the most wonderful lessons they have in their possession.

With older brothers like Bill, Charlie, Fred, and George (Percy’s lessons didn’t seem so appetizing for any of his friends, even Hermione), Ron had a cornucopia of skills in adventure, rule breaking, tricks, and teases up his sleeves. He always took over the “what should we do today?” aspect of the trio’s solid friendship.

Coming from a family as detestable and rancid as the Dursley’s, Harry’s lessons usually took on that “how a family (and that is what they were akin to, those three) should not act”. This included fights, taunts, and the mean types of teases. Harry was just so happy to be apart of a friendship, he didn’t care if his lessons were not as funny as Ron’s, or as useful as Hermione’s.

Being the brains of the operation, as that old saying goes, Hermione had a wide library of teachings in her head, spanning from potions to English literature of the Nineteenth century. Those lessons are another well known fact. One thing, though, which Hermione learned from her parents above many other things, is the positive factors to having excellent oral hygiene.

Basically, she taught Harry, who never had time nor permission to eat those sugary trouble makers or brush on a daily basis, and Ron, whose mother always would use a teeth cleaning charm like most magic families, how to brush, floss, and prevent gingivitis.
---

It started like this: Hermione, wandering a bit nosily into the boys’ sink area, noticed Harry was brushing all wrong. In a solitary side to side manner, with no circles or ups and downs. And, dear goodness, no floss at all. Then, bless her young heart, she had to see Ron clearly not brush at all, and just use a simple spell.

Har-ruff! Hermione knew that spells were powerful, but she also new hygiene spells were a very pale, Draco Malfoy like pale actually, alternative to the actual thing.

With the first chance she had, which was, fortunately, right then and there, she sent a pleading message to her mum and dad to send extra Grade A toothbrushes and toothpaste for her new best friends.

The moment they arrived, she backed poorly educated Harry and Ron into a corner of the sink area and taught them the proper teeth techniques handed down since the invention of the modern toothbrush. At first the boys, a bit unwilling and unnerved at having Hermione in their sink room so much, protested and said their teeth were just fine. When they saw how passionate she was on the subject, the boys (Ron especially), used her methods with great, if a bit forced, gusto.
---

Even though Ron tended to be a bit forgetful, and Harry was sometimes locked up for a bit of time, over the summers between school they always followed Hermione’s principles. Ron even taught his father, always interested in the ways of Muggles, the delicate art of teeth care.

Harry always remembered to brush at least twice a day, even though the Dursley’s became suspicious of this seemingly devious act. They thought that Harry thought great teeth care would make them think he could have more sweets. Even after he vehemently protested that it was because of his friend, the daughter of dentists, no these dentists did not have magic, they still threatened to take away his supplies if he continued. Yet Harry waged on, brushing in private or continuously owling Hermione for extras.
---

Home, if the Dursley’s could be called that in Harry’s case, was not the only time away from Hermione in which the two boys of the trio kept up their now immaculate teeth care.

During second year, when poor Hermione had been petrified, Harry and Ron seemed to find comfort in the synthetic bristles and plastic handles. Aside from visiting Hermione in the hospital wing and keeping up with their school work, it seemed like it was the closest way to keep her in mind.

Not even fights between Ron and Hermione, as constant as they were, could keep Ron from continuing an activity so close to her personality. Sometimes, Harry would reflect on with a grin, Ron would spit out rude remarks on how mean her cat was or how stupid she was being about this or that between brushings and spit takes.
---

During the war, one would expect there was not a lot of time or area for something as ‘trivial’ as brushing your teeth before you went to bed. In this case, one would be right. Most Aurors, especially those in the Order, would use the simple and somewhat effective charms to freshen breath and dissolve plaque. But not Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Now matter where they were or how much they just wanted to sleep, they would get out their toothpaste tubes and different coloured brushes (red for Ron, blue for Hermione, and green for Harry naturally) and brush away.

When Hermione got hit with a particularly nasty and damaging curse trying to destroy a Horcrux, they would spend ten minutes brushing aimlessly. One night, a couple of days after she was sent to St. Mungo’s with blood poring down her face, Ron brushed so hard that his gums began to crack and trickle blood. Cursing and throwing down his dentistry utensil, he dropped to the floor with a frightening howl and began to cry. Harry, understanding this feeling with a similar urge to cry, sat next to him quietly and continued to brush.
---

Hermione was back with them soon, and Ron seemed to go back to treating his mouth with a softer motion.

The war soon ended, but the trio’s love of oral care would never fade.

For no reason at all except organization and the cool feeling that comes with it, fic journal=ficastoundsme. :D

Fanfiction: Formidable; Fandom: HP, Pairing: Remus/Tonks

justspaz — Thu, 05 Jul 2007 03:12:32 GMT

I read this fabulous Remus/Tonks story today, which really inspired me to see where I could lead them. Which means, since I wrote this, Harry wiggled his way in, and stayed.

Title: Formidable
Pairing: Remus/Tonks
Rating: PG
Summary: Tonks once had a boyfriend, who had a very formidable mother, who liked to give 'don't hurt my baby' speeches. With Remus, this 'mother' happens to be Harry Potter. Features interesting rock band names, angsty Harry, mentions of character death which are the reason for slightly angsty Harry, and nosy Remus.
Notes: No beta, as usual. My usual is on vacation. Also, Oh dear? She wrote Het. WITHOUT HINTING AT SLASH!

Tonks had only been in one relationship, one real and love-based relationship, before Remus.

Clutching her tea cup in a way that, for her, surely meant it would crack soon, Tonks allowed for a trip through Nostalgia Lane. It had been her final year, and the lucky victim had been a fellow Hufflepuff in her fellow year.

His name had been Robert Stevens; a dull, average name for someone not so average. He was a beater on the Quidditch team, who was more of a seeker build but still managed to be the best beater on any team that seventh year. He excelled in Herbology, making his mother, a worldwide known herbologist proud. His father was a clerk in the ministry, but Robby still made him proud by being Head Boy.

Tonks had only regarded him has an acquaintance she only recognized due to his almost blue-black hair that seemingly shined until fifth year. That was when they discovered their mutual love for modern wizarding music like the Weird Sisters mixed with classic Wizarding Rock, like Loup Garock (a sort of prediction for her second serious relationship).

Come to think of it, Robert was all the good that Remus was. Intelligent he was, with a warm smile that lit up his brown eyes and a love of reading classic muggle literature (the kinds that came in a special Classics publishing format and the kinds that had sort of withered into obscurity except for Literature Professors at Muggle Oxford). Robert was responsible, caring, and wicked witty, but lacked the one thing that made Tonks have the illusion of love for him, but fast, head over heals love for Lupin: security.

Sure, Tonks had dated him from November of their final year to the following September when she had begun Auror training. There was just something about him that didn’t make her feel comfortable and loved, like one of Remus’ worn argyle cardigans.

And so, they went their separate ways: Nymphadora onto the rigorous three year Auror program, and Robert onto a Herbology mastery. All the little details of their times slowly morphing, somewhat akin to her nose during those early times at Grimwauld Place, from picnic lunches near the Black Lake to defensive spells and tracking charms.

All except a few, actually. One of the memories of her time with Robert that would always stick with her was the meeting, and getting the fabulous ‘relationship’ talk, from his mother.

Mama Stevens was the epitome of a formidable woman. Her hair was curly and squished into a messy bun and her face and hands were caked with the memory of dirt and mud. She was a round, Mrs. Weasley type, but with a voice that was more Umbridge than Molly. Her wand was always sticking out of her pocket placed right on her stomach, like a baby kangaroo in its mum’s pouch.

She had demanded the immediate leave of Robby, sat Tonks down with a plop (!) on her sticky leather sofa (it was the middle of June), and stacked eyes so cold they would make Snape proud on her. Breathing deep, she opened her mouth and utter, in one breath:

“Robert is the most special of children; the kind that mothers need not ever worry about in the real would due to their fantastic decision to make choices. He chose you, and so forth I must admit a bit of respect for making Robby dear find love. If though, you choose to break up, and it is on nothing less than the most noble of terms, I shall be forced to use spells so intricate, the Aurors you are going to work for shall be stumped for a bit. Do you comprehend?”

Yes formidable indeed.
----

Remus’ mother was long deceased, and his father was off in some Eastern European country studying vampires. Ergo, Tonks had come to the belief that there would be no formidable figure lecturing her on the relationship between her and Remus. Her father Ted had taken care of the protective Daddy side of those talks.

So, she was just a bit surprised when Harry sat her down, offered her a cuppa, and told her that they really needed to discuss Remus. Although Harry was quite protective of his friends and those whom he regarded as family (and also a bit unusual), Tonks really hadn’t expect a full blown monologue on how she wouldn’t ever dare hurt Remus.

The first words out of his mouth were simple, sad, and made her realize why Harry of all people was doing this.

“Sirius always told me that Remus picked the best of friends. At first, you know, I was thinking that he was being a bit haughty and arrogant as usual, but he was actually referring to my parents. He said something like ‘that Remus Lupin chap, always knowing the people who he will be able to charm and dazzle with his fashionable matching sweaters and socks the most whilst they make him open up and feel comfortable’. Then he mentioned something about toast; I’m sure he was tipsy.”

If the war changed anyone drastically, it was Harry. He matured in face and mind, became less petty and more introspective. He went from screaming and spewing hate at Snape over the littlest things to crying when he survived, but not Snape.

Although, this matured air came from some dark and difficult times. Watching your first friend, the mighty Hagrid, tortured and murdered slowly and violently by the Queen of Torture herself (Aunt Bella) in front of you would change almost anyone. And make someone who was already a hundred percent protective over an allegation against a friend even more so.

“Tonks, you are such a lovely person, and such a dear friend of mine, that I know, just know that you are perfect for Moony. You brighten his day even after a full moon, you bring him chocolate to nibble on right after taking Hermione’s Wolfsbane, and you add a certain spice to his life that can, erm, certainly be heard from a few rooms away when one cannot sleep (Tonks blushed the same light red as her hair and freckles). It isn’t you I am worried about at all. It’s him. He’s weak and greying and daft and stubborn. He will toss and turn if you say you love him, he will push and pull until you admit he has a plethora of faults, and dear goodness he will whinge and state he doesn’t need a babysitter.

“But Tonksies, he sometimes needs a caretaker. Currently, I am the de facto one doing that job. But, I shall valiantly pass this magical torch of responsibility and having to put up with stories of muggle jazz singers over cups of coffee at 3 am to you. I’m sure you will do it fabulously, with interesting hair styles and trips down the stairs.”

Harry finished his coffee as if he was downing a shot of firewhiskey, stood up, and smiled as if he knew he was 100% correct down to the final speck of fuzz on Tonks’ neon green muggle visibility vest. Which he was.

Tonks, stood up whilst processing this, and promptly fell down. Locking eyes with Harry, they both burst into uncontrollable giggles which attracted the attention of said Remus John ‘Moony’ Lupin.

“If I hadn’t been listening around the corner bend, I would have sworn you two where making nefarious plans to disrupt my controlled and centred balance of mind and ‘wicked’ plots to read all evening. But I do thank you both for taking my, how was it that Mr. Fred put it, utter prat-atude in the face of true love so seriously.”

And so, arm around Remus’ middle, and smile alit on all three of their faces, the small family currently inhabiting Grimwauld Place broke apart: Tonks with Remus, now secure in her mind she would rather be no other place even if the drapes were without holes, and Harry sitting down on a sofa, turning on one of Remus’ jazz records and picking up a well worn copy of Persuasion.

Now they were a formidable force to be reckoned with.

Ficella.

justspaz — Fri, 22 Jun 2007 22:02:17 GMT

Name: Some Selfish Wishes
Rating: PG
Fandom: Harry Potter
Words: 769
Beta: None. I'm still getting Conflicting Invitations betaed for gawsh!
Summary: The trio each had a childhood, with the small details in life to make it their own.
Note: To the Brits: I cannot comprehend your movie rating system. Is '15' for someone under 11 pretty high up there?

There were never any cookies before dinner in the Granger household. It was just one of the many sweet-related things that just weren’t done. Whenever Hermione went to a friend’s house, most often Jenny Gleason’s, they had a sweets jar right on the counter, filled to the brim with McVitie’s and chocolate bars.

This severe lack of sugar before nutrition was something that the daughter of two dentists was accustomed to from an early age. While many kids would have yelled and begged for a biscuit in order to keep their appetite before having to gulp down liver or spinach, Hermione was not a normal child, and she respected the boundaries put up by her parents, and even attempted to only eat sweets once in awhile. She valued her dental health; her parents were smart people, and if it was important to them it should be important to her.

On the opposite spectrum, because of the Granger mother and father’s intelligence, there was never a lack of books in their abode. Of course, some of them were large tomes on bicuspids and gum disease, but many were of different varieties: biographies, pirates, princesses, atlases, dictionaries, romances, war stories.

As a four or five or even ten year old, Hermione didn’t care much for war stories about places she’d never heard of, but all the other books, even the dictionaries, were free reign for her. She scoured the pages of the biographies, drank up the stories of Blackbeard and his gang of pirates, and read fictional interpretations of Marie Antoinette and Elizabeth the First.

When she received her Hogwarts letter, she hoped there were carrots and big books in the school, or she would have come right home.

---+
With two parents, seven children, and a plethora of chickens and gnomes, there was no privacy, in any form at the Burrow. Everywhere Ron went, Ginny followed him out of a want to be included or the twins just wanted to prank him into tripping down the stairs.

His mum was always trying to keep order, and never had time to talk to Ron unless there was at least one other person in the room. Everyone flocked, including Mrs. Weasley, to his dad when he arrived home from work.

Sometimes though, he talked to Percy in the older boy’s room, when Percy’s eyes hurt too much from reading. Even though they never had much in common, they both enjoyed that sense of quiet and warmth that can come from one on one conversation.

Despite the Burrow having an over abundance of ruckus, Ron loved one minute detail of his house above many others: the soft, fuzzy carpets reaching from his sitting room all the way up to his upper floor bedroom.

Whenever the family packed up and visited an aunt or uncle, Ron missed the feeling of his bare feet being tickled by the older, worn out, and faded carpeting that only a house of the Burrow’s caliber could possess.
When his own letter arrived, as all those Weasley letters do, upon his birthday, Ron hoped that, even though his brothers never said so, there was a room full of less nosy boys and plush carpets at Hogwarts.

---+
Even if Dudley hadn’t forced almost every single kid at their shared Primary school into not hating or avoiding him, Harry guessed that the kids wouldn’t have wanted to spend time with him anyway. What kid would want to talk with a boy who wasn’t allowed to play with toys or watch TV and movies?

Which is just what Harry Potter could not do. There was no evening television for him inside his cupboard, and he was shipped off to Mrs. Figg’s house whenever a movie that Dudders and Piers wanted to see (even the messy rated 15 ones). When the newest toys were unleashed upon the market, Dudley of course received everyone he wanted, while Harry was stuck with the older models that no other child would find interesting to talk about anymore.

And although he was forced into the cupboard under the stairs, on clear nights he was allowed to sit outside when the Dursleys wanted him to get some ‘fresh air’. The night clouds were milky and puffy, and the stars twinkled sweetly in the sky. Harry would run his fingers through the grass and look out for shooting stars or the phases of the moon.

So, after having to spend days fighting for one, when Hagrid came and delivered his Hogwarts letter, Harry hoped that wizards were just a bit outdated and nature freaks in the same vein as him.

Part Two of Conflicting Invitations...

justspaz — Fri, 23 Mar 2007 22:42:11 GMT

Title: Conflicting Invitations.
Fandom: Scrubs/Harry Potter crossover
Rating: Teen
Pairings overall: Padma Patil/Doug Murphy; JD/Dr. Cox; Carla/Turk; and a brief mention of Snape/Harry
This part: Padma/Other Male; JD/Cox; Padma/Doug
Summary: Padma Patil, gifted Healer, is sent to Sacred Heart to help a muggle doctor magically.
Author's note: I cannot account for quality, rambly, attempting to be funny, crossover, random, unbetaed as of right now.
Disclaimer: Nooooot mine. Scrubs nor HP.
Dedicated: Obviously for newbie1990. I wrote this part so quickly for you!

Carla Espinosa liked to change people. Well, not exactly change them, but study their flaws and strong points, and mold the perfect person they could be if they worked hard enough.

Most people would say this made her nosy; always butting into other people’s problems and situations, listening on their love life conversations, etc. Carla knew it was for the best though. How else would anyone be able to last in long relationships if they weren’t perfect for each other?

Her whole life, Carla had only seen one perfect, long lasting relationship; the old Latino couple who owned a bakery back in Chicago where Carla grew up. They had been together for over 50 years when Carla moved away, and she idolized them; studied their behavior, their fights, and their conversations.

So naturally, when Doug Murphy, that poor little doctor who was just so nervous, asked for her help in becoming more of a ‘manly man, ya know. Tall dark and handsome, confident, everything I’m not?’ how could she refuse?

And so, the transformation began.

------------------------------------
“I don’t know. I mean, living with Doug for the time being is great. He’s got a nice apartment, he’s a good cook, and he lets me be when I just want to read some books about pot-doctoring. But, it’s still Doug. He’s just so nervous and twitchy.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean. When I first started here, I was leaving for this date, and I had on some sexy pumps (which my mom said that they made me look longer and leaner, but still slutty) and this new dress, and he came over with this sample of blood and almost ruined my pumps. I cried so much, my makeup sort of ran and the guy skedaddled away screaming. Or in pain. I kind of ran over his foot with my car. Anyway, I miss those shoes.”

Padma was sitting in a bar with Elliot on a mutual night off. It was a sort of girl’s night out thing she used to do with Parvati and Cho back home. They were sipping light beers and talking about relationships, mother issues, marriage, and living arrangements. Padma tended to daze off when Elliot yammered on, but she was good company and they had a lot in common.

Padma still had a lot to get used to here, but she was settled in and there was no turning back. She had gotten used to different kinds of muggle medicine, and ways of life, and so on. She had made friends, gone to hip clubs, and thought less and less of home these days. Yet, there was less than a month left, and she would be glad to be home.

Looking around this bar, Padma deducted it was popular with the hospital staff. Over to her left, there were a few doctors from Radiation and OBGYN chatting it up. In the dark, right corner was that intimidating Dr. Cox sitting with JD, seemingly oblivious to the stares of the rest of the bar as they talked closely hand in hand.

Her thoughts of the Ministry’s 5 Years Free gala, in which some crazy pairings had been spotting near the open bar, were swatted away when a vaguely familiar doctor from Oncology sat down next to her.

“Hey, Padma. Right? I’m Nick, from Oncology. Do you remember me? I gave you that pen two days ago” he gestured to the ballpoint sticking out from her bun. His brown eyes sparkled in the light, and she blushed as she responded.

“Oh, did you want this back? I’m sorry. And yes, I do remember you. Are you out here alone or with some friends?”

They talked for and hour and a half about the most random things. Cats, old teachers from school, telly programmes. During the swirling mass of time, Elliot had seemed to disappear to the dark corner, and most of the other patrons had dwindled down to 5. It was around 1 AM before they moved out into the street, exchanging numbers and departing on their own routes.

Elliot had offered her a ride, but Doug lived close and Padma had a cornucopia of thoughts dancing in her head.

--------------------------------------
“Doug, if you want to command respect, there are two things you immediately need to get off your skinny white personal: that fanny pack and your polo shirt. Come on, don’t be afraid to strip. This is not time for nervousness. This is intense training,” Carla barked at a twitching (naturally) Doug, as he unclasped his bag and removed both shirts, sliding the scrub top back on ASAP.

Carla decided to work on appearance first. A bit of a tan and tone would be good, along with a new wardrobe for in and out of work. And a hair cut. This was going to be fun, like dressing a Ken doll, only with actual genitals.

They moved onto some shops downtown, picking out casual shirts and ties and blazers and all these other fancy items of clothing Doug had never considered before. Actually, when it came to changing himself completely, Doug really hadn’t thought of anything. Before Padma, he was okay with who he was and what he wore. Now, he was maxing out credit on fancy jeans and a new haircut that ‘really shaped out his naturally strong facial features’.

He was willing though. To change for Padma, that was. He was willing to jump off a bridge for her actually. Anything. There was always this voice at the back of his head going ‘it’s still going to be you Doug, under new clothes and confidence training. The same likes and dislikes and personality. Why would she want that?’

-------------------------------
Padma was sitting at the apartment with Nick. He had offered her a ride home from her shift, and she offered him some coffee and conversation. They were just getting into a discussion about the differences between America and England when he spontaneously put his fingers in her hair and kissed her. They continued said wonderful kiss all the way over to the comfy couch and were getting into a bit of upper body fondling when the main entry door began to turn.

Padma pulled away and looked up. Shock registered onto her face as she realized who it actually was. Doug, nervous guy with the crazy scrubs and old tourist shirts from Mount Rushmore, strutted in with a fit new haircut, and some dark jeans. It was a complete 180.

He was carrying about 5 bags worth the clothes and didn’t even seem to radiate a twitch. His head moved up and noticed her. He smiled, completely un-nervously and his eyes moved over the scene. As soon as he saw Nick though, his face fell fractionally and he shuffled into his room.

Her mouth was still widely opened, and Nick took this as a cue to stick his tongue into it. He pulled her up, and whispered into her ear.

“This doesn’t seem like the kind of place to be left alone anymore. Would you care to go to my house? It’s close.”

Padma was so dazed she was lead away, fish eyes and open jaw and all.

---------------------------------
By the next morning, thanks in complete to Laverne, everyone knew that Padma the transfer British chick was fornicating sexually with odd Nick from Oncology. Obviously, this was very important and interesting news, and so no one really noticed that Doug was completely distressed.

They did notice the clothes, the lack of stammering and twitching, and the tan. Let’s just say that Doug was almost more distressed by the Todd than the news surrounding Padma.

When Padma saw him that morning for their rounding-about-the-patients time, she noticed something was off. She chalked it up to seeing Padma tonguing someone in his apartment, and apologized.

“I’m sorry Doug. It was so inconsiderate of me to invite someone into your apartment. We should have just gone to his place in the first place. It was so unexpected though; I didn’t even think that we would be doing anything.”

Doug’s eyes clouded with some emotion Padma couldn’t place. Was he that mad? Upset with her? Confused? She pretty much nailed every emotion he could be without placing the exact one: heartbroken.

“It’s not your fault. At all. I mean, you didn’t expect me home and you didn’t expect anything to happen. Also, for you time here, me casa es su casa. Or something. I only speak Elvish. Ah, why did I say that?”

Padma giggled. “Like from Lord of the Rings? Really? That’s so cool. I only speak random Latin words. My parents speak like, 5 languages combined. Now, why did I say that?”

And how could Doug be upset with her then? As they went from patient to patient, they talked and laughed, and everything having to do with sex or love seemingly popped away.

-------------------------
Nick was fun. He was interesting, a bit odd, random, had the knowledge of things no one needed to know. Padma enjoyed his company, but for some reason, as time went on and on his appeal faded less and less.

There was only 10 days left of her little programme here. She had met Nick only a week prior and they had gone out a large number of times. Whether it be a random coffee trip, or to the bar, or out to dinner. While anyone else in her position would have been entirely smitten, things just didn’t add up.

First of all, Nick wasn’t that polite. He insulted random people on appearance alone, made crude jokes, and stuck up his pointy nose at patients who came in from the lower class. At first, she ignored all this, for he had so many good qualities, but then he started turning into a caricature of Draco Malfoy (who, unfortunately, no one has heard from in 6 years).

There wasn’t a spark, there wasn’t that connection. He was a fling; he was fun and entertaining, yet forgettable.

In all this time, she spent more at home (when had the apartment become home?). Doug had a wicked collection of muggle games. Since they worked the exact same shift, they would retire and sit around playing Scrabble or Life. Doug would make something fancy, and pop out some bubbly wine. They’d discuss that day at the hospital with ease. Ever since Doug’s very sudden makeover, he was easy to talk to; more confidant, less twitchy, and more relatable.

The makeover had certainly taken Padma by surprise. She had seen Doug leave with Carla wearing his little bag and polo shirt, and he returned in sharp clothes. At first he still was stuttery, but daily he became more confident and secure, like he was being coached or motivated to do so.

---------------------
With only a week left in the program, Doug recognized the need to separate himself from Padma more and more. He would need to become distant. If he spent less time with her, when she left (probably still in correspondence with Nick) he wouldn’t have to kill himself from depression, or something dramatic like that.

So he started working patients alone. This confidence boost seemed to stay with Doug, even though the reason for it dimmed from his mind. He was just as effective in doctoring as Elliot now (though he would never be on par with JD-he had Dr. Cox, king of Sacred Heart, for help). Padma seemed confused at first from the switch up, but she could handle the patients on her own. She was perfect.

Doug was walking down the hallway when he ran in, actually, to JD, who was crouched down hidden by a gurney.

“Hey, Doug! You see the janitor around? No, oh that is fabulous. So, long time no talk. How’ve you been? I’ve been super. Turk took me to the carnival last night. Don’t you think clowns are just dandy? No? You’re petrified of them? How interesting. Anyhoo, how’s life?”

Doug blinked his eyes, and an idea so fabulous came into his mind he had to dance around. This is what he got from prolonged exposure to the thing known as JD’s mouth.

“JD, everyone knows you somehow made Dr. Cox forget all about Jordan and come running to your arms. Yes, everyone knows. No, please do not start making out in the hallways. The point is, how do you make someone like Dr. Cox fall in love with you?”

JD smiled and turned his head into Official Daydream Position. Doug had to smack him lightly for him to stay in this world. JD opened his mouth and told the most ridiculous story ever.

“Well, I somehow magically started seeing this guy named Rob. He was lovely. Trained ponies for young children’s birthday parties. I then realized I was gay and in love with my mentor. I had to break it to Rob; thought he would cry, but told me to be 100% true to Dr. Cox. I said, no silly I do not want to risk being killed by googly eyes alone. So Rob said to write a letter and pour my heart out. I did that. It worked. Now we occasionally partake in the horizontal hokey-pokey and hold hands while we walk around his apartment. Oh dear, janitor’s a-comin’. Bye Doug!”

-----------------
On Padma’s last day, she did a number of things. First she packed, last minute as always did her no harm. Then she broke it off with Nick, which might have been hard, if he wasn’t already making love eyes at some nurse from dermatology. Then she went out with ‘the girls’.

“Oh Padma, you do not know how much I am going to miss having you around. It is awesome to be able to talk to someone so much like me, share style and stories of the random major league sports coaches we have fantasized about. Carla just does not recognize the beauty of a middle aged coach of a squash team. Oh, Rutherford. But you just bring such an ethnic spunk to the place. Can I borrow those shoes? They remind me of good ole bloodstained.”

Worst of all was saying goodbye to Doug. He had been avoiding her lately, and she didn’t know why. She’d ask him what was wrong and he’d mumble something about being declined for a fanclub for those fluent in Elvish, but that was a lie. She had seen the newsletter that came weekly.

He was the one to drive her to the International Portkey Station. He didn’t really say anything until they were on the highway. Then all he talked about was portkeys. What were they? How did they work?

“Doug, what’s wrong? You can tell me whatever. It’s hard for me to leave, I’ve gotten used to this place. I’ll miss you.”

And that seemed to strike something in him, for his face scrunched up and his eyes blazed.

“Really, will you? Who would miss me? Poor stuttering Doug Murphy. Especially, why would someone like you miss me? Popular, pretty, perfect. What about your boyfriend, will you miss him?”

Padma gasped and then hit a brick wall of realization. The change, the confidence boost, the clothes were all for her. Because Doug liked her. And she had thrown all this Nick stuff in his face.

“Oh Doug. I am so sorry. I didn’t know. I’m so insensitive. All this was for me, wasn’t it?”

They pulled up to the station. As Doug pulled the key from the ignition, Padma leaned over slightly and pulled his face to hers…

And promptly almost missed her Portkey.

Now, Epilogue!

Padma Patil walked down Diagon Alley, similarly to the way she had before her trip to Sacred Heart. This time, she walked hand in hand with a muggle by the name of Doug Murphy.

He stuck out like a sore thumb in his muggle clothes and plastered look of amazement. Between the Quidditch match earlier, and the shops here, Doug was amazed that anything like this could have existed without his knowledge.

------------------
It was two months after Padma had left Sacred Heart. She unfortunately had to leave Doug alone so quickly after they finally realized how perfect they were for each other. As sappy as it sounds, she was so overcome with love for him that she returned only a week later to bring him over to England, the muggle way.

Doug missed Sacred Heart; he missed Elliot’s rambles and Carla’s sassiness, Turk’s jokes and JD’s extreme need to daydream at any moment. But Padma was in England, and he knew that she’d never be able to leave her friends here. Doug was confident in his abilities to make a new life for himself in England.

Confidence was a lovely thing. It was confidence that made Doug finally reveal everything to Padma. It was confidence that made him leave everything behind for her. It was also confidence that gave Doug the ability to be a dinner guest over at the Snape and Potter household. Obviously, it was like Dr. Cox with a magic wand and the lack of state controlled anger management sessions.

And it was confidence that made Doug a better doctor. In the beginning, after realizing Padma was a witch, he wondered how it was that Padma would make him a better doctor, short of magically giving him abilities. It turned out though, that she helped him gain skill by making him fall in love with her.

Wonder if Mr. Jordan Thompson of the Magic-Muggle Immersion office had thought of that when he set the whole idea up.

All in all, this little series has added up to 6,197 words! Wow!

EDIT: I am officially done with this story. I will need an intense beta who will whip it up to par before I can post it at scrubsfic and such. If you are interested or I demand you too, please say so. Thank you.

My Fanfic, Conflicting Invitations, Part One!

justspaz — Sat, 17 Mar 2007 05:42:26 GMT

Title: Conflicting Invitations.
Fandom: Scrubs/Harry Potter crossover
Rating: Teen
Pairings overall: Padma Patil/Doug Murphy; JD/Dr. Cox; Carla/Turk; and a brief mention of Snape/Harry
This part: One sided Doug/Padma, Jd/Dr. Cox, more unnecessary Snarry mentions!
Summary: Padma Patil, gifted Healer, is sent to Sacred Heart to help a muggle doctor magically.
Author's note: I cannot account for quality, rambly, attempting to be funny, crossover, random, unbetaed as of right now.
Disclaimer: Nooooot mine. Scrubs nor HP.
Dedicated: Again to newbie1990, because she's literally almost forcing me too!

It wasn’t like Padma was a complete stranger to Muggle technology. Sure, she was a pureblood, and grew up far away from plugs and television sets, but she did take Muggle Studies at Hogwarts. She knew how circuits worked and how to use a stove. But looking around the lobby of Sacred Heart, with its beeping machines and computer-run technology, it all was a bit paled in comparison.

Maybe Doug wasn’t the only one who was going to learn a thing or a million about medicine.

Speaking of her little project boy, she wondered when he’d arrive. The very nice Latina nurse whom she was introduced to before anyone else had said she’d page him to the hospital, but when she’d do this Padma didn’t know.

So she sat, fiddling with her uncomfortable Muggle lab coat, picking apart pieces of fuzz from the chair in the main lobby. She didn’t even know her way around this place, supposedly Doug’s job was to do that.

She heard the door open, and a male voice stated, to the crowd, “Doug’s here, yes I am!”

Padma picked her head up, curiously, and extended her right hand. She looked up Dr. Murphy from top to bottom: skinny, sweaty, shaking, with a shirt on under his scrubs and an odd little bag around his waist.

“Hello, I’m Padma Patil; you must be Douglas Murphy. Pleasure. Now, how does one navigate this charming establishment?” There. Formal, polite, uncaring.

“He-ey. I’m, er Doug. Sorry, uh, about that entrance. I don’t usually, uh, come in like that, obviously. But the page said I was, er, needed, and I’m never needed. So…yeah, let me show you around. You’ll be staying with me, aiight?

So that explained the sweat. ‘He’s very nervous; oh dear. That’s why I’m needed, isn’t it? To calm the nerves, so he can work without peeing himself. Fun’.
------------------------

‘Oh, goodness. Foot in my mouth or what? I’m so stupid; why can’t I just talk to a pretty girl, or any person, without coming off as a gigantic ass? Ugh!’ thought Doug nervously, as he turned to lead the way for Padma.

And she was a pretty girl. He couldn’t place her name before, still couldn’t, but she looked Indian to him. Dark, silky hair and big brown eyes. She was dressed somewhat casually, and her purple shirt popped nicely against her tan skin. Doug didn’t know how the hell he’d be able to make it through the next month without scaring her away.

He digressed, in his own mind, and moved on with the tour. They passed the lobby without much conversation, and were almost to the doctor’s lounge before anyone said anything.

It was Padma who first spoke, shaking Doug out of his nervous mind state.

“This is a nice hospital. Roomy. Large, you know? The one I come from is somewhat cramped, but then again it is the only one of its kind for miles. Besides that, tell me a bit about yourself.”

Obviously, this was not something he could get away from with just a nod of the head. Doug cleared his throat, trying to form the sentences in his mind first, but of course it came out a bit mumbled and jumbled.

“Well, I’m from Reno, which is near here, ya know? My parents, they still live there and all and it was them who wanted me to be a doctor. I wanted to, er, work with animals. Be a Vet or something, but my mother always talked about doctoring and things, so I became one. I guess its fun. Yeah. I don’t have a lot of a story prepared. People don’t usually ask about me. I’m just ‘Nervous Guy’ or ‘Peepants’ (I swear I’ve never peed my pants, Dr. Cox is just so mean) or ‘that guy’. Enough about me, yes that. You?”
---------------------

Padma had to blink her eyes a few times as she attempted to comprehend whatever Doug just had said. She followed him obediently into the Doctor’s Lounge.

No wonder why he was so nervous. No one had ever made him feel welcome, or understood why he was so helpless at what he did. It was oddly softening to this hard opinion she had of him.

She was going to open her mouth to spill her past to him when a quick pager beep went off. A doctor with a large nose and spiky hair ran by, screaming that his name was JD, that he was happy to meet her, and that he was about to ‘have a lucky moment’. The high beeping noise rang in her ears, and her wand suddenly poked her in the side.

Oh yeah. She was in a Muggle hospital. With a muggle. Who did not know about magic. She was instructed to ‘calmly introduce the magic part of your personality to your muggle counterpart without causing too much of a scene'.

“Er, Doug, there is something I’ve got to tell you. You know, it can wait. Not really, but no one else can hear. I mean they can... ok, I’m just stalling.

"There’s more to me than meets the eye. I’m here on a special task from a powerful leader of my people. The Minister for Magic. I’m a witch. A doctor, yes; we’re called healers. I’m here to help you magically.”

Doug just stared, confused. Padma tried to smile encouragingly, but it came out small and nerved.

“I’m seriously telling the truth. I don’t bugger around, playing tricks on people. You believe me? Or do you need proof?”

And again Doug just stared. Then he started to sweat. And nodded his head. And spoke.

“A witch? Like, in movies and stuff? Don’t they ride brooms and have warts, or is that stereotypical? I mean, you don’t have any warts. Like, you’re a pretty witch.”

Padma could only blush in return and explain the rest as they moved onto the Intensive Care Unit.
--------------------------

Just like Doug had learned from his cousin that it took four days for lead poisoning from a pencil stuck up one’s nose to kill them (untrue), it took four days to see some sort of pattern in his work with Padma.

She really was a witch. She had this wooden stick that made the milk he spilled on her coat disappear, and didn’t even need a thermometer to take a patient’s temperature. What he didn’t understand though, was how her magic was going to help him. Unless she had a spell that made him a miraculously better doctor, he couldn’t do those tricks she could do with her wand.

Some things were uncomfortable, especially in their living arrangements. Padma liked to eat breakfast before doing anything else in the day, and took long periods of time getting ready for work. Doug had to haul himself in his room until she was dressed and ready, and only then could he pop out into his apartment without becoming quickly embarrassed.

He was also somewhat jealous of Padma. Her sparkling personality had gained her many friends within the staff, and she frequently dined with Turk, Carla, and Elliot in the Cafeteria. Doug was stuck with Ted, wondering why his assistant didn’t invite him to join them.

His patients were happier, though, and he was too. Padma might look at him with disgust every time he said something without finishing his idea, or let Dr. Cox get to him when he messed up, but it was happening less and less. He was still so tired of this lack of self-confidence.

But she listened to his random thoughts during the day, told him jokes about her sister and family, and showed him cool spells. Doug also wasn’t laughed at by his patients, or switched off their service anymore.

But back to that pattern. Every morning they’d receive a patient, and Padma would talk about how she could combat this with magic. Then she’d turn to him, a sort of sparkle in her eyes from talking about magic. She’d flip her hair back, wiggle her nose, and ask him how he would treat this patient the ‘muggle way’. He’d become nervous, shaky, but something about her stare would get him to breathe deep, calm down, and answer that he’d need to look into it more, but the general outline seemed to be this or that.

And, again, miraculously, it would be right. And with more and more of this pattern, patient after patient, day after day, Doug realized it took four days to develop a really, really, serious crush.
---------------------------------

Padma had learned it took 10 days to assimilate somewhat into the cliques of a hospital. Well, for her at least. In a bit less than a fortnight she had been at Sacred Heart, she’d already gained a lunchtime retreat, some gossip gals, and some sort of friendships.

She’d arrive at the hospital, which was actually charming and large once you started moving around, with Doug, and do a dash of confidence building with him before saddling off to gab with Elliot about the new celebrity divorce/love affair/baby adoption that was so popular in Hollywood.

She’d tell the nurses a bit about what medicine was like over in England, even if she couldn’t exactly tell them she was a witch. She wasn’t even exactly sure of what she had to do. Even though she could do magic with her wand, how was that going to translate into helping Doug with his doctor kit?

On this fine day, Padma happened to be sitting in the cafeteria, stirring her coffee with a plastic spoon, and kicking her legs back and forth. Nurse Roberts was talking about the biggest hospital couple, some intimidating doctor named Cox and his little ex. protégé, JD. She was listening absentmindedly on and off, and staring off into space.

“So I’ve heard that Jordan, that child has been going out with five different guys a week, just playing it up. Doctor Cox is so tired with the moaning and groaning that comes with her smuggling those boys into their guest room that he’s been making a racket with Dr. Dorian. Its like, some adultery sex battle, like monkeys in the Amazon do. Ummhmm.”

Padma just had to snort; she hadn’t heard anyone say ummhmm since, well the war. It had been a fortnight after the final battle, and she and Parvati had been visiting Seamus Finnegan in St. Mungo’s. Their second year Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Gilderoy Lockhart was skipping around. One of the nurses had asked him if he’d like to bloody well calm down and stop disturbing the children, and all her had said was “Ummhmm sister” and gone shuffling back to his ward.

But no, she mustn’t think of that now. Just then, her pager went off. A page from Doug sent her up to the ICU, leaving her memory behind.

Elliot was going in the same direction, and decided to gab about her brother Barry. As much as she liked talking with the girls at the hospital, she missed gossiping with Cho, Lavender, Parvati, and sometimes Hermione about the new Minister of Magic (“She is tough as nails, but her you seen her nails? Ugh!”, or about their own famous couples (“Well, I heard that old Mr. Cromley caught Potter and Snape in the back isles, near the lubricant potions!”)

It took 10 days for Padma Patil to discover that she was dreadfully homesick.
-------------------------------

In exactly two weeks into this project (halfway through), Doug Murphy realized how completely different Padma was from all the girls he’d ever met, and also how she was exactly the same.

For example, every time Doug drove her to work in the morning, instead of nervously applying last minute makeup, Padma would stare out the windows, engrossed in the palm trees, as she talked about what she had dreamed the night before.

She said that while in school, she had learned how to observe dreams; how to predict things out of them, or study their patterns. While she didn’t really think highly of premonitions, Padma did believe in studying what dreams possibly could mean.

Doug knew what his dreams meant. Every morning he’d wake up happy and cheerful, and then remember something really random that Padma had said the day before.

Yet, she still treated him as all girls did. He’d twitch involuntarily or say something stupid like the first thing on his mind. She’d look at him with eye’s wide, confused about why he was so…silly. She’d twitter and giggle at his little flubs while speaking to Dr. Cox.

In all this time, he had discovered he was still almost exactly the same as at the beginning. He was nervous all the time, and still forgot very important medications for his patients. Padma would click her tongue when he messed up a prescription, disappointedly.

He knew what kind of guys she’d go for. Tall, dark, and handsome, with a sensitive side, and enough differences to make things interesting (but not too many to make things always argumentative). They were always smart and funny, and these guys really knew how to command a crowd.

And every day, Doug would look at himself. He was mid-height, skinny and pale. He was overtly sensitive and always cried at the end of a nice Rom-Com. While Padma liked Sports and tinkering with things (so unlike most other girls), he preferred reading magazines and cycling. He was dumb and dull, and no one ever paid attention to little ole Doug.

And with all these uncertainties and doubts about his character and career, Doug realized that it took 14 days for someone to be willing to change almost everything about themselves for someone.

-------- ---------

One more part, at least!

Prologue of my Doug/Padma fic, as requestly by newbie1990

justspaz — Sat, 10 Mar 2007 18:25:07 GMT

Well, she requested it. Multiple Times. And I said I would deliver. I thought this was going to be some short thing, but I just got to introducing them to each other and it's already 985 words.

Title: Conflicting Invitations, for now. Melikes it.
Fandom: Scrubs/Harry Potter crossover
Rating: Teen
Pairings overall: Padma Patil/Doug Murphy; JD/Dr. Cox; Carla/Turk; and a brief mention of Snape/Harry
This part: JD/Cox and Snarry mentions
Summary: Padma Patil, gifted Healer, is sent to Sacred Heart to help a muggle doctor magically.
Author's note: I cannot account for quality, rambly, attempting to be funny, crossover, random.
Beta: My good friend, Carly
Disclaimer: Nooooot mine. Scrubs nor HP.
Dedicated to newbie1990, because she's very persuasive.

Padma Patil was not in a good mood.

Maybe it was the dreary weather; the drip-drip of the rain as it stormed down outside, mixing with fog. Maybe it was the double shift she was currently partaking in as an Intern of Magical Healing at the famous wizarding hospital, St. Mungo’s.

Or maybe it was because of the lone piece of parchment-no, lined paper- residing in her clutched fist. Said letter was an invitation.

“Ha, invitation! The only invitation I’ve ever seen like this was something that came out of Dumbledore’s mouth!” scoffed Padma, as she sat a coffee break in the Healer’s Lounge.

It was from the Ministry for Magic; a formal request for Padma to spend some time interning at a Muggle Hospital, helping a doctor there with her ‘special gifts for healing and magic’.

Ever since the End of the War and the Fight Against You-Know-Who Whom we are No Longer Afraid to Call Voldemort Because we Can See How Weak He Really Was, the Ministry had been very keen on ‘immersing magical culture and beliefs into muggle society' for the belief that it would benefit both groups.

And it was benefiting them all; Wizards were less afraid of muggles, and the certain muggles that had learned of magic accepted it. Padma just didn’t know why she had to be the intern to go to ‘Sacred Heart Hospital’ to aid one ‘Douglas Murphy’ with her healing talents.

Perhaps it was because of Jordan Thompson, the man behind most of these immersions. She had worked for him before he had been promoted, after Hogwarts and the war. As soon as she had finally gotten a place in the Healing Programme, she quit her job and broke off their silly little Mates with Benefits fling.

And it was now coming back to bite her in the arse. Five days till she was in Sunny Muggle California helping some incompetent with the job he was already supposed to be able to do.

The rain still drip-dripped against the window.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Doug Murphy, on the same hand, was having a miserable day. Already, two of his patients had coded, one had become septic, and three others had switched off his service. He only had one patient left, and that one was in a coma.

He walked slowly into the Doctor’s Lounge, head down and feet shuffling against the tile, and made his way to the empty couch. ‘Days of our Lives’ was on the TV. Dr. Cox had just left, flicking his head and telling him to “Nooooooooooooot even think in that little brain of yours about changing the channel”. He also said something about going to find Hannah so he could pull her pigtails and make her do a procedure he was in no mood to do.

In the meantime, Doug pulled out a piece of paper from his Fanny Pack. He reread its contents slowly while sucking on a red lollipop.

It was a plain letter on computer paper, from England, stating that one of the best from their medical program was going to be spending some time in an American hospital, and would be glad to aid him in his weaker areas.

“Great. Even people in England know how crappy I am at being all doctory. I don’t know why I just don't quit and go back to school!”

“Well, beca-uh-use that would be way to easy for the rest of us, and how would the big man in the sky or the devil in hell himself get to torture us for our sins?” Dr. Cox was back, sporting a nice little hickey and some scratches from too sharp nails.

‘Way to be subtle, Dr. Cox and JD,’ Doug thought to himself after he was kicked off the couch and saw JD reapplying Chapstick to his dry lips.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
‘Tomorrow’s the day, that wonderful day,’ mused Padma to herself as she walked down Diagon Alley to pick up some Potions for the trip. There was no way to get any there, and she was going to be in muggle territory for a month. She needed the best; she needed Snape’s Apothecary. As she popped in, searched around, and made her purchase, she thought of spending some time in a new place. It had been 2 years since she left England, and the weather was getting to her. California was sunny, it was fresh, and it was new.

As she popped out of the store, waving to Harry at the counter as he bickered with Snape (an odd sight, to see them together, for most, but Padma knew Harry well), she stocked up on the things she’d be most homesick for, and went home.

------
It was raining again, the morning that Padma set off for the International Portkey Station. Skipping over eight time zones was no easy task, and she’d have to take a lay over in New York. Her bags packed to the top with her cutest summer clothes and necessities, she waved goodbye to her sister Pavarti, and grasped the sharp soup can.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Doug was setting up his guest room in his apartment, fluffing a pillow for ‘Padma Patil’ and trying to make the dusty room habitable for anyone, when his pager went off stating he was needed at Sacred Heart.

Trying to smother down the happiness from being ‘needed’ for anything, Doug ran to put on his scrubs, accidentally putting two legs into the same leg hole. He rush-rush-rushed out the door, and by the time he was there he was as calm as possible (meaning minimal sweating and only slight stuttering) for his big moment!

As he skipped into the side entrance, he was quickly stopped by a woman he had never met before, in clothes very similar to what Elliot would wear. She extended her hand warily, and stated that she was Padma Patil.

And so the month began.

boheme06, Look at which you have made me drabble!

justspaz — Sun, 31 Dec 2006 18:54:08 GMT

Title: The Great Cross-Fandom Eyebrow-Off
Pairings: IMPLIED Jon/Stephen(in character) and Harry/Snape.
Rating: soo PG
Summary: So, Lia told me to crossover drabble. This is surely the first to come of many crack!drabbles.
The Eyebrow of Stephen Colbert
The Eyebrow of Severus Snape *replacement image*

Stephen arches his eyebrow, delicately and high like a soaring American flag, egging on his opponent.

Snape quirks his frown into a smirk, taking the challenge as he gracefully contorts his own eyebrow into a menacing feature.

“Anti-American COMMIE,” Stephen spits out in his mind, fueling with rage over the counter-challenge by this foreigner.

Severus thinks nothing, or if he does, he’s using that special occlumency on Stephen (which makes the Baby Jesus sad).

When Jon and Harry come to escort them from their mandatory Anger Management Session two hours later, Stephen and Snape haven’t moved their brows a millimeter.

2 JD/Cox Drabbles. Slashy McPlashy.

justspaz — Sat, 23 Dec 2006 04:24:01 GMT

Well, I was inspired yesterday, and wrote these, and now here they are and I think they are actually somewhat decent. Eh.

My "beta" is my wonderful friend Carly, who read them, said they seemed super duper , and then stopped there.

One: Birthdays Are Just Super.
Rating: PG.
Warnings: Nada
Summary: It's Perry's birthday.
Pairing: JD/Cox

Many, many things had gone wrong today.

First, Perry woke up, got dressed, and then realized he was not only off today, but it was his birthday.

Then, no one wished him one. It wasn’t like birthdays mattered anyway, but still…

After two scotches and a medium pizza, the doorbell rang, and he sprinted over to answer it.

It was Newbie, grinning, with a box wrapped in gaudy gold paper, and a six-pack. Perry frowned, nodded him in, and took the box. Then the beer.

After three bottles, two hours, and one sloppy kiss, Perry decided birthdays weren’t all bad.

Two:Rhythmic
Rating: PG-13?
Warnings?: Nothing
Summary: The Progression of a relationship
Pairing: JD/Cox

Nibble, suck, lick. It was some kind of rhythmic pattern for them now. Hidden in the mangy supply cabinet, their own personal closet, they only had a few minutes a day for that sweet release.

Bite, kiss, moan. It progressed to their apartments; their beds. This odd sort of intoxication that came from being with someone so wrong for you was cliché and addicting. And fantastic.

Smile, laugh, talk. They began to express themselves in words; words that didn’t start a world war. They were in so deep, and it was just so perfect.

Love, live, forever. They were happy.

Cream Coloured Wedding Dresses

justspaz — Thu, 17 Aug 2006 01:44:23 GMT

I haven't written any fanfiction in forever, andwhen I do, I right GEN? WTF? Has the world gone so insane that I'm actually writing not only GEN, but HET?

Anyhoo, this is a Lily Evans Potter fic! She decided to be a drama queen and not leave my head until I wrote about her.

So, I did.

Here it is! Enjoy!

11 year old girls usually had thoughts of weddings and children, which was completely normal. They thought of frilly white dresses, cakes, and of course their own Prince Charming to sweep them off their feet. They also thought of babies and names, toys and sending their own kids off to school like their own mummies did.

So it was perfectly understandable for Lily Evans to dream of these things too. After all, she was a normal little girl, and she grew up on fairy tale stories of happy endings. She wanted to name her daughter something pretty and feminine; a flower name like her own. Her son would probably be names after his father, or maybe a family member. Her wedding dress would be creamy white, with bows and lace and red roses.

Yes, Lily Evans liked that she was a normal girl that thought of normal things. Until that one day, when she found out she was not quite normal.

A 13 year old Lily Evans walked through Hogsmeade with her friends. It was a fall day, and her first trip to an actual magical town. While walking down the main street, she noticed a formal dress robe shop filled with beautiful wedding robes. She remembered her 11 year old thoughts, and while some of her dreams seemed juvenile now (Pony-drawn carriages?), she still couldn’t wait till the day she walked down the aisle, with her wizard prince at her side.
She continued walking, until her group reached Honeydukes. The door was opened for her, and she looked to the person who opened it.

“Good afternoon Evans,” James Potter, arrogant and proud, said to her with his trademark wink and smile.

And all she offered was a meek thanks, and entered the shop.

16 year old Lily walked down the dark corridor during her prefect duties, and let her mind wander to those thoughts of weddings and children. Times were dangerous lately, with a dark wizard running loose; but lives still went on. People started families to show that He wouldn’t bring them down. She wanted the same, but it came to the point where she wondered if her Prince-Charming-Wizard-Future-Husband-Thingy even existed.
She rounded a corner, turning back to Gryffindor Tower, when she heard the muffled laughter from a closet. Her duty entailed her to check up upon this, and when she opened the door, she was faced with a beat red James Potter and his silly little map.

And she smiled, and left him off with a detention with whoever was free and a sleepy goodnight.

With her lace dress on, and her pretty red rose bouquet, an 18 year old Lily Evans made her way down the aisle of the church. Her smile never faltering, she kept her gaze on only one person in the room.

James Potter. Her very-soon-to-be husband.

It was finally her big day: the day with the flowers and lacy dress; with her friends and family staring at her with tears in their eyes. She was getting married, just like she always knew she would.

A 21 year old Lily Potter rocked her son to sleep when she heard the door slam open. She looked at her little boy in her arms, the perfect son who never cried and always could make her smile, and began to worry like she had never before.

They had been found.

She put little Harry in his crib, and heard her husband try to barter with that evil man for his life. She sensed the green flash, and knowing He was coming for them now. Lily’s thoughts were only on her son, and when Lord Voldemort broke down the nursery’s door and pointed his wand at her, she stood her ground. He told her she was foolish, and would let her live if she just moved out of the way. In the end, when he spoke those two terrible words at her, she knew that her little dreams from her 11 year old days meant something for her son.

A Scrubs fanfic.

justspaz — Mon, 26 Jun 2006 18:07:10 GMT

My second Scrubs fanfic, this one has JD/Dr.Cox hints, an over use of the phrases 'peachy keen' and 'little ole' and Jordan calling JD guygal. Enjoy!

Some days at Sacred Heart are just plain ole peachy keen days. Well as plain ole peachy keen as they can where there are sick people and dying people and cranky people and what not. I usually encounter all 3 types of the not so peachy keen (I must stop saying that. Damn Mrs. Turk for sending us all peach cobbler.) people everyday and sometimes I encounter the special fourth type of people on the special days.

Angry People.

Today Dr. Cox came in all mad and his hair was frizzy and his eyes more googly than usual. Jordan …strutted… behind him, smirking. Yay, a fight! She turns to all of us (meaning Carla, who is filing her nails, Turk, who is staring at Carla’s boobs as she files her nails, Elliot, who is trying to avoid Carla’s boobs, but cannot because she has a crick in her neck, and me, who is defiantly staring at both Carla and Elliot’s boobs, and wondering how Carla got her nails so shiny.) and coughs. Of course we look up, remembering what happened to Lonnie that time he did not look up.

“Hey guys, gals, and guygal. Guess what little ole Perry did this morning? He told me that maybe I should visit my mother’s house alone, which is odd, because I never mentioned wanting to visit there. So, I’m gonna lock him in one of these patient rooms here while I go tell you all his dirty little secrets. For funsies. Who’s with me?” she has a predatory look in her eyes, and I try to look away, but it’s a failed attempt. She smirks. Oopsies. She caught me. Abort! Abort!

“What was that for guygal (her new and very hurtful nickname she has given me. It makes me feel like a transvestite, and I like my jibblits too much for that, even if they have fabulous clothes.)? Afraid of little ole Jordon (she’s doing that little ole bit a little too bit much.)? Now why would you be? Its not like you were the reason Perry here decided to tell me to take a hike?” Her eyes narrow.

“Or was it?” Oops. Caught.

“I plead the fifth!” I announce, remembering it from a cop show. I don’t know what it means, but it sounds official. While she has this confused look on her face, I run.

Then I remember where I am. The hospital. Meaning one person will be there to stop me. The last thing I remember before my world goes dark is that the Janitor has a new mop. It’s shiny and blue. I like it.

Scrubs fanfiction. oh my oh my oh my

justspaz — Thu, 15 Jun 2006 00:40:00 GMT

So I wrote this for school. For a magazine project.

I love it to death, will you?

Spoilers: Ya know that window in My Transition (S5 finale. The 2.5 weeks one?) this fits well there.

A Diary Entry of Dr. John M Dorian:

Dear Diary (does that sound too girly? Cause I don’t think so),

After looking through the whole hospital for you, I finally found you in the janitor’s closet of all places. Why would it be there? I mean the only person who goes in there is the Janitor himself. Hmm…
Well, any who, I found you, which is good because lately a lot of things have been going down at Sacred Heart. First off, Elliot is on vacation back home in Connecticut, which means we are more understaffed then usual, and I think I’ve been on call for about 400 hours in a row. Since I’m here so much, I’ve come to a few conclusions.
First, I think the Janitor lives here at the hospital. I mean, every time I’m here, he’s here. At first I thought he just found out my schedule and was just stalking me. But then I realized he was here even on my switched shifts. And even if he still lived in that house of his or whatever, the fact that he’s always here would be strange. Most people employed here at Sacred Heart try to skedaddle outta here as soon as possible, ya know what I mean…? Well, everyone except Ted, but I mean he works 7 days a week, and when he goes home, he goes home to only his mother and his cats. And I think everyone would rather stay at Sacred Heart than with that.
Secondly, I think that Jordan and Dr. Cox are in a fight. A big one. One that can’t be solved with their…usual tactics. He’s sleeping in his office first of all. How do I know this you ask? Well, I was in need of advice for a patient, and of course I always go to Dr. Cox cause well he’s Dr. Cox. When I burst into his office, I realized he was off call, but still was there. Sleeping. Then he woke up and went on one of his rants…which I think went along the lines of bla bla bla *insert girl’s name* bla bla bla What the *insert curse word* are you doing here, in my personal space bla bla bla when there are other QUALIFIED doctors, unlike yourself Newbie bla bla bla I re-hih-hih-ally hope this is important, or I will hang you from the flag pole by your lacy panties and let the big, burly interns poke you in your love handles.
Spenny ways, he’s also been a lot meaner lately. He’s gone on 6 girl’s name rants and is even yelling at Carla (which got him a slap in the face, thank you very much…not from me of course, from Carla). Jordan’s been ignoring him when she does her usual daily 12:37 p.m. strut down the halls. Which of course drives him insane. And yes I asked him what’s wrong and yes he yelled at me and called me Rosalina (strange though, it’s not Monday, which means it’s not Ethnic Day).
Getting this all behind us, I’ve had some other things on my mind. Coming up is my attending level evaluation. After all my years being a doctor, I think I’m good enough, I really do. But lately I’ve been wondering if I really am, or if I just think I am. I don’t know why I started to doubt myself.
You know what? I’m going to ask Dr. Cox. I’ll be right back (that’s brb in internet lingo).
Backerz (ha, Zs make everything cooler!). At first Dr. Cox was no where close to serious, but then I yelled at him. A lot. So he decided to be serious. He told me a little story about when I had intern evaluations. He said that even from back then he had singled me out from the other interns as someone to watch out for, because one day I could be an excellent doctor. I thanked him and he told me to get outta there.
People always ask me, how can you stand Dr. Cox? How can you stay behind him and follow all his harsh words and rare kind ones? The truth is that even when Dr. Cox goes on his rants that make people like Elliot and Doug tear and/or cry, I know that he’s really trying to help us. Because without constructive criticism, people won’t ever change. So its times like these, ones where he treats me nicely for just one second, which make up for all those harsh words and rants and girl’s names.
Back on tract to my original topic: Elliot’s vacation and my increased time at the hospital. I know that I hate the fact I have to be here so much, but when she returns from her brother Barry’s something or other, I’ll miss it. I’ve gained a lot of knowledge these past few days; that I can make it pass the Janitor, that Jordan can get really moody when pregnant, and that Dr. Cox really cares about all of us. Well maybe not Doug.
Ooo, and I’ve also learned that Floating Head Doctor would make an excellent Pirate! But that’s a story for another time.
Well, I’m off call now, which means Turk and Carla are bringing me to the Carnival (I wonder if I can get my face painted like a cougar, roar!) and then to the bar for a nice, cold Appletini.