A Piece of the Forest, Left Out By Mistake

New Fic! New Girl: somewhere i have never traveled, gladly beyond...

ladychi — Sat, 17 Aug 2013 01:04:55 GMT

Title: somewhere i have never traveled, gladly beyond...
Author: Me, ladychi
Rated: Teen for profanity and brief mentions of sexy behavior.
Fandom and pairing: New Girl, Nick/Jess
Summary: Nick and Jessica take a roadtrip. Daytime Nick and Nighttime Nick fight for who has control.

A post Season-Two finale fic.

The author takes limited responsibility for the amount of profanity in this story. The characters in my head are all potty-mouthed. And sexually active.

“No. I think we should do this. I think we should have kinky sex at a cheap motel. I think we should go buy clothes at the thrift shop tomorrow, put a full tank of gas in the station wagon and see where the road takes us. I think we should just... be, for a little bit, Nick. Don’t you?” She looks at him from underneath her lashes, the way she does sometimes, and it just about kills him.

Scrapbook: My Writer's Drawer

ladychi — Sun, 21 Apr 2013 00:51:17 GMT

Just leaving these here... Little scraps and bits of this and that. Projects that are currently "abandoned" or "on hold". Thought you all might enjoy them!

The Automaton's Apprentice -- Supposed to be sort of a steampunk adventure, about a little girl who is rescued from a fire by a automaton, and grows up to defend him (and their eventual love) from others who would deem it "wrong"... While being a master Automater herself. Feminist and social commentary and blah blah blah. I think big ambitions killed this project before it got off the ground.

She was ten years old, and she knew from across the room that Grift was dead. Something in the way his body was bent told her it wasn’t natural, it wasn’t survivable. It was bone-deep wrong, and she had to run, because if they’d find Grift, they would surely find her. There wasn’t any time to honor the boy who’d found her in the wreckage of her home, pried her away from the bodies of her parents and, in his way, saved her life.

**

The Train to Nowhere -- An Elliot and Delilah piece about a train that takes them to a place where there is a lake of fresh water that hasn't dried up, in the middle of the Drought of the Centuries. Elliot, as previously revealed, is a Rainmaker, but can only bring about rain at a terrible (human) price. The beginning of the piece clips along but then sputtered and died out somewhere along the way -- possibly because Story Cannot Survive on Clever Dialogue Alone.

By the time the train slowly came to a stop, Elliott and Delilah had managed to get some sleep, despite Elliott’s efforts to the contrary, and most of their fellow passengers had been grateful for the break from the constant bickering, and said as much as they departed the car. It had been hot in Deer Born when they left -- summer was unforgiving in this part of the world, and the heat of the day had necessitated traveling by night, so when they arrived at Traver’s Station, morning was just breaking.

“The train stops here until morning,” the uniformed railroad employee told everyone aboard. “We recommend you enjoy the hospitality of one of the inns in town until the heat of the day passes.”

Delilah and Elliott stepped off the train and into the bright light of day. Something immediately struck them as eerie, as they surveyed the town in front of them. “You know, it’s funny,” Elliott said, “I was expecting a bit…. More.”

“More?” Delilah looked around. She saw everything she expected. A saloon. A row of quaint little shops, full of clockmakers and dry goods stores. Something, however, tingled on the edge of her conscience. “From a little Podunk town in the middle of nowhere?”

“Yes. I was expecting, you know. People.”

“There are people here.” Delilah gestured broadly. “They’re just—a little slow to get up this morning.”

“I doubt it. Listen.” The professor held a finger to his lips. “Do you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“Exactly. There’s none of the bustle of life. Where are the animals? Where are the early-morning peddlers and the children crying from their cribs?”

“I just knocked on the door of the hotel. Damn thing’s stuck or something,” said one of the passengers from their car, an older lady named Irene. “Doesn’t appear to be anyone there.”

“Nor at the saloon,” said a red-faced Timothy Dulan. “Though the door’s wide open.”

“Yes, we can see that,” the professor drawled, and then smacked his hands together. “Well. This is indeed a…”

“Mama!” One of the children from the train shouted from a few hundred yards away. “Mama, look! Water!”

Delilah looked over at Elliott. “Water.”

He was already crossing the field to investigate. Delilah had to rush, her full traveling skirts impeding her movement. She was out of breath and red in the face before she stopped, joining the professor and the boy over an open pool of… water. Far larger than a pool, or a puddle, it stretched out as far as the horizon. It might have been called a lake. Her mouth dropped open.

“Oh, my dear sweet Lord in heaven. It’s a miracle.”

The professor raised an eyebrow at her. “It might be.”

“It might be? Professor, I’m twenty-eight years old and I’ve never seen open water like this.”

“Yes, I know.” The Professor shook his head. “Why do you suppose that is?”

Before he could say any more, the other passengers aboard the train flocked to the shoreline, murmuring to each other and oohing and aahing.

“Yes, yes, it’s all very exciting,” the professor said in a loud voice, until everyone was paying attention to him. “I know, you’ve never seen anything like it in all your years, et cetera… but I must insist that whatever happens, you do not have any contact with the water.”

“What?” The red-faced Timothy Dulan asked incredulously. “It’s a hundred degrees out here, easy! I can’t think of anything I’d like more than a good dip in that water.”

“Yes. It’s a large body of water. Outside an abandoned town.” Elliott raised his eyebrows and waited for folks to do the math. It took considerably longer than he might have expected.

“Wait. You’re saying… the water may have something to do with it?”

Elliott sighed. “Top of your class, Irene. Top of your class.”

“So, what do we do now?” Delilah asked.

“We’ve got a large body of water and an abandoned town.” Elliot raised his eyebrows. “What do you think we’re going to do?”

“So what you’re saying is we’re stuck here for a little bit.”

“It might not take me that long to figure it out.”

“You’ve got one night,” the conductor said, approaching the group standing around the water. “Frankly, we’re all a little freaked out right now. I’ve got a crew willing to work doubles just to get away from this place.”

Elliot looked genuinely puzzled. “Why aren’t you taking them up on it, then?”

“Not the best idea to have engineers driving a multi-ton machine, I’ve found. It’s a good way to ensure you have accidents.”

A crowd of railroad employees was starting to gather behind the conductor, grim expressions on their faces.

“Are you going to have a revolt on your hands?” Delilah asked.

“No.” The conductor’s voice was firm. “I think everyone from the train should stick together, though. There’s enough room at the old hotel that we can all stay there. No one wanders off, no one gets lost, no one gets dead, and we leave in one piece tomorrow.”

“That’s a good plan,” Elliot said approvingly. He waited until the conductor was out of earshot before he turned to Delilah. “I have a feeling that man is out of his depth.”

“You think so?” Delilah shrugged. “Who knows. This could turn out all right.”

“Delilah, my darling, I do love your optimism.”

Delilah adjusted her hat and straightened her skirt. “A little hope, professor. Looking on the bright side. Something terrible doesn’t happen every time we run into a weird situation.”

“Perhaps not,” the professor allowed, “but the numbers are on my side.”

**

Slow Bleed-- Sequel to I Ain't Afraid of Emily May. We left our hero, Nate, fatally wounded, as you might recall. He survived, much to his chagrin, but the wound given to him by the ghost blade refuses to heal. This makes him a little crabby. And he wasn't a charmer before. Where did this story go wrong? Hm, unsure. I think perhaps some of the weaknesses of the Emily May verse may need to be worked out before this one "clicks".

Let me tell you something about long-term rehabilitation: it’s not for pussies. Nurses are hardasses the likes of which the Marines would be proud to call their own, sponge baths (oddly) get old, and the food is straight-up terrible, and I’ve been a bachelor living on Kraft Mac ‘N Cheese for twenty-odd years. So I know from terrible.

My name is Nate Hannigan and I wouldn’t be in this mess if it weren’t for my cousin Annie and an over-developed sense of guilt. See, seventeen years ago, my cousin Callie and I were not intelligent enough to leave well enough alone, and she paid for our stupidity with her life when Emily May – a seriously pissed off ghost, filleted her right in front of my eyes.

One of my other relatives – a second cousin, actually, Annie… just a few months ago, she accidentally summoned the same force, and like some suicidal idiot, I answered the call and came home, hoping to destroy the thing that had destroyed my life. I took a gut blow from a metaphysical knife in the struggle to save Annie, and I wound up here.

To be perfectly honest with you, the fact that I’m alive is a real cog in the works of my life plan. I haven’t been saving for retirement. I’ve got cut-rate health insurance, an ancient car, and a… uh, when I’m being optimistic I call it a “flexible” career…

And now I’ve got a stomach wound that hasn’t stopped slowly seeping blood for three months. Every time they stick a needle in me, I see dollar signs. At this point, I’m considering indentured servitude as a method of paying off the medical bills I’m racking up.

What may be worse than that, though, is that I seem to have acquired, whether I wanted to or not, the attention of my cousin Beth. And her daughter, Annie. Having lived without the tender loving care of any of the women in my family for so long, I’m finding their insistent presence in my rehab to be a little, uh…

“Uncle Nate! Are you trying to lift weights? Are you insane?”

Smothering. Smothering’s the word I was looking for.

“No, I’m not,” I said, hastily putting down the dumbbell I had been contemplating the same way a starving man contemplates berries which might or might not be poisoned. On the one hand: death. On the other hand…

“Good.” Annie stalked in the room, tossing her backpack in the corner of the gym. “Are you about done with your exercise… things?”

“Yeah.”

“Good, then you can help me out.”

“Whoa. Wait. No. Can’t you see I’m a broken man?”

Annie lifted one of her eyebrows at me. It was a look her mother had perfected. It felled grown men committing random acts of stupidity with the greatest of ease. I was vulnerable, wounded. It didn’t even take a half-second to break me.

“I’m sorry. I guess the uh… right thing to ask here would be, ‘help you with what?’”

“A ghost problem.”

“See, you got me with the eyebrow thing before, but when it comes to this stuff, I’ve got an iron backbone, kid, and I can tell you right now that there is no fucking way I am helping you with any fucking ghosts. No sir.”

“Uncle Nate –“

“No puppy-dog eyes. No pouty lips. We stay out of the way of ghosts while we’re hooked up to IVs, kid. That’s just my standard-fucking-rule. You don’t want to be dicking around with the supernatural when you’re vulnerable. And you shouldn’t be dicking around with the supernatural at all.”

“The nurses are scared.”

I blinked. Slowly. Tried to wrap my head around my astounding luck. “There’s a ghost here. In the hospital.”

“And he finally catches up. Honest to God, Uncle Nate, how did you survive without me?”

“Lots of alcohol, self-hate, and an overarching sense of mission, really.”

“Not a therapist,” Annie said.

The Great Harry Potter Reread of 2013: Prologue

ladychi — Sun, 13 Jan 2013 04:56:39 GMT

Spurned on by the adventures of pinstripers16 as she boldly returns to that which made our adolescence and early-college careers so great, I have decided to reread the entirety of the Harry Potter series over the course of several weeks. I will be blogging about it here.

The box, which had in a former life held eggs, contained a number of things I'd largely forgotten: a comb with several strands of hair colored not like mine, a set of Buffy DVDs I must return to papilio_luna before I die, and the box set of Harry Potter I'd purchased with a tax return from back in the days when I couldn't afford to eat but could absolutely afford books.

It's not that I had forgotten I owned them. But I'd forgotten the box it came in. I'd forgotten the crease right in the middle of The Sorcerer's Stone. I'd forgotten marking pages with highlighters and scribbling notes in the corners.

To tell you the truth, I return to this world somewhat warily. I am, after all, now several years older than the last time I seriously perused the pages. I've a lot more education (which might change the way I look at things, might remove the preconceived notions I have about characters and motivations, might call into question ideas I've defended for a long time). I've got more experience as a writer. I've got experience in this fandom, which might impede or enhance my experience. I've got more experience as an educator -- I might now find myself looking at Harry through the lens of an adult -- wondering where his parents are, wondering why he had no strong advocate throughout the series.

Or I might, you know, stick with the classics. I might admire the sheer force of will it took for Harry to practically raise himself. I might wince at Hermione's growing pains, but cheer when she gets one right. I might not understand Ron's journey this time -- or I might understand it all too well, having folded when the pressure was too high myself.

I just don't know. How am I going to feel about this?

This is why I like rereading books, actually. I'm a slightly different person. I'm going to notice slightly different things. And in truth? I've missed Harry. I'm excited to see him again. To visit his world and stay for a time. To crawl around inside his eyes and look through his eyes.

I pick up the first pages of The Sorcerer's Stone. I rub a hand over the cover -- it has a jam stain, faded. No longer sticky, but the texture's not quite right. Too many days of eating-and-reading. I take a deep breath. And dive in.

The Dursleys, of Number 4, Privet Drive, were happy to say they were perfectly normal, thank you very much...

2012 Fandom Year in Review

ladychi — Tue, 01 Jan 2013 01:04:28 GMT

Your main fandom of the year?

Of the year? Probably The Avengers. I wrote a ~~seriously embarrassing~~ lot of Steve/Darcy fic, as well as Tony/Pepper.

Your favorite film you watched this year?

The Avengers. Hands down. I was anticipating liking The Hobbit more than I did.

Your favorite book read this year?

The Fault in Our Stars by John Green. Surely not an original choice. But it is one of those perspective-changing books. It sort of takes your world and tilts it... just so.

Your favorite album or song to listen to this year?

Barton Hollow by The Civil Wars. The album, not the song. Just... what a masterpiece.

Your favorite tv show of the year?

...Supernatural. I know. I know. I came to the game late. And the fandom is... well, the poster child for insanity. But I like it, all right? How can you NOT like Jensen Ackles? Mmmmmm.

Your best new fandom discovery of the year?

Steve/Darcy? I mean. I didn't even know it was a THING. But it WAS. And it was a GLORIOUS thing.

Your biggest fandom disappointment of the year?

Bones. I can't even watch it anymore.

Your fandom boyfriend of the year?

Chris Evans split time with Jensen Ackles this year. It takes two boys to keep me happy.

Your fandom girlfriend of the year?

Kat Dennings. Girlfriend is hot.

Your biggest squee moment of the year?

Seeing all of the Avengers together. I was literally flailing my hands.

The most missed of your old fandoms?

I miss the camaraderie of the Bones fandom from its glory days for me.

The fandom you haven't tried yet, but want to?

Here's the thing about fandom and me. If I get curious about something, enough that I want to check out its fandom? Then I do. I jump in with both feet. So... nothing I haven't tried yet that I want to.

Your biggest fan anticipations for the coming year?

1) NEW IRON MAN.
2) NEW STAR TREK
3) Supernatural OMG

There you go. I'm sure that surprised no one. Have a Happy New Year, guys!

Brief Update

ladychi — Thu, 20 Dec 2012 19:31:37 GMT

I haven't posted on LJ since the 9th of November.

Um... oops?

And hello!

Things to know:

I got a different job -- I had been driving 25 minutes to work and back, and when I found it was going to become more expensive to work there (going to $30 polos as a uniform; I would have to buy at LEAST 5 because I don't do laundry on a regular basis and unclean shirts are gross), I put some serious effort into finding a position that would be closer to home and be a little closer to my personal education philosophy. I'm at a school in my hometown now, which reduced my half-hour commute to... a minute and a half. And I got a pay bump.

So, needless to say, I'm a little bit happier in my professional life.

However, when it comes to being, to be artistically fulfilled... bah.

I haven't been able to write anything of consequence for like two weeks and I'm starting to get itchy, especially since I've been trying to finish my part of a series of short stories... it's one of those things where I don't even feel a base level of satisfaction with the work I've done... it's not perfectionism kicking its ugly head up, you know? It's just an overabundance of meh.

I could write some more -- I had some thoughts after Newtown. I had some thoughts about Advent I wanted to share but... yeah. I think I'm a bit done. I'll try and write more later!

Fic: Nobody Else Gave Me a Thrill (It Had To Be You)

ladychi — Thu, 08 Nov 2012 04:17:17 GMT

Title: Nobody Else Gave Me a Thrill (It Had To Be You)
Series: Part One of The Soundtrack to Our Lives is an Old Jazz Record
Pairing: Darcy Lewis/Steve Rogers
Author: ladychi
Rating: Teen
Summary: The one where: Darcy gets a big girl job, goes shopping, charms Steve Rogers and gets to ride THE bike.

“Darcy Lewis’s phone. Darcy Lewis speaking.”

“What’s the hesitation, Lewis?”

“Stark?”

Sometimes life was one surreal shitstorm after another.

“What’s the hold up? Potts says you needed to think it over. Most people jump at an opportunity like this.”

“Do these people know you?”

“It’ll be fun! You’ll come, hang out with me and Banner in the labs, get us coffee when we need it, run interference for me... and you know, pretty much the rest of the time will be your own.”

“So build a robot. Jesus.”

“I need a person.” Tony’s voice was quiet. “I need someone who’s not afraid of me. I need someone who will draw a hard line. I need someone who has balls of steel. I need someone who has literally tazered a God. That’s in the qualifications section of the job description now.”

“You could have anyone.”

“I could. But I want you. Stop fucking around, Lewis. Take the job.”

Read it at AO3.

ladychi — Mon, 29 Oct 2012 03:48:53 GMT

I joined the cult. I got a tumblr. Follow me so I know to follow you?

http://chi-stories.tumblr.com

Fic: These Things That Scare Us (They Will Bring Us Down) (2/10)

ladychi — Mon, 15 Oct 2012 04:32:22 GMT

Title: These Things That Scare Us (They Will Bring Us Down)
Author: Me, ladychi
Rating: Mature, for violence, sexual scenarios (not in this chapter)
Fandom: Marvel's Avenger Movies
Pairings: Tony/Pepper, Steve Rogers/Darcy Lewis (Thor), Bruce/awesomeness, Natasha Romanov/James "Bucky" Barnes
Summary: The most serious of the "Bump" series thus far. The Avengers, particularly the Stark/Potts family come under fire from an unlikely source, as Pepper becomes the target of The (infamous) Winter Soldier.

The story of how the Avengers really became a family.

Catch up with the rest of the series here.

2: Strange Blue Glow (O! The Things It Brings to Light)

The meeting quickly broke up, but Tony and Natasha remained in the corner, discussing something in low and strident voices. Pepper gave them a few minutes, and then steeled herself to interrupt.

Pepper really and truly admired Natasha Romanov. She may have been a little dubious about “Natalie’s” very brief stint as Tony’s personal assistant, she may have been a little nervous, knowing Tony’s reputation, initially, but Natasha had taken good care of Tony, she hadn’t treated him with kid gloves, and she was truly excellent at kicking ass. Knowing all of this, Pepper only felt slightly anxious about what she’d agreed to do.

She interrupted Tony and Natasha’s conversation with a quick touch to Tony’s forearm. “Tony? Would you mind going to get me a glass of water?”

“There are half a dozen people here whose sole purpose is to... YOu’re glaring at me. That’s the shut-up glare, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Ah. Just so we’re all aware that I’m aware of your nefarious plan to get me out of the way. Don’t start taking off clothes until I get back.”

Pepper watched him stride off with an amused smile on her face, which slowly faded as she directed her attention to what she’d planned to do. “Natasha, I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind overly if I asked you for a favor.”

Pepper had watched Natasha during the briefing, but Natasha’s eyes focused on her and seemed clear, unclouded, for the first time.

“I don’t make deals without knowing the terms,” Natasha said, her eyes sliding away, her arms over her chest.

“I know you’ve got some experience with this Winter Soldier guy,” Pepper said, “and Tony seems to think that since we’re not going to be able to keep my condition out of the press for much longer, his attention might shift to me, and since I refuse to spend twenty-four hours a day with him.... and I’ve been taking a few self-defense classes, but...”

“Stark’s got reason to worry.” Natasha uncrossed her arms and shifted her weight. “If Winter Soldier’s primary objective is to wipe out the last of the Starks, then he will be nothing if not a completist. He’s very thorough. He’s very good... and he’s very discreet.”

“I know. That’s why I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind accepting a liaison position with Stark Industries... at least until this all blows over.”

Natasha’s lips pursed. “However this ends, I can guarantee you it won’t blow over, Ms. Potts.”

“Pepper, please.”

“All right, Pepper.” Natasha sighed. “Run it through Coulson and SHIELD. Let them know you have my okay.”

“Thanks. There just wasn’t anyone else I’d feel comfortable with.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “Most people aren’t. Comfortable with me, I mean.”

Pepper shrugged. “You have fabulous taste in boots. That goes a long way with me.”

Natasha’s mouth twitched in amusement. “Fair enough.”

**

“Sooooo. Potts is preggers.”

“Yes.”

“Knocked up. Got a bun in the oven.”

Coulson was starting to get irritated. “Yes, Darcy, she said as much. I was right there, you were right there.”

“And no one said anything. That’s the kicker. Everyone knew and no one said anything. We’re talking about Tony Stark, man. I don’t know very much about him, but I know for a fact he’s not the world’s best secret keeper. I mean, he’s definitely got some Sirius-like qualities with the charm and the questionable sexuality... I don’t doubt that he’s straight, I’m just saying he could like it both ways and it wouldn’t surprise me... but if I were James and Lily I still would have gone the Remus direction, know what I mean? There’s a dude who could keep a secret. He walked around as a werewolf for years with only one or two assholes figuring it out.”

Coulson blinked. “Darcy... nothing you just said makes any sense.”

“You know Captain America mythology front to back but you don’t know Harry Potter?” Darcy tsked. “I knew there was something off about you the moment I met you.”

“Yes, well, at that time I had a four-inch gash in my chest. That might have been it.”

“No, you were giving off dubious-geek vibes. I knew something was off about your street cred, right then. I’m adding Harry Potter to the list.”

“The list?”

Darcy sighed, as though this should be perfectly obvious. “The list of things someone should probably expose our favorite popsicle to, but probably wasn’t considered important or culturally relevant enough to make whatever list your psycho-babble experts came up with.”

“...Captain Rogers?”

“Yes. You’re a little slow on the uptake today, Phil. Everything okay?”

“Headache. Bad headache. Which, by the way, you aren’t helping.”

There was a knock on the door, and Darcy got up to answer it. “Agent Coulson?” Maria Hill stepped in the room. “Just giving you a courtesy head’s up. We’ve lost track of the potential aggressor. We’re flying blind here.”

Phil waved a hand. “We expected as much. Thanks, Maria.”

Maria ignored his dismissal. “Is Stark prepared for what’s about to hit him?”

“About as prepared as a man with his ego and a lot to lose possibly can be,” Phil said. “We’ll do our best to keep an eye on him, but the man’s practically a walking tank.”

Maria nodded. “Fair enough.” She turned on her heel and walked out.

Darcy whistled as she closed the door. “You know, I’m not a judgemental person, normally --” Phil bit back a laugh “-- but that woman is a stone-cold Ice Queen bitch if I ever saw one.”

Phil shrugged his shoulders. One thing he’d always liked about Darcy was her perceptive nature.

**

The mission was of paramount importance. Like a song stuck in his head that wouldn’t let go, or a pattern suddenly appearing everywhere where once there was randomness, he couldn’t escape the drive to complete it. It surrounded and consumed his every thought, even the ones running underneath the programming, hidden in the backbeat of the music of his thoughts, the ones that whispered he’d been here before, not for a mission, that he’d walked these streets and loved girls and had friends and...

The mission.

Kill Stark.

The mission was the only thing of importance.

The backbeat began to fade.

**

Clint appeared in Natasha’s doorway, almost without sound. She smiled when she sensed his presence -- he’d always been a good agent, and he had, from time to time, bested her, but she knew him well enough to expect him to come.

“Hey, Nat. Don’t shoot. I’m coming inside.”

“I’ll try to resist the urge,” Nat said, rolling her eyes. “I’m in the kitchen.”

“Are you … cooking?” He looked more than a little horrified by the idea.

“No. I’m making tea,” Natasha said, “and doing some packing.”

“They’re sending you out?” Clint blinked.

“No. I’m going to spend the next couple of days at Stark Industries.”

“Tony ask you to keep an eye on Pepper?”

Natasha smirked. “Sometimes you are a darling unconsciously sexist man. No. Pepper, being well aware of her limitations, asked me herself.”

“Ah. That’s good.” Clint crossed his arms. “Listen, Nat, I’m going to ask you for a favor.”

“That’s a popular choice these days.”

“I need you to level with me.” Clint cleared his throat. “How do you know The Winter Soldier?”

Natasha bit her lip and carefully arranged her features until they were blank. “I...have not thought much about him in years.”

Clint leaned in and looked at her, as though with those piercing eyes of his he could look through her pupils and straight through to her soul. “Bullshit.”

Natasha looked away. “He... was very much like me. Wiped. Reset. Over and over and over again. By the time I met him, he could not even remember his true name. We were friends, once.”

“How worried about this guy should I be?”

Natasha shrugged. “That depends.”

“How worried about you should I be? I’ve never seen you like this about a person before.”

“I will be fine. It is very likely that he is not the person who was my friend anymore. I am not the person who was his friend. We shall both endeavor to do our jobs.”

Clint nodded, like she’d given him the final piece to the puzzle he’d been trying to work out. “Then I’m going to Stark with you. Clearly you’re not in the right frame of mind to handle this by yourself.”

“Fuck you, Barton.”

He smiled. “You already have, darling. But I think there’s something more here, something more with this Winter Soldier guy and listen, you wouldn’t let me deal with something like this alone. You wouldn’t let me walk into a situation knowing I’d be compromised every step of the way. Not without some back up.”

Natasha looked away.

“You know I’m right.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Good. So -- if you need me, you know where I’ll be.”

“Just above me. Just out of sight.”

Clint grinned. “Exactly, babydoll.”

Natasha rolled her eyes.

**

“Well... today sucked.”

Pepper’s lips curved in amusement as the door to their master bedroom closed behind Tony. “I will allow that we have had better days.”

“People wanting to kill me... that’s nothing new,” Tony said, whipping his t-shirt off to expose his bare chest to the bedroom. Instantly, everything took on a slightly blue tinge. She was growing to need that hue to sleep.

“I can’t say that’s something I like to think about,” Pepper said softly, taking a cloth to her eyes to gently remove her makeup.

“No -- but it’s a fact,” Tony said, “the thing that’s new and different and exciting about this little conundrum is that you’re going to be a target too.”

“Are you about to say something that will offend my Brown sensibilities?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Potts.”

Pepper laughed. “Yes, you would.”

A quiet knock interrupted their routine.

“That’s odd,” Tony said. “JARVIS, who’s at the door?”

“Dr. Banner, sir,” JARVIS replied dutifully.

“Come on in, Bruce!”

“Tony, I’m practically naked in here,” Pepper hissed.

Tony looked confused. “You’ve got a robe on. I’ve seen you in shorts that cover less.”

“Not acceptable. You go talk to your friend out there, but get me a shirt, Tony. And some pants.”

“You’re very demanding today. Is that one of the symptoms of pregnancy? Increased demanding...ness?” Tony called as he searched through the drawers from something appropriate in Pepper’s proprietary scale. Bruce opened the door and stepped inside. Tony gestured to the master suite’s sitting area.

“Oh dear God, Tony, you’ve got an IQ of like 204 or something ridiculous, use a real word,” Pepper snapped, her hand appearing out of the bathroom door. “And give me my pants.”

Tony handed her one of his old MIT shirts and a pair of his boxers (part of the benefit of having a long-term girlfriend was getting to see her lounge around in all of his stuff) and joined Bruce at the table.

“What’s up, buddy?”

“I’d like to do a brief check-up, if that’s all right.” Bruce shrugged. “It was a long and stressful day, and with older women and pregnancy...”

“Excuse me,” Pepper said, her expression playfully upset.

“In terms of life, you are definitely not old. In terms of child-bearing...”

“Oh God. I’m in my mid-thirties. It’s not like I’m fifty year old gestating twins or something,” Pepper said under her breath.

“I’d also like to draw some blood and get started on all of that as quickly as possible,” Bruce continued, acknowledging Pepper’s teasing with a smile. “I hate to bother you at this hour, but JARVIS just informed me that you were both home.”

“That’s because we both just arrived,” Pepper said, as Bruce began to strap on a blood-pressure machine to get a reading.

“I know that curbing your work hours may not seem very practical, but can I suggest that you are already under a lot of pressure, and with today’s information come to light, it might be something you should consider? Stress and pregnancy are not good bedfellows. It’s not generally a good thing when you’re just getting home from work at...” Bruce checked his watch. “11:15 p.m.”

Tony looked a little abashed. “So, she should be working a straight 9-5 then?”

“I didn’t say that. Pepper should work as much as she feels comfortable working... within reasonable limits. Just... be sensible.” Bruce put his blood pressure machine away. “Particularly since your blood pressure is a little high. I’m not too worried... yet. We’ll continue to monitor it as closely as possible, though. There may be a chance that we might have to take some more formal steps to correct it, if this continues. Also, I want to set-up an ultrasound.”

Pepper reached for Tony’s hand. “Are we going to be able to tell... anything?”

“You’re what? 8 weeks along? Almost 9?”

“Yes.”

“Probably not sex at this point. But you’ll get a good picture of a little human being, particularly with SI’s superior technologies. I just want to take a peek because I want to be sure the radiation from the arc reactor isn’t affecting the fetus in any way. We know the radiation it puts out does nothing to harm adults, but we’ve got no data on fetuses.”

Tony nodded, his eyes carefully blank.

“Tony.” Bruce was quietly insistent. “I’m practicing an overabundance of caution here. And I’m being as honest as possible. I’ve got no reason to suspect... anything. I’m just... looking.”

Tony nodded.

Bruce left the room a little more sedate than he’d entered it.

Tony and Pepper fell asleep holding hands, the arc reactor glowing between them.

Fic: These Things That Scare Us (They Will Bring Us Down)

ladychi — Wed, 10 Oct 2012 02:26:19 GMT

Title: These Things That Scare Us (They Will Bring Us Down)
Author: Me, ladychi
Rating: Mature, for violence, sexual scenarios (not in this chapter)
Fandom: Marvel's Avenger Movies
Pairings: Tony/Pepper, Steve Rogers/Darcy Lewis (Thor), Bruce/awesomeness, Natasha Romanov/James "Bucky" Barnes
Summary: The most serious of the "Bump" series thus far. The Avengers, particularly the Stark/Potts family come under fire from an unlikely source, as Pepper becomes the target of The (infamous) Winter Soldier.

The story of how the Avengers really became a family.

Catch up with the rest of the series here.

Author's Note: I must give all the thanks and recognition possible to Vylla for talking me through most of the aspects of canon I pulled from the comics I have not yet made it through to craft this story. Like the movie writers, however, I feel like I can nod to the comics but change what I need to in order to make this story cohesive and conceivable.

Therefore, if you see any grievous errors, lay the blame squarely at my door. You have my permission to hate me.

Also, clearly? I need some Avengers icons.

These Things That Scare Us (They Will Bring Us Down)

They had a conversation on a Tuesday evening, the night before the world fell apart. Pepper was sitting on the couch, and Tony sat in a chair next to her. They were both, ostensibly, hard at work.

“So what do we do if this child turns out to be a Potts?”

Tony lifted an eyebrow. “I expect that this child will be a Potts, given that you’re doing the majority of the lifting. Minus the actual naming of the child, because it may be sexist, but, come on, Pep, you’ve got to give me something here.”

Pepper crossed one very long leg over the other and tried not to contemplate the way her waistband was straining today -- sooner or later she’d have to go up a size in pants. She was no walking cliche. She was perfectly in control of her emotions and capable of being rational. But she was also holding on to these pants because... dammit. She liked them.

“No, I mean... you’ve been talking to JARVIS, making plans....”

“I talk to JARVIS all the time. It’s like talking to myself. But with fifty percent more sarcasm. And Google.” Tony picked up a Rubik's cube that had been left on the table next to the chair he was currently fidgeting in, and began to put it in order. “Put the cell phone away, Potts, if you want to have an actual conversation with me.”

Pepper looked up from her iPhone. “Okay... Pepper.”

“Now. What did you actually mean?”

“I just meant -- what if this kid’s, you know... normal.”

“You’re making an underlying assumption here that I find troubling,” Tony said, “that being that you are normal. And clearly you are not.”

“Tony. You know what I mean.”

“Actually, I do not,” Tony said, “hence, I am expressing confusion.”

“We’re making all of these plans -- talking about what to do if this kid is like you, you know... MIT at 16 and all of that, but... what if....”

“Then we shall all take a moment and thank whatever God smiled down upon us. Potts, honestly,” Tony took her hand, “that would be a blessing. The very last thing we want is a child like me.”

Pepper sighed. “I just -- there’s all of these expectations. Already.”

“Think that’s kind of unavoidable, you know? Even if we were Dick and Jane, living in our suburban house with a white picket fence and a spaniel of some kind, we’d have some kind of expectations for our kids. It’s human nature.”

“Yeah, but we’re not Dick and Jane.”

“We’re Pepper Potts and Tony Stark, and you and I are the only ones who are allowed to have expectations. Every one else can just suck my...”

“Tony!”

“Serious, Potts. And if you’re worried, you know, that I’ll only love this kid if it’s some twisted reflection of myself...”

“Now you’re putting words into my mouth --”

“Then you should know. I love you. And you are... in no way, a reflection of me.”

“There are those in the world who would disagree.”

Tony waved a hand. “Fuck the world.”

Pepper tilted her head to the side and nodded.

**

Agent Coulson was having a fairly good day, all things considered. Granted, things had been rough going there for a while, with Fury’s deception in the name of team unity straining relations between SHIELD and the Avengers so much so that his role as liaison had been a little... precarious, but bit by bit he’d managed to repair their trust in him, if not the system. Now, he was nearly caught up on paperwork, and knock on wood, there hadn’t been any alien invasions or near-takeovers of New York for him to worry about, and although there were always threats being monitored and the status of the security of the free world could change on a dime, he was confident that he would be able to clock out a bit early, go home, turn the ball game and put his feet up.

“Coulson?”

Phil lifted his head. Darcy Lewis had been a good hire, he decided. She was sassy enough to keep him interested, quick enough not to need hand-holding, reacted well in dangerous situations and rolled with the personalities of the Avengers as well or better than anyone else he’d tried in the position of Assistant to the Supervising Agent -- a job description Fury had insisted he create when it turned out that supernatural spears in the chest had some long-term side effects.

“What’s going on, Ms. Lewis?”

“Something pinged I think you’re going to be interested in,” she said, stepping into his office and closing the door securely behind her.

Phil hid his sigh. His DVR was nearly full-to-bursting with ball games he’d meant to watch. Hopefully tonight would not be the straw that broke the camel’s back. “What is it?”

“Got a hit on one of your watch lists? Alexander Lukin?”

Something cold crept over Phil’s spine. “What about him?”

“He’s got an employee on a Transatlantic flight. The boys upstairs thought you’d want to know.”

“An employee?” Phil snorted. “They have any more information than that?”

“They told me to tell you it’s Winter Soldier.” Darcy shrugged. “Whatever the hell that means.”

“The Winter Soldier. One. Singular. For which we are all grateful.” Phil’s chest ached and he pressed a hand to it, wincing. “Anything more?”

“They’ve got reason to believe his primary target is Stark.”

Coulson shook his head. “Well. Okay. This day had a lot going for it, in the beginning, I’ll have you know.”

“Anything I can do to help?”

“I’m going to need a really good bottle of booze.”

“To bribe Stark with?”

“No.” Phil shook his head. “To drink after I have this conversation with Stark. And Natasha. And Steve. And, you know what? Barton’s not going to take it so well either, so...”

“What you’re saying, basically, is... Buy All the Booze.”

Phil laughed without real mirth. “Yes.”

**

“Listen, I need you to do me a favor.”

Bruce looked up from his work to find Tony standing, legs spread shoulder-width apart, his hands in his pockets. It was as close to humble-looking that Tony ever got.

“What do you need?”

Tony’s lips twitched in amusement at Bruce’s wary tone. “I can promise you, it’s nothing illegal. Or frightening or threatening in any way. In fact, in terms of things I have asked you for in the past, it’s fairly banal.”

“Tony, if it’s within my power...”

“The media’s onto us.” Tony’s hands came out of his pockets to punctuate his words with broad gestures, clasping and unclasping nervously. “Pep’s being followed everywhere she goes and I think, you know, it’s not going to take much more and they’ll have it all figured out.”

“And that’s not good because you two don’t have it all figured out.”

“Yes, exactly. And I mean, eventually it’ll be obvious, but for now, I just don’t want Pepper to feel stalked while she’s, you know, getting the baby checked out.”

“Wait. Are you asking me to be Pepper’s physician?”

“For the time being. You’re qualified.”

“Only if you use the very loosest...”

“Pep’s comfortable with you. And so am I.” Tony started to fiddle with the post-it notes on Bruce’s desk. “We trust you, Banner.”

“I’ll have to brush up. I did some prenatal work in Calcutta, out of necessity, but...”

“No pressure. Think about it. Let us know.”

“Excuse me. Dr. Banner, sir?”

Tony lifted his head. “Yeah, JARVIS?”

“Agent Coulson is here to see you.”

Tony clapped his hands together. “And I’m sure that nothing about that will irritate me in any way, nor by extension you, so come along Bruce.”

“No more Doctor Who for you,” Bruce said under his breath.

**

The conference room Phil met them in was one rarely used. It was specifically designed for the Avengers, and despite the initial high of their meeting, there weren’t that many world-ending crises, in general. So Tony was more than a little surprised when he and Bruce were the last ones in the room.

Darcy Lewis sat next to Phil, tapping away on her phone, hopefully in an effort to remove some of the stress from Phil’s life. Tony knew enough about injuries to the heart to know that Loki’s somehow-not-lethal jab would weaken his friend for a long time to come. Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanov and Clint Barton were all gathered in one corner, speaking in low voices. Pepper and her assistant, Danner, were already sitting in the corner. She was giving him dictation and reading something on her cell phone all at once, but she lifted a hand to wave at him.

“Good.” Phil stood up, a bit shakily. “You’re all here.”

“We seem to be missing one demi-god,” Tony said, “but other than that: hey hey, the gang’s all here. How did SHIELD break the world this time?”

“We didn’t this time,” Phil said. “This is a briefing on The Winter Soldier.” He ignored Natasha’s sharp intake of breath. “This information is need-to-know only.”

“The Winter Soldier?” Barton laughed. “He’s a myth. The monster under the bed they tell all rookies about so they’ll crap their pants.”

“It’s not,” Natasha said flatly.”He’s not.”

“For a while, we’ve been monitoring a Russian businessman by the name of Alexander Lukin,” Phil said. “It appeared that he’d gained control of the asset. Up until now he either hasn’t used him, or he’s slipped so far under the radar that we haven’t noticed...”

Natasha cursed under her breath. In Russian.

“This man is extremely dangerous. Darcy will hand you all out a paperfile. You will have two hours to read the file and retain what information you need to. These files will be destroyed before we all leave this building.”

“Why are we being briefed now?”

“Because he’s on his way here,” Darcy said.

“He might be on the way here.” Phil stood up, his hands in his pockets.

“Why?” Natasha’s eyebrows drew together. “They used to say it wasn’t a good idea to send The Winter Soldier to the States.”

“Wait. You know something about this guy?” Tony asked.

“We... knew each other.” Natasha’s eyes were unfocused. “Once.”

“You don’t have a picture in here,” Steve said.

“We don’t know what he looks like. All we know is what he’s capable of. And that is ruthless violence. He slips in, he slips out and people are dead and there’s no way to trace him. He’s a ghost. There’s a reason even a man as experienced as Agent Barton was convinced he was a myth,” Phil said. “Even some of the higher-ups at SHIELD have long assumed that he had all the validity of a Boogeyman. Some of us knew differently, but as long as he was inactive, it could be assumed that perhaps the problem had taken care of itself.”

“So why call in the Avengers? I mean... it sounds like you need a Sherlock Holmes on this guy’s trail. We’re more apt to fight off aliens or... mad scientists or something,” Tony said. “This guy’s not exactly our pay grade, if you know what I mean.”

Pepper’s face had gone white. “Tony, did you read the file?”

“I glanced.”

Phil cleared his throat. “We traced Lukin to a terrorist group with ties to Ten Rings, Tony. We’ve got every reason in the world to suspect The Winter Soldier’s primary target is you.”

Tony raised his eyebrows. “So we up the security.”

“Tony.” Pepper shook her head. “You’ve got to take this seriously.”

“We get a million and one security threats every day, Pepper.”

“If you’ll excuse us,” Pepper said, standing up. “Tony, we need to talk.”

They walked out of the room. There was a long moment of silence. Steve tapped the table. “So, uh... what’s the pool up to about when they tell the rest of us about the baby, now? Cause I’d take even money on any second now, if that’s still available...”

**

When Tony and Pepper came back in the room some time later, Tony stuck his hands in his pockets. “I’ve been convinced that we should react to this news with a... reasonable degree of caution. I’ll start carrying the suit briefcase everywhere I go.”

“And?” Pepper asked.

“Uh. I suppose a few extra SHIELD agents, you know, here and there, won’t be completely amiss. Romanov, can I see you privately for a moment?”

“Yes, of course.” Natasha and Tony adjourned to a corner and began to speak in low voices.

“I suppose now might, uh... be a good time,” Pepper said, clearing her throat, “since you’re all here. For us to tell you that uh... Tony and I are expecting a child. In six months’ time.”

For a long moment, no one said anything.

“Well,” Agent Coulson said, tapping his hands on his desk, “that certainly changes things. I notice a good number of you aren’t particularly... surprised.”

No one met his eyes.

No big deal, guys, but... guess what I did this week?

ladychi — Mon, 01 Oct 2012 01:06:23 GMT

Poem: For Brooke

ladychi — Fri, 14 Sep 2012 00:53:48 GMT

She says:
I can't hear the music anymore
All this shouting has drowned it out
And there's nowhere for me to hide anymore
All the places I go have locked me out.

And I say:
Breathe.
And know I am helpless
And can't stop the pain.
But my heart bleeds, because hers does.

Iron Man/Avengers Fic: The Other Guy and the Little Guy

ladychi — Tue, 11 Sep 2012 05:08:26 GMT

Title: The Other Guy and the Little Guy
Author: ladychi
Rating: Teen, for language
Pairing: Tony Stark/Pepper Potts
Summary: "I uh, wanted to come up here and reassure you, myself, that I would be out of your way by the time the little guy comes along.”

Bruce Banner and Pepper Potts have a conversation about her pregnancy. Sequel to "A Bump in the Road" and "Russian Vodka Truths".

The Other Guy and the Little Guy

She had been briefed, of course, on just who Tony was inviting into their home when he had first suggested providing semi-permanent (or permanent, depending on the person) lodgings for every member of the Avengers team in their tower. Knowing that Tony wouldn’t have offered something so generous if it hadn’t meant a lot to him, she’d been more than willing to meet quietly with the decorators and the reconstruction team to reorganize, shift, rearrange and redesign an entire floor, with easy access to their own set of rooms the floor above (“Pepper, honey, we’re talking about saving the world here.” “Tony, sweetie-pie, munchkin-face?” “Stop treating you like an idiot?” “Yes, please.”). She’d anticipated liking these people – the stories Tony told, the way he’d come back exhausted, but… in a way, rejuvenated, from the Loki encounter, the sense of companionship he’d felt, had gone a long way to reassure her that she would. What she hadn’t anticipated was how much she’d come to love them, having them around her.

Natasha was splitting time – keeping up some of her responsibilities at Stark Industries, as well as being a S.H.I.E.L.D agent, and Pepper had come to appreciate the pleasure of having a woman friend around again – for a long while, her life had been exclusively about Tony.

Clint was the definition of unobtrusive. She wasn’t often surprised to discover he was in residence. She got the feeling he stopped by randomly – that this one of several bolt-holes he maintained. It probably wasn’t actually paranoia if you had reason to believe people were trying to kill you.

Bruce had been the most surprised at the gesture, and the one who spent the most time at the Tower, rarely leaving. He and Tony spent hours together, working in the adult playground Tony called his R&D department, and Pepper had come to appreciate his unexpected sense of humor.

Thor was… enthusiastic, and she’d seen the charm that had so captured the attention of Dr. Jane Foster, whom she knew socially from various S.H.I.E.L.D. functions. His old-fashioned manners and wide-eyed wonder had easily endeared him to her.

And Steve was… Hmm. It was hard to put into words what Steve was. More than little brokenhearted, but so basically decent that Pepper found herself going out of her way to make his transition to the modern world as easy as possible; adding some retro touches to his Avengers quarters, and helping Tony find parts for the Indian motorcycle they’d gifted him with.

At the moment, there was a poker game raging in the lounge downstairs, and Pepper was trying desperately to stay awake long enough to finish a share holder’s report, but fatigue had become a big problem in the last couple of weeks. She’d caught herself nodding off at her desk more than once in the past week, and even JARVIS was quietly insisting that she rest when her body demanded it.

Two more points, she told herself, and then sleep. In that huuuuge king. With noooo Tony to get in the way of flailing out the way God intended…

“Pepper?” Bruce Banner was lingering in the doorway to their living room, where the emergencies-only stairwell fed into their apartment.

“Bruce! Come on in.” Pepper put her laptop to the side, mentally marking her spot so she could pick it right back up. “Did you guys need something downstairs?”

Bruce smiled. “No. I think I’m going to call it a night soon, anyway.”

“Bowing out of guys’ night so early?” Pepper asked teasingly.

Bruce shrugged, in that eloquent way that he had. Pepper figured he could say more with a shrug than anyone else she knew. It said: give me space, give me time, give me quietto work out what I need to say… and so Pepper grabbed her laptop and resumed her quiet typing, while Bruce found a spot on a couch across the living room and sat, watching his hands clench and unclench.

“I uh, wanted to come up here and reassure you, myself, that I would be out of your way by the time the little guy comes along.”

Pepper stopped typing and looked up from her screen. “Excuse me?”

Bruce smiled ruefully. “I know… no one’s supposed to know yet.”

“I am going to kill Tony,” Pepper growled.

“Actually, you’d have to kill deductive reasoning, a rudimentary knowledge of anatomy, and average observational skills.” Bruce coughed. “In my case.”

“Bruce, we don’t want you to leave. I promise you, that’s the very last thing we want,” Pepper insisted gently.

Bruce looked down at his hands, still fisting and unfisting. “I’ve been thinking. I was doing good work in Calcutta.”

“You were hiding. You weren’t doing research in your field of expertise. Yes, you gained some control over your… issue, but Tony tells me you’ve come a long way in just the few months you’ve been here, too.” Pepper glanced at him through half-closed lids. “Plus, you know, your presence here in our R&D department isn’t doing much to hurt Stark Industries.”

“Uh, thank you? I think. But… I just thought…”

Pepper waved a hand. “We trust you. Tony and I trust you. And we trust the Hulk. He did the right thing we needed him to during the whole Loki thing. You’re gaining more and more control every day.”

“If the right thing is destroying whole city blocks, then you can definitely count on the other guy to do the right thing.”

Pepper crossed the room and took Bruce’s hand in hers, cautiously, watching his face for any sign he was too uncomfortable with the contact for it to continue. “You know, I think you and Tony just… you speak your own language. You understand each other – I don’t want Tony to have to lose contact with a friend – and I don’t want you to have to give Tony up, either.”

Bruce didn’t let go of her hand, but he didn’t relent, either. “Pepper, you’re taking a huge risk here.”

Pepper’s eyes grew dark and serious – this was the Pepper Potts that corralled Tony Stark in the morning, had four meetings before breakfast, and ruled the board with an iron fist. This was a woman who knew what she wanted. “This child will be a Stark,” Pepper said, “with all of the wonderful gifts that comes with – and all of the terrible burdens.”

Bruce looked away, but Pepper could see she was starting to get through to him.”It’s not even just the Stark name we have to worry about. It’s Iron Man.”

Bruce’s fists stopped clenching and relaxed.

“You see what I mean?” Pepper asked. “I can only speak for myself. But from where I’m standing, the more of you who are practically bulletproof, who could eat tanks for breakfast – the more giant green rage monsters– the better.”

Bruce refused to meet her eyes, but he nodded. “Okay.”

“Go, if you feel like you need to – we would never want you to feel burdened or forced or confined, but please. Don’t go because you think I’m worried about the… other guy, with the little guy. Cause I’m not.”

“Your faith is… something.”

Pepper waved a hand. “I kept the lights burning for three months while Tony was in Afghanistan, and the whole time Obadiah Stane was telling me to ready myself for the worst. That with as long as he’d been gone, if we’d ever found any part of him, it wouldn’t have been recognizable…” Pepper trailed off. “I guess what I’m saying is: when it comes to faith, baby… you haven’t seen nothing yet.”

Bruce quietly withdrew his hand, and Pepper stepped back to give him space. “He’s very lucky to have you.”

Pepper lifted a corner of her mouth in a smile. “He knows.”

“Then he’s as smart as I thought he was.”

He padded out of the apartment, as quietly and inconspicuously as he’d entered it, and Pepper sat down on the couch, her hands shaking a little… partly from fatigue, partly from what she’d just brought to light… a time in her life she did her best not to think about. Ever.

“Nice job, Potts.”

“Jesus fuck, Tony!” Pepper said, pressing her hand to her chest. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“No.” He smiled. “I just uh… you’re a nice person, you know that?”

“I’m not, actually,” Pepper said with a smile, “but I’ll allow you to think that. How much money did you lose to Rogers this time?”

“It’s astounding. The man doesn’t even cheat. He just sits there, being… decent.”

“Disgusting.”

“Tell me about it.” Tony ran his hands through his hair nervously. “Potts, I never said it before, but… uh. You know I’m sorry, right?”

“Tony… we don’t have to talk about this now. We don’t have to talk about this ever, actually.”

“This isn’t us talking about it. This is me… saying I know what you went through must have been hard on this end, because it was sure as hell hard on the other end, and it wasn’t just… you know. Being in a cave. It was being away from you. So.” Tony cleared his throat. “That’s all I have to say about that.”

“Good,” Pepper said, wiping her eyes. “…Tony…”

“Potts… no crying, all right? I’ll just feel like shit, and…”

“Get over here, and take me bed, Stark.”

Tony grinned. “Is this ‘oh God, I’m so glad you’re alive’ sex? Because that’s like, in the top three.”

“Do you want to talk or do you want to…”

Tony was already shutting off lights. “Don’t even finish that sentence, Potts. I’m right behind you. JARVIS, lock the door. The devil himself doesn’t get a pass, tonight.”

“Very good, Mr. Stark. Have a pleasant evening.”

Tony laughed. “Oh, I intend to.”

Ten And Rose Look Intrigued Because This Is...

ladychi — Sun, 09 Sep 2012 17:20:04 GMT

This seems to be "catch the world up on what you've been doing" week, and I jumped aboard that train after reading through a few of my real-life updates from years past... We've past my one-year-anniversary of moving back home, and we're coming up on my one-year-anniversary of successfully holding down a job with chronic depression and... I have to say, I'm really proud of myself.

1. I've scrimped and saved (well, not really... I splurged a bit on brother's wedding and the festivities surrounding it)over the past year to save enough money for a car, and I'm almost there!

Yes... I'm almost there. I'm really excited. Now it comes down to: what kind of car shall I buy? And that answer is... uh... I really don't know. I need something with good gas mileage, and something reliable that I won't have to worry about falling apart on me. I've been reading reviews online and such things and now I think I've got the "too much information" issue. How do I even begin to make a choice? Sigh.

2. I've been off medication for a year and my moods are (mostly) consistent.

I'm really excited that I've been able to manage my disease with a pretty strict routine and moderate exercise.

3. I've been writing! A lot!

And not just Iron Man fic! A friend and I are collaborating on a really cool project that I will tell you more about when we near the completion date.

As far as finishing some of my as-yet-unfinished fanfics... I wish I could. I can't seem to drum up any enthusiasm for Bones (still haven't watched last season's finale) and I don't care for Who anymore with Moffat at the helm... I am sure I will get around to watching it because it's kind of expected of me, but I have yet to see the season premiere. Or the episode that came out this week. Did an episode come out this week? I have no idea.

4.I've been dating!

Not the same guy. Just... kind of around. I think the process of dating is actually kind of depressing. All I need, really is like, a nice guy, with some goals in life, who does something other than play video games all the time. I mean, video games are fun. But if that's all you can talk about over the course of two hours? We're going to have an issue.

I think that's all I have to share, for now? Yes? Okay, good.

Anyway! I've been keeping those of you with new children in my thoughts and prayers, always, and kept abreast of your personal journals. I'm trying to do better, regarding commenting and things of that nature, but... you know how it goes!

Iron Man/Avengers Fic: Russian Vodka Truths

ladychi — Fri, 07 Sep 2012 03:50:34 GMT

Title: Russian Vodka Truths
Author: ladychi
Rating: Teen, for language and drinking.
Pairing: Tony/Pepper, though Pepper's on screen for maybe a half-page.
Summary: Follows the last story I posted (A Bump in the Road), which was Iron Man baby!fic. How is this my life, you ask? I don't even know, I respond. Natasha Romanov and Tony Stark drink, and have a conversation.

Russian Vodka Truths

It turned out that there were a lot of rules to this pregnancy thing. Rules no one had ever briefed Tony on in his whole life – not that he would have paid attention to such a briefing (briefings being one of those things, like board meetings, which he thought of as strictly attention-optional), but still, he felt like there should be some sort of… manual. Something he could read, which would help avoid being a universal failure at this… father… thing.

To be honest, he’d been a little upset that he hadn’t noticed sooner – Pepper hadn’t really been herself, but he’d attributed it to stress and a changing relationship dynamic and… You didn’t pay attention again, a little voice inside of his head insisted. All the genius in the world won’t do you any good if you don’t notice what’s right in front of you.

“Shut up, Dad,” Tony muttered, and then hastily looked up to make sure no one had noticed his gaff. If Bruce had noticed, he had the decently to pretend otherwise, and the various other techs working in the tower were well-trained, and well-paid enough to ignore anything they were told to.

Rules. Like not being able to tell people until they were “out of the woods”, as Pepper called it, which was a silly expression anyway, since Tony had felt like they were in the woods since the beginning of this thing. Pregnancy. …Thing. Anyway, he had two weeks to go until they were out of the first trimester, and two weeks until he could tell anyone the thoughts running through his head. Anyone besides Pepper, that is, and it didn’t seem fair to unload on her when she was… gestating.

He was giving “fair” a shot.

The thing of it was that, at the end of the… thing, they’d have a baby. Which, you know, was a hell of a shocker, really. A fully functional, fully autonomous (if a little dependent, initially) human being, who would look to Tony Stark to form his or her moral character… and, you know, character in general. It would be his responsibility to pass on the great truths about the world. He could think of nothing more frightening.

“Stark.”

Okay, except for maybe stealthy (and if he was being honest, sexy in a you-can’t-touch-this, literally-kind of way) Russian assasins who regularly appeared without making a sound like a decent goddamn human being.

“Romanov.” There. That almost sounded suave. He used to be cool. There was a version of himself, somewhere, that was laughing at this future-self and bemoaning the inevitable lack of coolness that came with impending fath… shit.

“You’ve been staring at the same screen for the past ten minutes.”

“I’m… absorbing,” Tony said, quickly flicking his wrist and sending the screen (which he hadn’t read a single word of) fleeing out of sight.

“You’re Tony Stark. You read, what? 15,000 words a minute? The last time it took you ten minutes to absorb something, you were trying to unify string theory.”

Tony laughed. “Physics was more of a hobby than a real pursuit. I should let you do my press.”

“I think I’d rather be lit on fire.”

“And you’re just the kind of person with the real-life experience to back that decision up, aren’t you?” Tony shook his head.

“As a matter of fact…” Romanov – her first name was really Natasha, he remembered – Natasha peered over his shoulder and quirked her eyebrows, “yes. Did she tell you herself, or did you figure it out?”

“Excuse me?”

“I still have access to her personal schedule – and yours, actually. It wasn’t that hard to work out.”

“That’s what you do in your spare time? You keep track of Pepper and me? There are things called restraining order—“

“It’s not my spare time if SHIELD is paying me.”

“Here’s a question. Do any of you people ever just… pick up a phone and ask a question? Or is going for the ‘horribly invasive violation of privacy’ your default method of information-gathering?”

“I’m going to let that go,” Natasha said slowly.

Tony grinned. “Very generous of you.”

“Because you’re obviously so scared you can’t see straight.”

“Hey. Now.”

Natasha lifted an eyebrow. “You’re going to pretend I’m wrong? Really?” She plunked a bottle of premium vodka down on Tony’s workstation. “Your cooperation in this little discussion will be rewarded.”

“And how are we defining cooperation?”

“You will act as little like the version of yourself that’s a billionaire jackass as possible, and as much like the guy who just needs to hear it’s all going to be okay as you can.”

“For that to happen, you’re going to need to start pouring the vodka now.”

Natasha deftly produced two shot glasses (from where, he hesitated to guess) and laid them down, expertly filling them to the top. “Cheers, Stark. Catch up.”

“Okay, so here’s the problem.”

Tony was definitely feeling the alcohol – which was saying something, because he’d trained his liver to be an expert filter over several years of hard drinking – and Natasha was definitely not, which led him to believe there had been shenanigans. Possibly hootanannies. He peered at her over the top of his shot glass, which had occupied the majority of his attention over the last half-hour or so, during which he and Natasha and put away an obscene amount of vodka.

“I have never once, in all of our time we’ve known each other… for…”

“Points for that brilliant sentence construction. English isn’t even my first language and I’m doing better than that…”

“I have not ever, not once, heard you say ‘get moose and squirrel’.”

“Eat a goddamn cracker, Stark.”

“You know what I want? I want cranberry juice. Don’t you think cranberry juice would be a good idea in this particular sit…sit… instance?”

“You’re not violating my good vodka with cranberry juice. Jesus.” She used the same tone that his mother had used when he asked if he could color in the pictures in the family Bible.

Why had they even owned a Bible, he wondered. It wasn’t like it was anything his father or his mother took seriously.

“We started drinking for a reason,” Tony said, narrowing his eyes. “What was it, again?”

“You’re a pussy.”

“Yes, that’s it ex…” Tony trailed off. “No, we went with ‘reasonably scared about the upcoming life change barreling right towards me like a fucking freight train’.”

Natasha shrugged. “You might have. I went with ‘you’re a yellow-bellied coward’.”

“When did you learn English, anyway? 1945? No wonder you and Captain Underpants get along so well.”

Natasha just shrugged her shoulders.

“No. I know, right, that you’re supposed to be magically changed, or some shit, by the appearance of an infant in your life…”

Natasha snorted.

“What?”

“What is that saying? ‘It can only go up from here’?”

“The more you drink, the more Russian you get.”

Natasha allowed one side of her mouth to lift in amusement. “This, I have heard before.”

“Yes, okay. So maybe we have the kid, right? And maybe it changes me, magically, and I’m a better person and all of that…”

“Yes?”

“But what if it doesn’t? What if, underneath, you know, I’m still the same old Tony? I mean, that’s fine for Pepper, she can walk away any time she wants to, she’s made a choice, you know? A decision. I feel like we’re thrusting an innocent into a relationship with, you know… me.”

Natasha eyes went dark for a moment with some remembered pain, but she shrugged it off. “But you make decisions also, do you not? You chose to become a better person. You chose to pursue Ms. Potts after you felt you were somehow more worthy of her attention and respect. What’s to say you will not do the same with the child?”

“Genetic material,” Tony muttered.

“You’re very hard on your father, in private, aren’t you?”

Tony shrugged. “We didn’t have what you would call a warm relationship. He was an okay guy, from what I can gather from friends… but he wasn’t interested in having a kid. He never meant to have an heir, you know? Mom sure as hell didn’t plan on getting pregnant. You can see how I’m having a ‘history repeats itself’ panic attack here.”

“Bullshit.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Bullshit. Choice, Mr. Stark. It’s what separates us from lemmings and cows. We are aware of the past, cognizant of the present, and we worry about the future… we can be aware of all of this and change the outcome. It doesn’t have to be the same, no?”

“It doesn’t have to be.”

“No. It does not.” Natasha leaned back, looking triumphant. “All it takes is waking up every morning and deciding that it’s not going to turn out the way you’re life turned out. Although, it should be stated… your life’s not so bad, really.” She gestured around. “Am I not right?”

“It was a hell of a road to get here, though.”

“Life must be interesting, for I am assured that death will be quite boring.” Natasha smiled.

“Wait… is that your idea of a joke?” Tony asked, after a beat.

“You will be a good father, Stark, if you choose to be. That’s no joke.”

Natasha got up and walked away, in a nearly-perfect straight line. Tony sighed, and laid his head on his arms on his workstation.

“Nobody mind me,” he said to JARVIS (the other techs had quietly left the room as soon as the alcohol had appeared), “I’m just going to pass out here. Like a boss.”

There was a ringing. Or a clanging… something… no, definitely a ringing. Like a high, shrill siren, right in his ear. Incessant. Never-ending.

He opened his eyes. It was his cell phone. The display read “Rhodey”. Tony sighed, and hit “ignore”. If it was important, the colonel would call him back on an official line.

He closed his eyes and went back to sleep.

“Tony? Tony?” A hand on his shoulder, shaking him awake. “Tony!”

“Ooooooooow,” he groaned. “Just… do it. Take me out. I no longer want to live.”

A sigh. A trademark Pepper sigh, actually. “JARVIS told me I’d find you down here. Why do you smell like a distillery?”

“Soviet conspiracy,” Tony said, opening one eye, “get me drunk and I’d divulge all our secrets. Worked surprisingly well, actually…”

Pepper rolled her eyes. “C’mon. Let’s get you upstairs where you can sleep it off like a responsible adult.”

“Boo. I’m going to sleep it off right here, thank you very much.”

“No, you won’t, because you enjoy the ability to move your neck and you’re not nineteen anymore. C’mon. Up and at ‘em.” Pepper reached under his armpit and yanked him upright.

“Ouch! Holy crap! Pep!”

“Allow me to tell you how not at all sympathetic I am to your plight right now.”

Tony sighed, but began moving his feet in a forward direction – towards the elevator that would take him upstairs to the master bedroom they now shared. “Oooh, you’re wearing the skirt.”

Pepper rolled her eyes. “Yes, I am. I’m wearing a nice, professional…”

“Have I ever told you that skirt makes your legs look like they go all the way up to your neck? Legs like a gazelle, you’ve got, Potts. Like a sexy gazelle.”

Pepper fought off the laughter swelling in her throat. It wouldn’t do to encourage him. “You’re being ridiculous right now, and I hope JARVIS is recording this for posterity.”

“My children won’t be allowed to drink until they’re forty-five. Or have any fun of any kind!” Tony wrinkled his nose. “No, that doesn’t sound right. Fun having’s all right. Drinking with Russian assassins is not. Let the record show that my children are not allowed to get drunk with Russian assassins.”

“I think this is one of those things that you can’t really control, Tony.”

She’d got him out of his clothes and into a t-shirt and boxers with the ease of long-practice and was settling him in with a glass of water and a couple of aspirin when he caught her wrist and looked at her with serious eyes. She could see Tony under the alcohol, and some of her irritation eased.

“I’m sorry, Pep. I didn’t mean to.”

“Didn’t mean to what?”

“Try to drink Natasha under the table. I should have known better. Never try to outdo a Russian in vodka consumption. My father told me once, he told me a hundred times…”

“It’s okay, Tony.”

“You know something, though?”

“What?”

“Natasha thinks I can do all right at this, if I really try.”

“At what?”

“Being a good guy. Being a Dad.”

“Well… if it means anything, I think so too.”

Tony smiled and closed his eyes.

…Not twenty seconds later, he was snoring. And Pepper was making her way out of the bedroom, closing the door behind her, and thinking that some things never really changed.

Iron Man/Avengers Fic: A Bump In The Road

ladychi — Tue, 04 Sep 2012 02:41:20 GMT

Title: A Bump in the Road
Author: ladychi
Fandom: Iron Man/Avengers
Pairing: Tony Stark/Pepper Potts
Rating: Teen (for language)
Summary: “You’ve got a meeting at two with Research and Development…”

“Potts, I thought we hired an assistant to –“

“And I’m pregnant.”

“—take care of all of these little details, and you’re CEO now, aren’t you doing the… excuse me. What?”

Author's Note: I... don't even know. I would make an excuse, but... I can't. This is cracktastic, basically. And I have no excuse, other than I've got a deadline for a super exciting project coming up, so naturally, I'm goofing off.

Bump in the Road

“You’ve got a meeting at two with Research and Development…”

“Potts, I thought we hired an assistant to –“

“And I’m pregnant.”

“—take care of all of these little details, and you’re CEO now, aren’t you doing the… excuse me. What?”

Pepper straightened her skirt and refolded her hands. “You’ve got a meeting at two with R&D.”

“Yes, thank you, got that part. What was the part after that?”

“I, uh, seem to be… you know.”

Even Dummy seemed to be looking at her like she’d grown another head, or suddenly begun speaking in tongues.

“Pepper, I realize this is probably a bit much to ask, but I’m going to have to ask you to be really, and I mean, very definitely, specific. What the hell did you just say?”

Pepper lifted her chin. “I know, it’s probably not what you wanted to hear right now, and we’ve definitely never even discussed the possibility of, you know…”

“I swear to God, I have not even begun to process the… and you’re wanting me to, you know, react?”

“Right, you’re right.” Pepper crossed, awkwardly, to the large sofa in his workroom and sat down. “I’ll just sit over here while you… process.”

“Jesus. Fuck.”

She crossed one leg over the other, a truly fabulous pair of Jimmy Choos bouncing up and down and up and down… and it occurred to her, at some point down the road, she’d have to start wearing lower heels, and retire these beauties…

Just exactly how many days did she have left of truly fabulous shoes?

And how awful a future moth… Oh, Christ. That thought always crept up on her. She started to feel nauseous. Which might or might not be connected to the thoughts running through her head, actually… everything seemed to make her nauseous. Most specifically the smell of motor oil. Which probably wasn’t bad, for most expectant mot… fuck, there was that word again… which probably wasn’t bad for most pregnant women, but she was dating Tony fucking Stark… and that meant just being around him made her want to hurl.

She swallowed gamely. She was a big girl. She’d made it through keggers at the Tri-Delt house and several rounds of test flights without losing her breakfast, and sitting in the workroom of her… whatever he was… baby daddy (SO needed a better mental terminology for this situation) was so… anyway, was not going to make her…

“Pepper! Whoa, holy crap! That is a lot of… I mean, what do I do?” Tony fluttered – yes, fluttered, she could think of no other word for his anxious tittering in the background – around her, helplessly.

“Go take a shower,” she snapped, and bent over the trash can again. Dummy whined in sympathy as Tony fled up the stairs – fucking coward, presumably to get away from the barfing crazy lady.

The thing of it was that she was really so organized about everything. All the balls kept tidily in the air, nothing ever out of place. And then she got sick. Just a little head cold, really, that turned into a 102 degree free with sniffles and wheezing and a degree of pathetic she hadn’t felt in years and even Tony had noticed (even since the advent of Iron Man, she wouldn’t go so far as to call him ‘observant’ when it came to other people) and sent her to the doctor, and she’d gotten an antibiotic

And of course they had sex. And of course he’d knocked her up. Because Tony Stark never thought of anybody else except himself, the slick, smug… stupidly virile son of a bitch.

She’d stared at the little pink plus sign – the little harbinger of doom – with a sort of mix of sheer terror, anxious anger and hope, that turned her insides out and made her want to vomit. Again. And all she could think was: This is the end.

She’d cleaned up enough of Tony’s messes to know just how he reacted to the idea of potential fatherhood did to him: it made him scarce, it freaked him out and… all she could hear was the voice she’d come to love telling her coldly: Take care of it, Potts.

But then there was the other side of her brain – the voice that sounded just like her mother, really, insisting: This might be your last chance.

It came down to Tony versus her mother. Damn it all if her mother didn’t win.

She kept the secret for as long as she could – an astounding length of time, really, considering she was sleeping with a genius, but somewhere along the second month, she’d run out of excuses for how pale she appeared, the lack of, well… sex (who felt like having sex when keeping down soup was a battle Thor would boast of?), and menstrual flow was starting to make even Tony suspicious. She’d come to a conclusion. She’d have to tell him, and deal with the fallout.

But first, she had a list of Things To Do. She researched doctors, and double checked herself. She researched daycares, nannies, and the possibility of doing it all herself. She examined the security concerns. With or without Tony Stark, she was all systems go on this baby.

All that was left was to tell him, and the best way to do such things, she’d long ago decided, was a method she called “rip the Band-Aid off.”

Fast and clean, Potts, she told herself. Fast and clean. (Minimize the pain when he stops paying attention to you, tries to make you disappear through the sheer force of his inattention).

That’s why she’d told him when he was in the middle of a routine check of the suit, when he was running down the events of the day – right when he would expect it least. Right when she could see what he really felt, in the moments before his shutters came down, so that she would know exactly which of her plans to go through with.

This would have been a brilliant plan, if she hadn’t been throwing up everything she’d ever eaten right when she was supposed to be discerning the Inner Thoughts of Tony Stark.

“Miss Potts?”

JARVIS. Fuck. “Yes?”

“Are you quite all right?”

“On a scale of one to holy shit, we’re sitting at a solid ‘fuck my life’, JARVIS.”

“Ah.”

“Yes. Ah.” Pepper leaned back and tried to get herself under control, watching with some amusement as Dummy scurried to take the trash away. “How is… Oh, never mind.”

“Mr. Stark appears to scrubbing himself vigorously at the moment, Miss Potts.”

“Good, thanks.” Pepper blushed furiously. “I’ll just ah – go upstairs and wait for him?”

“Very good, Miss Potts. I’ll hold your calls and triage your inbox for the time being, yes?”

“Good. Great plan. Ah… thank you.” Pepper pushed herself off the couch (another thing that wouldn’t be this easy in a few months, holy crap, what was she getting into) and wondered when the apparent approval of an A.I. had taken such an important place in her life, and then filed it away in a folder she called “Shit To Worry About Later”.

That folder was disturbingly large.

She’d nearly fallen asleep on the couch in the living room of the large apartment they shared in Avengers Tower (much more comfortable, really – added advantage of not smelling like motor oil; disadvantage of not smelling as much like Tony) when he startled her awake by placing a hand on her shoulder and squeezing in a way she was sure was supposed to be supportive but really just.. hurt. She moved away slightly, hoping he’d get the hint.

“So,” he said awkwardly, putting his hands behind his back. “Have I recently consumed some illegal hallucinogenic and forgotten about it?”

“Not to the best of my knowledge,” Pepper said, sitting up.

“So. You really are – “

“Yes. Or so says First Result. And True Blue Testing Supply Company. And Stark Industries aptly named One Result… because that’s the only result I got, the five tests that I took at home. And, you know, the two doctors that I saw.”

“You’ve seen a doctor already?” Tony blinked.

“I wanted to be sure. You know, before I came in here and… rocked your world, so to speak. And mine, actually. To be fair, you know, this is going to be a little bit more… world-rocking for me, so to speak, and…”

“Pepper.”

“Sorry.” She waved a hand. “I think, since I conceived your child, I’ve somehow absorbed some of your less appealing traits, like the inability to focus on a single topic of conversation.”

“So – you’re keeping it, then.”

“I thought – yes, actually.” Pepper straightened her shoulders. “I am. Is that all right with you?”

Tony shrugged. “Your choice.”

Oh shit. Pepper couldn’t stop the well of tears. She hated – absolutely hated to be the embodiment of a cliché, but there didn’t seem to be a way around this one. Wiping her tears away viciously the back of her hand, she nodded.

“Yes, it is. And I’ve chosen to, you know… go through with it. The whole thing.”

“Okay, here’s my problem.” Tony sat across from her on the couch and tentatively reached for her hand.
She grasped his, and squeezed. “My parents were… straight-up horrible parents, Potts. I mean – not abusive but not… no one knew what to do with me, really, and… I’m not sure, I mean… obviously, you’re going to be a better mother than that, I know, but…”

“You’re going to be a better father than that.” Pepper said, her eyes filling with tears (for a different reason this time – it was possible she was going to need to increase her salt intake, just to counter-balance the shear amount of saline she seemed to be producing these days).

“It’s possible. But… so are a lot of things, and genetics might clue us in on some tendencies here… I gather my Dad’s dad wasn’t a walk in the park either, really, so I guess what I’m saying is…”

“Tony.”

“If you want me to butt out, I will.”

“Tony, no.” Pepper got to her feet, dropping Tony’s hand. “This is not what I expected at all.” She shook her head. “I wasn’t expecting you to go all… you know. It’s really inconvenient that you’ve grown up overnight because I was really… I was prepared to handle you from before, you know… with the ‘Take care of it, Potts’, and all… and here you go making me cry and of course I want you to be involved you great, big, giant…. Stupidhead.”

Tony’s mouth dropped open. “Stupidhead? I haven’t been called that in…”

“Let it go, Tony.” She searched the shelves desperately. “Do we even stock fucking Kleenexes anymore?”

JARVIS dinged helpfully. “Top right drawer in the kitchen, Miss Potts.”

“Of course we keep the Kleenexes in the kitchen. I don’t know what addle-minded… Looney Tunes of a person organized this apartment, but… we’re absolutely going to have words, I tell you. There needs to be logic and order and…”

“Potts. Pepper. You organized the apartment, remember?”

“Of course I remember. I’m pregnant, not crazy.”

“If I can ask, without, you know… dire consequences…”

“Tony!”

“Just how pregnant?”

“I don’t know that that’s an actual scale. It seems to me that you’re either pregnant or you’re not.”

“This is not a good time to go all Amelia Bedelia on me, Pepper.”

The concern in his eyes, and the way he seemed to… really, genuinely be trying was really getting to her and… she really wasn’t going to cry. She was going to be calm, the definition of aplomb. From here on out, she was going to keep her shit together, she really was. Just as soon as she found the fucking… ah.

“Two months… eight weeks,” she said.

“I passed Biology a long time ago, Potts… what’s the ration on that, then?”

“We’re uh… a fifth of the way through. Give or take.”

“That doesn’t give us much time.”

Panic. “Much time for what?”

“Security upgrades will have to be made… we’ll have to modify JARVIS, of course… tell Happy so he can adjust what he needs to on the personnel side… “

“Tony… can’t we just…”

“What?”

Pepper crossed the room and wrapped her arms around him. “I’m scared, and I’m really glad you’re going to do this with me, but… if you’re going to do this with me, can you just… hold me for a little bit?”

Tony seemed taken aback. “Potts, I didn’t realize…”

“Just hold me. No talking.”

“Right. Good. Yeah.”

And he wrapped her in his arms. She could feel the pressure of the arc reactor between them and she wondered how long it was going to give him to live, realistically, if their child would be without a father as early as Tony himself had been… as she had been, and she wondered what their child would look like, what it would be like, what it would be like to have a superhero has a father and a CEO as a mother, and if they were really making the right choice here, after all, if it wouldn’t be smarter, better, safer….

“Potts…”

“Yeah?”

“I’m scared too, but…” he swallowed. Like saying what he was about to say was actually painful. “If I’m going to do this thing… you know… this… daddy thing, then… I wouldn’t want to do it with anyone but you.”

Ah, fuck it. Pepper buried her head in his neck and cried.

DVD Commentary: The Briefest Moments (Doctor Who/Sherlock Holmes [classic] crossver)

ladychi — Fri, 31 Aug 2012 02:15:43 GMT

This is from that DVD commentary meme. azriona requested that I examine one of my Support Stacie fics from back in the day, a Sherlock Holmes/Doctor Who crossover featuring Ten/Rose, and a degree of self-awareness on the part of the Doctor which is only just barely canonical. ;)

If it's not obvious, I'm fighting a case of the "FRIENDS promised me my mid-twenties would be FUN if I were single!" blahs tonight. So... try not to take anything I say the wrong way.

Shall we rock 'n roll? I think so.

The original fic is Here... but I'm commenting on the whole thing because it's just barely 500 words to begin with.

The Briefest Moments: Director's Commentary

I've commented before on how I think, during this period in my writing, I sometimes sacrificed what could have been a moment for mood-setting in order to drop the reader in mid-story... this is a classic example of that, but I think it works, mostly because I knew my audience would be able to put all of the pieces to this puzzle together really well. That's something they teach you in writing classes which I think is uniquely accessible in the fanfiction paradigm... "know your audience". For me, that's literally true. I KNOW most of you, and I knew that I could make a set of assumptions that perhaps I wouldn't make for, say, an anime fandom.

"Excuse me, very busy, if you don't mind getting out of my way," a man in a calf-length brown coat and a distinctive deerstalker brushed past the Doctor and Rose as they bent over a spot on the ground, investigating its contents. Suddenly, the man stopped and turned. "Actually, you seem to be a sharp-eyed fellow. Would you have happened to see a lady dressed as a man pass by here?" This is one of those lines which I read and I know that I hadn't yet seen Cumberbatch's Holmes. There would have been a smidge more condescension implied, some hint of sarcasm here, in this compliment... But I had yet to see his Holmes. It's interesting how actors can color our perceptions of character, isn't it?

"How long ago?" the Doctor asked absently, scoping up some of the green liquid and placing it in a vial, handing it to Rose. "Lots more women dressed as men than you'd think, although there is a marked tendency towards the reverse."

The man paused, his mouth working for a moment. "I am not often surprised. Can you give me your name, sir?"

"As a point of fact, no," the Doctor said, and rose to his feet, grinning. "But you can call me the Doctor. And this is Rose Tyler."

"Hello," she said, wagging her fingers. I adore Rose. I'm not sure I've said that enough lately, but I really do.

"There have been many times in my life where I could also not give my name," the man said, "so I will ask no further, except to say that a very good friend of mine also practices your profession. I find doctors to be... a refreshing sort of perspective on life." This is one of those times that I really, really wish I would allow myself to edit these as I commentate on them, but no. That awkward sentence must remain. There. Awkwardly. For all of time.

That being said... I like this admission from Holmes.

Rose laughed. "Oh, you have no idea."

"You're from London." The man said, whirling to look her directly in the face, "but not from this area. Far from home? Is this your chaperone? Father?" Trying to give Victorian Holmes a sense of decorum here... he was reluctantly chivalrous in the stories... reluctant, I say, because he could never quite get over that inherited male privilege, which is why Irene Adler could "beat" him in the first place.

"Friend," Rose said evenly.

"Ah," the man said. "In any case, I return to the original question. The time frame would have been no more than 12 minutes, perhaps ten."

"A lady, dressed as a man?" The Doctor nodded. "Oh yes, we both noticed her. I think you'll find, Mr. Holmes, that Ms. Adler went east."

"I..." Sherlock's mouth opened and closed again. "Thank you. I find myself quite... off-center with this whole debacle. I was not aware it was public knowledge."

"It's not. You remain as sharp as ever." The Doctor grinned. "I have a distinct advantage."

"Yes... well, of course."

"If it helps any, I sympathize. Women are -- " the Doctor shrugged eloquently. "Best hurry, though. You'll miss her, at this rate." A little sad because, of course, he does.

Sherlock nodded. "Good day, Doctor."

As he walked off, the Doctor mumbled under his breath, "Well, for me."

"Irene Adler? Didn't she scam him and run off with her Belgian or something?" Rose asked under her breath.

"Yeah," the Doctor said, and turned his attention to the green goop, but not before he focused his eyes briefly on her. "Sometimes even the briefest moments, Rose... they mean the most. He got to love her for days. Just a moment, really. In the span of their lives."

I should say here -- well, perhaps I shouldn't say, but I will say that this is one of those moments which I was sort of known for -- at least I had commented on, several times... a little bitter with the sweet. And it was always bitter because at this point in my life I'd lost hope on permanent happy endings... still sort of have, anyway. I think the Doctor's not wrong here, to observe that sometimes all we're allowed are the briefest moments, and those have to get us through the darkest days.

Rose squeezed his hand, and in her understanding way, said nothing. I'm not so sure that Rose knows what the Doctor's thinking of -- that he will, eventually, lose her, the way he's lost everyone. I think, at 19, she's probably just thinking about the ones he lost before her... but, of course. Nothing gold can stay.

DVD Commentary: Inappropriate Poetry

ladychi — Sun, 19 Aug 2012 18:48:10 GMT

np_complete picked an oldie, but, upon further review, a goodie, for me to examine and rip apart for you this afternoon.

It's a Donna/Jack NC-17 piece called Inappropriate Poetry. Nothing like porn to rev up your Sunday afternoon. You can find the whole fic: here

As always, if you would like to request a commentary of a fic of mine, I would be more than happy to supply one. The entry to ask for that is here.

Shall we commence?

Let's start with a little over-all meta. One of the things that bothered me most about the season four finale of Doctor Who was the way Jack reacted to Donna. Jack has always been appreciative of every form of beauty, and to me, Catherine Tate is probably one of the most beautiful women on the planet... both for her personality and her physical form.

I sought to rectify that mistake in the characterization of Jack with the writing of this piece.
"Oh, thank God," Donna said, bending over just a bit as she released the clasps on her bra and let her breasts sway freely. Deftly, she removed the garment from her body without taking off her t-shirt and flopped to the bed to stare at the ceiling. Many of you probably do not necessarily need to know this, but ever since seventh grade I have had larger than average breasts. What Donna does here, I can completely sympathize with. To go without a bra means agony, but there's nothing quite like taking it off at the end of the day...

"You've got gorgeous tits, you know," Jack said, conversationally from the doorway. I struggled with word choice here, as I recall. I didn't want to make this section overly crude, but then I didn't think that Jack would beat around the bush. And, having rejected "boobs" for being too immature, went with the least-offensive euphemism for breasts I could think of.

"Oi." Donna half-heartedly protested, but didn't make a move to cover herself up (why would she, she was still wearing the shirt, after all -- it wasn't like Jack Harkness had x-ray vision. That he'd told her of). "Don't you have Weevils to blow up or something, space man?"I specifically remember wendymr asking me when this was taking place and having no idea... but if you can imagine a parallel universe wherein the Doctor and everyone on board the TARDIS at the end of that episode did some traveling together, I think that'd be about right.

"Or something. Still -- it's hard not to be distracted." He gestured. "I mean, wow."

"I thought you fancied more of the sticks than the leaves," Donna said, closing her eyes and firmly ignoring him. Donna doesn't necessarily think well of herself. She's full of bluster to cover up the insecurities she has. Here she's deflecting his attention because it makes her uncomfortable to be complemented.

"Me? I fancy anything that moves." Jack stepped into the room and crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Or didn't you hear that?"

"You know, for a bloke that's supposed to be shagging everyone and everybody you sure don't get around much," Donna observed. "In all the time I've known you it's all talk and no action." An observation I made about Torchwood. Jack makes allusions to being promiscuous, but we don't really see much of it.

"Keep taking your bra off in front of me and I'll show you action."

Donna laughed. "Yeah bloody right. Take a walk, Captain Jack Harkness. Blokes like you don't make passes on women like me, and more's the pity, that's what I say, but it's not up to me, is it? And you're getting awfully bloody close."

"I meant what I said and I said what I meant," Jack whispered. "When I say 'wow', Donna Noble, I mean wow." He was halfway across the room before she'd even had a chance to blink. "Can I..." he gestured at her chest, and Donna found herself blushing fiercely -- one of the things she hated most about being a redhead. Whew. Jack's a little smooth, isn't he? *fans self*

"Can you... what?" Donna hissed.

"I would very much like the opportunity," Jack said in his husky voice, climbing in bed next to her and somehow encompassing all of the free space left on it, "to play with your breasts. And your other... bits. If I may." And of course she says yes -- because, you know... why wouldn't you??

DVD Commentary: Burdens Which Allow Us To Fly

ladychi — Wed, 15 Aug 2012 01:53:47 GMT

bitsygirl loves this fic and wanted me to do a commentary on this section of it. If you want to see a commentary of a fic you love (or a different scene from this fic), comment at this entry: here.

The first thing you should know about this entire fic is that it was practically vomited out over a stretch of about three hours late, late into the night during one of the roughest patches of my life... You can sort of see that, I think, in a lot of the themes from the fics I wrote that year -- there's a pain, and an element of broken people coming together without really having to bother to heal. This snippet deals a lot with pain, I think... but also with frustrated joy. I see in Brennan and Booth people who are very rarely allowed to feel purely one or the other. It's an interesting character dyanmic.

“Temperance Brennan.” She's answering her cell phone here. If there's one weakness my heavily-dialogue-reliant style has, it's that I sometimes forget to clue you in on what's going on.

“Blue Eyes. It's Booth.”

She smiled. “You're the only who calls me that. I know it's you. How are you?”

Here's an opportunity I missed to describe his tone, to give him a breath... but I was probably, at the time, a little too concentrated on how hot I find David Boreanaz cursing to be. It's a real problem.“Fucked up.”

She dropped the file she'd been reading. Michael Stires's case could wait. Booth rarely swore, and when he did, it was usually serious trouble. “Are you gambling again?” Brennan may be all about the scientific process and not jumping to conclusions in her professional life, but canon backs me up here. Sometimes in her personal life she's not as thorough. Plus, this bit is in here to sort of illustrate where Booth is in his life and to show another set of parallels -- another vice he couldn't really escape.

“What? No. I made a promise, didn't I?”

“And you keep your promises,” Temperance said, reminding herself that Booth was a law unto his own – sort of like her brother, who defied the odds and everyone's preconceived notions – they were men that stood straight and said what they meant. ...This may not be entirely true, but this is how THIS Temperance sees the world. See what I did there? Similarities and contrasts. You would almost think I was doing this on purpose.

Unfortunately for me, I'm not that good.

“Yes, I do. Which is why... shit. I don't even know why I'm calling you.”

“Who else would always tell you the truth?” A line from the canon I have always, always adored.

“Rebecca's pregnant.”

Her knees went weak. Uncertain of why this was hitting her so hard, she reached for her office chair. “What has she decided to do?”

“She wants to keep the baby.” Booth drew in a breath. “But she doesn't want to keep me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I asked her to marry me. She said no.”

“Oh, Booth.” Her heart broke for him. And, of course, it's breaking for herself, too “I'm so sorry. I know she meant a lot to you...”

“She says she'll think about letting me have partial custody... I mean. Shit. I just never thought I'd get to a point in my life where I'd be saying 'partial custody', you know?”

“You deserve more.”

Booth laughed harshly. “I don't deserve anything. I tell myself I do...” I thought younger Booth might be a little fresher off the boat, so to speak, and a little bit more vulnerable. In some ways, I think that made the transition in this universe from friends to lovers a lot easier than in the canon.

“Stop it. You are a good man, Booth. A very, very good man. And you deserve the world, and Rebecca should give it to you.”

“I just – I just want to be able to see my kid.”

“Stand up for yourself, Booth. Do the right thing. Every child deserves their parents, for as long as they can have them.”

There was silence on the other end of the line. “Yeah, you're right. And you would know, wouldn't you?”

“Yes. Listen, Booth. I'm going to be out of the country for the next few months --”

“--wait. Whoa. Where are you going? Does Russ know?” And Temperance Brennan gets one in the "distract Booth" goal.

“I haven't told him yet. Michael's offered me a position on the Guatemala dig.”

She could practically see Booth's eyebrows fly up. “Guatemala?”

“Yes.”

“Blue Eyes...”

“I will be fine. My Spanish is quite good.”

“It's not your Spanish that worries me. It's your tendency to get into trouble that worries me.”

“I will take care of myself.”

“And what's with this calling your thesis advisor by his first name thing? Are things a lot more casual than when I went to school or...”

“Or what?”

Booth sighed into the phone. “Should I be worried about that, too?”

“It's none of your business.”

“Temperance.”

“What?”

“You shouldn't sleep with your thesis advisor.”

“Why not? We're consenting adults. It's generally frowned upon by the academic community, but both Michael and myself are perfectly capable of separating ourselves personally and professionally.”

“You know why not? It's not fair, but, you're a woman, Blue Eyes. And people find out, they're going to talk. It's going to make it hard for you to find a job. It won't make a damn bit a difference to his career, but it could ruin yours. Just... be careful, okay?” A lot of the girls who I went to school with had this opinion about inappropriate relationships, too -- that they're ALWAYS more harmful to the women than they are to the men, unless there's an age thing going on... Anyway.

“I know what I'm doing, Booth.”

But she felt like cold water had been thrown over her.

“Okay. One more thing, Blue Eyes.”

“What?”

“Be safe, okay?” She could hear the sounds of something banging in the background. “Guatemala's not stable at all. Not since the last time I was there, and I doubt things have changed much.”

“Why were you in Guatemala?”

Booth's voice went cold. “Why else? I went down to shoot someone at 1500 feet.”

“Booth...”

“I'm at the shooting range. Call me before you leave, okay?”

She sighed. “Okay.”One of the things that I think this snippet does really well is sort of display how their relationship is transitioning over time, from little-sister to confidante... and of course, it shows how Temperance, at this point, definitely knows that she feels something for Booth beyond friendship.

Thanks for picking one of my favorites, Cath!!

Meme time!

ladychi — Tue, 14 Aug 2012 02:30:09 GMT

It's that time of year again....

Pick any passage of 500 however many words or less from any story I've written, and comment to this post with that selection. I will then give you the equivalent of a DVD commentary on that snippet: what I was thinking when I wrote it, why I wrote it in the first place, what's going on in the character's heads, why I chose certain words, what this moment means in the context of the rest of the fic, lots of awful puns, and anything else that you’d expect to find on a DVD commentary track.

So, My Little Brother Got Married...

ladychi — Mon, 06 Aug 2012 03:37:22 GMT

And it was a BLAST. I danced my socks off. There are pictures of me on Facebook doing the Charleston, but none of me and the best man sugar-pushing or jiving. I'm hopeful those show up so I can show you guys. I may be a big girl, but mama can dance.

It was a beautiful ceremony. Not very serious, in the style of my not-serious brother and new sister-in-law. The priest talked about the value of marriage, and how it's a living sacrament... it made me cry a little bit.

My sister A and I did the music, and it got good reviews. A number of my relatives were downright shocked that we were as good as we were, so that was gratifying.

And now I am going to put my very sore feet up and get prepared to do this all again for my best friend next weekend. I feel obligated to party at least as hard as I did this weekend. I don't know if my poor body can take it!

Just a post to say...

ladychi — Tue, 31 Jul 2012 04:06:31 GMT

Hello, my Bones BBs.

Have you ever wished I'd just finish Scarecrow already?

No promises. But I wrote 1000 words of it tonight. You could have a chapter after the Big Wedding this weekend.

Fic: The Pasadena Psychopath Paradigm (Criminal Minds/The Big Bang Theory Crossover)

ladychi — Thu, 26 Jul 2012 04:59:14 GMT

Title: The Pasadena Psychopath Paradigm 2/? (Criminal Minds/The Big Bang Theory)
Author: ladychi
Pairings: Penny/Sheldon, Prentiss/Reid
Summary: Penny is the latest victim in a series of abduction-murders. Luckily, Sheldon's been looking out for her and calls in an old friend for help.
Warnings: Not a fluffy story. Rape is mentioned but not pictured in this chapter or the chapter previous to it.

Previous Chapters: One

Chapter Two

Dr. Reid,

I have finished my initial examination of your most recent paper. You have not resigned me to your apparent abandonment of the true sciences, but I will admit that your findings were sound and your conclusion fascinating.

Your inquiries into my personal life are appreciated. I have been doing well.

Fond regards,

S. Cooper, Ph.D., ScD.

Dr. Cooper,

Thank you for your (relatively) kind words. I’m glad you enjoyed the paper. I am looking forward to examining the work you’re researching now. I hope that you will not let recent events affect your ambitions.

Although you did not ask, I am doing well myself. I find the work I’m engaged in to be very fulfilling.

Your student,

S. Reid, Ph.D.

Saturday, 7:30 a.m. PST

Pasadena, California

Sheldon had hung up the phone with Reid feeling marginally relieved. He’d stayed up all night until it would be (barely) socially acceptable to call his friend and ask for help. The anxiety had been screaming in his head keeping him from true rest, anyway. Despite common knowledge to the contrary, he knew when he was well out of his depth, when… feelings made thinking difficult. He’d seen the pattern, of course, yes… any child or reasonably competent adult who habitually watched CSI could spot the pattern, see how Penny would fit it.

Anything beyond that was outside of his comfort zone, and all the arrogance in the world couldn’t prevent him from admitting that… when it came to Penny he’d do things he would never do for anyone else: drive illegally, share his spot…

Ask for help.

Finally, he began to hear the sounds of someone stirring in Leonard’s room. His roommate was waking up, and he could tell Leonard what he’d done. Leonard, who believed he was working himself into a tizzy over nothing. Sheldon couldn’t deny that, in the past, his anxiety had led him to jump to conclusions, to skip the logical steps… to verify results. But over the past few days, he’d consciously fought what his subconscious was screaming at him. He had, of course, been following the news story carefully: he often monitored crime in Pasadena so he would know what areas to avoid, which areas were relatively safe.

He replayed that final moment in his head a thousand times. If he’d said good-bye, added a caveat to be careful… if he had acted like a concerned friend and offered to go with her, the same way she would offer to go the comic store with him…

Leonard’s sigh announced his presence at the door.

“Are you still awake?”

“I missed my bedtime 7.2 hours ago, Leonard.”

Leonard shook his head and went to the kitchen, forcing himself through the routine of making coffee. “So take a sleeping pill.”

“Over 100 million sleeping pills were prescribed to Americans in the last year,” Sheldon said absently, “none of them to me.”

“I have a bottle in the medicine cabinet.”

Sheldon shot Leonard a look. “Prescription drug abuse is a crime, Leonard.”

“Arrest me. No cop would press charges knowing I’d have to deal with you on no sleep.”

Sheldon shifted in his seat. “Leonard, I have something to tell you… about Penny.”

“Did she call to check in?” Leonard asked, a glimmer of hope in his eye.

“No, she won’t, Leonard, as I’ve said. That’s not in the pattern.”

“Sheldon, you can’t know for sure that some psychopath…”

“Sociopath.”

Leonard looked exasperated. “What?”

“Given the way the crimes are presented, the pattern and lack of evidence, the perpetrator is most likely a sociopath.”

Leonard’s eyebrows knitted together. “What have you been doing all night?”

“Research. Just because you refuse to do anything about Penny’s abduction doesn’t mean my hands are tied.”

It took him a minute, because Leonard never really “fired at all cylinders”, as George Cooper used to say, without at least a pot and a half of coffee in him, but eventually he got there and asked the question that Sheldon had both been dreading and anticipating.

“Sheldon, what the hell did you do?”

Saturday, 12:30 p.m. PST

Just outside of Pasadena Airspace

“Don’t look at me like that.”

Emily was startled out of her near-trance by the sound of Spencer’s voice. She’d been contemplating the evidence, yes, but she’d also been thinking about a young Spencer Reid -- what he must have been like in college… what a friend from that era might think of him now. Reid couldn’t read her mind, there was no way to tell she’d been thinking about him, other than her eyes had unfocused in his general direction. She decided to play it off.

“I wasn’t looking at you in any particular way. I was just… thinking.”

“My childhood wasn’t that bad.”

Emily’s eyebrows raised. “I didn’t think it was.”

“Schizophrenic mother, abandoned by my father at a young age, an emancipated minor by 16 so I could make medical decisions and attend graduate and doctoral schools… it’s not an unreasonable assumption. I certainly don’t fault you for it.”

“Reid, I…”

“But really, it wasn’t that bad. There were long stretches of time where my mother was medicated and was practically lucid. She made sure my teachers challenged and inspired me; stepped in when they couldn’t or wouldn’t.”

Emily raised her hands in protest. “I don’t know where this is coming from. Reid, I swear, I would never make assumptions…”

“Everyone makes assumptions, Prentiss. It’s easier, because we’re profilers. I suppose I could be kinder and call them suppositions. Given A and B, C. But it wasn’t awful. It might have been, from time to time, lonely…”

“Spence.”

“But then I met Sheldon.”

“Oh.” Emily sat back.

“There were some whispers, I remember. Professors who worried that we would engage in some sort of intellectual super battle. IQs at 50 paces. But you know, his interests were always slightly to the left of mine. I hadn’t quite figured out what my path would be, but Sheldon was a born physicist… a Feynman convert. Mostly, it was just nice to have someone who, even if he couldn’t express it, understood.”

“You said you hadn’t talked in a while?” Emily leaned forward, ready to reengage.

Reid shrugged – a gesture that spoke a thousand words. “Life,” he said simply.

Emily nodded. No one understood that quite as well as she did.

Saturday, 1:05 p.m. PST

Bob Hope Airport, Burbank, California

“Sheldon, you’re telling me you have a friend in the FBI?”

“I have said so repeatedly for the last six hours. I honestly don’t know why you’re surprised by this, Leonard.”

Leonard’s eyebrows climbed up his forehead. “You don’t know why I’m surprised that you have a friend I don’t know about.”

“I find your assumption that you know everything about my life, past and present, to be both presumptuous and based on faulty logic.”

Leonard whistled. “Someone’s touchy.”

“Penny is missing,” Sheldon hissed.

“She’s probably okay,” Leonard said. “She’s gone away without telling us before.”

Sheldon shook his head once. “I issued a red alert. I warned her…”

“I find your assumption that we all obey every whim of your crazy little mind to be both presumptuous and based on faulty logic.”

Sheldon crossed his arms and chose to ignore Leonard’s barb. “They should be unloading the plane any minute now.”

“Is your friend expecting you?” Leonard asked. “If they’re FBI agents, won’t they already have an escort?”

Sheldon looked unworried. “Someone from the local office will pick them up. I just… I have some information on Penny I think they should have.”

“Sheldon… you don’t even know if she’s really missing. She could be halfway to Nebraska by now. That’s what the local cops think happened anyway.”

“He saw things my way eventually.”

“You had to browbeat him into sub… oh… Hello.” Leonard’s face was slowly turning red, and his arms and gone to the middle of his chest, defensively… a sure sign an attractive potential mate was within a 100-yard radius. Sheldon looked up and tried to control his features so his relief wouldn’t be obvious. He strode forward, hand extended.

Leonard couldn’t exactly stop his jaw from dropping. Who was this guy?

“Dr. Reid,” Sheldon said evenly. Sheldon waited patiently while Reid retrieved a bottle of hand santizer from his pocket and used it efficiently before shaking Sheldon’s hand.

“Dr. Cooper,” he said, surprise evident in his tone. “I thought we’d see you later?’

“Is this your friend, Reid?” A beautiful black haired woman asked, her hand coming to rest gently on Reid’s shoulder before it moved away. “I’m Agent Emily Prentiss. I work with Reid.” She didn’t offer her hand.

“It was our plan for you to… interview me later, yes,” Sheldon said, ignoring both Prentiss and Leonard, and reached in his bag for a folder. “I just wanted to give you this.”

“Ah, thank you,” Reid said, not sparing the folder a look. “Sheldon, we’re going to do our best to help your friend, but… you’ve got to let our process work.”

“I wouldn’t presume to operate on myself,” Sheldon said. “I am trusting you, Reid.”

And then he spun on his heel and started walking towards Leonard’s car.

Leonard started after him, but turned apologetically. “I’m sorry. He’s really not trying to be rude.”

Spencer looked genuinely confused. “Yes… I know. Don’t you?”

Saturday, 1:30 p.m. EST

Somewhere in Pasadena, California

The air was getting close – it smelled dirty, like sweat and fear and urine…. Not hers. Penny hadn’t sunk that far, yet. But it was something to file away, something to think about.

This is not the first time he’s done this.

Her hands clenched and then unclenched in the box. He hadn’t tied her hands – he was far too confident in her inability to lift the top of it off and away from her. If one of the guys were here – hell, if Bernadette were here, she might be able to tell Penny a way – some minor miracle of physics, that she could push the absurdly heavy lid off.

But that wasn’t her luck. No, she would get snatched by herself, and she was no genius. She hadn’t spent hours laying awake at night figuring out what she would do if something horrible ever happened to her, the way the guys planned (half-in-jest, half-seriously) for all of the stereotypical apocalypses of science fiction. She’d laughed at them. She was wishing, now, that she’d thought to ask: Say, what happens if a lunatic puts me in a box? How do I get out of that alive?

Through the box, she heard whistling. A jaunty type of tune… something a little old-fashioned, something she should know… it tickled the back of her mind, even as it sent chills down her spine. She thought about screaming, then thought enough to decide not to.

Keep your head down and keep quiet, Penny-girl, her father’s voice whispered in her head, those deer are more afraid of you than you are of them and we don’t want even the scent of you on the wind… head down.

She took a deep breath, and held it.

Fic: The Pasadena Psychopath Paradigm (Criminal Minds/The Big Bang Theory Crossover)

ladychi — Sat, 21 Jul 2012 22:09:24 GMT

Title: The Pasadena Psychopath Paradigm
Author: ladychi
Universes: Criminal Minds/The Big Bang Theory
Pairings (may not be that relevant, just implied): Prentiss/Reid, Sheldon/Penny
Summary: Penny goes missing, and Sheldon calls an old friend for help.

Author's Note: This is an experiment.... We'll see how it goes. This story completely ignores Amy Farrah Fowler because I don't want to unravel that mess...

The Pasadena Psychopath Paradigm

12:01 p.m. EST, Sunday

Pasadena, California

The box was opening.

She’d lost track of the time she’d been in the box. Lost track of the times he’d bathed her, only to dress her and style her hair… and rape her. Again and again. There wasn’t much left of her inside her head, only a little voice that kept her alive. Kept her breathing in and out.

When she saw his face, the smile… the gun… some part of her was relieved.

Oh thank God, she thought. It’s finally over.

And then… pain.

And nothing.

10:20 p.m. PST, Wednesday (Halo Night)

Pasadena, California

“I lost sight of her! Damnit! I lost sight of her. Oh shit, this is not going to be good,” Howard said over the headset (he was playing in his bedroom instead of the apartment this time), his voice carefully pitched low enough not to disturb his mother or Bernadette.

“I’m trying to get a visual on her,” Leonard said. “Nobody panic until there’s something –“

“It’s been quiet too long,” Raj fretted. “Too long!” He took a sip of the beer he was nursing in order to make talking to Penny

Boom. The explosion seemed to come from nowhere, catching them all off guard. Blue uniforms went flying in every direction.

“Hold it together! Hold it together!” Leonard shouted.

“I could do a better job of that if someone wasn’t yelling in my ear,” Howard muttered, trying desperately to get control of his character.

“Muwahaha!” Sheldon’s voice came over the headset. “Eat that, weaklings!”

“Focus, Sheldon!” Penny snapped at him. “No use gloating until the fat lady sings.”

Sheldon’s mouth quirked up in amusement, but he nodded.

“Why do we let them play on the same team again?” Leonard asked, out of the side of his mouth.

Raj gestured wordlessly to the exchange happening just down the couch from the.

“Hit the –“

“I see it, Sheldon. You focus on doing your part!”

“Penny! Behind you!”

“I’ll take care of this guy, you get the –“

“Got it.”

Leonard sighed, and Raj lifted an eyebrow, as if to say: “That’s why.”

“I don’t want to brag,” Penny said, stretching tensing muscles out as she got off the couch, “but we slaughtered you.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Raj said under his breath, his necessary half-a-beer making him more sullen than usual. “Rub it in.”

“Penny’s not gloating. She’s merely making an assertion of truth,” Sheldon said, rising to his feet. “In Texas, we’d say you got took out back.”

Penny grinned. “We kicked your ass.”

“I’m going to bed,” Raj announced, laying prone on the couch.

“Get your feet out of my spot!” Sheldon practically screeched, his eyebrows migrating up his forehead nearly to his hairline.

Obliging due to a lack of energy, Raj dropped his feet to the floor and promptly fell asleep.

“I’m going to scoot,” Penny said, deftly stepping around the debris from the evening’s festivities. “I’ve got an audition in the morning and then a shift in the afternoon.”

“An audition?” Leonard asked, following her as she started out the door. “What for?”

“I don’t know that much about it. It’s just a bit part. My agent has an in, though, so hopefully something comes out of it.” Penny didn’t look excited, the way she often had when Leonard and Sheldon had first met her and she had an opportunity to advance her acting career.

“Good luck,” Leonard said, raising his hand.

“Thanks, guys! I had fun. See you later!” She said over her shoulder as she walked out the door.

Sheldon didn’t even say good-bye. That was something he would think about quite often in the days to come.

7:02 a.m. EST, Saturday

Quantico, Virginia

Spencer Reid had more than a nodding familiarity with his phone ringing at odd hours of the day and night. He had no problem, now, coaxing his mind from sleep to awareness in the space of moments. That didn’t mean, however, that he wasn’t still sometimes surprised.

He’d just fallen asleep, really. He’d been pushing himself hard to finish his psychology thesis the night before, knowing that he had the weekend off and would be able to make up for his lack of sleep during the daytime hours. Left to his own devices, Spencer preferred to do the bulk of his thinking at night, when there wasn’t as much stimulus for his brain to latch on to, when he could run on the fuel of coffee and be comforted by the lull of the television in the background, and the sound of his keys clacking in the night. There was something … reassuring, about this routine. Academia had remained in his life since his adolescence and he still appreciated its rigors and routines, and the structure it had afforded his life when he had been looking for anything he could count on.

His cell phone rang. Incessantly, he knew, because he heard it and decided to ignore it, pursuing sleep with a dogged determination, but the ringing cut through that and his sense of responsibility won out.

“Dr. Spencer Reid,” he said, not checking the display. Only the Bureau or one of his teammates would call him at this hour.

“Spencer, I’m not sure you remember me,” said a deep voice with a trace of a Texas accent.

“Sheldon Cooper?”

“Oh good. I was afraid I’d have to indulge in a tiresome social ritual.”

Spencer’s lips quirked in amusement. It was good to know that some things never changed. “Eidetic memory.”

“Yes, of course. Apologies. Recent events have left me… frazzled.”

“Something I can help you with, Sheldon?”

“Yes. It has come to my attention that you’re considered something of an expert in the field of criminal psychology.”

Reid tried very hard not to laugh. “That’s true.”

“As you know, it is difficult for me to admit when I… may be out of my… that is…” Sheldon drew in a shaky breath. “Penny is missing.”

Reid reached for his glasses and sat up. “What’s going on, Sheldon?”

9:30 a.m. EST, Saturday

Quantico, Virginia

He’d been sitting in Garcia’s office for the last half-hour, his fingers flying over keys. Although he couldn’t claim to be as good with computers as the tech analyst, he was able to use a search engine.

“Reid?” Garcia popped her head in the door. “You know I love you, sugar, but breaking and entering is a felony. I’m going to need you to put your hands in the air and back away from the computer slowly.”

“Over the past year and a half, girls have been disappearing from Pasadena, California at regular intervals. The girls go missing on a Sunday – two weeks later authorities find the body in a public place. State and city parks, outside of buildings…”

“No witnesses?”

“No witnesses. Our unsub is organized and intelligent.”

“Here’s the thing, Reid. I wasn’t aware we’d been called to help with a case in Pasadena,” Garcia said, “and I’m usually the first one to know these days.”

“We haven’t been, at least not officially. I put in a call earlier this morning. I’m waiting to hear back.”

“Reid.” Garcia’s brow knitted in concern. “What’s going on?”

“I got a call from old friend,” Spencer said, pushing back from the computer and rubbing his eyes. “A friend of his has gone missing.”

“From Pasadena?”

“Yes.”

“Reid, honey…”

“She fits the victimology. I know it’s our weekend off… I’m planning to fly out myself. I’ll use vacation time if I have to…”

“What’s going on?” Hotch asked from the door way. He’d foregone his usual straight-from GQ suit and had donned jeans and a sweater to fight against the Virginia cold. “Reid, what are you doing here? And what’s this I’m hearing about a consult on the case in Pasadena?”

Reid sighed. “Hotch, it’s our weekend off. What are you doing here?”

“Jack’s at a sleepover. I have paperwork.” Hotch shrugged.

“Hey, Baby Girl, you know I love your sexy ass, but what’s up with calling me so early on a Saturday when you know I was… Oh. Hey Reid, Hotch. What’s going on?”

“Reid’s thinking of flying out to California to consult on a case on his own time,” Garcia said, putting her hands on her hips.

“Reid? What’s going on?”

Reid fought the urge to pound his head into the desk.

“Well, hey hey hey, the gang’s all here,” JJ’s voice carried over the chatting going on. Reid looked up and saw her and Prentiss in the door way.

“Okay, I love you all, but my office is way too small for this. Get out, my darlings. Out!” Garcia pushed them out the door.

Two hours later, they were on a plane.

11:52 a.m. EST, Saturday

Somewhere over the continental United States

“So, what’s the deal with your friend Sheldon, Reid?” Prentiss asked, plopping herself in the seat next to him. “I’ve never heard you talk about him before.”

“You wouldn’t have,” Reid said. “I don’t usually… That is to say, we haven’t talked in a while. He’s a few years older than me… a theoretical physicist at Cal Tech.”

“So you guys did your undergrad work together?”

“No. He was a professor… and a friend, obviously.”

Prentiss raised her eyebrows. “He’s a few years older than you and he was your professor?”

“Yes. He has an extremely high IQ and an eidetic memory.”

“So what you do even talk about, man?” Morgan asked, a smile quirking his lips.

“Sheldon had some… uh. Unique challenges.” Reid swallowed. “I want to be fair: part of the reason I was planning on coming out here by myself is that I’m not sure…”

“Spit it out,” Morgan said.

“Sheldon’s an obsessive-compulsive, socially awkward genius. He has a particular need to do things in threes – possibly stemming from his religious background. He prefers that nothing in his world changes or shifts, and assigns the people in his life roles and provides them with contracts, more so that he’ll understand his obligations to them than the other way around.”

“Is he delusional?”

“No. At least, not when I knew him. But I’ve not spoken to him for years. Actually spoken, that is. We exchange professional correspondence on a regular basis… the last time I heard from him before now, we discussed my pursuit of a psych degree, and some of my papers that have been published… and a recent professional setback he had encountered.”

“Is it possible that he’s our unsub, and he’s reaching out for you to stop him?”

Reid shrugged. “He’s a narcissist, but he’s never expressed sexual interest in… anyone, as far as I know.”

“Which doesn’t fit the profile we can work up,” Hotch said, his voice carrying over the plane and reining everyone in.

JJ studied the pictures in front of her. “There are no stab wounds, but there are bruises and signs the women were restrained for long periods of time.”

“All of the women are excessively made up,” Prentiss said, crossing her legs. “Blue eye-shadow, bright red lipstick…”

“All blondes, all in their mid-to-late twenties. And all malnourished. The coroner says the last girl, April Travers, only had a couple of more days to live, anyway.”

“All actresses,” said Garcia’s voice over Morgan’s phone. “Penelope Opheim has appeared in a few local and one national commercials, and April Travers just made her debut in a production of Cat on a Hot Tin Roof in a local theater to some nice reviews.”

“So… our unsub is targeting blonde actresses in California.” Morgan shook his head. “With that kind of pool of victims…”

No more needed to be said.

12:15 p.m. PST, Saturday

Somewhere in Pasadena, California

Penny woke up pissed.

Well, a little scared. But mostly pissed. The last time someone had gotten the jump on her, she’d been in elementary school and that little bitch Tiffany Heines had dropped on her from the monkey bars. Back then, Penny had held her own, and Tiffany had paid dearly for her mistake. Penelope Opheim did not get jumped.

Except for when she was distracted… because this acting gig wasn’t really working out, and it was difficult to pay the bills, and waitressing was starting to hurt her more than just physically. Her back hurt, her feet hurt, and her smile was starting to dull. She was happy for Bernadette, really, but her friend’s happiness with Howard was only highlighting how alone she felt, and plugging the holes in her psyche with meaningless sex was starting to wear on her.

She’d been contemplating Nebraska, the way she sometimes did. She knew it was a romantic notion, but she’d found herself longing for an endless sky and a field of corn. She’d been longing for home.

The blow to the back of the head had surprised her, but it hadn’t knocked her unconscious. She’d turned to fight, and that’s when she had seen the knife. It had given her pause – it hadn’t stopped her, but it had given her pause, and that was all the time the jackass had needed.

…And now she had a bitch of a headache and… she lifted her hands above her. Wall. To the side. Wall. Underneath of her, floor. To the other side… wall.

She had a bitch of a headache and some psycho had put her in a fucking box.

Just… perfect.

Delete, Delete, Delete

ladychi — Tue, 10 Jul 2012 04:11:16 GMT

Don't you just hate when you can't finish a
and every thing you write ~~sucks~~ ~~is lame~~ ~~is totally bogus~~ [fill in descriptor here]
and the beginning of what you write doesn't have much to do with the end. Sausages with mustard.

But the drive is still there.
Gotta finish, gotta finish, gotta get done.

Still, roadwork ahead.
Delete, delete, delete.

Sick Day Thinky-Thought Post: I Love That I Suck

ladychi — Mon, 02 Jul 2012 21:38:34 GMT

I’ve reached the worst part of a novel for me. Some authors bemoan endings. “It’s so hard to wrap everything up!” Some authors agonize over beginnings. “I’ve got so many choices! How do I start?” Not me. No… I hate middles. And not the middle part that’s rushing down to the rapids of the ending. Not the middle which is truly middle, where the plot is thick and the dialogue pops right along. No. I detest the beginning-middle. Because there are so many decisions to make, you see. What happens in the beginning sets the course for everything that happens down the road, and your energy flags, and you find yourself wondering why you put yourself through the drudgery of novel-writing.

One of my favorite scenes from the movie “Keeping the Faith” (which I watch semi-annually) involves Ben Stiller coaching a young boy through his bar mitzvah. He must memorize and sing a portion of the Torah in front of family and friends at the age of thirteen – an age when his voice cracks and his face is covered in pimples. The young man breaks into tears, wondering why God would require him to do something this hard and this humiliating at this juncture of his life. Ben Stiller’s character, a younger generation of Reform rabbi, tells the boy that he has to embrace sucking… because at this point in his life, he’s supposed to suck. He hasn’t been alive long! He’s going through some really intense changes, and everybody around him wants to take a moment and celebrate that.

I’ve reached that point with my story, really. I’m at that point in a first draft where the story is in its adolescence. It was conceived and developed in a flurry of excitement – I was enthusiastic about it in the beginning and couldn’t wait to start each day, but now I come to the manuscript knowing that what I’m writing now sucks.

I know from long experience that this is okay – it sucks, primarily, because I haven’t yet made every decision I’m going to make about character and plot (I have a few ideas and a general outline which exists in my head but I can’t over-diagram or I lose the excitement too early and give up), and so my indecision clouds my word choice, and characters act in ways they wouldn’t act later on in the creative process. Like adolescence, at this stage of development, my novel isn’t particularly supposed to be good. I’m supposed to make mistakes, my voice is supposed to “crack” – all because the novel hasn’t really grown up yet. It doesn’t know what it wants to be, and I don’t know that, either.

Later on, I can go back and patch the cracks, smooth over the rough spots, and help characters find their way back to themselves. It’s just that now, in this moment, I have to give myself permission to suck. I have to give myself permission to be less-than-great. I have to remind myself that multiple drafts aren’t the sign of a younger author: they’re the sign of an author who’s matured enough to know that the first go around isn’t always the best.

So if you’re stuck because you’re viewing your work through less-than-rose colored glasses, do what I (attempt to) do: give yourself a free pass on sucking for today. There’s good stuff buried underneath all of the word choice you’ll regret, or the syntax that’s cluttered, or the characterization that’s muddled. You may just not find it today.