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to each their own reward (Castle)

kasiopeia — Fri, 15 Mar 2013 11:07:56 GMT

to each their own reward
Castle | Kate centric | PG13 | 1009 words | AO3
The truth about Kate Beckett is this: if you kick her she will not stay down. She will rise stronger and faster and make everyone pay for what they did.

It is a life well lived when you can measure its worth not in failures or successes, but in people loved or lives changed. Kate Beckett has not yet decided what kind of life she has lived.

Kate has found that most people talk of good deeds and a better world, but they are not ready to do the dirty and hard job that makes good things happen. For that she despises them (for that she envies them). Because there is no shame in stepping back and not doing the job in front of you, just the shame of knowing yourself. If you are the law, you have to do what the law dictates; you can not pick and choose what is right. Because someone has to stand up, someone has to be the one to make that stand, to be strong and to never bend. And she wants to be that someone, she needs to be that someone. (In the back of her head a voice whispers that she is overcompensating for something that was not her fault, or her responsibility. The voice sounds a lot like her mother's and she shuts it out.)

The only thing solid and true in this world that is forever changing, is the law. Because everyone is equal under the law, and the law is for everyone. The law is the shield against chaos. (It is not a coincidence that her badge is formed like a shield, and thus she uses it as one.) If she breaks, if the law breaks, then all is lost. Kate knows that it does not all rest on her shoulders, but she also knows that it does. Life is full of double-edged swords, traps and games, and she wants to, (she needs to), live with them all.

Some things are so difficult to do that it becomes easy, while so many things are easy and it is only later you discover how difficult they really were. Once, she had stood at the back of a church and listened to a priest talk about a woman he didn't know. She had tried so hard to recognize her mother in his words, but all she had gotten was an image of a kind woman who only briefly resembled the person she loved. Later that day, head bent by a grave while a soft rain was making everything damp, she could call up an image of her mother as easy as anything. Later again, years this time, she stood by the same grave and she couldn't remember her own image of her mother; all she had left was a priest's empty words. Some things are easy, so easy until they suddenly become difficult to grasp, while others linger even after they've outgrown their usefulness.

The truth about Kate Beckett is this: if you kick her she will not stay down. She will rise stronger and faster and make everyone pay for what they did. That is what she has always done, ever since a crime in a alley made her pick up a shield and stand her ground. There is a chain with a ring on around her neck that both weighs her down and lifts her up. The ring helps her keep her center, helps her to know what is right, and because of it (or despite of it), she stands tall.

People are never what they should be. Kate thinks that at most they are a shadow of what they want to be, or maybe just a shadow of what other people see in them. She wants to be more than a shadow, she wants to get out of the circle of lies, self-deprivation and flaws. But she is still not sure if that is a pitfall she can avoid.

(She tells herself that seeing the failings of others is something that comes with the job, something unavoidable, and most days she believes it.)

Once, she had thought she was destined to make and argue the law. It was the easier and more obvious choice to make. (No. Not easier. Never easier.) She knows now that she was always destined to enforce the law. She can feel it in her blood when they get a new lead, she can feel it in her pulse when someone takes a shot at her, she knows it in her bones when they catch the criminals. Sometimes that is the only thing that keeps her standing at the end of the day: the knowledge that this is what she does, and that she does it well.

(There is a certain pride in the knowledge of a job well done that she recognizes from the dad of her childhood, before her mother's death and the alcohol had taken the certainty away from him. She pushes it away, because thinking about her childhood isn't always a pleasant thing.)

The horrible truth of it all is that war never ends, not for the ones who fought. And Kate has been fighting for a long time now. She has always played the game, again and again, and without the certainty of winning, it's exhausting. She is tired, so very tired of losing.

All her life, Kate has believed that everything that happens to her makes her stronger, that all her experiences add themselves to the total that is Detective Kate Beckett, but lately, in the cold light of time, she has wondered about the truth of it all. What if what doesn't kill you makes you weaker (and that to give into that weakness isn't really a weakness at all). She used to think that love was a game where everyone lost. In trying to let go, to move on, she finds something new in herself, something completely unexpected, and that, more than anything is what keeps her going; full speed ahead.

(And if the law isn't for everyone after all, and the shield doesn't protect her like it should, maybe the weakness of love will be the only tangible thing to grab hold of.)

somewhere i have never traveled, gladly beyond (Chapter 2/3)

kasiopeia — Fri, 15 Mar 2013 10:57:39 GMT

somewhere i have never traveled, gladly beyond (Chapter 2/3)
A song of Ice and Fire | Sansa centric, Sansa Stark/Jamie Lannister, Sansa Stark/Tyrion Lannister | 2607 words | PG13 | Spoilers for all asoiaf books, AU after A Dance with Dragons | AO3
She smiles slightly, but it does not reach her eyes. "He taught me that secrets were to be kept, only to be given out when there was something to gain in return."

"And what do you hope to gain from me, my lady?" He says, his voice deep like gravel, pressing against her bones.

"I do not know."

Sansa can see the way the wars have ruined the kingdom. Everywhere they go there are traces of it, and the people they meet all have the same haunted look to them. Her heart bleeds for Westeros and the pain it has been through. It is broken, but she does not think it is beyond repair. There is hope when she sees children playing, buildings being restored and people making a new life for themselves.

War is a travesty, and when wealthy men go to war to get even wealthier, or more powerful, or for kings and queens, or for blood, both poor and rich suffers (but the poor more that the rest, because Sansa has learned that is how it goes; the high born suffer from the mistakes of high born, while the poor suffer every time anyone makes a mistake).

Her father said that the one who says the sentence has to swing the sword, and she vows to herself never to let someone else do the heavy lifting for her. Because she might be a lady, a high born, but she knows what it is like to be a bastard and to feel the heath of unwanted glances and the frozen coldness of backs turned away. And if she makes mistakes, she wants them to be her own, not the mistakes of someone who let things get out of hand because she didn't pay attention to the world around her. If you don't swing the sword, the sentence is as easy to hand out as one of her empty courtesies. And once it gets to easy the world crumbles.

When the banners are called, the poor man suffers.

Jaime rides beside her, and Tyrion's men around them. They do not talk much when they ride. But when they stop and makes camp he seeks her out to talk, she thinks he means to shock her, to draw her out of her shell. Sometimes she even lets him. She is not as easily shocked as he seems to think, but she lets him try anyway.

"Have you ever been in love?"

The question surprises her, and she weights her answer before she decides to give the truth.

"I loved Joffrey once, but it was a child's love, given away lightly and I know now it wasn't real. It was a love for something I once thought I wanted; the handsome prince and the kingdom that followed him." She smiles a sad smile and looks at him. "So no. I do not think I have ever been in love."

"Then you haven't." he said. "Because if you had loved, you would know."

His face has hard lines and his eyes are dark. She thinks that he does know love, and how it can twist you into something you didn't think you could be. Cersei hover between them like a shadow and she thinks of Petyr again, and that the last word he spoke when the light left his eyes was her mother's name.

And she thinks that being in love is a curse, and that she hopes she will never feel love like that.

Two weeks after leaving King's Landing it start to snow. They are crossing the Neck and although there is still leagues to go before they get to Winterfell, winter is in the air. Sansa stops her horse when she feels the first touch of the cold snow on her face. Tilting her head back she smiles and it feels like her heart is exploding, that something she had closed off is making itself known again.

The other men have passed her, but Jaime is sitting right in front of her, looking incredulous. Somehow it's the way he looks at her that sets her off, and she smiles at him widely and laughs. It's a real laugh, one she thought lost, but she finds that it didn't wither when unused. And that makes her laugh more and to lift her face towards the havens again. The snow feels like home, it feels like a lost childhood and a new beginning. Finally she turns back to Jaime and find an unusual softness in his look. She smiles and moves past him, continuing on the road to Winterfell.

She can feel his eyes on her for the rest of the day.

"Have you ever killed someone, Lady Sansa?" Jamie asks her.

She can see that it is meant as a rhetorical question, as a lead-in to more of his superior self-pity, but she suddenly wants to shock him, and to shake his opinion of her.

"Yes." She lets the word hang in the air between them, as he looks at her in shock.

"What, you actually killed Joffrey?" he finally says.

"No, I didn't." She said coldly. She hadn't meant to say more, but when she thinks about the fact that the man in front of her was Joffrey's father, she's compelled to say the rest. "It was Petyr Bealish and the Queen of Thorns. She did not find Joffrey to be the husband she had envisioned for her Margaery. I am sorry." she is not sure what made her add the last part, but it's there now.

"No, you're not." he says, voice flat.

"I am not sorry he died, but I am sorry for your loss."

"There is no need my lady, I have lost more than a son." But he rides in silence after that, and she leaves him to his thoughts, having enough of her own to contemplate. She can feel her mask slipping more than she likes, it seems that is a talent he shares with his brother. keep your secrets close, only give them out when you can get something in return. She finds she tells more to Jaime than she intends; giving out her carefully collected secrets like they were rocks, not jewels.

He doesn't press her further about the day's discussion. But she can see him looking at her curiously, searching for something and she feels herself grow hot under his gaze. She wasn't going to tell him anything, glad when he left the subject alone. But when she looks over at him by the fire that night and meets his eyes, she thinks that maybe she does get something for her secrets. That this man is someone she needs now, because the North is cold and unforgiving, and she has a long road ahead of her before she reaches her final goal. So she starts talking, and when she starts she can't stop. Sometimes all you need is a confessor.

"When Joffrey died Petyr Baelish took me with him to the Vale." she starts, she doesn't look at him, but she knows she has his full attention. She can feel it in the way he shifts beside her and at how quiet it is all of a sudden. "Cersei wanted me because of Joffrey's murder, so I dyed my hair brown and we passed me off as Petyr's bastard daughter. He married my aunt Lyssa, but she did not like me. She blamed me for Petyr not loving her, just like she had spent her whole life blaming others. She tried to kill me, so he killed her." She shudders at the memory, she can still feel her feet slipping on the ice and see her aunt's expression right before she fell. Jaime doesn't say anything, and she is grateful. She wants to tell it all now, or she is afraid she will lose her courage.

"Petyr saved me from King's Landing and in return he expected me to do his bidding, call him father and let him into my bed. He used to whisper my mother's name in the darkness." Jaime made a sudden movement beside her, and she presses on. "He opened up to me, and he gave me more than he intended; thinking me one of his court ladies, a pretty flower with no will of her own. And in one way he was right, I was Alayne Stone for a long time. I pulled on a mask for him, being what he wanted me to be. Masks are the way I stay alive. But underneath Alayne I was always Sansa, a Stark of Winterfell. And the North remembers."

She is quiet for a heartbeat, she thinks he knows by now where this story is headed, but it has to be voiced. Petyr might think that all secrets should be kept, but she thinks that if she keeps too many she might one day break apart.

"I waited until the time was right, until the dragon was at the door and I knew that my cover would be blown either way. And then I slit his throat." she clenches her fists in her skirts as the image of him flashes before her eyes. "He taught me how to play the game, even when he thought me just a pawn. I can still sense him in the back of my head, assessing my every move and giving his instructions. His voice is always with me, and sometimes I feel as if he is winning, even though I am the one still alive." she confesses and is quiet. When he doesn't say anything, she turns to look at Jaime. His face is in the shadows and she can't read his expression.

She smiles slightly, but it does not reach her eyes. "He taught me that secrets were to be kept, only to be given out when there was something to gain in return."

"And what do you hope to gain from me, my lady?" He says, his voice deep like gravel, pressing against her bones.

"I do not know." Sansa answers, her voice solemn, her eyes still where she knows his eyes to be.

He is silent for a long time, but then he leans forward and she can see the Lannister smirk in place. "Then I think that your story should be repaid by a story. I have killed more people than you have my lady, and I will not bore you with all of them. But I will tell about the only murder I do not regret. I stabbed the Mad King Aerys in the back, and I would do it again if I had the chance."

Sansa stiffened, she had heard this story before but never from the Kingslayer himself.

"They say that your duty is to protect the king and the king alone. But when he needed protecting from himself no one stepped up. They make you swear and swear, there are so many rules, but they do not say what to do when you swear conflicting oaths. As a member of the King's Guard I was supposed to protect the king, but as a knight I was supposed to protect the people. In those final days he had wildfire placed all over the city, the maddness was in him and he intended to burn everyone. So I killed him."

He is quiet and Sansa does not blame him, she does not know what to think of this new knowledge. She thinks that even before she meet him she has build an image of him that was mostly based on half-truths and stories. She does not know what to do with this new Jaime, the Jamie she thinks she knows better after their weeks on the road.

"Why didn't you say anything?" she says in the end, when she can't take the silence any more. "Why didn't you explain yourself?"

He laughed then, but the laugh was without joy. "It was your father who arrived first and he did not want to listen to my excuses. Never mind what he would have done himself if the King was still alive. He always believed in honour and duty before everything, and he had already made his mind up about me. And after that I didn't bother. What did I care what people thought of me?"

She thinks he is lying, he does care what people think, but she doesn't call him on it. They have both been honest enough for one night.

The closer they get to Winterfell, the more Sansa feels it's pull. There is a strange sadness lodged in her breast and she knows it has been there for years. But now. Now that she is so close it feels like it is expanding, like it is almost breaking. She is afraid that it will be taken away from her, now that she finally is close to home.

She is afraid to hope.

They stop at an inn for the night. The boy serving them blushes scarlet when she smiles at him, and hurries away. Jaime smiles his mocking smile at her.

"Your beauty is turning heads wherever you go my lady." She can tell he's drunk and just hoping for a reaction, and she turns away.

"Someone should put a smile on your face. I'm not sure that lad has a good fucking in him, but I am sure you could get some kisses out of him if you so desired."

"I've only kissed four people in my life, none of them led to smiles and I do not know if I intend to add a fifth." she said coldly. She could tell that he was being crude just to bait her, and she is angry at herself for giving in.

"You might have to, to hold the North." is his swift response.

She knows in her heart that he is right. She will need a husband and heirs for the bannermen to trust her. They were childish words of a girl who didn't know her duty. She thought she was past impatient thoughts like that. He doesn't say any more either, the bravado leaving him just as sudden as it came. She is used to his mood swings by now, and she has her own thoughts to keep her company.

It is only later when she is done eating and he is on his third tankard of ale that he speaks again. "So who are the lucky men that got a kiss from the Lady Sansa?"

She doesn't answer, just feels her mouth fill with ash with the thought that only one of them got it freely, and that is the one she most want to take back.

When she doesn't answer he continues on: "Because I have been thinking about it, and I can only name two: My dear brother and that bastard Petyr. And if I would dare to hazard a guess on the third it would be Joffrey. So who is the forth my lady?"

She does not really see a reason to hide it from him, but it is still a secret she has kept with her for a long time. A moment shared between a hound and a bird, something sacred to her now, although she can't quite say why.

"Sandor Clegane" she says softly, anticipating his mockery and getting none of it. He doesn't say anything at all, just looks at her, his eyes filled with something she does not quite understand. He opens his mouth to say something, but she stops him.

"It is a long story, and not one I am eager to share. At least not tonight." she gets up, "I will retire now. Goodnight ser." And with that she leaves him, tired to the core, longing for the bed upstairs after a long day's ride.

Three days later they can see Winterfell in the distance and Sansa feels the longing sadness in her chest breathing out and expanding.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 3

somewhere i have never traveled, gladly beyond (Chapter 1/3)

kasiopeia — Fri, 15 Mar 2013 10:49:23 GMT

somewhere i have never traveled, gladly beyond (Chapter 1/3)
A song of Ice and Fire | Sansa centric, Sansa Stark/Jamie Lannister, Sansa Stark/Tyrion Lannister | 3973 words | PG13 | Spoilers for all asoiaf books, AU after A Dance with Dragons | AO3
She learned long ago not to place her trust in men, or in a song's promise of rescue for a fair maiden. She is a maiden no more, and Sansa Stark knows that the only one who can save her is herself.

Sansa owns a mask of porcelain, she owns a mask of ivory, she owns a mask of steel. She dons them all these days, just to stay alive. She learned to play the game with words, not with steel, but that does not make her less dangerous. She learned from the mockingbird, and even if Petyr is dead now, he follows her wherever she goes. His smooth voice fills her head and her mind, blending with the lessons from her youth. Courtesy is a lady's armour. Never let your mask fall.

She smiles and curtsies and behaves like she knows they expect. The new queen is no friend to the Starks, but Sansa had stood before the mother of Dragons, head bowed in false submission and listened to her words of pardon for a crime she didn't commit. She is no longer the girl she once was, and she knows that even if the queen says that Sansa doesn't share the offences of her father and her brother, she is still not safe. Do not place your trust lightly. Always be on guard for the next attack Petyr's voice say in her head as she bends her knees and swears loyalty to a Queen she barely know.

Tyrion is back as well. She watches her husband and waits for what he intends to do. Sometimes the best plan is to listen, watch and make sure your plans belong to others. She is done being a pawn, some piece to be traded away, but Tyrion carries favour with the new Queen and Sansa is playing a long game, a game she intends to win. She no longer thinks in small steps and immediate needs, and she might still need Tyrion's good will. He was kind to her before, he might be so again.

She has been a pawn and she is never letting herself be one again. If they kick her she will not stay down, but rise even stronger with a cold fury suitable of her northern blood.

He doesn't seek her out until a few days later, although she knows he has seen her. He makes her a sarcastic bow, and looks up at her with a glint in his eyes.

"Will you not welcome your husband home?"

She smiles back at him confidence is a shield against suspicion "Of course my lord." she says and holds her hand out to him. He takes it and places a kiss to her knuckles.

"Would you care to accompany me to my chambers?" he says politely.

"Yes my Lord." her heart beats madly in her chest, but she doesn't let it show. She wonders if he's changed like she have, if this time he will press her for the duties of the marriage bed. She thinks she knows the hearts of men, but she is not sure she knows this one. She can feel his eyes on her as they walk, her stride shortened to match his. Once she would have speed up just to spite him, but that is not her any more.

His sitting room is spacious, as the Hand of the Queen he is entitled to it even in a castle that bear the markings of war. But it surprises her all the same, she is so used to her own small cell and she still has a picture of him in their old rooms. He offers her a seat near the fire, pours them wine and sits down opposite her. He is still looking at her, but she does not want to be the one that break the silence. don't talk unless you know what to say.

"You are different from the wife I left behind." He gives her a half smile, the skin pulled tight over his scar.

Sansa doesn't know if she wants to laugh or cry at that, but she thinks she knows him better now so she does neither, and looks him straight in the eyes when she answers. "My lord is too kind" a lady's manner is her armour

He laughs at that, but it sounds hollow even to her ears. "I do not think that I am." He takes a swing of his wine and looks at her searchingly.

"I think you know that the Queen does not care much for you or your family." he says quietly.

She nods, but says "I am a Lannister my Lord." while her insides is screaming that she is a wolf, and that the North remembers.

"Ah, yes," Tyrion nods, "but she does not care much for Lannisters either."

She knows this of course. The Dragon Queen had Cersei killed, and her children is kept where she can keep an eye on them. Only the Kingslayer is at large and she does not know what will become of him.

"I spoke up for you." he continues, "because you are my wife. And she wasn't that hard to persuade. She knows not to blame a girl that does what her family tells her in times of war."

Sansa believes him, because every girl from a noble family knows what that is like. She has heard that the Queen married young to one of the savage horse people she brought with her across the Narrow Sea. But she can also see the fire in her eyes and she knows she will get no pity from the Queen, only disdain for not breaking free. But she will take that, it is preferable to the Queen knowing the she has already broken free; she is not the same girl anymore.

"Thank you, my lord." She says, head bowed.

He smiles the same sardonic smile he used to have, like he sees right through her, but she doesn't drop her mask.

"Do not thank me yet, for I would like you to act as my wife again."

She looks at him, but wills her face not to give her panic away.

"It is a way to ensure your safety." he looks at her intently. "There is a second bedroom connected to this room that can be yours. I will not press my advances, and we can continue as we did before."

Relief floods through her at the knowledge that he does not mean them to be husband and wife in any real sense. Unbidden thoughts of Littlefinger's hands on her and his breath ghosting over her face comes, but she dismisses them with the ease of habit. This is better than she hoped for, and she knows this is an offer she can't afford to decline.

"Thank you, my Lord." she says again. He drinks more wine, and he doesn't look at her any more. Instead his eyes are dark as they look past her. She doesn't know what he thinks, but she imagines she can see the same sorrow for things lost that often is in her own eyes.

"I'd better go and arrange for my possessions to be moved, my Lord." she rises and he makes a dismissive gesture with his hand. She's almost to the door before she turns around, a question on her lips she hadn't intended to ask, but that she needs to know the answer to.

"Why are you doing this?"

He shrugs. "Would you believe me if I said it was for respect of our wedding vows?"

She just waits, hoping the real answer is right behind. He sighs and drags a hand over his face. "I think it's a misplaced attempt at capturing some of the innocence left in this world. And maybe it is a first step to redeem what my family did to yours."

She still doesn't know if she got an honest answer, but she can see that no more is forthcoming and she leaves with a small courtesy, closing the door softly behind her.

She learned long ago not to place her trust in men, or in a song's promise of rescue for a fair maiden. She is a maiden no more, and Sansa Stark knows that the only one who can save her is herself.

She moves into the adjoining room and settles her few possessions in the chest by the foot of the bed. The bed is large, but she knows now that her husband will not join her there, and she's grateful for that one safe island in a sea of uncertainty.

Life settles into a rhythm. They play chess in the evenings, and sometimes they talk. Sansa keeps her mask, but she knows it sometimes slips. And she is half afraid and half relieved by his gaze that seems to see right through her, but doesn't call her on it. Tyrion has changed since last she knew him. He drinks more, and his mood is darker. He tells her one night that he likes their games because they are so different from the other games he plays at court. She doesn't ask him why, but she thinks that part of it is that he still thinks of her as the innocent girl of thirteen. And that he feels safe with her. She feels Littlefinger's voice in her head telling her that this is something she can use, but she lets the voice die down.

She doesn't want to use this, she wants him to have a safe haven. And that thought startle her more than anything. She can see that life has not been good to him, and even if he is in control again, she knows that this is not where he intended to end up. She suddenly wonders what his dreams where when he was a child, and if he ever got to live through some of them.

She can't get Petyr out, he's in her head, filling it with his voice and his lessons. Even beyond death, a death she gave him, she feels like he is somehow winning.

She never sleeps through the night any more.

"You play a good game, Lady Sansa." he says one evening, regarding her and she knows he's not talking about the board in front of them.

"Thank you, my lord." she gives him a small smile. "I learned from the best."

"That did not help him much in the end, did it?" Tyrion gives her a small smirk and suddenly she knows that he knows. She can see it in his eyes, but before she can retreat back into herself, she decides she doesn't care. It is a crime of a past filled with crimes. Still, she keeps her mask on and moves a pawn to take one of his pieces.

"He forgot two of his own rules my Lord." she says carefully.

"Oh?" Tyrion says and she knows she has awaken his curiosity now. She moves another piece.

"Do not place your trust lightly, and never let anyone know what you truly desire." Sansa recites and looks up at him. (she tries not to remember her mothers name whispered above her in the darkness, or the way his red blood had looked on her white hands).

Tyrion's eyes shines in the candlelight and she holds his gaze for a long time. "What did he do to you to make you use it against him?" he asks softly, but Sansa has shared more than enough tonight: she is not yet ready to voice this. So she moves her eyes to the board in front of them and in one swift move she has his king captured. In three more she has won.

"I talked to the Queen and she has given my brother free entry into the city." Tyrion confides in her one night. She doesn't quite know how to respond to that. She bears no love for his brother, but she does not want to offend him.

"So he has been found, my lord?" she decides on in the end, her ivory mask in place.

"Yes. I do not believe she means to let him stay." He takes a sip of wine. "But at least she won't kill him at first sight." He smiles his crocked smile and she retires soon after.

The Kingslayer arrives not long after that. He rides alone into the city, the golden arm hidden beneath his cloak. Sansa is shocked at how old he seems. She somehow never thought about Jaime Lannister ageing. She knew about the loss of his arm of course, but it seems like all the fight has left him as well. She was ready to despise him, to hate him like she hated the Kingslayer of old. But she do not know if she can hate this man; with loss in his eyes and a strained set to his shoulders that does not resemble the knight she once knew.

Later that evening Sansa quietly opens the door to their sitting room and slips in. Jaime and Tyrion is sitting in front of the fire, their faces serious and their conversation low. They do not hear her and she doesn't know if she should interrupt.

"I did not kill Joffrey you know." Tyrion says.

"No." Jaime says. "I do not think I ever truly believed you did."

Tyrion looks at him surprised, although Sansa thinks that it is only natural not to believe a thing like that about your own brother. But then she does not know these brothers like she once knew her own. She decides to make her presence known, it is rude for a lady to eavesdrop. Learn secrets in any way you can, trickery is only wrong when done to you. She closes the door loudly partly to alert Tyrion and Jaime to her presence, but also to shut out Petyr (even if he never stays away for long).

They both look up at her, and she stands up a bit straighter and takes a step forward.

"I am sorry to disturb you, my lords." Courtesy is a lady's armor. "I will retire and leave you to your conversation."

Both brothers look at her. Tyrion with something she has come to know as respect and understanding, but she can't read Jaime's eyes. His face is troubled, and as he rises and makes her a bow she pulls over herself the Sansa Stark of old. He is not a Lannister she can trust, and she does not want to show her true self yet. She looks down, makes a curtsey and leaves them.

It is only after that she thinks that maybe she should have told them who really killed Joffrey, but she keeps her secrets these days. Secrets are a currency, keep yours close at hand. Even when she want Petyr gone, she still does what he taught her unbidden.

She hears their low voices long into the night.

When she doesn't sleep she sits in her windowsill looking out over the castle. She tries not to think of the past, but she still does. She lets her mind wander to Winterfell and a childhood that she remember differently now. She remembers old Nan telling them stories as kids, and Sansa understands some of them better now. The old woman was telling more than just stories to amuse, they were cautionary tales, tales of the men and woman who lost everything, and the few who managed to claw themselves back.

She wonders where Nan is now, and if she herself had lived through any of her own stories. Then she realizes that Nan is probably dead as well, buried underneath Winterfell's ruins.

Sansa's greatest sin is that she is a survivor.

"What do you want?" Tyrion asks her one night.

"What do you mean, my lord?" her mask already in place while her thoughts swirl. It is too loaded a question, to many answers to voice and none of them something she's ready to give away.

"Do not play the game with me Sansa," he says warily. "not tonight. You know me better than that, I should think. What do you want?"

She looks down at her hands, the trust that's been building between them the past months wants her to open up. never reveal your deepest desires, or they might get taken away from you Petyr whisper seductively in her ear and she shuts her eyes. She doesn't want to be like him, she wants to be her own. She is in it for the long game, and she knows that she might have learned from the best, but Tyrion is right, that didn't help him in the end. She has to do this her own way, use him when needed, but not all the time. She needs to be Sansa Stark, not Alayne Stone. She takes a deep breath and looks at Tyrion.

"Winterfell." She says, the word hanging between them, making the air hard to breathe. "I want to go home."

He looks at her, and she can see a softening around his eyes (it is not something she would have noticed when they first were married, and she wonders now if he would have been an ally back then if she had let him. She knows now not to be influenced by something like physical appearance, there are other things far more treacherous in the human mind).

"Thank you." he says into the silence, and they do not talk about it again.

Not long after that the Queen has Sansa summoned to her presence. After her return Sansa has only seen her when accompanying Tyrion, and as they are standing alone on the Queen's private terrace, she misses his wry smiles as a wall of protection between her and the woman in front of her. She realizes now just how much their continued marriage has truly guarded her.

"I mean to give you Winterfell and make you guardian of the North." the Queen says.

Sansa is still as a stone, she does not know what to say to this, it must be a game the Queen plays with her. She can not mean what she says. Danerys smiles at her, but there is no warmth behind it.

"Take a moment to compose yourself, Lady Sansa." She turns and leans towards the railing. And Sansa takes a few deep breaths, willing herself not to feel the seeds of hope blossoming inside her.

"Why, your Grace?" she finally asks, and moves to stand next to Danerys.

"I am having problems with the lords of the North, they do not respect me. I could burn them all, make an example out of the ones that defy me, but this land has known enough of war. Tyrion tells me that they will bend their knee to a Stark, that if I make you the warden they will be mine through you."

"There is an old saying in the North," Sansa says. "There must always be a Stark at Winterfell." She takes a break and looks out over the water, one of the Queens dragon's are flying low over it. "And my lord husband is right, they would respect a Stark. But I am not a Stark any more, I am a Lannister now and they would not respect my husband." She says it without regret, she knows it to be true, even if she has come to respect Tyrion herself.

"Tyrion tells me that it has never been a true marriage. I mean to set it aside." Danerys says, and with those simple words she opens up Sansa's future. She knows she can do it now, that if she plays this right she can win her long game.

"And what do you want from me, your Grace?" Sansa asks, she knows the Queen is not someone who gives something for free.

"Your loyalty. A promise that neither you, your family or your bannermen will raise a hand against the Royal family. I will choose the wife of your eldest son, and he will rule as Warden of the North after you." Danery turns and looks at her. "I want peace." she says, "and I mean for you to help me keep it. In return you yourself will be left in peace and your children will grow up to be lords and ladies of the North."

"Thank you, your Grace." Sansa murmurs, but even as she plays the meek court lady, she can feel the cold wind of the north up her spine and the weight of generations past behind her.

The Queen's voice grows harder. "But do not misunderstand me Lady Sansa, if you do anything to displease me, or if this does not bring peace, fire will rain down on the North and none of it will be left to rule over."

"I understand." Sansa says and she does, she knows that the woman in front of her is as unforgiving as fire, and Sansa knows that she will keep true. Because the Queen is her way home, and she will not let it get away.

The cold and windy Eyre solidified her need for survival in a way King's Landing's threats and constant fears could not. In the lion's hands she learned of the game, in the mockingbird's she learned why she wanted to play it at all. She is tired, so tired, of being afraid. And survival is now a constant in her soul, a warm iron has branded her with it and making her long even more for a life free of masters and death.

And now she only has to reach out and grasp her home, just survive a little longer. And she can start to remember who she was before. Who she might become again.

She is standing on the high wall where once Joffrey had taken her to see her fathers head, looking at the King's Road and thinking of home. She was leaving soon, and she had taken to stand here, to look at the road she would take. Everything for her departure was prepared, and now it was just a waiting game. Tyrion is sending some of his men with her, they have all agreed to stay and help her rebuild Winterfell. He is also providing her with barrels of precious grain, tools and well preserved food. She knows it will be a long, cold winter before Winterfell again is safe and sound. But she will use the winter to build both herself and her home stronger.

Jame Lannister comes up next to her and leans on the wall. She tenses slightly, she has not been alone with him since his return, and she does not understand him, he switches with ease between wry japes and solemn silences, and trough it all she can feel him watching her.

"I am to be banished." he tells her without preamble. "It seems like the new Queen does not like me much."

"I can't imagine why, my Lord." she says drily, without really meaning too. But she is tired of this place and her mask is slipping.

He laughs, sudden and in a burst, and stops just as sudden like he is surprised by the sound.

"I asked the Queen if I could go North with you, she accepted my request as long as you didn't object." he looks at her, all laughter gone from his face. And she regards him quietly; she is surprised by his request.

"Why would you want to come with me?" she asks finally.

"I made a promise to your lady mother, and a Lannister pays his debts."

He looks at her in a way she is not comfortable with, like a drowning man would look at the shore. And she knows that a knight's promises are like the morning mist: beautiful to look at, but gone once the sun rises. But she can't deny him his own way to freedom even if she doesn't understand it.

They leave the next day.

Chapter 2

An origin story (Elementary/Harry Potter)

kasiopeia — Sat, 02 Feb 2013 15:43:11 GMT

An origin story
Elementary (Harry Potter AU) | Joan Watson/Sherlock Holmes friendship, Gregson | 1938 words | PG | Harry Potter AU where Joan and Sherlock attend Hogwarts | AO3
In which Joan Watson is sorted into Ravenclaw, gets the most annoying best friend ever, follows a plan and finds herself somewhere completely unexpected.
Note Made for fushiforever in the castleland 2012 gift-giving.

Joan Watson isn't good at getting new friends, or first impressions, or small talk. So it doesn't surprise her when she spends most of her first week at Hogwarts sitting by herself. It doesn't worry her all that much either. She'll get friends eventually; she always does.

She was sorted into Ravenclaw, but she doesn't know what that entails yet. English boarding school traditions baffle her, but she's adapting. Apparently, Ravenclaw means she's smart, and she likes the sound of that.

At the end of the first week, something different happens; when a small boy sits down next to her at breakfast. She smiles at him, but he barely nods back and they spend the meal in silence. After another week it's become routine; she doesn't question it and she isn't one to decide where anyone else sits anyway.

"What's your name then?" she finally asks after another week.

"Sherlock," he says and she notices he turned towards her before she even opened her mouth.

"I'm..." she starts.

"Joan Watson. Yes, I know. American. Mum or Dad is a mediwizard, Dad, I think. One sibling, younger than you by one year. You only moved to England recently. I would think because the schools are better here and your parents want you to get the best education possible."

"What? How?" Joan is dumbstruck, and that doesn't really happen to her all that often. Sherlock looks at her like she's slow. She uses some more time not knowing what to say and when she's finally ready to articulate it, he's already moving on.

"My father has decided that I need to make friends at school, because that's what he did at my age and I've decided on you."

With that he turns back to his meal, like that concludes the conversation just because he's said what he needed to say. When she gets up from the table, he falls into step with her and she realizes that she really doesn't mind.

She finds that it's relatively easy to be Sherlock's friend. He only occasionally requires someone to talk to, he's perfectly happy spending an evening with her in the library and he knows everything about everyone.

Another month passes and Sherlock is still her only friend. She doesn't really think about it much, but sometimes it hits her, sitting in the common room and looking at the rest of the Ravenclaws laughing by the fire.

Sherlock catches her looking and says "Surely, you must know why they keep a distance." And he looks at her with the most condescending look she's ever seen on an eleven-year-old boy. She just looks back at him because, of course, she doesn't know why; it's just the way it's always been.

"They feel threatened by you." She smiles at that and shakes her head, but Sherlock presses forward. "You are self-composed, confident and possess features society deems attractive. You seem to have it all together and that makes everyone that doesn't uncertain and awkward. No one likes feeling like that, so subconsciously they avoid you."

"Oh," she says.

Sherlock really does know everything about everyone. Joan likes to figure out people for herself, get to know them by knowing them, not their facts. People are puzzles that needs to be solved. But she still uses some of Sherlock's observations because they make it easier to make friends. She doesn't completely buy into his explanation about why she doesn't make a good first impression, but she tries to be more forward and daring, not waiting for the others to talk to her.

And it's nice, it's good. She's braver now than she's ever been and she likes herself all the more for it. And she might get more friends, but it's always Sherlock she sits down with after a long day.

Oren begins at Hogwarts when they start their second year and she claps harder than anyone when he is sorted into Gryffindor. Just around 10% of her is sad that he's not in her house, but she hides that from Oren and gives him a thumbs up when he looks at her across the room.

Sherlock catches it, of course, but in a moment of rare tact he doesn't say anything.

Years go by, and they both change, but really they are still the same.

Joan asks him once if he doesn't want to make other friends besides her.

"No. I only befriended you at my father's request. And while I find it quite enjoyable to be your friend now, I do not want to go through that again." he says.

So she drops it, and thinks that she doesn't really wish him on anyone else anyway.

When she tells him she's decided to become a mediwizard like her dad, he just rolls his eyes like he's known she would do it all along and starts talking about something else.

She hates it when he does that. Makes it seem like she didn't have a choice, like he's always seen her whole life laid out in front of him and knows where it will end up. She wants to break free of that, to go her own way, do something unlike herself just to mess him up.

She begins to date Liam in their sixth year. He's a Gryffindor and she likes how different they are. He's brave and daring, he believes that rules are something that happens to other people, and it's refreshing.

They've been dating for six months when Sherlock starts to notice the clues. He points them out to her in his obnoxious way. She doesn't want to believe him and they have a huge row. They both say things they don't mean, and it's not even about Liam in the end. It's the first big fight they've had and as Joan storms off she knows it's going to take more than the usual sulking and tea to make it better. But dammit all to hell, because Sherlock is right, and now that he's pointed it out it's all she can see. She confronts Liam about his drug use and he denies it all. So she breaks up with him. Not so much because of the drugs, she would have wanted to help him through that, but because he lied to her.

She goes back to the common room after, and for the first time in years she feels alone. But then Sherlock is there and gives her one of his rare hugs and she falls into it. He sits them down on a couch and she cries a bit into his shoulder. And she knows that they might not be completely alright now, but that they will be soon.

They graduate. It's the first and last time she meets Sherlock's dad. He's only there briefly, and if he's surprised that the friend Sherlock has chosen is a small, American witch with a bad hairstyle, he doesn't say anything. Sherlock just mumbles something about his dad only being there to keep up appearances and trails off towards the lake. She says something to her own parents, who's proud and smiling, and goes after him.

Theirs might not be the most traditional of friendships, but she knows when he needs her.

Joan starts her mediwizard training and they lose touch for a while.

A year into her training, Joan is broke. She moves into Sherlock's townhouse in Diagon Alley and it's like coming home. Sherlock's dad is still generous with his money, if nothing else and she doesn't have to pay rent. Sherlock doesn't really want or need to work; his latest obsession is advanced potions and the house is full of ingredients and cauldrons full of potions in various degrees of finished. She almost steps into a simmering green potion in the bathtub one day. She doesn't ask him to move it because it's his house, and she doesn't need that bath, but the next morning it's gone.

Sherlock also enjoys making other people feel stupid and currently he's taking that out on the Auror department. He calls it consulting and she tags along some days.

Joan finishes her training two years later and instead of applying to a new opening at St. Mungo's, she spends more time with Sherlock. He's started bothering the Department of Mysteries now. He drags her there one day after a long rant about what a silly name that is for a department, and it's like they are just begging him to stop by and solve everything. He introduces her to a wizard called Toby Gregson; he used to be an Auror and is apparently running the department. She can tell he likes Sherlock in a way most people don't and she likes him all the more for it. Gregson also lets them stay and play as he describes it or deduct like Sherlock does. And it's fun, and interesting. She never realized how many rooms and objects where hidden down there.

Gregson still works closely with the Auror's office on strange cases and he lets them come along. Sherlock is in his element then, showing off and solving cases. Most of the Aurors doesn't like him, but Gregson never loses faith. Joan watches and learns. She gets to use her medical knowledge, and while this is not quite something she can put on her resume, it's still fun.

It's been six months and she knows it can't continue forever. She doesn't want to rely on Sherlock for money her whole life; she needs a job, a life of her own and something she can be proud off. She thinks she's braver now than she's ever been, so she goes to a couple of interviews and she talks to some friends of her dad's and she tries, she really does. But none of the positions sounds as rewarding as the work she does with Sherlock.

After two weeks of looking for something else, she joins him one day. She just misses it too much to stay away. Gregson smiles at her when she walks in and she finds she's missed that, too.

"Hi." he says. "I thought you'd left us for good."

"I'm just back for today. I'd love to stay, but I need get a job that actually pays." She smiles at him and is on her way past him to find Sherlock, her thoughts already on the veil he's been talking about all week, when Gregson calls her back.

"Miss Watson. About that. I actually have a position open here in the department, it doesn't have many promotion opportunities, and the pay isn't all that good, but we could really use a mediwizard around here, and I've seen how good you are with cursebreaking." He stops speaking then and looks at her expectantly and she can tell that he's been wanting to offer the job for ages, and that it suddenly rushed out when she gave him an opening. She might not be a Sherlock Holmes, but she's gotten quite good at reading people.

"I'd love to take the job." she says, smiling widely. The flaws he mentioned might be real, her parents will be disappointed, and it was never what she planned for, but now this is all she wants. Maybe her faith really was sealed when Sherlock sat next to her at breakfast and decided they were friends. But she still believes in a free choice of her own, and she was the one that decided they were best friends.

And when she walks up behind Sherlock and he turns to smile widely at her, she knows she's made the right decision.

A gentle word, like summer rain (The Lizzie Bennet Diaries)

kasiopeia — Fri, 11 Jan 2013 21:02:40 GMT

A gentle word, like summer rain
The Lizzie Bennet Diaries | Lizzie Bennet & Lydia Bennet, undertones of Lizzie/Darcy | 1118 words | PG
Lizzie is back home again, suitcase unpacked and video blogs made (she doesn't talk about Darcy). Lydia is also back (nobody talks about Vegas), and the house is packed with strained silences and it lacks something Lizzie didn't know it had in the first place.
Written after episode 76/before Lydia's 22 (Surprise).

Lizzie is back home again, suitcase unpacked and video blogs made (she doesn't talk about Darcy). Lydia is also back (nobody talks about Vegas), and the house is packed with strained silences and it lacks something Lizzie didn't know it had in the first place.

Her father has retreated back into his study, her mother is at Aunt Phyllis's or on the couch complaining about her nerves. And Lydia, Lydia spends her time in her bedroom, only coming out for meals. The silence is uncertain and cautious; they are all learning new steps. The pauses between their words are full of things unsaid, and no one says what they mean (but then they don't say what they don't mean, either).

The silence stretches on until she can't take it anymore; anger, guilt, sadness and longing snapping all at once.

She goes into Lydia's bedroom without knocking. Lydia is laying on the bed and doesn't look at her. The old Lydia would have yelled, talked about knocking and said something silly and slightly mean about her hair (she didn't think she'd miss that). She closes the door softly after her, wanting whatever this is to be private and lays down next to Lydia on the bed. Lydia moves over, but she still doesn't look at her.

Lizzie loves words, but now she doesn't know which she wants to use. Sometimes it's the things unspoken that have the most impact, words not said that hurt the most. So she says the first words that comes to mind, and once they are out she knows that they are the ones she's been searching for ever since Christmas:

"I love you."

Her voice is soft in the room and before she gets to wonder what to say next, Lydia has rolled over and is pressing her face into her neck like this is all she has been waiting for. Lizzie can feel her tears on her skin and she wishes she had uttered those words before.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." Lydia's voice catches a bit and her words are barely audible, but they vibrate against Lizzie's skin. And Lizzie knows them like they are her own, because they are her own in a way. She rubs Lydia's back, rests her chin on top of Lydia's head, and says the words back.

They fall asleep, tangled together on Lydia's bed like they are kids again.

Things get easier after that, but then again they don't. Because Lydia has always been good at observing, and she knows that not everything is alright. Lizzie can hear from her silences that she is afraid to ask, that she doesn't want to break this peace between them. It's not until she catches Lydia's eye one day that she realizes that Lydia is afraid it's her fault Lizzie is sad, and she knows that they have something else they can't leave unsaid.

"I'm alright, you know." Lizzie says, and it's a lie.

"No, you're not."

"But I will be."

"Is it my fault?"

"No, it's all mine." And that's not a lie at all.

And that's enough for now. Lydia gives her a hug, and they move on.

Sometimes Lizzie thinks that all the days of her life have been about that man in his bowtie. It's not true, of course; it's less than true. It's pathetic even, but it's not a lie either. She tries not to think of him, but she fills life's silences with his surprisingly sweet smile, the way his eyes glimmer in unshared joy when he thinks she isn't looking, and about the way his large hand feels resting in the small of her back.

Life is a balancing act, and lately she feels like she's always on the brink of falling. Lizzie thinks that New Jane might be right. No, that's a lie, New Jane is definitively right. It is time for her to make a change. She sits down and she makes a list, of where she wants to end up and what she wants to do on the way there. It ends up being less of a to-do list and more of a road map of her life. It might change, but she thinks a plan will make her less afraid to try something new.

(Only one item on the list is about Darcy: Get over him, it's never going to happen and you might as well realize that now!)

"So?" Lydia is sitting on the kitchen counter, her head tipped sideways, and she has that special Lydia glint in her eyes. Lizzie thinks that maybe she should be afraid, but she finds she's mostly just glad it's back. She's making cookies, chocolate chip cookies, because Jane is coming home soon and that makes this a chocolate chips kind of day. They've always made snicker doodles when one of them has been away, but she thinks that Jane will appreciate the cookies more.

She doesn't say any of that, she simply asks "What?"

"Are you going to tell me what you are all mopey and sad about?"

Lizzie doesn't answer, focusing on the task at hand. Words have gotten easier again, but not easy enough for this.

"Because I have a theory," Lydia says, swinging her legs. Lizzie makes a noncommittal sound and doesn't look at her. "I think you are sad about Darcy. I think something happened while you were doing your boring thing at his place."

Lizzie stills, frozen in place. Words elude her again, and she doesn't like it. She suddenly wants to tell Lydia everything, but she doesn't know how. Luckily for her Lydia doesn't wait for her answer. She cuts right to the heart of it with one question with all the right words in it.

"Do you like him?"

Lizzie looks up at her sister then, and tries to put everything she wants to say in her eyes.

"Maybe." she says and her voice quivers. But that maybe is a lie, because what it means is that she think she's in love with him, like the romantic everlasting love that she didn't think existed. It also holds the way her heart breaks a little every time she thinks about how much she fucked up.

Lydia slips down from the counter and embraces her and they just stand there, each holding on to something precious. Lizzie feels another set of arms slipping around them both; Jane is home. And she knows they are all right where they belong. And maybe sisters isn't something she'd wish on anyone, but she sure wouldn't want to be without the safety net they provide.

Because with her sisters on her side; she can do anything she wants to.

You're in my veins (I cannot get you out) - (Doctor Who, Rose/Eleven)

kasiopeia — Sat, 05 Jan 2013 19:06:18 GMT

You're in my veins (I cannot get you out)
Doctor Who | Rose/11, Amy | 1870 words | PG13
Every story has a beginning. This one has two. One beginning has evil plastic, there's running, hand-holding and promises of time and space. This is the story of the other one.
Takes place during S5/6 and pre-S1/S1. Title from the song "In My Veins" by Andrew Belle. Written for hhooppyy in the castleland 2012 gift-giving.

Every story has a beginning. This one has two. One beginning has evil plastic, running, hand-holding and promises of time and space. This is the story of the other one.

It had been a normal day. He'd been running through the streets of London trying to get to Amy, who had been captured by Caxtarids. He had been so intent on his task, gone full speed around a corner and suddenly he wasn't going forward; he was lying on the ground in a tangle of arms and legs, and wonderful, beautiful blond hair. All the air was knocked out of him, and when she untangled herself, sat up and smiled down at him, it all came rushing back in one go.

"Hi, mate," she laughed. "Try looking before running next time, 'right?"

He still couldn't say anything and an absurd thought went through him: how her future self would have delighted in rendering him speechless. He shook his head. She was already on her feet and he scrambled to his feet; he couldn't let her go, not now. He wouldn't lose her again. When that thought hit him, he knew he was lost, because he shouldn't do this. It didn't happen this way.

She held out her hand to him "I'm Rose."

"My name is Jim. Jimmy if you like. No, don't call me Jimmy. Never, ever. I don't like that."

He takes her hand in his, smiles and doesn't look back.

He begins to go back and meet her regularly. Sometimes just to look at her from afar. Sometimes she spots him and they talk, and somehow they become friends again. It's so easy for them, and he falls into old patterns, as she finds new ones.

Sometimes he asks Amy to stay in the Tardis while he goes looking for her. The first time he'd asked her she laughed.

"What, do you have a date or something?"

"No! What? I don't, no." But he was unsure and Amy picked up on it like she always did.

"You do, don't you? What's her name?" He didn't answer and she threw her hands up into the air "Fine! You can park me here and go out." He is smiling at her then and Amy holds up a finger. "But! You have to promise to tell me about her later."

He's really smiling then and dancing around the Tardis consoles getting the time just right. "I will tell you all about her one day. I promise. It's quite a story, actually! About the adventures we had, the people we met and the wonderfulness that was Rose Tyler."

"Was?"

Amy's quiet voice stops him in his tracks and he looks down at the controls and fiddles. "This story doesn't have a happy ending, Amy."

Rose sits down on the bench beside him and stares out into the park.

"You know, sometimes I don't understand you guys."

"What? I protest being lumped together with all guys."

She smiles a little then, but she's still not looking at him. The silence is comfortable and he thinks about how much he loves that it's never awkward between them. Not in his past or her present. She lets out a long sigh.

"It's this friend of mine. Mickey."

"Mickey is a stupid name."

She laughed at that and finally, finally she looks at him and he feels his hearts lift. "Don't be mean."

"Fine, I wont. I'll be on my very best behavior. What about this Rickey?" he asks, falling into the patterns of a man he once was.

"Mickey. And he... he asked me out on a date. And I don't know how I feel about it." She took a deep breath. "I mean we've been mates for ages, you know?"

"Yes. I know." The Doctor smiled at her. "But sometimes that's not a bad thing. Actually, it's not a bad thing at all. You can be friends and then that friendship might turn into so much, much more. Maybe even without either of you noticing it. And if you don't take that opportunity and do something about it, it might be lost forever, before you even realize that it's gone. And I never told..." He stops suddenly, knowing he's not talking about Mickey anymore and Rose is staring at him, and he can't look away.

In the end she looks away first, gives him the privacy to put himself together and then she takes the hand that's lying between them in hers. He looks down on it and tries to pull himself together. He can't talk about this with her, not at this time. But it's hard when he's feeling her hand in his (they still fit together perfectly).

"Anyway! What I'm saying is that friendship first is not such a bad thing."

"Maybe you're right."

She squeezes his hand and they sit there together; the 907-year-old Time Lord, and the girl who will become the woman he loves.

"Who are you?"

She doesn't wait for an answer, and he doesn't have one to give her.

"Because you always turn up when I need you, and yet I know nothing about you. Nothing about your past."

"You don't need to know the past." He smiles, a fake smile. "Besides, I live in the moment; it's my thing. It's what I do, Rose Tyler and I can't look back." She smiles and he gives her a real smile back, shutting down the voice in his mind that says that this whole thing is living in the past, and always looking back.

(Because it isn't like that. Promise.)

He knows he's gotten the time wrong when he sees her. Because he recognizes that outfit. He knows the light dancing in her eyes is now reflecting a universe larger than she ever imagined. He knows this day. And he shouldn't be here. But at this time, in this place, he is far beyond caring.

He smiles at her, and she smiles back at him, just a little tug in the corner of her mouth.

"Hi, you. It's been a while."

"It has. Anything new in your life?" he asks, like he doesn't know. Knows from that pink shirt, with that ridiculous print he had loathed back in the day.

"Well, yes. I've met someone. A new... friend." He can't help but feeling pleased about the little pause. Like she already knew there were something more.

"Yes?"

"And he's wonderful, and he takes me to these fantastic places, but he's just so, so stupid and sometimes he can be a fucking idiot."

The Doctor is a little taken aback, until he remembers how broken he was after the war, and that Rose had just been sitting through one of Jackie's lectures.

They talk a bit more, but she won't say much about him (which he appreciates) and he leaves soon after; tired of trying to ignore his uneasiness.

(He stops going back for a bit after that, but it's not long before he finds himself with her again)

"Doctor!" He can hear Amy yelling over the Tardis's hum. He'd just been contemplating taking a trip to see Rose. (One last time he tells himself, but knows it's a promise he wont keep.)

"In here!" he yells absentmindedly, already marking the settings for Earth, London and a small flat in the Powell Estate.

Amy comes in and leans on the control table next to him. "So I was exploring the corridors while Rory slept and I found this taped to a locked door." She waves an envelope in front of him, but he has his attention elsewhere. "It's not addressed to anyone I know. And it's strange. Do you know someone called Jim, but never, ever Jimmy?"

His head shoots up then, and Amy has all his attention. "Oh, so you do know," she laughs. "Who is he?"

"Me." The Doctor takes the letter from her and holds it in his hands, staring at the writing. Rose's writing. His hands are shaking, but he gets the letter opened.

"Hi, Doctor,

History can be rewritten, right? That's what you told me, and your past has to change because I'm never leaving you. I'm going to leave this letter with the Tardis; she knows us best. She'll give this to you when it's time. When it's time for you to stop this. You said once that you lived in the moment, but you should try living in your future. If I'm truly gone, then it's only going to hurt you if you keep seeing me. You have to try to move on.

You told me once that having a solid friendship before a romance is not such a bad thing. And I know now that you are right and that what we have is the best kind of love. You are wrong on another point, when you said you never told me. Oh Doctor! My Jim, I know. You didn't have to tell me, because I know you.

And I haven't told the present you this, but I know it now: I love you, too.

Forever yours, Rose."

He's surprised to find himself sitting on the floor, back leaning against the railing and tears in his eyes. He knew it would have to end, but he hadn't ever thought it actually would. That's human life for you, one day it's slow-going, it's all linear and straight, and then life gives you a curveball, and suddenly you're sitting on the floor of your Tardis, holding a letter that ended a dream.

He can feel a hand on his shoulder, and for a moment, for one glorious moment he believes it's Rose's hand, that she's somehow found a way back to him and that this time, this time he'll get it all right. But then he opens his eyes and Amy is in front of him looking worried.

He smiles sadly at her. "Remember the time I promised you I'd tell you about Rose Tyler?"

Amy only nods and his voice breaks slightly as he continues, "I think it's time for that story, now that it's coming to it's end."

He pats the space next to him and Amy slides down close to him, shoulder touching shoulder, and he's glad she's not saying anything and that she will only listen. He doesn't know where to start, which beginning is the best, his or hers, but he knows that he have to tell it all, not only because he promised Amy, but because not even a Time Lord can't keep lifting it alone.

"Rose Tyler was fantastic. I loved her, and I lost her. When I first met her, I had just been through the time war, and survived. I didn't wear a cool bowtie back then, but a black leather jacket, and I was mean and wounded. But she loved me anyway. When she first met me, I did wear a bowtie; I called myself Jim and it was my second chance."

He thinks that maybe this is what he's been wanting to do all along. Talk about her, and by talking about her, he might bring some of her into the Tardis again.

"Every story has a beginning. This one has two."

Tired (The Newsroom, Charlie)

kasiopeia — Sat, 15 Dec 2012 16:29:01 GMT

Tired
The Newsroom | Charlie | 181 words | PG
You get tired, sometimes, of wit and intellect; everybody's little display of genius.
Written for the 'We just decided to' ficathon.

Charlie gets tired, sometimes, of wit and intellect; everybody's little display of genius. That's when drinking comes in handy, and he thinks that if everybody was drunk all the time they wouldn't be so damn self-righteous and quick-witted. But unfortunately that's just him.

He leaves work early those days. The days he can't listen to another of Mac's speeches. The days when Will's quick comebacks make his brain hurt. The days when Don rants and thinks he knows it all.

They all think they know something about life, of love, that the experience they have is everything there is to life. And he wants to shake them, to yell and say that life is so much more. That no matter how intelligent they are now, no matter what geniuses they all are, life is going to smack them in the face and it will hurt all over again.

But he doesn't do that. Instead he finds a quiet corner in a bar and drinks some more. And waits for the days when their wit and intellect is what keeps him alive.

Halloween Fantasies

digitaldesigner — Tue, 23 Oct 2012 16:09:05 GMT

Title: Halloween Fantasies
Author: digitaldesigner
Beta: serialbathera
Word Count: 254
Prompt: Halloween
Rating: PG
Spoilers: None
Pairing/Characters: Castle/Beckett
Summary: It was time to pick out a Halloween costume.
Disclaimer: If you recognize them, they belong to Andrew Marlowe. Otherwise, they're mine.

"Castle, what are you doing?" Beckett asked, suppressing the laugh that begged to be released. He was standing in the middle of their bedroom wearing large clown shoes, plastic vampire fangs and a long, black cape.

"I'm deciding what to be for Halloween," he said, taking the vampire fangs out of his mouth. He was, of course, referring to their yearly Halloween party.

"And you thought you'd try them all on at once?" she asked, a giggle finally escaping.

He smiled softly at her girlish giggle before answering. "What are you going as?" he wanted to know, completely changing the subject.

She held up a finger, asking him to wait. He waited patiently as she pulled something from inside the bedroom closet and showed him.

"You're going as Batgirl?" he asked, eyeing the sexy costume and imagining how the black leather would hug her body.

She nodded. "I got you a costume, too," she admitted, showing him. "Batman."

"That's perfect," he told her, a smile forming on his lips.

"I was hoping you'd like it," she told him huskily as she pressed her body close to his, delighting in a mental image of her own when she thought of how he'd look in his skintight jumpsuit and cape.

"You were?"

"Yes," she said, nodding as he claimed her lips with his own in a kiss that left her breathless and wanting more. Costume forgotten, she pulled his shirt free of his jeans as he kicked the door shut, intending to finish what he'd started.

Honest Love

digitaldesigner — Mon, 22 Oct 2012 20:27:02 GMT

Title: Honest Love
Author: digitaldesigner
Beta: serialbathera
Word Count: 196
Prompt: burn
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Knockout
Pairing/Characters: Castle/Beckett
Summary: It wasn't their first time and it wouldn't be the last.
Disclaimer: If you recognize them, they belong to Andrew Marlowe. Otherwise, they're mine.

He tangled his fingers in her hair as he gently touched his lips to hers, but the gentleness was short-lived. He deepened the kiss, leading to the moan that escaped her lips and igniting the desire that burned within.

He pushed aside her clothing, revealing the flawless skin that lay beneath. His breath caught in his throat as he gazed upon her beauty. He softly touched the scar that was the only physical reminder of the day she had almost been taken from his life. She smiled tenderly, somehow knowing what was occupying his thoughts. She kissed him, bringing his attention back to the moment. He kissed her back before showing her how much he adored her.

Later, they would wake in each other's arms without a care in the world. It wasn't the first time they'd been together and it wouldn't be the last. Separately, they were many things: cop, writer, daughter, son, father, friend and lover. Together, they were those things and so much more. She finally trusted someone enough to let them completely into her heart. He knew he'd, once and for all, found a genuine, honest, love. Together, they'd found happiness.

Little Things

digitaldesigner — Tue, 09 Oct 2012 19:56:56 GMT

Title: Little Things
Author: digitaldesigner
Beta: serialbathera
Cover: kasiopeia
Word Count: 115
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Always
Pairing/Characters: Castle/Beckett
Summary: It was the little things.
Disclaimer: If you recognize them, they belong to Andrew Marlowe. Otherwise, they're mine.
Author's Note: Written for castleland.

It was the little things. He called her Kate instead of Beckett more often than not. When he opened a door for her, it was his hand on the small of her back. When they were relaxing with a movie, it was the smile on his face as he held her in his arms. It was the love that shone in those blue eyes when he kissed her good morning. It was how even though she was the cop, he made her feel protected like no one ever had before.

Yes, she'd known for over a year that he loved her, but it was the way he showed her that really made her feel loved.

Bets

digitaldesigner — Tue, 09 Oct 2012 19:50:11 GMT

Title: Bets
Author: digitaldesigner
Beta: serialbathera
Cover: kasiopeia
Word Count: 137
Rating: PG
Spoilers: After the Storm
Pairing/Characters: Castle/Beckett
Summary: Who would win the bet?
Disclaimer: If you recognize them, they belong to Andrew Marlowe. Otherwise, they're mine.
Author's Note: Written for castleland.

They had a bet going. He thought it would take Lanie a month to figure out they were now a couple. She gave her best friend a week to figure it out. Tops. And when Lanie figured it out, that meant Alexis would find out, followed by his mother.

So far no one else in the precinct had a clue about their new status. If they had, they would be collecting on bets of their own. Of this, he had no doubt.

He really hoped he was the winner of their bet. The winner got anything they wanted from the other. Watching Beckett undress for bed, he thought about just how he'd collect his prize. He smiled as delicious thoughts ran through his head. Oh yeah, he fully intended on coming out on top on this one.

Prisoner

digitaldesigner — Thu, 04 Oct 2012 16:55:05 GMT

Title: Prisoner
Author: digitaldesigner
Beta: serialbathera
Word Count: 93
Rating: PG
Summary: She's a prisoner to her own mind.

she sobs, finally relinquishing control
of the pain, of the immense sadness
threatening to consume her

she's a prisoner to her own mind
trapped in a world
that no one seems to understand

her every waking moment
overwhelmed with thoughts
of worthlessness and despair

she spends her days trying to forget
her nights wishing it would all be over soon
she's suffocating, each breath harder than the last

she falls asleep with tears on her pillow
and wakes with them filling her eyes
as she realizes she has to begin all over again

Blessed

digitaldesigner — Sat, 22 Sep 2012 16:10:09 GMT

Title: Blessed
Author: digitaldesigner
Beta: hazel_eyes_86
Word Count: 496
Rating: PG
Spoilers: A Hole in the World, Not Fade Away
Pairing/Characters: Angel/Cordelia
Summary: Cordy couldn't believe the changes her life had taken in the last few years.
Disclaimer: If you recognize them, they belong to Joss Whedon and David Greenwalt. Otherwise, they're mine.
Author's Note: Written for scifiland.

Two years ago, Cordy was hanging out on a cloud with the Powers, wondering if she'd ever see the man she loved again, ever get to touch him and tell him what he meant to her. Then about 14 months ago, they sent her home simply because he was a better warrior, a better champion when she was by his side. So side-by-side, they'd fought Wolfram & Hart, the senior partners and every demon they could find--and came out victorious on the other side.

When all the dust had settled, Angel took her by the hand and told of a love that kept him grounded and gave him a reason to live. "I don't deserve you," he'd told her softly, but I am a better man with you by my side. And if you'll have me, I will spend the rest of my life making you happy."

"Angel, you already do," was her simple reply before pressing her lips to his. Later, she would tell him about the promise she'd eked out of the Powers. She'd agreed to return to his side and in exchange they would make his soul permanent when he defeated the evil forces of Wolfram & Hart. The look in his eyes when he learned they could truly be together was worth more than all the riches in world. He asked her to marry him six months later, finally believing that he could give her the life she deserved.

Last month, Cordy gave birth to their daughter, whom they'd named Ella. She was the light of both their eyes. Cordy watched Angel from across the room and smiled. He was making funny faces at her, making her laugh. He never really got a chance to be a father to Connor. He was making up for it with Ella. He was such a great daddy and she could already tell she was going to be daddy's little girl.

In the years since she'd come to Los Angeles, there had been a great deal of tragedy and heartbreak. They'd lost Connor when he was just a baby, they'd almost lost each other soon after and then had barely saved Fred from the disease that had arrived with the sarcophagus not long before the final battle. Somehow, through a stroke of luck, Wesley found the cure just in time. And now, a year later, they'd come full circle, back living at the hotel, still fighting the good fight. Even though they'd fought Wolfram & Hart and won, there would always be evil in the world to fight. There was just a little less of it now.

Feeling content with her life, she walked across the room to join Angel and Ella, thankful for everything that had led them to this moment. She had a life she was blessed to share with a husband who loved her and a child she adored. She had friends who were part of her extended family.

Yes, she was blessed.

Living Again

digitaldesigner — Fri, 14 Sep 2012 17:03:41 GMT

Title: Living Again
Author: digitaldesigner
Word Count: 231
Rating: PG
Spoilers: None
Pairing/Characters: Mulder/Scully
Summary: Scully misses Mulder.
Disclaimer: If you recognize them, they belong to CC. Otherwise, they're mine.

Scully sat on her sofa, knees pulled up to her chest. There were no lights except for the moonlight that spilled across the room. It seemed oddly fitting that the only thing the moonlight hit was a picture of Mulder since that's where her thoughts were tonight.

She'd been living without him for almost six months now. Though she could hardly call it living. Existed seemed like a more appropriate term. She went through the motions, but the truth was, she was in hell. He sent an email every week to let her know he was okay and that he loved her and William, but it was getting harder and harder to pretend like everything was okay.

A tear slipped down her face, followed by another and another until they were flowing freely. She missed him desperately and wanted him back home where he belonged. She wanted William to know his father, not from the photographs she showed him at night when she tucked him in, but as a living, breathing, man.

"Oh, Mulder, come home soon," she whispered before finally drifting off into sleep, exhausted. She never noticed as the afghan was gently draped across her sleeping form. Or the hand that pushed the hair back from her eyes and kissed her softly, content to simply watch her sleep for their hell on earth was over. They could live again.

That's right, isn't it? (Firefly, River and Jayne)

kasiopeia — Fri, 14 Sep 2012 16:00:08 GMT

That's right, isn't it?
Firefly | River, Jayne (slight River/Jayne if you squint) | 839 words | PG | Set sometime after the movie.
She's found that most human things are impractical, actions and rules thought up as life goes along. She doesn't understand the lack of planning. Why didn't anyone make diagrams, lay out possible outcomes and calculate the risks? Love, death, friendship and life would all be easier then.

Written for uberniftacular for a gift-giving, beta-read by digitaldesigner. And here is a companion gif :)

It's different now, but still the same, the same, the same.

She floats through the ship, Serenity clinging to her feet. She can feel the ship underneath her, and with the ship comes feelings, thoughts and impulses; all the things that make her a home.

(River is the ship.)

No, that's not right, she's not the ship, she's on the ship; Serenity is a home. Her home. She turns the corner and Zoe washes over her and she's almost lost in the wave. Confusion, anger, hurt and over it all, the tinge of grief. River has to hold on to the railings to keep herself still.

(Just let it wash away.) She needs her thoughts to be hers now.

Running down the walkway, she comes to an abrupt halt. Everything is smoothing out and she can feel a slow steady beat washing over her. She looks in front of her and sees only light.

Up. Down. Up. Down.

Jayne is there. Solid. The weights go up, down, up, down. His thoughts are clear and his breathing is even. He's not a wave, he's not an ocean, he's a lake. She rocks gently and slows down, down, down. She breathes and remembers that she is a girl, a human girl and not a machine. Maybe not a perfect girl, but this is right (she is right), and maybe that's all that matters. Jayne is a lake and she's standing by the lakeside. The water is quiet. Not a ripple in sight and she wonders if there is fish in there. Maybe hidden mysteries in the water depths that she can explore. But that will have to wait; she has more important things to do.

(Right?)

She starts to build a castle in the sand by the lakeside. She builds up, up and hope that the walls don't come crashing down.

Up. Down. Up. Down.

"Whatcha doing, girl? Why are you staring at me? It's creeping me out." Jayne stopped his rhythm and made her lose her place.

"The ship is orange. Repetitive motion makes linear thought-processes possible."

"I thought you were better now? You know, not crazy." He does that arm movement near his head again, but she knows he doesn't mean it like he once did. He's changed as well. Once upon a time there was a statue, a hospital and a planet and the world turned. Different, different, but the same.

"She is. I am, better now. All my parts are mine, but they aren't all in the right place. It takes time."

"I guess that makes sense in a way. Your brother said that the gorram Miranda stuff would help you."

"I did the impossible, but it didn't make me mighty."

He nods in agreement, but doesn't say anything else and she's glad he doesn't make her explain. They both lapse into silence as he goes back to his weights.

Up. Down. Up. Down.

She goes back to her castle. She lays all the pieces out before her and fits her mind back together, Jayne's repetitive motions serving as a shield against the rest of the ship. The castle is taking form, growing before her eyes and the weights go

Up. Down. Up. Down.

Jayne-man. She likes that he's so uncomplicated. Some might say he's stupid, but River knows better. The insides match the outside; the wit is sharp, but the mind is slow. He says what he means and he doesn't move in circles. All lines are direct and it's an acceptable contrast.

With a ship full of thoughts and voices that lie (people don't always say what they mean, River has found, and she wonders why), he's linear. Jayne always says what he means, he doesn't lie because he doesn't need to: he doesn't care what people think. That's not true, River thinks, why is she lying to herself? That seems impractical. Maybe it's human? She's found that most human things are impractical, actions and rules thought up as life goes along. She doesn't understand the lack of planning. Why didn't anyone make diagrams, lay out possible outcomes and calculate the risks? Love, death, friendship and life would all be easier then.

But she knows she has to learn to think like a girl again, to act like a girl. It's strange; she knows she was one. She can remember, but she doesn't understand. Maybe lying to herself is a step in the right direction, even if it feels wrong. She picks up this piece in her mind and places it the part of the castle where her things are. Not alliance, but definitely hers. She doesn't feel secure enough about the lying to place it in its right place. She'll have to ask Kaylee, she resolves. Kaylee understands what being a girl means.

(When meaning eludes you, ask an expert. Get better, get stronger, survive.)

The River part of the castle is growing towers and taking over, but the alliance still lingers.

Up. Down. Up. Down.

Same, same, but different. That's right,

(isn't it?)

Unwanted Anniversaries

digitaldesigner — Wed, 12 Sep 2012 17:12:03 GMT

Title: Unwanted Anniversaries
Author: digitaldesigner
Beta: hazel_eyes_86
Word Count: 239
Rating: PG
Spoilers: It Takes a Village
Pairing/Characters: Morgan/Emily
Summary: She wished some anniversaries could be forgotten.
Disclaimer: If you recognize them, they belong to Jeff Davis. Otherwise, they're mine.
Author's Note: Written for crimeland.

Morgan bolted upright in bed, a scream on his lips and tears in his eyes. Emily was dead and he'd been too late. Again.

A slender arm draped itself across his bare chest, calming him. "You haven't had the nightmare in a long time," she whispered quietly into the still night, knowing instinctively what he'd been dreaming about.

He took deep, calming breaths until he was able to speak once again. "No, I haven't," he agreed. "I thought they were gone for good."

The truth was he hadn't had them since she'd come back. Not since he'd finally told her how he felt about her and she'd told him she'd felt the same way. Not since they'd begun sharing every aspect of their lives, both personally and professionally.

"You buried me a year ago tomorrow," she told him softly, glancing at the clock on the nightstand. "Well, today."

"I know." The sadness she heard in those two words nearly broke her heart. It was not an anniversary she wanted him to remember. She'd give anything for him to forget.

Knowing there weren't any magical words that would take the pain away, to make him forget, she simply kissed him softly. "Try and get a few more hours of rest."

He nodded and pulled her close, already drifting back to sleep. Emily smiled and closed her own eyes, thankful for the life she now shared with the man she loved.

Love in the Aftermath

digitaldesigner — Mon, 10 Sep 2012 18:35:49 GMT

Title: Love in the Aftermath
Author: digitaldesigner
Beta: fushiforever
Word Count: 334
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Always
Pairing/Characters: Castle/Beckett
Summary: She'd failed and yet, she'd never been happier.
Disclaimer: If you recognize them, they belong to Andrew Marlowe. Otherwise, they're mine.
Author's Note: Written for kasiopeia. I love you, Tale. I hope you like it. <3

Kate Beckett had failed to catch her mother's killer yet again, she had no job and God only knew how Esposito and Ryan felt about her right now. On top of that, she'd caused the obvious hurt that both of them were feeling.

And even after all of that, she'd never been happier. After everything that had happened yesterday--almost dying and the realization that it wasn't her mom's case that had flashed before her eyes in what she thought had been her last moments; it had been Castle.

She'd come to his door, hoping he wouldn't slam it in her face, no matter how much she deserved it. He'd been understandably hurt, but he'd listened as she'd apologized and given him the cliff notes of the day's events. She hadn't told him she loved him, not with words anyway, but it was there in her eyes, unhidden for the first time.

"What are you thinking about?" Rick Castle asked softly, holding her close, as if letting her go would mean this was all a dream.

She smiled and turned in his arms so she could look into his eyes. "You. There's something I need to tell you."

"What's that?" he asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.

"I love you. I loved you when you whispered those words last year, I loved you when I told you I wasn't ready for the type of relationship I wanted and yes, I loved you these last few months when the tension was so high. I love you, Rick Castle and I don't want you to ever forget it."

The smile her words caused was truly something to behold. The happiness that filled his blue eyes would be in her memory for the rest of her days and she was very thankful that she was the reason for it. He pressed his lips to hers in a soft kiss. Where last night's kisses had been full of passion, this one was full of love. Unadulterated love.

Table of Contents (Tale)

kasiopeia — Sun, 09 Sep 2012 19:42:00 GMT

I crosspost everything to AO3.

A song of Ice and Fire
- somewhere i have never traveled, gladly beyond - A song of Ice and Fire | Sansa centric, Sansa Stark/Jamie Lannister, Sansa Stark/Tyrion Lannister | 6580 words | PG13 | Spoilers for all asoiaf books, AU after A Dance with Dragons | She learned long ago not to place her trust in men, or in a song's promise of rescue for a fair maiden. She is a maiden no more, and Sansa Stark knows that the only one who can save her is herself.

Castle
- To each their own reward | Castle | Kate centric | PG13 | 1009 words | The truth about Kate Beckett is this: if you kick her she will not stay down. She will rise stronger and faster and make everyone pay for what they did.

Doctor Who
- You're in my veins (I cannot get you out) - Rose/11, Amy | 1870 words | PG13 | Every story has a beginning. This one has two. One beginning has evil plastic, there's running, hand-holding and promises of time and space. This is the story of the other one.

Elementary
- An origin story - Joan Watson/Sherlock Holmes friendship, Gregson | 1938 words | PG | Harry Potter AU where Joan and Sherlock attend Hogwarts | In which Joan Watson is sorted into Ravenclaw, gets the most annoying best friend ever, follows a plan and finds herself somewhere completely unexpected.

Firefly
- That's right, isn't it? - River, Jayne (slight River/Jayne) | 839 words | PG | She's found that most human things are impractical, actions and rules thought up as life goes along. She doesn't understand the lack of planning. Why didn't anyone make diagrams, lay out possible outcomes and calculate the risks? Love, death, friendship and life would all be easier then.

Leverage
- She can, so she does - Parker/Eliot, Parker centric | 1596 words | PG13 | She doesn't like feeling like this: all vulnerable, rejected and exposed. So she does what she does best. She runs. She steals. And she doesn't look back.

The Lizzie Bennet Diaries
- A gentle word, like summer rain - Lizzie Bennet & Lydia Bennet, undertones of Lizzie/Darcy | 1118 words | PG | Lizzie is back home again, suitcase unpacked and video blogs made (she doesn't talk about Darcy). Lydia is also back (nobody talks about Vegas), and the house is packed with strained silences and it lacks something Lizzie didn't know it had in the first place.

The Newsroom
- Tired - Charlie | 181 words | PG | You get tired, sometimes, of wit and intellect; everybody's little display of genius.

She can, so she does (Leverage, Parker/Eliot)

kasiopeia — Sun, 09 Sep 2012 19:37:00 GMT

She can, so she does
Leverage | Parker/Eliot, Parker centric | 1596 words | PG13
She doesn't like feeling like this: all vulnerable, rejected and exposed. So she does what she does best. She runs. She steals. And she doesn't look back.

Thanks to digitaldesigner for beta-reading :) I hope you all like it, feedback is always appreciated.

The first time it happened it took her by surprise. They had just finished a job and they were all at Nate's for dinner. Eliot had been cooking, of course, and when he put a bowl full of pasta goodness in front of her, she beamed up at him. He grinned back, and she felt a tug in her chest that stopped her smiling at once. Her food was suddenly very interesting so she didn't catch how his face fell just a little bit before he pulled himself together.

The next time is on a job and she's more prepared.

So she doesn't miss a beat and just walks on even if her arm is burning where he touched her.

It happens more and more.

She works hard on hiding it away. She thinks that if she doesn't feel it, it won't be there. She's not used to feelings; it just opens you up to pain and humiliation.

(And Parker doesn't do humiliation thank you very much.)

Once, on a job, they have to pretend to be married. They are looking at a house for sale and the mark is showing them around. She's trying really hard to act normal, to not check out escape routes and crawl into anything. And Eliot is not making it easier. At all.

He's touching her all the time, and she knows it's for the cover and that just makes her angry. Her skin tingles every time he's close to her and she knows now that she wants him to touch her because he wants to, not because of the job. And that thrills and scares her in equal parts. But she has to put on a smile and be happy, because they are newlyweds who are about to buy their first house together.

Eliot lays a hand on her waist and she turns sharply.

"What?" He looks at her a bit worried, but then his fake persona takes over.

"Honey, I was just asking you how you liked the bedroom."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I must have gotten a bit lost in my own thoughts." She gives a fake giggle and leans into him. "I love the bedroom. I'm sure we can do a lot of fun things in here." She gives him a suggestive look and smiles even wider.

(What? Like she isn't going to take what she can get.)

What she isn't prepared for is the way his arm tightens around her waist and the way his eyes darken when he looks back. She's suddenly aware of just how close they are and she has to fight the temptation to just lean in and kiss him. She could do it, couldn't she? They are undercover after all, and it's allowed. She's just about to try it when his eyes flicks down to her mouth once before he blinks and pulls himself away, turning back to the mark.

She wobbles a little on her feet without him there and she thinks that maybe, just maybe she wasn't the only one who wanted something more.

And that lights a tiny spark of hope in her chest.

The rest of the job goes by in a blur and by some unseen circumstance, she and Eliot have to jump off a building on untested rope.

She always gets the same feeling right after she does a tricky jump, (those who make her a tiny bit unsure if she's going to make it, but she's flying and what the hell, right?); it feels like she can do anything in the world.

And she can, so she does.

Eliot doesn't respond well to the kissing. He pulls away and he mumbles something about how he's not right for her and that they shouldn't be doing this and what about the team?

And she doesn't feel like she's on the top of the world anymore.

Parker isn't used to feeling like this and she doesn't know if she likes it.

Scratch that. She knows she doesn't like feeling like this: all vulnerable, rejected and exposed.

So she does what she does best. She runs. She steals. And she doesn't look back.

She knows that Hardison probably knows where she is. But she also knows he won't go after her until she's ready to come back. She trusts him. And that feeling is just as complicated as everything else.

She goes to Paris and breaks into the Louvre. She doesn't find anything special about Mona Lisa's smile, but if she wanted to she now has five different ways of stealing her.

But Parker thinks Mona Lisa looks content where she is and she suddenly finds herself jealous of a painting so she just leaves.

After thinking about it some more, she calls Hardison. Just because she knows he will worry, and somehow, somewhere he became her best friend and even if that ties her down, she doesn't want to lose it.

"Hi" she says softly when he picks up.

"Hi girl." She can hear the worried edge to his voice and she feels bad. Without wanting to, she almost cries and that isn't like her at all. When did she turn into this person that cries just by hearing two simple words?

"I'm sorry." she's relieved to hear that her voice doesn't shake.

"It's okay," Hardison says soothingly "I'm just glad you're calling."

They are both quiet for a while before he clears his throat. "Hey, what happened?"

She's quiet. She doesn't want to open herself up anymore, but she has this weird urge to tell him everything and let him make decisions for her.

He fills the silence for her. "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want; I just miss you. Sophie and Nate worry. And Eliot has been walking around with a black cloud over his head the past few weeks. He's even snappier than usual and he likes it when jobs go rough and he gets to hit someone. Look, I know something happened and I just want to say that you can talk to me if you need to. You know that, right Parker?"

"I know. Thank you. I..." She breathes. "Thank you." she finishes pathetically.

"Anytime girl. And I miss you, anytime you want to come home is fine by me."

"Okay" she smiles and when they've said goodbye, she uses some time thinking about the definition of home.

After that she thinks of Eliot. She thinks she might know why he rejected her now, although it has to do with human relations and it's not one of her strengths. She wishes that she could ask Sophie, but she can't, so she has to trust her instincts. Her instincts make her angry, at herself for running and at Eliot for hiding. And she makes a decision. She makes the jump off the Eiffel Tower first, it's a bit windy and she feels like she's on the top of the world again. Like she can do anything she wants to.

So Parker goes home.

(Because apparently home is where the heart is, and she thinks she knows where she can steal one.)

She lands softly on his living room floor and Eliot freezes in place across the room from her. He doesn't say anything, but he looks weary. He also looks tired and worn out, dark circles under his eyes, but she refuses to feel sorry for him.

"I've decided that I'm angry at you," she says without any greeting. "I took a risk, and I know it's your choice to reject me if you like, but you don't get to do it because you think it's the right decision for me. And you don't get to do it without talking to me. This isn't something you can just push away or hide from! This is real, I'm real." Her eyes are shining and she can feel anger and frustration and just a tiny bit of joy because she finally found something worth fighting for and that might make it all alright.

"Parker..." Eliot drags a hand over his face and sounds defensive. She won't have it.

"No! You always tell yourself that you aren't good enough, and that you aren't worth loving. But that's bullshit! You are worth it and, dammit, I'm worth it."

He looks at her then.

"I'm worth things getting messy and weird before they get better. I'm worth something more than you pretending everything is normal, I'm not a dirty little secret."

"Park..." But she wants to get it all out now, in case she doesn't have the nerve again.

"You don't have to believe in yourself because I believe in you. I can believe in both of us, and I believe that we are worth a shot. And even if it does go wrong, at least we tried. And right now..."

And then she isn't speaking anymore, but she really doesn't mind because he's kissing her. His hand is in her hair and his mouth is hot against hers. And it's perfect. She lets out a small moan and with a growl in the back of his throat he wraps his arm around her waist and drags her against him, deepening the kiss.

A little while later he pulls his mouth away from hers, but he keeps them tight together. They are both breathing hard and his eyes are almost black.

"This won't be easy."

"I know."

"Parker."

"I know."

Kissing him again, she feels like she's almost flying. Like she can do anything she wants.

And she can, so she does.

Time and Understanding

digitaldesigner — Sat, 08 Sep 2012 04:16:59 GMT

Title: Time and Understanding
Author: digitaldesigner
Word Count: 1320
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: None
Pairing/Characters: Will/JJ, team
Summary: When the unthinkable happens, how does JJ get through it?
Disclaimer: If you recognize them, they belong to Jeff Davis. Otherwise, they're mine.
Author's Note: Written for crimeland.

Will watched silently from the doorway as JJ's heartbreaking sobs filled the room. He quietly made his way to her, pulling her into his arms as his own tears slid down his face. After a few more minutes of simply holding her and letting her cry in his arms, she found the strength to pull herself together.

He pushed a strand of golden hair behind her ear. "Are you up for visitors?"

"Who?" she asked softly. "I can't take more well-meaning neighbors or people I barely know."

Will nodded, silently agreeing with the sentiment. "Well, I'd say they know you almost as well as I do."

She looked at him, a question shining in her blue eyes. "Who?"

"The family," he told her simply. Most people would probably assume he was talking about either of their parents or extended family, but she knew that was not the case. There were only six people in the world that he would refer to as the family.

She nodded, answering his earlier question. "Yeah, I need to see them."

He kissed her cheek. "I'm going to go check on Henry and take a shower. Take your time."

"Give him a kiss for me."

Will nodded and left the room as JJ took a deep breath and tried to control the tears that wanted to burst forth once again. She picked up the photo from the side table, her mind taking her back to the moment they first placed Lizzie in her arms.

"Congratulations, it's a girl," the doctor told her, handing over the newborn to her exhausted mother. Exhausted, but so incredibly happy. She finally had the perfect family she'd always dreamed about.

"JJ?" a soft voice asked, breaking her out of her thoughts. "Can we come in?" In the doorway stood Garcia and Emily and she could see Hotch, Rossi, Morgan and Reid just behind the two women.

She nodded. "Of course. Come in, have a seat," she said, indicating the couch and chairs in the room. Emily and Garcia sat on either side of her and the men took the chairs.

"How are you doing?" Emily asked.

"I'm fi--" she started, but stopped herself. "I'm a mess," she admitted. "All I do is cry."

"JJ, it's only been two days. Cut yourself some slack," Rossi told her. "This will take some time."

JJ could feel the tears welling up in her eyes again. "I know. I just don't know how I'm going to go on without her."

"It'll get easier in time," Hotch told her softly. "Though I'm not sure if that's a blessing or a curse."

"You sound like you're talking from experience, Hotch," Morgan observed.

Hotch sighed, remembering. "I am. When Haley and I were still in college, she got pregnant. We were so excited."

"Did something go wrong with the pregnancy?" Garcia asked.

Hotch shook his head. "No, Haley had the perfect pregnancy. She did everything right and we had a perfect little girl."

"What happened?" JJ asked softly.

"When Sarah was almost two months old, Haley kissed her and put her down for her afternoon nap. She never woke up. They said it was SIDS."

"I'm so sorry," JJ told him, knowing he truly did understand her pain.

One lone tear fell down Hotch's cheek, an extreme display of emotion from a man who didn't often show a lot of it. He reached into his wallet and pulled out a photo of a very young Hotch and Haley, holding a dark-haired infant. He handed it to JJ. "We were so happy."

"She's beautiful. She looks just like you," she said, handing it back to him.

He nodded. "For the short time we had her, she was Daddy's little girl."

"How did you get over losing her?" JJ asked softly.

"I didn't. You never really get over it. You just learn to go on. It's almost impossible at first, but you eventually realize that she wouldn't want you to give up living. And there are other people who still need you."

"But I don't even know how to do that," JJ whispered. The pain in her voice broke all their hearts. "I can barely make myself take a shower and eat. How am I going to be able to do things like work and laugh again?"

"It'll take time. It's not something that can be rushed. One day you'll wake up and realize that it doesn't hurt so much to think about her. Eventually the good memories will be the ones that come to mind first, the way she died will be second," Hotch told her, unconsciously stroking the photo in his hand. "It won't come all at once and you will still have days where you cry at the drop of a hat or when something reminds you of her."

"Does that part ever truly go away?"

Hotch shook his head. "No. For me, it usually flares up when we get a case involving babies or little girls with dark hair."

She nodded, knowing it would be blonde-haired little girls with blue eyes for her."

"And when something inevitably triggers those days, you have my permission, right now, to do whatever you need to. If you need a hug, ask for it. There are six members of this team who would gladly give it to you. If you need a dark room so you can cry in peace, it's yours. You don't have to explain why and you don't have to apologize. Ever."

JJ looked up at him, tears glistening in her eyes. "Thank you," she whispered, wanting to express how much that meant, but she didn't need to. He already knew. She glanced at the picture on the side table once again. Looking at that sweet little face, knowing she would never again hear her laughter or hold her in her arms was more than she could take and the tears came out in sobs.

"Shh, it's okay, JJ. Let it out. We're here," Garcia told her, wrapping her arms around her friend.

When she pulled herself together a few minutes later, she opened her mouth to apologize, but Morgan held up his hand. "Don't even think of apologizing, JJ," he told her gently. She nodded gratefully.

Her exhaustion was evident on her face so they left a short time later after hugging her and promising to check in with her in a few days. "If you need anything, let us know," Reid told her.

***

It took almost six months for her to feel anything like her old self again, but she found Hotch was right. It took time, but the good memories were starting to take over the bad ones. She remembered the laughter and the hugs over the pain and misery.

And then one day, they got a bad case. Little girls were being abducted from their homes, tortured and left for dead. She'd been fine until the second day. They'd found another body with blonde hair and blue eyes and looked almost exactly like Lizzie would have. She managed to keep herself together until they got back to the police station. Once there, she found a quiet room and lost it. It was like losing Lizzie all over again. She was so lost in her misery that she never heard a sound. Not the click of the door, not footsteps as they made their way to her, nothing until Emily wrapped her arms around her and let her cry in her arms. When the tears finally stopped, she looked up at her friend with a small smile. "Thank you."

"There's no place I'd rather be," Emily told her, handing her a tissue.

When they emerged ten minutes later, Reid looked up from the file he was studying. "Are you okay?"

JJ shook her head. "No. But I will be."

And for the first time, she realized she really would be.

First Christmas Together

digitaldesigner — Sat, 08 Sep 2012 04:06:39 GMT

Title: First Christmas Together
Author: digitaldesigner
Beta: hazel_eyes_86
Word Count: 152
Rating: PG
Spoilers: None
Pairing/Characters: Angel/Cordelia
Summary: Angel and Cordy enjoy the simple joys.
Disclaimer: If you recognize them, they belong to Joss Whedon and David Greenwalt. Otherwise, they're mine.
Author's Note: Written for whedonland.

The snow gently fell as the sweet sounds of White Christmas could be heard from the small radio on the front counter. Cordy hummed along to the radio as she decorated the tree that stood in the lobby of the Hyperion<./i>. Angel smiled softly at the image from his position on the couch. He moved to stand behind her and gently took a delicate ornament from her hands before returning it to the box. She turned to look at him, a question in her hazel eyes, but before she could utter a word, he tenderly pressed his lips to hers.

"I love you," he whispered, kissing her left hand, where a brand-new wedding band adorned the third finger.

She touched his matching one. "And I love you."

The rest of the afternoon was spent in easy companionship, decorating the tree, laughing and enjoying the simple joys of their first Christmas together.

Halloween Fun

digitaldesigner — Sat, 08 Sep 2012 04:02:33 GMT

Title: Halloween Fun
Author: digitaldesigner
Beta: hazel_eyes_86
Word Count: 451
Rating: PG
Spoilers: None
Pairing/Characters: Castle/Beckett
Summary: It was Halloween in the Castle household.
Disclaimer: If you recognize them, they belong to Andrew Marlowe. Otherwise, they're mine.
Author's Note: Part of the Family Adventures series.

It was Halloween night. While Kate did enjoy the holiday, it wasn't necessarily her favorite. Her husband, however, loved it beyond all reason. Last year, Nicholas hadn't been old enough to fully enjoy the fun of the holiday, but this year Rick had made sure to teach him about costumes and candy. He'd maintained that some traditions must be kept. They'd carved their son's first pumpkin just last week.

She smiled as she remembered the look of utter delight on their toddler's face as his dad helped him hold the kid-safe carver. She was pretty sure more pumpkin had gotten on Nicholas than in the trashcan they'd used to hold the pumpkin guts. The finished product was lopsided and one eye was larger than the other. It was perfect.

Tonight they were partaking in the tradition of trick-or-treating and gathering as much candy as they possibly could in the span of a few hours time. She'd wanted to dress him up as something cute, like Mickey Mouse, but Rick had insisted on something manly like a football player. She'd argued that Nicholas was only two, but it hadn't done any good. So they'd compromised; he was going as the tiniest Batman she'd ever seen.

Alexis had stopped dressing up for Halloween a few years ago, but she'd decided to dress as Catwoman to match her little brother. In truth, Kate thought they were both adorable.

Kate hadn't been planning on wearing a costume herself, but Rick had insisted. Knowing it would be futile to argue the fact, she finally consented. He'd wanted to go as a couple, which she'd readily agreed to. First, he'd wanted to go as a football player and cheerleader, which she'd vehemently refused. Several other ridiculous suggestions soon followed. Finally, he came up with Marilyn Monroe and Elvis Presley. She'd probably freeze in her costume, but it was worth it just to see him in a jumpsuit. Plus, Martha would be taking pictures before they left.

"Are you guys ready?" she called up the stairs, wondering if he'd let her get away with wearing a coat over her costume. She was cold already.

"We're ready," Rick told her as the three of them came down the stairs together, Catwoman carrying Batman. Her husband was smiling wildly, his eyes traveling the length of her body. Judging from the look in his eyes, he was appreciating the view.

"Come on, picture time," Martha told them as she held the camera and ushered them together so she could snap a few shots, both as a family and individually. She smiled and waved as they headed out the door before heading out the door to own Halloween fun.

Remembering Love

digitaldesigner — Sat, 08 Sep 2012 03:58:50 GMT

Title: Remembering Love
Author: digitaldesigner
Beta: hazel_eyes_86
Word Count: 110
Rating: PG
Spoilers: None
Pairing/Characters: Mulder/Scully
Summary: Scully remembers.
Disclaimer: If you recognize them, they belong to CC. Otherwise, they're mine.
Author's Note: Written for fandomverse.

As Scully thumbed through the photo album, her mind went back in time. Life as a young married couple, working and loving side-by-side. Then Sarah came along, followed by Elizabeth and finally Leo, their baby. Life had been so good for awhile.

Until Sarah was diagnosed with cancer when she was ten. She fought the disease with courage and dignity, but at fifteen, it claimed her life. Sarah had been daddy's little girl from the moment she was born. Losing her almost killed Mulder, but they eventually moved on, learned to laugh again. Five years ago, Mulder joined Sarah in heaven.

A tear fell. She missed them still.

Relapse

digitaldesigner — Sat, 08 Sep 2012 03:55:26 GMT

Title: Relapse
Author: digitaldesigner
Beta: hazel_eyes_86
Word Count: 110
Prompt: scared
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Memento Mori, Redux II
Pairing/Characters: Mulder/Scully
Summary: Scully was scared.
Disclaimer: If you recognize them, they belong to CC. Otherwise, they're mine.
Author's Note: Written for fandomverse.

She put on a brave face, but she was scared. Scared she wouldn't be there to watch their children grow up. After nearly ten years, her cancer had returned with a vengeance. Mulder was doing everything within his power to find a cure, but the truth was, they just didn't know how to treat it. They were trying several different conventional treatments, but she had little hope of any of them being successful. After all, they hadn't worked last time. Why would this time be any different?

She sighed as a tear fell, praying that somehow Mulder would find the answer. She believed in him, but she was still scared.

Rejection

digitaldesigner — Sat, 08 Sep 2012 03:51:19 GMT

Title: Rejection
Author: digitaldesigner
Beta: hazel_eyes_86
Word Count: 110
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Head Case
Pairing/Character: Alexis
Summary: Alexis deals with rejection.
Disclaimer: If you recognize them, they belong to Andrew Marlowe. Otherwise, they're mine.
Author's Note: Written for fandomverse.

Alexis wanted to get into Stanford more than anything. Sure, she had initially applied because of Ashley, but the more she looked into it, the more she realized it was perfect for her and she quickly recognized that she wanted to go there for her.

Getting that rejection letter was the worst feeling she'd ever experienced. She still didn't understand how her dad could deal with rejection letters. Why would he frame one so he had to look at it every time he sat down to write?

She knew she'd eventually have to choose another school, but for now, she held onto her stuffed bunny and let the tears fall.