Fic: Various
Aug. 11th, 2010 08:58 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
meridian_roseThese are drabbles and ficlets I wrote as gifts for the recent ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
whedonland birthday celebrations. Fandoms are: Moonlight, NCIS:LA, Psych, Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles
Moonlight, Josef, PG
Josef didn't try to persuade Mick to stop seeing Beth because he knew there was no point. Mick felt the same way about Beth as he did about Sarah. No amount of telling Mick he was setting himself up for heartache would change that. It needn't be that way, of course. Mick could turn Beth, if and when she were willing, if he weren't so pig headed.
But if Beth asked, Josef would turn her in a heartbeat. Mick would hate Josef for it, for a time, but he'd forgive him. And perhaps Mick and Beth could have the happiness he had been denied.
Once Each Decade, Moonlight, Mick/Josef, PG-13
It happened maybe once a decade, that Mick needed comfort that no human could provide, and that Josef was wiling to. It was beyond what might be thought of as sex, or feeding, being both and neither, and something else entirely.
"I hate what I am," Mick would say afterwards, face and hands streaked with all manner of bodily fluids. "But I love you."
"Hush," Josef would always reply, licking at the blood spots before he found a damp towel to clean them both off with. "You know how I feel about commitment."
And then Mick would leave and Josef would smile and revel in the new memory they'd made together, and wait with a vampire's patience for another ten years to glide by.
Dreamless,T:SCC, Cameron, PG
Cameron didn't sleep. She didn't need to. She could keep watch the whole night over the Connors. She could watch late night TV and wonder at the kind of minds who thought up infomercials. She could clean the weaponry – though Sarah trusted no-one else to do this correctly and would only clean her own guns again later. She could dance, trying to understand what the meaning was behind the movements, because humans ascribed meanings to everything.
But she couldn't sleep, not the way humans did, and she couldn't dream. And she wondered what it would be like. If she weren't a machine, she might have been jealous.
'River Tam', Psych, Shawn, Lassister, PG
"Also, she could kill us with her brain," Shawn said.
Lassiter frowned. "Who?"
"River Tam." Shawn watched Lassiter write this down. "It's not her fault. They did terrible things to her."
"That's no excuse," Lassiter said. "And who, exactly, did terrible things to her?"
It was Shawn's turn to frown. "Um, the people with the blue gloves?"
Lassiter looked around, leant forward to whisper, "You don't mean our forensic team?"
"No!" Shawn said. "The Alliance or something."
"What Alliance?" Lassiter asked desperately.
"I don't know. You'll have to ask Gus. He's seen the show eight times and the movie at least ten."
Lassiter sat back in his chair. "Are we talking about a television show?"
"I am," Shawn said. "Firefly. River Tam. Psychic, but also, she could kill you with her brain. I was saying how that would useful, her extra kung fu skills and so on, giving how someone just took a shot a me!"
"It was a car backfiring," Lassiter snapped. "Shawn, get out. And don't come back until you have some more leads, psychically derived or not. TV shows do not count!"
"No need to hate on River," Shawn said. "I'll admit I was sceptical but a scifi show with Western overtones? Remarkably amazing. Oh, shiny."
"Put my pen down and get out," Lassiter said. "I don't need to kill you with my brain. I have a gun. Get out."
"Aye, aye, Lassie Tightpants," Shawn said and sauntered out of the precinct.
"Bad Dreams", NCIS:LA, PG-13
Inspired by a scene from the episode "LD50"; where Hetty is worried about spilling secrets in her old age leading to the following exchange - Hetty:""So when the time comes, as you put it, there is something you can do. You can smother me with a pillow. Make sure it's synthetic. I'm allergic to feathers." G. Callen: "Ok."
***
"Kensi sends her love," Callen said, gazing out of the window. Outside, some of the other, more sprightly residents were playing bowls. "She's on loan to MI5."
"Make sure you get her back," Hetty said. "You're the boss now, Mr Callen."
Callen nodded, turning to look at the mirror. His hair, longer than it had ever been allowed to grow, was more grey than anything now. As was the beard which he thought made him look distinguished but which Sam called the "chin rat".
"I don't know how you did it, Hetty," Callen said. "The stress. The politics. The paperwork!" He casually picked up a throw pillow, squeezing it between his hands to test the firmness.
"You never made it easy, Gaylord," Hetty said.
"No. No, I didn't. And I'm sorry for that. Truly." Callen crossed the room and pushed Hetty back into the armchair, bringing up the cushion to her face. "Don't struggle. You told me to do this."
Thwack! Hetty had grabbed her cane from the side of her chair and dealt him a harsh blow to his head, sending him stumbling backwards. Before he could recover, she'd hit him again by his knee, sending him sprawling to the floor.
"I'm not senile yet you imbecile," she roared, getting to her feet and raising the weapon.
"Sorry," Callen croaked, curling up into a ball as the cane hit him again and again.
**
"Mr Callen!"
Callen sat up, startled, one hand going to his weapon. "Wha- what the?"
Across from him, Sam was smirking. Kensi was leaning over her laptop, shoulders shaking with barely suppressed laughter.
"Sleeping on the job?" Hetty asked archly.
"No. Never," Callen swore. "I was just – thinking about this report. Closing my eyes helps me visualize the events better."
Seeing she wasn't convinced, he added, "It was Nate's idea."
"Hmm," Hetty said, snapping the ruler she was holding once again. It gave him an idea where the sound of the cane hitting him had come from. "I need your expenses by five tonight, Mr Callen. Not five oh three or five oh four. Five."
"Absolutely. Promise, Hetty," Callen said and the dream fresh in his mind, added, "I'm sorry if I make your job more difficult."
She frowned but then gave him a warm smile. "I forgive you, Mr Callen, since there is never malicious intent when you cause me problems. It's a small price to pay for your exceptional abilities."
Hetty walked away. Sam threw a ball of paper at Callen.
"She catches you sleeping on the job and somehow you end up being Golden Boy," he complained. "Suck up."
Callen rubbed at his head, his short hair, his lovely not-grey hair, and then checked for facial hair. "Man, I was having the weirdest dream," he said. "It was in the future and I had this beard, and I tried to smother Hetty and she started beating me to death with her cane."
Kensi looked up. "What have you been smoking?" she asked.
"Nothing!" Callen sighed. "And you know what the worst part was?"
"There was worse?" Sam asked.
Callen shivered. "My name was Gaylord," he whispered, knowing it had been a mistake to confide this when Sam began laughing and Kensi nearly fell off her chair with hysterics.
whedonland birthday celebrations. Fandoms are: Moonlight, NCIS:LA, Psych, Terminator: The Sarah Connor ChroniclesMoonlight, Josef, PG
Josef didn't try to persuade Mick to stop seeing Beth because he knew there was no point. Mick felt the same way about Beth as he did about Sarah. No amount of telling Mick he was setting himself up for heartache would change that. It needn't be that way, of course. Mick could turn Beth, if and when she were willing, if he weren't so pig headed.
But if Beth asked, Josef would turn her in a heartbeat. Mick would hate Josef for it, for a time, but he'd forgive him. And perhaps Mick and Beth could have the happiness he had been denied.
Once Each Decade, Moonlight, Mick/Josef, PG-13
It happened maybe once a decade, that Mick needed comfort that no human could provide, and that Josef was wiling to. It was beyond what might be thought of as sex, or feeding, being both and neither, and something else entirely.
"I hate what I am," Mick would say afterwards, face and hands streaked with all manner of bodily fluids. "But I love you."
"Hush," Josef would always reply, licking at the blood spots before he found a damp towel to clean them both off with. "You know how I feel about commitment."
And then Mick would leave and Josef would smile and revel in the new memory they'd made together, and wait with a vampire's patience for another ten years to glide by.
Dreamless,T:SCC, Cameron, PG
Cameron didn't sleep. She didn't need to. She could keep watch the whole night over the Connors. She could watch late night TV and wonder at the kind of minds who thought up infomercials. She could clean the weaponry – though Sarah trusted no-one else to do this correctly and would only clean her own guns again later. She could dance, trying to understand what the meaning was behind the movements, because humans ascribed meanings to everything.
But she couldn't sleep, not the way humans did, and she couldn't dream. And she wondered what it would be like. If she weren't a machine, she might have been jealous.
'River Tam', Psych, Shawn, Lassister, PG
"Also, she could kill us with her brain," Shawn said.
Lassiter frowned. "Who?"
"River Tam." Shawn watched Lassiter write this down. "It's not her fault. They did terrible things to her."
"That's no excuse," Lassiter said. "And who, exactly, did terrible things to her?"
It was Shawn's turn to frown. "Um, the people with the blue gloves?"
Lassiter looked around, leant forward to whisper, "You don't mean our forensic team?"
"No!" Shawn said. "The Alliance or something."
"What Alliance?" Lassiter asked desperately.
"I don't know. You'll have to ask Gus. He's seen the show eight times and the movie at least ten."
Lassiter sat back in his chair. "Are we talking about a television show?"
"I am," Shawn said. "Firefly. River Tam. Psychic, but also, she could kill you with her brain. I was saying how that would useful, her extra kung fu skills and so on, giving how someone just took a shot a me!"
"It was a car backfiring," Lassiter snapped. "Shawn, get out. And don't come back until you have some more leads, psychically derived or not. TV shows do not count!"
"No need to hate on River," Shawn said. "I'll admit I was sceptical but a scifi show with Western overtones? Remarkably amazing. Oh, shiny."
"Put my pen down and get out," Lassiter said. "I don't need to kill you with my brain. I have a gun. Get out."
"Aye, aye, Lassie Tightpants," Shawn said and sauntered out of the precinct.
"Bad Dreams", NCIS:LA, PG-13
Inspired by a scene from the episode "LD50"; where Hetty is worried about spilling secrets in her old age leading to the following exchange - Hetty:""So when the time comes, as you put it, there is something you can do. You can smother me with a pillow. Make sure it's synthetic. I'm allergic to feathers." G. Callen: "Ok."
***
"Kensi sends her love," Callen said, gazing out of the window. Outside, some of the other, more sprightly residents were playing bowls. "She's on loan to MI5."
"Make sure you get her back," Hetty said. "You're the boss now, Mr Callen."
Callen nodded, turning to look at the mirror. His hair, longer than it had ever been allowed to grow, was more grey than anything now. As was the beard which he thought made him look distinguished but which Sam called the "chin rat".
"I don't know how you did it, Hetty," Callen said. "The stress. The politics. The paperwork!" He casually picked up a throw pillow, squeezing it between his hands to test the firmness.
"You never made it easy, Gaylord," Hetty said.
"No. No, I didn't. And I'm sorry for that. Truly." Callen crossed the room and pushed Hetty back into the armchair, bringing up the cushion to her face. "Don't struggle. You told me to do this."
Thwack! Hetty had grabbed her cane from the side of her chair and dealt him a harsh blow to his head, sending him stumbling backwards. Before he could recover, she'd hit him again by his knee, sending him sprawling to the floor.
"I'm not senile yet you imbecile," she roared, getting to her feet and raising the weapon.
"Sorry," Callen croaked, curling up into a ball as the cane hit him again and again.
**
"Mr Callen!"
Callen sat up, startled, one hand going to his weapon. "Wha- what the?"
Across from him, Sam was smirking. Kensi was leaning over her laptop, shoulders shaking with barely suppressed laughter.
"Sleeping on the job?" Hetty asked archly.
"No. Never," Callen swore. "I was just – thinking about this report. Closing my eyes helps me visualize the events better."
Seeing she wasn't convinced, he added, "It was Nate's idea."
"Hmm," Hetty said, snapping the ruler she was holding once again. It gave him an idea where the sound of the cane hitting him had come from. "I need your expenses by five tonight, Mr Callen. Not five oh three or five oh four. Five."
"Absolutely. Promise, Hetty," Callen said and the dream fresh in his mind, added, "I'm sorry if I make your job more difficult."
She frowned but then gave him a warm smile. "I forgive you, Mr Callen, since there is never malicious intent when you cause me problems. It's a small price to pay for your exceptional abilities."
Hetty walked away. Sam threw a ball of paper at Callen.
"She catches you sleeping on the job and somehow you end up being Golden Boy," he complained. "Suck up."
Callen rubbed at his head, his short hair, his lovely not-grey hair, and then checked for facial hair. "Man, I was having the weirdest dream," he said. "It was in the future and I had this beard, and I tried to smother Hetty and she started beating me to death with her cane."
Kensi looked up. "What have you been smoking?" she asked.
"Nothing!" Callen sighed. "And you know what the worst part was?"
"There was worse?" Sam asked.
Callen shivered. "My name was Gaylord," he whispered, knowing it had been a mistake to confide this when Sam began laughing and Kensi nearly fell off her chair with hysterics.
