Ficlet time yay!
The results of my last 'hey, prompt me' post. Not.... um..... exceptionally happy ficlets, I should say.
Torchwood, Owen, 'atomised' for raedbard. Spoilers for S2
The first time time, death was nightmare-black and shocking. They had been tricked into a belief in their own immortality, as if all parts of Jack were infectious. The blood pooling on the ground beneath him didn’t look red; colour had drained out of the world.
The first time, he had been so fucking afraid. Of what Suzie had said, of what Jack was pulled back from every time. There was nothing there: just darkness, and the thread of Jack’s voice not letting him go.
He had spent the time between the first and the second convinced that death was still walking behind him, and not sure if he wanted it to catch up. It was only half a life, but it was his, and in the last he realised that he wanted it, even so. That, at the end, was what made him stand to face death coming. He was brave for Tosh, and because he was a soldier for Jack. Because this time was better, in the service of his adopted city. They’re not the type of heroes who get statues in the town square, but this was enough. Enough to have been a reason for living.
The second time, death was white-light and all-consuming. The sirens’ screams were not the heavenly chorus he had been cheated of, but they dropped away. Owen faded out, out, out; Cardiff still stands.
* * * *
.
.
.
TWW, Toby/Sam, 'this time over again' for raedbard
Toby fucks his way through a succession of beautiful dark-haired men. He doesn’t kiss them. He would rather that they didn’t speak during, but there’s no way of asking that doesn’t make this sound even more sordid than it already is. They have names like Dylan and Blake and Nathaniel. And blue blue eyes.
The most recent is a former psych major called Andrew. He’s too smart, and Toby should know better. Andrew asks the question. “What was his name?” He picks up the photograph, unerringly managing to find the one significant frame in the room.
Toby says, “Who?”
“It’s okay. What was his name?”
“Sam. He was-. Sam. He was shot and killed six months ago, about a mile and half from the White House. He was… he was brilliant and I never told him-”
“Told him what?”
“Doesn’t really matter now, does it?”
* * * *
TWW, Toby/Josh, 'something borrowed' for raedbard
Josh turns up on Toby’s doorstep with his divorce papers in his jacket pocket. He has carried them all the way to New York, and Toby has to spread them flat on his desk to read them. “You better sit down,” he says.
Josh sits.
Around his cigar, eventually, Josh says, “We didn’t fight about the things normal couples fight about.”
“No.”
“It was just… it was too hard. I wasn’t…”
“Okay.”
“I didn’t cheat on her.”
Toby had never thought he did, but it seems important to Josh, so he nods. He smiles then, as much as he can manage. “Do you want me to get you drunk?”
Josh laughs. “Yeah.”
It’s probably a bad idea - Josh is easy to get drunk at the best of times, and these are far from those. Josh can get drunk on one beer, let alone Toby’s best scotch. But this is what they do - what men do - to say sorry for the things they can’t mend.
Josh says, “We just… kept missing each other. You know?”
The answer to that one is so obvious that Toby ignores him entirely and takes another drink. Every relationship Toby had in the White House is fractured now in some way, and there are few left from before that time. He isn’t sure what Josh had been thinking. That’s a lie.
Josh runs a hand over his hair.
Toby puts a hand on his shoulder; an uneasy gesture meant as comfort he has never quite known how to express. Josh twists under his palm. He slips around and Toby cannot see what he is doing until it is too late to stop him.
Josh tastes like drowning: like the ocean pouring in over his head and down his throat. He says please and I’m not that drunk. He shoves at Toby’s shoulder until Toby is leaning back against the arm of the couch and Josh’s knees are either side of Toby’s thighs.
Toby pushes him back far enough that he can look into his eyes. He says: “What do you want?”
Josh says, “Fuck me.”
“Stay there.”
When he comes back, Josh is sitting on the couch in his undershirt, which covers the scar. One hand is running up and down his cock; the other is tapping rhythms on the cushion. Toby breathes out.
“Sorry,” Josh says. “ Couldn’t just sit there.”
“No change then.”
At least this is fair. Toby is angry and Josh is miserable; they’re only hurting each other. Josh’s wedding ring bites into Toby’s neck. Toby stops. It’s the first time they’ve done this with that ring on his finger. It’s also the only time Toby hasn’t felt like they’re betraying a woman he was always fond of.
The last time they did this, the memory of punches thrown was not quite erased. Now Josh sighs when Toby slides into him. His is quiet even when Toby pulls out and jerks him off with long even strokes. Toby kisses him again when they are done, and tries to hold him still for a moment.
Josh lifts Toby’s arm and gets up. He goes to Toby’s desk and pats his hands around blindly. “I need a pen.”
“You came all the way here to sign your papers and forgot to bring something to sign them with?”
“Hey, I was coming to see you.”
Toby nods, and passes Josh the pen. When he is done, Josh shrugs, and looks like fleeing. Toby turns away from him, and heads for his bedroom. “There’s the couch, or you can… whatever.”
Josh follows him in.
* * * *
BtVS/SG-1, Tara and Daniel in the afterlife, for scrollgirl. Post 'Grave' for Buffy, pre 'Abyss' for SG-1.
Time was, if not exactly meaningless, not endowed with the meaning it normally had. But Daniel was reasonably certain he had been here longer than the girl.
She was sitting down, cross-legged in a green dress. They didn’t always see him, but she looked up and smiled shyly.
Daniel smiled back. “Hello. I’m Daniel Jackson.”
“Tara.”
“Hello.”
“Hi.”
He sat down beside her.
She said, “Are you one of them?”
“One of…?”
Tara held up one arm, and Daniel watched the glowing light form over her open hand. “Only all over,” she said. “Like you were, before. So I thought…”
“Um… sort of. So you’re…”
“A witch. Or at least, that’s what we called it. Up here it’s not quite…”
“Ascension sometimes starts with things like that. Magic.” He asked, “We?”
“My… she’s down there.” Tara pointed off into the blue horizon. He took her hand, and concentrated. A young woman with very straight red hair, crying.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Have you been…?”
“I… I couldn’t. Not without saying something. And she needs…”
“I understand. I’m having the same problem. Not with… he needs me to say something. But he’ll want me to do something.”
She smiled at him. It was a very calming smile - an empathetic diplomat’s smile - and he wondered where she had learnt it. Daniel supposed that a woman who could throw light from her hands had probably had to struggle with that at some point.
Daniel sat beside her in silence. When he closed his eyes he could hear water in the distance, and far-off birdcall. He was still holding Tara’s hand, and he rested the other on his knee to match her.
Tara said, “I think… I think that maybe you should go. To see your friend.”
“I’m not sure that’s such a good idea. He’s… not really much of a believer in things like this.”
“Maybe that’s why you should go.” Tara looked down. “You should make sure he knows. Make sure he’s not afraid for you.”
“Is that what-?”
“No,” Tara said, “She’s just afraid. Afraid that she’s not good enough.”
“Yeah,” Daniel said. “Yeah. You know what? I should go.”
Tara squeezed his hand. “Go.”
* * * *
TWW/BtVS, Bartlet sends a delegation to Sunnydale's ground zero, for scrollgirl
Josh couldn’t help but stare. There was something about a giant freaking hole in the ground that did that to a person. Toby came to stand beside him.
“So.” Josh said.
“Yeah?”
“Did they tell you…?”
“They did.”
“Demons.”
“Apparently so.”
The tiny blonde and slightly less tiny brunette sighed in unison, watching from their vantage point a few feet away. Apparently they didn’t like politicians very much.
Josh had initially thought the imposing black guy was their contact. But Robin Wood pointed them towards the librarian-type waiting patiently beside the hole where a town used to be. He, in turn, said, “This is Buffy. And this is Faith. The other girls are at a club of some kind.”
“Yeah,” Faith said, “And we’d really like to meet them there some time in, oh, the next decade, so if we could get to the point, please?”
“If I ask ‘what happened here’ again-”
Buffy said, “I’ll have to kick you into the hole.”
Josh laughed. No one else did.
“There were people here?” Toby asked.
“Some of ours,” Buffy said, and he didn’t think to doubt her this time. "But as for regular-Sunnydale: no. Really, no. People tend to get out of the way of oncoming apocalypses.”
“Is that even a word?” Josh asked.
“Yes,” Toby said.
“Who decided we needed a plural for apocalypse?”
Toby and Rupert looked at him with identical expressions of disdain.
Buffy, though, laughed for the first time since they’d met. “We get that a lot.”
“I’ll bet.”
Robin called to them softly. Faith looked at Buffy, who threw her a terrifyingly sharp piece of wood. Faith went to meet Robin and they stalked into the darkness.
Toby looked at Rupert in question.
“Stragglers,” Rupert said. “We had to be sure, this time, before moving on.”
“I’m sure there’s a marine contingent somewhere who’d like to speak with you first.”
“No soldiers,” Buffy said sharply. And there were soldiers enough back there to protect them if it came down to it, and this girl was maybe five foot two. But no, he wasn’t quite willing to try it, all of a sudden looking into her eyes.
Robin and Faith came back - no body and no blood, but dust all over her hands. “Done,” she said. “Let’s go.”
Josh said, “Is this going to be… what am I supposed to tell the President?”
“Tell him it’s done. Tell him not to look for us.”
Josh tried to say something. Toby grabbed his arm, and exchanged a significant look with Rupert. Toby said, “We can do that.”
* * * *
House/TWW; An unexpected complication. Hints of lesbianism. Something purple; for thecolourclear. Post TWW S7, sometime in House S4.
“You know, the last time the government kidnapped me, they had the decency to at least get me out of clinic hours.”
The room was full of Washington-types, and they all looked at House funny when he came into the room. ‘Workaholic-looking-guy’ looked over at Kutner and asked, “This is your boss?”
“Unfortunately,” Kutner answered.
House batted him with the patient’s chart. Then he looked at the patient. “Whoa.”
She raised one long arm and waved. Her fingernails were purple. Cool. She said, “Hi.”
“You must be…” he looked at the chart. “Ms Cregg.”
Workaholic laughed. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.” He looked at the woman (Claudia). “You’re sure this is the doctor you want?”
“Not ‘want’, Josh. Mrs Bartlet gave me strict instructions. Then Ellie, and then the President. I didn’t have a whole lot of choice by that point.”
Josh glared at House. “This is CJ Cregg.”
“I know,” House said. “It’s says so right here on my chart. And if you care to look at my hospital ID,” he fished it out from his pocket, “you can see my name. And now we’re all introduced.”
Taub got between House and Josh. “House, this is Josh Lyman. The White House Chief of Staff? CJ Cregg is the former White House Chief of Staff and-”
House interrupted, “-the former Press Secretary. The only good reason to watch CNN in years.”
CJ grinned at him widely. “Thank you.”
“No problem. Now, I assume you’re not here to ask a genius diagnostician like me why you’ve got fat all of a sudden?” He looked pointedly at her bump. “Eight months?”
“Seven.”
“Hmm… interesting. Tell me: have you engaged in any girl-on-girl action?”
“Recently or ever?”
“Recently, but even more interesting. We’ll talk about that after I fix you.” He looked at Thirteen. “See? And you say I stop you meeting interesting women.”
Josh was gawping. Probably at the implication of lesbian action at (House checked the file) UC Berkeley. Should’ve guessed. Josh recovered quickly enough to say, “Hey, buddy, she’s married!”
“To you?”
“No!”
“Interesting. So where is this paragon of marital concern? Jealous of the high-powered White House staffer macking on his wife?”
If Cuddy had taught him anything it was that even hot girls had their tipping point. CJ flipped the chart upwards so it smacked him in the face before he dropped it.
“You know,” he said, fumbling on the ground for the chart and his cane, “it’s not nice to attack cripples.”
“My last boss used a cane. It didn’t make him cranky.”
“Well, he was the President - if he was, who would tell him?”
“His wife. On which note: my husband is in California taking some meetings for me. My best friend is in Maryland with his kids. Josh was here in New York for President Santos when I fainted, that’s all.”
“Okay?”
“That’s it?”
House peered at her over the top of the chart. “Please don’t hit me again, oh scary mistress of the news?”
CJ said, “Just take care of my baby, and we’ll be fine.”
“Not a problem. C’mon kids.” He waved at them. “Let’s go be smarter than three states full of military doctors. If I get it in three minutes or less, you think the President would call and thank me? That’d probably get Cuddy off my back for a while. Donors love Presidential endorsements.”
Taub sighed. “You already know what’s wrong with her, don’t you?”
House shushed him. “Don’t spoil the magic.”
* * * *
Torchwood, Owen, 'atomised' for raedbard. Spoilers for S2
The first time time, death was nightmare-black and shocking. They had been tricked into a belief in their own immortality, as if all parts of Jack were infectious. The blood pooling on the ground beneath him didn’t look red; colour had drained out of the world.
The first time, he had been so fucking afraid. Of what Suzie had said, of what Jack was pulled back from every time. There was nothing there: just darkness, and the thread of Jack’s voice not letting him go.
He had spent the time between the first and the second convinced that death was still walking behind him, and not sure if he wanted it to catch up. It was only half a life, but it was his, and in the last he realised that he wanted it, even so. That, at the end, was what made him stand to face death coming. He was brave for Tosh, and because he was a soldier for Jack. Because this time was better, in the service of his adopted city. They’re not the type of heroes who get statues in the town square, but this was enough. Enough to have been a reason for living.
The second time, death was white-light and all-consuming. The sirens’ screams were not the heavenly chorus he had been cheated of, but they dropped away. Owen faded out, out, out; Cardiff still stands.
* * * *
.
.
.
TWW, Toby/Sam, 'this time over again' for raedbard
Toby fucks his way through a succession of beautiful dark-haired men. He doesn’t kiss them. He would rather that they didn’t speak during, but there’s no way of asking that doesn’t make this sound even more sordid than it already is. They have names like Dylan and Blake and Nathaniel. And blue blue eyes.
The most recent is a former psych major called Andrew. He’s too smart, and Toby should know better. Andrew asks the question. “What was his name?” He picks up the photograph, unerringly managing to find the one significant frame in the room.
Toby says, “Who?”
“It’s okay. What was his name?”
“Sam. He was-. Sam. He was shot and killed six months ago, about a mile and half from the White House. He was… he was brilliant and I never told him-”
“Told him what?”
“Doesn’t really matter now, does it?”
* * * *
TWW, Toby/Josh, 'something borrowed' for raedbard
Josh turns up on Toby’s doorstep with his divorce papers in his jacket pocket. He has carried them all the way to New York, and Toby has to spread them flat on his desk to read them. “You better sit down,” he says.
Josh sits.
Around his cigar, eventually, Josh says, “We didn’t fight about the things normal couples fight about.”
“No.”
“It was just… it was too hard. I wasn’t…”
“Okay.”
“I didn’t cheat on her.”
Toby had never thought he did, but it seems important to Josh, so he nods. He smiles then, as much as he can manage. “Do you want me to get you drunk?”
Josh laughs. “Yeah.”
It’s probably a bad idea - Josh is easy to get drunk at the best of times, and these are far from those. Josh can get drunk on one beer, let alone Toby’s best scotch. But this is what they do - what men do - to say sorry for the things they can’t mend.
Josh says, “We just… kept missing each other. You know?”
The answer to that one is so obvious that Toby ignores him entirely and takes another drink. Every relationship Toby had in the White House is fractured now in some way, and there are few left from before that time. He isn’t sure what Josh had been thinking. That’s a lie.
Josh runs a hand over his hair.
Toby puts a hand on his shoulder; an uneasy gesture meant as comfort he has never quite known how to express. Josh twists under his palm. He slips around and Toby cannot see what he is doing until it is too late to stop him.
Josh tastes like drowning: like the ocean pouring in over his head and down his throat. He says please and I’m not that drunk. He shoves at Toby’s shoulder until Toby is leaning back against the arm of the couch and Josh’s knees are either side of Toby’s thighs.
Toby pushes him back far enough that he can look into his eyes. He says: “What do you want?”
Josh says, “Fuck me.”
“Stay there.”
When he comes back, Josh is sitting on the couch in his undershirt, which covers the scar. One hand is running up and down his cock; the other is tapping rhythms on the cushion. Toby breathes out.
“Sorry,” Josh says. “ Couldn’t just sit there.”
“No change then.”
At least this is fair. Toby is angry and Josh is miserable; they’re only hurting each other. Josh’s wedding ring bites into Toby’s neck. Toby stops. It’s the first time they’ve done this with that ring on his finger. It’s also the only time Toby hasn’t felt like they’re betraying a woman he was always fond of.
The last time they did this, the memory of punches thrown was not quite erased. Now Josh sighs when Toby slides into him. His is quiet even when Toby pulls out and jerks him off with long even strokes. Toby kisses him again when they are done, and tries to hold him still for a moment.
Josh lifts Toby’s arm and gets up. He goes to Toby’s desk and pats his hands around blindly. “I need a pen.”
“You came all the way here to sign your papers and forgot to bring something to sign them with?”
“Hey, I was coming to see you.”
Toby nods, and passes Josh the pen. When he is done, Josh shrugs, and looks like fleeing. Toby turns away from him, and heads for his bedroom. “There’s the couch, or you can… whatever.”
Josh follows him in.
* * * *
BtVS/SG-1, Tara and Daniel in the afterlife, for scrollgirl. Post 'Grave' for Buffy, pre 'Abyss' for SG-1.
Time was, if not exactly meaningless, not endowed with the meaning it normally had. But Daniel was reasonably certain he had been here longer than the girl.
She was sitting down, cross-legged in a green dress. They didn’t always see him, but she looked up and smiled shyly.
Daniel smiled back. “Hello. I’m Daniel Jackson.”
“Tara.”
“Hello.”
“Hi.”
He sat down beside her.
She said, “Are you one of them?”
“One of…?”
Tara held up one arm, and Daniel watched the glowing light form over her open hand. “Only all over,” she said. “Like you were, before. So I thought…”
“Um… sort of. So you’re…”
“A witch. Or at least, that’s what we called it. Up here it’s not quite…”
“Ascension sometimes starts with things like that. Magic.” He asked, “We?”
“My… she’s down there.” Tara pointed off into the blue horizon. He took her hand, and concentrated. A young woman with very straight red hair, crying.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Have you been…?”
“I… I couldn’t. Not without saying something. And she needs…”
“I understand. I’m having the same problem. Not with… he needs me to say something. But he’ll want me to do something.”
She smiled at him. It was a very calming smile - an empathetic diplomat’s smile - and he wondered where she had learnt it. Daniel supposed that a woman who could throw light from her hands had probably had to struggle with that at some point.
Daniel sat beside her in silence. When he closed his eyes he could hear water in the distance, and far-off birdcall. He was still holding Tara’s hand, and he rested the other on his knee to match her.
Tara said, “I think… I think that maybe you should go. To see your friend.”
“I’m not sure that’s such a good idea. He’s… not really much of a believer in things like this.”
“Maybe that’s why you should go.” Tara looked down. “You should make sure he knows. Make sure he’s not afraid for you.”
“Is that what-?”
“No,” Tara said, “She’s just afraid. Afraid that she’s not good enough.”
“Yeah,” Daniel said. “Yeah. You know what? I should go.”
Tara squeezed his hand. “Go.”
* * * *
TWW/BtVS, Bartlet sends a delegation to Sunnydale's ground zero, for scrollgirl
Josh couldn’t help but stare. There was something about a giant freaking hole in the ground that did that to a person. Toby came to stand beside him.
“So.” Josh said.
“Yeah?”
“Did they tell you…?”
“They did.”
“Demons.”
“Apparently so.”
The tiny blonde and slightly less tiny brunette sighed in unison, watching from their vantage point a few feet away. Apparently they didn’t like politicians very much.
Josh had initially thought the imposing black guy was their contact. But Robin Wood pointed them towards the librarian-type waiting patiently beside the hole where a town used to be. He, in turn, said, “This is Buffy. And this is Faith. The other girls are at a club of some kind.”
“Yeah,” Faith said, “And we’d really like to meet them there some time in, oh, the next decade, so if we could get to the point, please?”
“If I ask ‘what happened here’ again-”
Buffy said, “I’ll have to kick you into the hole.”
Josh laughed. No one else did.
“There were people here?” Toby asked.
“Some of ours,” Buffy said, and he didn’t think to doubt her this time. "But as for regular-Sunnydale: no. Really, no. People tend to get out of the way of oncoming apocalypses.”
“Is that even a word?” Josh asked.
“Yes,” Toby said.
“Who decided we needed a plural for apocalypse?”
Toby and Rupert looked at him with identical expressions of disdain.
Buffy, though, laughed for the first time since they’d met. “We get that a lot.”
“I’ll bet.”
Robin called to them softly. Faith looked at Buffy, who threw her a terrifyingly sharp piece of wood. Faith went to meet Robin and they stalked into the darkness.
Toby looked at Rupert in question.
“Stragglers,” Rupert said. “We had to be sure, this time, before moving on.”
“I’m sure there’s a marine contingent somewhere who’d like to speak with you first.”
“No soldiers,” Buffy said sharply. And there were soldiers enough back there to protect them if it came down to it, and this girl was maybe five foot two. But no, he wasn’t quite willing to try it, all of a sudden looking into her eyes.
Robin and Faith came back - no body and no blood, but dust all over her hands. “Done,” she said. “Let’s go.”
Josh said, “Is this going to be… what am I supposed to tell the President?”
“Tell him it’s done. Tell him not to look for us.”
Josh tried to say something. Toby grabbed his arm, and exchanged a significant look with Rupert. Toby said, “We can do that.”
* * * *
House/TWW; An unexpected complication. Hints of lesbianism. Something purple; for thecolourclear. Post TWW S7, sometime in House S4.
“You know, the last time the government kidnapped me, they had the decency to at least get me out of clinic hours.”
The room was full of Washington-types, and they all looked at House funny when he came into the room. ‘Workaholic-looking-guy’ looked over at Kutner and asked, “This is your boss?”
“Unfortunately,” Kutner answered.
House batted him with the patient’s chart. Then he looked at the patient. “Whoa.”
She raised one long arm and waved. Her fingernails were purple. Cool. She said, “Hi.”
“You must be…” he looked at the chart. “Ms Cregg.”
Workaholic laughed. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.” He looked at the woman (Claudia). “You’re sure this is the doctor you want?”
“Not ‘want’, Josh. Mrs Bartlet gave me strict instructions. Then Ellie, and then the President. I didn’t have a whole lot of choice by that point.”
Josh glared at House. “This is CJ Cregg.”
“I know,” House said. “It’s says so right here on my chart. And if you care to look at my hospital ID,” he fished it out from his pocket, “you can see my name. And now we’re all introduced.”
Taub got between House and Josh. “House, this is Josh Lyman. The White House Chief of Staff? CJ Cregg is the former White House Chief of Staff and-”
House interrupted, “-the former Press Secretary. The only good reason to watch CNN in years.”
CJ grinned at him widely. “Thank you.”
“No problem. Now, I assume you’re not here to ask a genius diagnostician like me why you’ve got fat all of a sudden?” He looked pointedly at her bump. “Eight months?”
“Seven.”
“Hmm… interesting. Tell me: have you engaged in any girl-on-girl action?”
“Recently or ever?”
“Recently, but even more interesting. We’ll talk about that after I fix you.” He looked at Thirteen. “See? And you say I stop you meeting interesting women.”
Josh was gawping. Probably at the implication of lesbian action at (House checked the file) UC Berkeley. Should’ve guessed. Josh recovered quickly enough to say, “Hey, buddy, she’s married!”
“To you?”
“No!”
“Interesting. So where is this paragon of marital concern? Jealous of the high-powered White House staffer macking on his wife?”
If Cuddy had taught him anything it was that even hot girls had their tipping point. CJ flipped the chart upwards so it smacked him in the face before he dropped it.
“You know,” he said, fumbling on the ground for the chart and his cane, “it’s not nice to attack cripples.”
“My last boss used a cane. It didn’t make him cranky.”
“Well, he was the President - if he was, who would tell him?”
“His wife. On which note: my husband is in California taking some meetings for me. My best friend is in Maryland with his kids. Josh was here in New York for President Santos when I fainted, that’s all.”
“Okay?”
“That’s it?”
House peered at her over the top of the chart. “Please don’t hit me again, oh scary mistress of the news?”
CJ said, “Just take care of my baby, and we’ll be fine.”
“Not a problem. C’mon kids.” He waved at them. “Let’s go be smarter than three states full of military doctors. If I get it in three minutes or less, you think the President would call and thank me? That’d probably get Cuddy off my back for a while. Donors love Presidential endorsements.”
Taub sighed. “You already know what’s wrong with her, don’t you?”
House shushed him. “Don’t spoil the magic.”
* * * *