Ficlets: CSI, Lost, Faculty
I should clarify that I don't *mind* writing Nick/Greg ficlets at all, really. It's just that writing a whole slew of ficlets about the same pairing in one go gets a little repetitive after awhile. But I'm up for the challenge.
Having said that, on with the ficlets:
Ficlet #1: CSI. Nick/Greg/Travis/Baseball, requested (in one form or another) by cinderlily, onthecontrary, and jb_slasher. Okay, jb_slasher actually requested Greg/Travis, but I think this is as close as I'm getting. Besides, you all know by now that I'm not actually going to write outside my bulletproof OTP.
"So I hear you used to play."
Travis shrugs, flashing that humble smile of his, but Nick's not buying it. Not when Travis showed up at the annual game wearing his old minor league jersey, like he wants everyone to know exactly what the new guy's bringing to the team. "Just a couple seasons in the minors. Then I blew out my knee and went back to college."
"What'd you play?"
"Shortstop, mostly." Travis isn't looking at him; he's messing around with his glove - his own, of course - and Nick can't decide if he's showing off or not.
"Yeah? I played college ball. A&M. Centerfield."
Another smile, and when Travis looks up Nick gets the feeling he's being laughed at. He can't prove it, but he knows how to read people and he's positive there's something mocking in Travis' grin. "So I guess the day shift doesn't stand a chance against us, huh?"
A second later he's gone, glove in the air to catch the ball Warrick tosses him. Catherine's watching him, laughing when Warrick calls out, "Nice catch," and then something about a secret weapon. And Nick's not jealous, but he doesn't get why everyone's making such a big deal out of the fact that the guy spent a couple years in the minors. It's not like they haven't won every year since Nick's been in Vegas, and they never needed Travis to do it.
"Getting pointers from the pro?"
Nick flinches at the sound of Greg's voice, tearing his gaze away from Travis' new fan club to glance to his right. "So he played for the minors, big deal. I could have gone pro if I wanted to, you know."
"Yeah?" And now Greg's grinning at him, the same look Travis gave him a few minutes ago and Nick knows he's being laughed at. "So why didn't you?"
"Because I wanted to do something that would make a difference," Nick answers, and it's not like it's a lie. He was a good ball player, but he was a better cop, and at the end of the day being a cop and later a CSI made him feel like he was doing something useful with his life.
For a second Greg just looks at him, and Nick braces himself for the joke he knows is coming. But it never comes; instead Greg shakes his head and shoves something hard into Nick's chest. "You left your glove in my car, superhero."
He pats Nick's shoulder once before he heads across the field, but Nick catches his grin before he walks away.
~
Ficlet #2: CSI. Nick, Greg, post-"Who Are You?". Requested by mchan3000. Preslash, since I can't slash Nick and Greg before season three. Because I'm a freak.
He's never seen Nick looking so…broken. It's understandable; the guy did face down a gun today, and Greg's not sure he'd be holding up so well if he were in Nick's shoes. Still, he always figured if anyone could handle something like that it would be Nick, because he used to be a cop and he's been through all the training and then some. He's the one who scores highest at the shooting range and he's the one who had to be tazered and pepper sprayed and all that stuff they make beat cops do before the set them loose on the public.
Still, there's a big difference between all the training and actually being face to face with the barrel of a gun, nothing between him and his own personal mortality rate except a desperate woman with an itchy trigger finger.
Greg finds him in the locker room, pauses when he sees Nick sitting on the bench between the lockers and wonders if maybe he should turn around and leave him alone. Before he can make up his mind Nick looks up, eyes still a little red and Greg's not sure, but he thinks Nick's hands might be shaking.
"Oh. Hey, Greggo," Nick says, reaching up to wipe at his face and suddenly Greg feels like a complete bastard for walking in on him.
"Hey," he echoes, inching just far enough into the room to let the door close. "I was just gonna grab my jacket."
"Yeah, no problem," Nick answers. He stands up and Greg hates himself for admiring the way Nick's muscles flex under his shirt. For the way his back arches as he works out the kinks, and it makes Greg wonder just how long he's been sitting here. Makes him wish he could offer Nick a massage, or maybe just some company until he can stop torturing himself with the fact that he could have died today.
Instead he just opens his locker, taking his time pulling out his jacket while he tries to think of something - anything - to say. He wants to tell Nick how brave Greg thinks he is, how if it was him he'd be curled up in a corner somewhere and the fact that Nick's still walking around means he's pretty damn tough. But he can't, because they're friendly, but they're not friends, and you're the bravest person I know would sound way too lame, even for Greg.
Finally he can't stall anymore, so he shuts his locker, fingers tight around his jacket as he glances up to find Nick still staring at something only he can see. And he still doesn't know what to say, but he can't just leave Nick alone, not like this.
"Hey," he says again, and when Nick starts and glances at him he has to force himself to continue. "You...today, you did a good job out there. So I heard."
For a second he thinks Nick's going to tell him to mind his own business, that he's not a field agent and he doesn't know what he's talking about. But instead he just smiles, wry and not quite reaching his eyes. "Thanks, Greg. I'll see you tomorrow."
"Yeah. See you," Greg answers, and when he slips back out of the locker room Nick's watching him go.
~
Ficlet #3: Lost. Jack/Boone (sort of), for darthemly. I just can't slash Jack. I suck.
Boone's been keeping his distance since the whole water fiasco. He knows it was stupid, like it was stupid to swim out by himself to try to rescue that woman. At first he was furious with Jack, wanted to blame him for costing that woman her life, for choosing to save Boone over her.
But the truth is that it was his fault, her blood's on his hands just like Claire's would have been if she'd died of dehydration or something. And he knows there's a chance they'll still blame him, when she finally goes into labor and something goes wrong with the baby. It'll be his fault, for trying to play the hero and not leaving it to more capable hands.
Like Jack's.
He spends a lot of time thinking about Jack, thinking about the way everyone depends on him and how easy it was for him to take control of the situation. Boone doesn't understand it, because he's a doctor, sure, but he's not the only capable person here. Boone could be just as useful as the rest of them if they'd just let him, but so far everyone seems to have a role and he's the one left standing on the outside, looking in.
He resents Jack for it, but he envies him too, because at least he's got something to do and Boone…all Boone has to do is hang around and feel useless. He's been helping out, sure, going through the luggage and helping gather firewood and keeping Shannon more or less out of trouble, but he knows he could be doing more. Knows he could be more, that he could help Jack and between the two of them they could get everybody through this.
It's not because he wants to be close to Jack. It's not because he wants Jack to lean on him the way he leans on Kate, to smile that smile and whisper secrets to Boone late at night, when everyone else is gathered around the campfire. Because he's not looking for a love connection or anything stupid and romantic; he understands their situation, and he knows all they need to do is survive until someone rescues them.
And someone will rescue them, but when he's alone on the beach with nothing to do but stare out at the horizon and wonder how long they're stuck out here, he can't help thinking. Picturing the look of quiet relief in Jack's eyes when they're finally rescued, Jack's bright, grateful smile, and he can't help wishing it was directed at him.
~
Ficlet #4: The Faculty. Stokely/Delilah, requested by dimmie.
There were no apologies. No I'm sorry or I didn't mean that stuff I said back at Zeke's place. They didn't talk about it at all, because they both knew there was no point. Neither of them was sorry, because they meant what they said and they still meant it, mostly.
Delilah was still a stuck-up bitch and Stokely was still the Token Dyke, even after several very public make-out sessions with Stan. And she didn't even blame Delilah for laughing at her over the new clothes and the sad attempt to be something she wasn't, because she wanted to laugh herself. Wanted to laugh but didn't let herself, because she knew if she started she'd end up in tears.
Besides, laughter was bad for her image.
And the weirdest part of all of it was that once the whole thing with Stan was over and she went back to the black eyeliner and the black clothes, Delilah was the only one who didn't seem all that surprised. She just smirked and tossed her long, long hair, perfectly manicured nails sliding through black silk just before she leaned in and whispered, "I don't know who you thought you were trying to fool."
The weird part wasn't that Delilah was being a bitch - that was pretty much expected - but the fact that she looked almost pleased. Like the world was off kilter not because an alien had invaded their school and taken over their bodies, but because Stokely was dressing like a cheerleader. Like Delilah couldn't sleep at night until Stokely went back to her normal self, and now that all was right with the world again she was happy.
She broke up with Casey the same day. It was messy and public and Stokely actually felt sorry for Casey, but she was back to brooding and unapproachable, so she didn't say anything. At least not in front of anyone, and by the time she saw Casey alone she couldn't say anything, because it wasn't like she could look him in the face and say I'm sorry your girlfriend dumped you so she could fuck me.
The fact that Delilah wanted her didn't surprise her as much as it probably should have. She wasn't an idiot, and she'd seen enough movies to know that sometimes hate doesn't mean what it's supposed to. But the when surprised her, because she wasn't expecting Delilah to follow her into a deserted bathroom and push her up hard against the nearest sink. She wasn't expecting the dig of porcelain in her back or the fingernails sinking into her skin, wasn't expecting Delilah pressed up against her, thigh pushed between her legs and her lipstick smeared from kissing Stokely until she couldn't breathe.
"Four o'clock. My house," was all she said, smiling smugly like she knew Stokely couldn't resist. She paused long enough to reach up and fix her lipstick before she was gone, leaving Stokely with pain in her back and arms and the taste of blood in her mouth. And the worst part was that she knew she was just as predictable as Delilah expected her to be.
~
I have two more hours of work and my phone hasn't rung once, so expect more ficlets soon. This is way more fun than homework.
Having said that, on with the ficlets:
Ficlet #1: CSI. Nick/Greg/Travis/Baseball, requested (in one form or another) by cinderlily, onthecontrary, and jb_slasher. Okay, jb_slasher actually requested Greg/Travis, but I think this is as close as I'm getting. Besides, you all know by now that I'm not actually going to write outside my bulletproof OTP.
"So I hear you used to play."
Travis shrugs, flashing that humble smile of his, but Nick's not buying it. Not when Travis showed up at the annual game wearing his old minor league jersey, like he wants everyone to know exactly what the new guy's bringing to the team. "Just a couple seasons in the minors. Then I blew out my knee and went back to college."
"What'd you play?"
"Shortstop, mostly." Travis isn't looking at him; he's messing around with his glove - his own, of course - and Nick can't decide if he's showing off or not.
"Yeah? I played college ball. A&M. Centerfield."
Another smile, and when Travis looks up Nick gets the feeling he's being laughed at. He can't prove it, but he knows how to read people and he's positive there's something mocking in Travis' grin. "So I guess the day shift doesn't stand a chance against us, huh?"
A second later he's gone, glove in the air to catch the ball Warrick tosses him. Catherine's watching him, laughing when Warrick calls out, "Nice catch," and then something about a secret weapon. And Nick's not jealous, but he doesn't get why everyone's making such a big deal out of the fact that the guy spent a couple years in the minors. It's not like they haven't won every year since Nick's been in Vegas, and they never needed Travis to do it.
"Getting pointers from the pro?"
Nick flinches at the sound of Greg's voice, tearing his gaze away from Travis' new fan club to glance to his right. "So he played for the minors, big deal. I could have gone pro if I wanted to, you know."
"Yeah?" And now Greg's grinning at him, the same look Travis gave him a few minutes ago and Nick knows he's being laughed at. "So why didn't you?"
"Because I wanted to do something that would make a difference," Nick answers, and it's not like it's a lie. He was a good ball player, but he was a better cop, and at the end of the day being a cop and later a CSI made him feel like he was doing something useful with his life.
For a second Greg just looks at him, and Nick braces himself for the joke he knows is coming. But it never comes; instead Greg shakes his head and shoves something hard into Nick's chest. "You left your glove in my car, superhero."
He pats Nick's shoulder once before he heads across the field, but Nick catches his grin before he walks away.
~
Ficlet #2: CSI. Nick, Greg, post-"Who Are You?". Requested by mchan3000. Preslash, since I can't slash Nick and Greg before season three. Because I'm a freak.
He's never seen Nick looking so…broken. It's understandable; the guy did face down a gun today, and Greg's not sure he'd be holding up so well if he were in Nick's shoes. Still, he always figured if anyone could handle something like that it would be Nick, because he used to be a cop and he's been through all the training and then some. He's the one who scores highest at the shooting range and he's the one who had to be tazered and pepper sprayed and all that stuff they make beat cops do before the set them loose on the public.
Still, there's a big difference between all the training and actually being face to face with the barrel of a gun, nothing between him and his own personal mortality rate except a desperate woman with an itchy trigger finger.
Greg finds him in the locker room, pauses when he sees Nick sitting on the bench between the lockers and wonders if maybe he should turn around and leave him alone. Before he can make up his mind Nick looks up, eyes still a little red and Greg's not sure, but he thinks Nick's hands might be shaking.
"Oh. Hey, Greggo," Nick says, reaching up to wipe at his face and suddenly Greg feels like a complete bastard for walking in on him.
"Hey," he echoes, inching just far enough into the room to let the door close. "I was just gonna grab my jacket."
"Yeah, no problem," Nick answers. He stands up and Greg hates himself for admiring the way Nick's muscles flex under his shirt. For the way his back arches as he works out the kinks, and it makes Greg wonder just how long he's been sitting here. Makes him wish he could offer Nick a massage, or maybe just some company until he can stop torturing himself with the fact that he could have died today.
Instead he just opens his locker, taking his time pulling out his jacket while he tries to think of something - anything - to say. He wants to tell Nick how brave Greg thinks he is, how if it was him he'd be curled up in a corner somewhere and the fact that Nick's still walking around means he's pretty damn tough. But he can't, because they're friendly, but they're not friends, and you're the bravest person I know would sound way too lame, even for Greg.
Finally he can't stall anymore, so he shuts his locker, fingers tight around his jacket as he glances up to find Nick still staring at something only he can see. And he still doesn't know what to say, but he can't just leave Nick alone, not like this.
"Hey," he says again, and when Nick starts and glances at him he has to force himself to continue. "You...today, you did a good job out there. So I heard."
For a second he thinks Nick's going to tell him to mind his own business, that he's not a field agent and he doesn't know what he's talking about. But instead he just smiles, wry and not quite reaching his eyes. "Thanks, Greg. I'll see you tomorrow."
"Yeah. See you," Greg answers, and when he slips back out of the locker room Nick's watching him go.
~
Ficlet #3: Lost. Jack/Boone (sort of), for darthemly. I just can't slash Jack. I suck.
Boone's been keeping his distance since the whole water fiasco. He knows it was stupid, like it was stupid to swim out by himself to try to rescue that woman. At first he was furious with Jack, wanted to blame him for costing that woman her life, for choosing to save Boone over her.
But the truth is that it was his fault, her blood's on his hands just like Claire's would have been if she'd died of dehydration or something. And he knows there's a chance they'll still blame him, when she finally goes into labor and something goes wrong with the baby. It'll be his fault, for trying to play the hero and not leaving it to more capable hands.
Like Jack's.
He spends a lot of time thinking about Jack, thinking about the way everyone depends on him and how easy it was for him to take control of the situation. Boone doesn't understand it, because he's a doctor, sure, but he's not the only capable person here. Boone could be just as useful as the rest of them if they'd just let him, but so far everyone seems to have a role and he's the one left standing on the outside, looking in.
He resents Jack for it, but he envies him too, because at least he's got something to do and Boone…all Boone has to do is hang around and feel useless. He's been helping out, sure, going through the luggage and helping gather firewood and keeping Shannon more or less out of trouble, but he knows he could be doing more. Knows he could be more, that he could help Jack and between the two of them they could get everybody through this.
It's not because he wants to be close to Jack. It's not because he wants Jack to lean on him the way he leans on Kate, to smile that smile and whisper secrets to Boone late at night, when everyone else is gathered around the campfire. Because he's not looking for a love connection or anything stupid and romantic; he understands their situation, and he knows all they need to do is survive until someone rescues them.
And someone will rescue them, but when he's alone on the beach with nothing to do but stare out at the horizon and wonder how long they're stuck out here, he can't help thinking. Picturing the look of quiet relief in Jack's eyes when they're finally rescued, Jack's bright, grateful smile, and he can't help wishing it was directed at him.
~
Ficlet #4: The Faculty. Stokely/Delilah, requested by dimmie.
There were no apologies. No I'm sorry or I didn't mean that stuff I said back at Zeke's place. They didn't talk about it at all, because they both knew there was no point. Neither of them was sorry, because they meant what they said and they still meant it, mostly.
Delilah was still a stuck-up bitch and Stokely was still the Token Dyke, even after several very public make-out sessions with Stan. And she didn't even blame Delilah for laughing at her over the new clothes and the sad attempt to be something she wasn't, because she wanted to laugh herself. Wanted to laugh but didn't let herself, because she knew if she started she'd end up in tears.
Besides, laughter was bad for her image.
And the weirdest part of all of it was that once the whole thing with Stan was over and she went back to the black eyeliner and the black clothes, Delilah was the only one who didn't seem all that surprised. She just smirked and tossed her long, long hair, perfectly manicured nails sliding through black silk just before she leaned in and whispered, "I don't know who you thought you were trying to fool."
The weird part wasn't that Delilah was being a bitch - that was pretty much expected - but the fact that she looked almost pleased. Like the world was off kilter not because an alien had invaded their school and taken over their bodies, but because Stokely was dressing like a cheerleader. Like Delilah couldn't sleep at night until Stokely went back to her normal self, and now that all was right with the world again she was happy.
She broke up with Casey the same day. It was messy and public and Stokely actually felt sorry for Casey, but she was back to brooding and unapproachable, so she didn't say anything. At least not in front of anyone, and by the time she saw Casey alone she couldn't say anything, because it wasn't like she could look him in the face and say I'm sorry your girlfriend dumped you so she could fuck me.
The fact that Delilah wanted her didn't surprise her as much as it probably should have. She wasn't an idiot, and she'd seen enough movies to know that sometimes hate doesn't mean what it's supposed to. But the when surprised her, because she wasn't expecting Delilah to follow her into a deserted bathroom and push her up hard against the nearest sink. She wasn't expecting the dig of porcelain in her back or the fingernails sinking into her skin, wasn't expecting Delilah pressed up against her, thigh pushed between her legs and her lipstick smeared from kissing Stokely until she couldn't breathe.
"Four o'clock. My house," was all she said, smiling smugly like she knew Stokely couldn't resist. She paused long enough to reach up and fix her lipstick before she was gone, leaving Stokely with pain in her back and arms and the taste of blood in her mouth. And the worst part was that she knew she was just as predictable as Delilah expected her to be.
~
I have two more hours of work and my phone hasn't rung once, so expect more ficlets soon. This is way more fun than homework.