Ficlets: CSI, Lost, Ghost Ship
Somehow I have managed to completely fuck up my ankle and I have no idea how. I'd say it was sympathy pain for the Ghost Ship h/c, but that would be kind of lame. Besides, it's my ankle, not my leg.
Anyway. These are the ficlets I've got time for right now; more to come eventually. Just probably not soon, because I'm starting to panic about all the shit I've got to do in the next three days and it's really not pretty. Hence I'm feeling a bit off my game today and not at all pleased with these ficlets, which is...pretty much standard, actually.
Ficlet #1, for onthecontrary. Sara/Warrick, PG. This falls in the same universe as Ab Initio.
It wasn't the first time they'd all gone out together after a long shift. They'd gone to breakfast more times than she could count, and every once in awhile - usually when there was something to celebrate - they went out for a quick drink before they all headed home to get a few hours' sleep.
Today they were celebrating Greg finally passing his field proficiency, and she wasn't sure whose idea it was to let him pick the club, but if she found out she was going to hurt them. Or at least refuse to go out with them again until they told her where they were going, because dark clubs with loud music and weird strobe lights weren't exactly her scene.
And really, this was the last thing she felt like doing after the shift they'd had, but she knew Greg would take it personally if she blew it off. Besides, Warrick was here, and okay, maybe she was hoping he'd finally say something about what happened between them. Because they hadn't really talked about it since it happened, and she knew three days wasn't that long, but she was starting to think maybe they really were going to pretend it never happened.
Not that she couldn't deal with that - she could - but if that was how it was going to be the least he could do was tell her, right? He was the one who'd taken her home, after all, and he was the one who brought up Grissom, of all people. He'd cooked for her when they woke up together, for God's sake, driven her home and waited while she pulled on clean clothes and she was pretty sure that meant something.
She'd thought so at the time, anyway, but now they were here, in a club where they'd been called more than once while they were on the clock, and he looked a lot more comfortable here than she'd expected. Or maybe he just looked more comfortable than she wanted him to, because he fit into these places with practiced ease and she…didn't.
She gripped her soda a little harder, wishing suddenly for a beer and she knew that was a sign she needed to get out of here. Her gaze darted toward the door, only half-listening to the debate Nick and Warrick were currently engaged in over some sports thing that she'd never heard of and didn't care about. None of them had so much as looked at her since they got there, really, and she was contemplating how long it would take them to notice if she just left when Greg reached across the table and tapped the back of her hand.
"You look bored."
He had that look on his face like he was telling a secret, but he had to shout to be heard over the argument and the music, and Sara felt her cheeks flush when everybody at the table stopped talking to look at her. "I'm fine."
"Come on, I'll dance with you," he said, grinning in what she was pretty sure he thought was a charming way. Like he was doing her a favor. Like she needed rescuing, and okay, maybe she wasn't having a great time, but a pity dance at 7:30 in the morning wasn't exactly her idea of a step up.
She opened her mouth to tell him exactly why she wasn't interested in dancing or any other aerobic activity with him, but before she got the words out there was a hand on her arm, strong and solid and sending a shiver through her. She blushed even harder at that, hoping none of them noticed the affect Warrick's touch had on her. And it couldn't be anyone else, because she'd felt those hands on her skin and that was one thing she was never going to forget.
He leaned in, mouth close to her ear and she couldn't see him, but she had a feeling he was smiling. "Dance with me."
"It's okay," she managed, praying her voice sounded more steady than it did, and now she was really wishing she'd had a drink. "Really."
"Come on," he said, and now she could hear the grin in his voice, "you're not gonna leave me hanging in front of Sanders, are you?"
His words surprised a laugh out of her, and she let go of her death grip on her glass and let him pull her off her seat, hand tight around hers as he led her to the dance floor. She wasn't dressed for this; she didn't even own clothes that looked anything like what the other girls on the dance floor were wearing, but when Warrick pulled her close and slid an arm around her waist she forgot to feel self-conscious.
His arms felt good around her - solid and strong and familiar - and he smelled just the way she remembered when he kissed her that last time in his car. Every memory of that night came rushing back full force, details she'd played over in her head a million times and a few that she'd tried to forget. And she had no idea what any of it meant, but he was holding her like was thinking the exact same thing.
"Sorry about this."
"No, it's fine," she mumbled against his chest. When he didn't answer she looked up, smiling in spite herself at his bemused expression. "Wait, was this place your idea?"
He laughed and shook his head, eyes shining in the strobe lights and she felt her heart skip a beat. "No, this was Greg's idea. But I should have known it wouldn't really be your style."
And it was true, but she wasn't exactly sure what to think of the fact that he knew her that well. It was just another reminder of how different they were, of how things he could do without a second thought, things that would leave her with sweaty palms and a barely suppressed urge to turn and run. He had a whole world she'd never fit into, and this was just more proof that that one night should never have happened.
"Let me make it up to you. Tomorrow after shift," he said, breath hot against her cheek and when she looked up she knew exactly what he was asking. She knew she should say no, that she should be the one to put an end to this before it ruined whatever was left of their friendship, but before she could get the words out he was kissing her, one hand on her neck to tilt her head just so and long before he let her up for air she knew what her answer would be.
~
Ficlet #2, for ruggerdavey, who wanted Nick and Greg's reaction to Warrick/Sara. It's a parallel of the Warrick/Sara ficlet above because I'm a cheater like that.
Tight-lipped smile: check.
Iron grip on her drink: check.
But it was the wide-eyed stare that really gave it away, and Greg didn't have to ask to know what it all meant. He was an investigator now, after all, but more than that, he'd been right where Sara was.
He didn't like to admit it, but there was a time when he'd had the same wide-eyed, terrified reaction to some of the trendier clubs in Vegas. It was easy to forget how little Sara got out, because they all lived here and they saw these places on the job and it hadn't dawned on him when he suggested the club that it she wouldn't feel comfortable there.
Nick and Warrick were oblivious, lost in a heated debate over A&M's chances, and when they started talking point spread Greg just tuned out. Because it was cute watching Nick get fired up about his alma mater, but it wasn't nearly as fun when Greg couldn't shut him up with a well-timed kiss. So he let his gaze wander over the dance floor, watching the sea of bodies moving together. He didn't get out nearly as much as he used to, thanks to all the overtime he'd been putting in trying to prove that he could hack it as a CSI, so he hadn't realized how much he missed the lights and the music and the sparkle of glitter on bare skin.
And there was no way he was getting Nick out on the dance floor; he couldn't even get Nick to dance with him in their living room with every blind in the house drawn, so it definitely wasn't going to happen in front of people they knew. He briefly considered going out there by himself, losing himself in the crowd and dealing with a cranky Nick later, but just as he was about to stand up he noticed Sara staring longingly at the door.
Nick couldn't get mad at him for making sure Sara had a good time. It was his party, after all - sort of, anyway - and he wouldn't be a good host if he let her sit there feeling awkward and bored. She just needed to loosen up a little, and dancing with Sara meant Nick wouldn't give him the third degree about strangers with wandering hands when they got home.
The argument made sense in his head, so he reached across the table and tapped her on the back of the hand to get her attention. "You look bored."
"I'm fine," she answered, but he'd known her long enough to know when she was lying, so he smiled reassuringly and nodded toward the dance floor.
"Come on, I'll dance with you."
He was too busy focusing on getting out on the dance floor to notice that the conversation at the table had stopped, but when Warrick stood up and laid a hand on Sara's arm Greg knew he was missing something. Something big, if the look on her face was anything to go by, and he couldn't believe he'd missed that. It had to be the long, miserable hours he'd been putting in, and it was times like these that he almost missed working in the lab, because at least back then he'd never missed the good gossip.
Warrick said something else and Sara laughed, then they were walking toward the dance floor and okay, that had to be new, because even with his schedule he couldn't have missed something this big. He watched Warrick pull her close, watched her look up at him and when Warrick leaned in and kissed her he almost fell off his chair.
"Huh," Nick said from somewhere beside him, and Greg didn't have to look to know Nick was seeing it too. "Wonder when that happened."
"Can't have been long ago," Greg answered. "I would have heard about it. Right?"
"Well you're not around the lab as much anymore," Nick said, hand on the small of Greg's back and Greg tore his gaze away from Sara and Warrick to find Nick grinning at him. "One of the drawbacks of working in the field, the grapevine doesn't always reach that far."
"Yeah, but this…I would have heard about this." He was sure of it. And if it turned out that Hodges knew before him, he was going to hurt somebody.
"The real question is, does Grissom know?"
Greg shrugged and leaned back into Nick's hand, letting the pressure of his fingers warm Greg's skin through his shirt. "Doubt it. He's always the last to know this stuff. But at least people will stop talking about us now."
"Wait, people talk about us?" Nick said, brow furrowed in that expression that made it almost impossible for Greg not to lean forward and kiss him.
"Guess you were out in the field when that one hit the grapevine." Greg grinned and stood up, reaching for his wallet and dropping a few bills on the table. "Come on, I'll tell you all about it when we get home."
"Shouldn't we tell them we're leaving?" Nick asked, gesturing toward the dance floor where Sara and Warrick were…yeah, still kissing.
"Something tells me they won't even notice," Greg answered, hand on Nick's back to steer him toward the door.
~
Ficlet #3, for zoemargaret, who wanted Dodge/Munder h/c. It's disgustingly fluffy and not at all what you were looking for, I imagine. Sorry.
He tries not to complain. Not because he really gives a damn how he sounds, but because he knows as soon as he says something hurts Dodge will be hovering over him like somebody's mother. And he already does that enough without Munder giving him actual reasons, so unless the pain's really bad he tries to keep his mouth shut.
But there are some days, when the throbbing won't stop and no matter what he does he can't get comfortable, and on those days…on those days he doesn't even try to keep it in.
"Jesus."
Right on cue Dodge appears out of nowhere, hovering and looking worried and guilty. And that's the part Munder really hates, because it isn't Dodge's fault and Munder's getting tired of telling him that. "What's the matter?"
"Nothing," Munder says, but the gritted teeth kind of ruin the effect. "Just can't get comfortable."
"You want a pillow or something?" Dodge asks, already messing with the couch cushions and Munder gritted his teeth even harder to stop himself from telling Dodge to fuck off.
"No," he says instead, reaching out to catch Dodge's hand before he can rearrange any more of the couch. "I'm okay. Really."
Dodge doesn't look like he believes him, but he stops fussing and squeezes Munder's fingers before he lets go. "You want a painkiller?"
"No," Munder says again, because they knock him out every time and he's tired of sleeping. "Maybe a beer."
He expects Dodge to give him an argument, tell him he shouldn't be mixing meds and booze or some motherly shit like that. And Munder knows he means well, but he's no fun when he's busy playing nursemaid. If he'd just relax for a little while and stop acting like this whole thing was his fault…but Munder knows better than to say anything, because the one time he did bring it up they ended up screaming at each other and then Dodge would barely look at him for three days.
So he's prepared to let it go, but to his surprise Dodge nods and disappears into the kitchen. A minute later he's back with two beers, setting one on the coffee table within Munder's reach and picking up the remote. He flips through the channels until he finds an old kung fu movie, and Munder can't help grinning because he knows Dodge chose it for his benefit. He's not even sure Dodge likes these movies, but he puts up with them because he loves Munder.
"You know, this whole hogging the couch thing is getting pretty old," Dodge says, but he's gentle when he lifts Munder's legs and slides under them, settling them carefully over his own. "That bum leg excuse isn't going to fly forever."
Munder laughs at that and reaches for his beer, settling a little deeper into the couch cushions and stretching his leg experimentally. "You make a pretty good pillow, though."
Dodge rolls his eyes, but he can't quite stop the grin that's threatening to form. And it's true that he's a lot more comfortable now than he was a few minutes ago, so if it helps Dodge feel like he's doing something for Munder he's not going to complain.
~
Ficlet #4, for goldatamera, who wanted Boone feeling unappreciated. I think. It turned into more of a pity party than I'd anticipated, but I really have no clue what I'm doing with this character, so it's always an adventure.
His lip stings when he pokes at it, skin raw and puffy under his fingers. And he's not complaining, because Shannon's better and that's all that matters.
But he's a little surprised at how quickly Jack forgot about him. He hasn't asked if Boone's okay, hasn't asked how he's feeling or checked for infection or anything. He's pretty much just forgotten, only Boone's not really sure how when he's still wearing the evidence all over his face.
And okay, things have been kind of hectic what with Sawyer and all, so he understands. He does, because he's a businessman and he knows all about priorities. But it's not like they've got a whole lot to do out here, so he's pretty sure it wouldn't kill Jack to ask him if he's okay.
He still checks on Charlie all the time, even though Charlie stopped looking like he was going to shake himself apart a couple days ago. He goes down to the beach to check on the others and make sure Sayid and Sawyer haven't killed each other, checks on Shannon and spends a lot of time talking to Locke and Hurley about supplies.
But when it comes to Boone it's like Jack doesn't even remember, like he never washed the blood off Boone's face or cleaned out his cuts. Like he never went after Sawyer for what he did to Boone, and okay, maybe he was just doing the right thing, but it still meant something.
It meant something to Boone anyway, but evidently he's the only one, because everybody else is huddled around the fire, listing off the stuff they miss about home and nobody notices the quiet hiss that escapes his throat when he presses too hard against his lip.
"Maybe you should go get yourself gored by a wild animal or something."
"What?" Boone says, turning to glare at Shannon smirking at him. Her arms are wrapped around her knees, chin resting on them and she'd die if she could see how dirty she is, but that doesn't stop her from looking smug.
"He might notice you if you got yourself killed. Of course it wouldn't matter much then, would it?"
"Shut up," he hisses, frowning when she just smiles a little more smugly. "You don't even know what you're talking about."
He ignores her laugh and turns back to the fire, fingers still pressed against his lip and telling himself that she's wrong. He's not looking for attention like some pathetic kid; that's always been her job. But his gaze strays across the fire anyway, falling on Jack as he leans forward to stoke the flames. His eyes shine in the firelight and Boone's stomach does that weird thing he tries to ignore every time he thinks about Jack.
"How's that lip?" Jack asks, and it takes Boone a second to realize Jack's talking to him.
"Fine," he answers, pulling his fingers away abruptly and when Jack nods and turns away he tells himself it doesn't matter, because he can take care of himself and he doesn't need Jack. He ignores the sound of Shannon's muffled laughter and stands up, not glancing back at the rest of them as he heads to bed alone.
Anyway. These are the ficlets I've got time for right now; more to come eventually. Just probably not soon, because I'm starting to panic about all the shit I've got to do in the next three days and it's really not pretty. Hence I'm feeling a bit off my game today and not at all pleased with these ficlets, which is...pretty much standard, actually.
Ficlet #1, for onthecontrary. Sara/Warrick, PG. This falls in the same universe as Ab Initio.
It wasn't the first time they'd all gone out together after a long shift. They'd gone to breakfast more times than she could count, and every once in awhile - usually when there was something to celebrate - they went out for a quick drink before they all headed home to get a few hours' sleep.
Today they were celebrating Greg finally passing his field proficiency, and she wasn't sure whose idea it was to let him pick the club, but if she found out she was going to hurt them. Or at least refuse to go out with them again until they told her where they were going, because dark clubs with loud music and weird strobe lights weren't exactly her scene.
And really, this was the last thing she felt like doing after the shift they'd had, but she knew Greg would take it personally if she blew it off. Besides, Warrick was here, and okay, maybe she was hoping he'd finally say something about what happened between them. Because they hadn't really talked about it since it happened, and she knew three days wasn't that long, but she was starting to think maybe they really were going to pretend it never happened.
Not that she couldn't deal with that - she could - but if that was how it was going to be the least he could do was tell her, right? He was the one who'd taken her home, after all, and he was the one who brought up Grissom, of all people. He'd cooked for her when they woke up together, for God's sake, driven her home and waited while she pulled on clean clothes and she was pretty sure that meant something.
She'd thought so at the time, anyway, but now they were here, in a club where they'd been called more than once while they were on the clock, and he looked a lot more comfortable here than she'd expected. Or maybe he just looked more comfortable than she wanted him to, because he fit into these places with practiced ease and she…didn't.
She gripped her soda a little harder, wishing suddenly for a beer and she knew that was a sign she needed to get out of here. Her gaze darted toward the door, only half-listening to the debate Nick and Warrick were currently engaged in over some sports thing that she'd never heard of and didn't care about. None of them had so much as looked at her since they got there, really, and she was contemplating how long it would take them to notice if she just left when Greg reached across the table and tapped the back of her hand.
"You look bored."
He had that look on his face like he was telling a secret, but he had to shout to be heard over the argument and the music, and Sara felt her cheeks flush when everybody at the table stopped talking to look at her. "I'm fine."
"Come on, I'll dance with you," he said, grinning in what she was pretty sure he thought was a charming way. Like he was doing her a favor. Like she needed rescuing, and okay, maybe she wasn't having a great time, but a pity dance at 7:30 in the morning wasn't exactly her idea of a step up.
She opened her mouth to tell him exactly why she wasn't interested in dancing or any other aerobic activity with him, but before she got the words out there was a hand on her arm, strong and solid and sending a shiver through her. She blushed even harder at that, hoping none of them noticed the affect Warrick's touch had on her. And it couldn't be anyone else, because she'd felt those hands on her skin and that was one thing she was never going to forget.
He leaned in, mouth close to her ear and she couldn't see him, but she had a feeling he was smiling. "Dance with me."
"It's okay," she managed, praying her voice sounded more steady than it did, and now she was really wishing she'd had a drink. "Really."
"Come on," he said, and now she could hear the grin in his voice, "you're not gonna leave me hanging in front of Sanders, are you?"
His words surprised a laugh out of her, and she let go of her death grip on her glass and let him pull her off her seat, hand tight around hers as he led her to the dance floor. She wasn't dressed for this; she didn't even own clothes that looked anything like what the other girls on the dance floor were wearing, but when Warrick pulled her close and slid an arm around her waist she forgot to feel self-conscious.
His arms felt good around her - solid and strong and familiar - and he smelled just the way she remembered when he kissed her that last time in his car. Every memory of that night came rushing back full force, details she'd played over in her head a million times and a few that she'd tried to forget. And she had no idea what any of it meant, but he was holding her like was thinking the exact same thing.
"Sorry about this."
"No, it's fine," she mumbled against his chest. When he didn't answer she looked up, smiling in spite herself at his bemused expression. "Wait, was this place your idea?"
He laughed and shook his head, eyes shining in the strobe lights and she felt her heart skip a beat. "No, this was Greg's idea. But I should have known it wouldn't really be your style."
And it was true, but she wasn't exactly sure what to think of the fact that he knew her that well. It was just another reminder of how different they were, of how things he could do without a second thought, things that would leave her with sweaty palms and a barely suppressed urge to turn and run. He had a whole world she'd never fit into, and this was just more proof that that one night should never have happened.
"Let me make it up to you. Tomorrow after shift," he said, breath hot against her cheek and when she looked up she knew exactly what he was asking. She knew she should say no, that she should be the one to put an end to this before it ruined whatever was left of their friendship, but before she could get the words out he was kissing her, one hand on her neck to tilt her head just so and long before he let her up for air she knew what her answer would be.
~
Ficlet #2, for ruggerdavey, who wanted Nick and Greg's reaction to Warrick/Sara. It's a parallel of the Warrick/Sara ficlet above because I'm a cheater like that.
Tight-lipped smile: check.
Iron grip on her drink: check.
But it was the wide-eyed stare that really gave it away, and Greg didn't have to ask to know what it all meant. He was an investigator now, after all, but more than that, he'd been right where Sara was.
He didn't like to admit it, but there was a time when he'd had the same wide-eyed, terrified reaction to some of the trendier clubs in Vegas. It was easy to forget how little Sara got out, because they all lived here and they saw these places on the job and it hadn't dawned on him when he suggested the club that it she wouldn't feel comfortable there.
Nick and Warrick were oblivious, lost in a heated debate over A&M's chances, and when they started talking point spread Greg just tuned out. Because it was cute watching Nick get fired up about his alma mater, but it wasn't nearly as fun when Greg couldn't shut him up with a well-timed kiss. So he let his gaze wander over the dance floor, watching the sea of bodies moving together. He didn't get out nearly as much as he used to, thanks to all the overtime he'd been putting in trying to prove that he could hack it as a CSI, so he hadn't realized how much he missed the lights and the music and the sparkle of glitter on bare skin.
And there was no way he was getting Nick out on the dance floor; he couldn't even get Nick to dance with him in their living room with every blind in the house drawn, so it definitely wasn't going to happen in front of people they knew. He briefly considered going out there by himself, losing himself in the crowd and dealing with a cranky Nick later, but just as he was about to stand up he noticed Sara staring longingly at the door.
Nick couldn't get mad at him for making sure Sara had a good time. It was his party, after all - sort of, anyway - and he wouldn't be a good host if he let her sit there feeling awkward and bored. She just needed to loosen up a little, and dancing with Sara meant Nick wouldn't give him the third degree about strangers with wandering hands when they got home.
The argument made sense in his head, so he reached across the table and tapped her on the back of the hand to get her attention. "You look bored."
"I'm fine," she answered, but he'd known her long enough to know when she was lying, so he smiled reassuringly and nodded toward the dance floor.
"Come on, I'll dance with you."
He was too busy focusing on getting out on the dance floor to notice that the conversation at the table had stopped, but when Warrick stood up and laid a hand on Sara's arm Greg knew he was missing something. Something big, if the look on her face was anything to go by, and he couldn't believe he'd missed that. It had to be the long, miserable hours he'd been putting in, and it was times like these that he almost missed working in the lab, because at least back then he'd never missed the good gossip.
Warrick said something else and Sara laughed, then they were walking toward the dance floor and okay, that had to be new, because even with his schedule he couldn't have missed something this big. He watched Warrick pull her close, watched her look up at him and when Warrick leaned in and kissed her he almost fell off his chair.
"Huh," Nick said from somewhere beside him, and Greg didn't have to look to know Nick was seeing it too. "Wonder when that happened."
"Can't have been long ago," Greg answered. "I would have heard about it. Right?"
"Well you're not around the lab as much anymore," Nick said, hand on the small of Greg's back and Greg tore his gaze away from Sara and Warrick to find Nick grinning at him. "One of the drawbacks of working in the field, the grapevine doesn't always reach that far."
"Yeah, but this…I would have heard about this." He was sure of it. And if it turned out that Hodges knew before him, he was going to hurt somebody.
"The real question is, does Grissom know?"
Greg shrugged and leaned back into Nick's hand, letting the pressure of his fingers warm Greg's skin through his shirt. "Doubt it. He's always the last to know this stuff. But at least people will stop talking about us now."
"Wait, people talk about us?" Nick said, brow furrowed in that expression that made it almost impossible for Greg not to lean forward and kiss him.
"Guess you were out in the field when that one hit the grapevine." Greg grinned and stood up, reaching for his wallet and dropping a few bills on the table. "Come on, I'll tell you all about it when we get home."
"Shouldn't we tell them we're leaving?" Nick asked, gesturing toward the dance floor where Sara and Warrick were…yeah, still kissing.
"Something tells me they won't even notice," Greg answered, hand on Nick's back to steer him toward the door.
~
Ficlet #3, for zoemargaret, who wanted Dodge/Munder h/c. It's disgustingly fluffy and not at all what you were looking for, I imagine. Sorry.
He tries not to complain. Not because he really gives a damn how he sounds, but because he knows as soon as he says something hurts Dodge will be hovering over him like somebody's mother. And he already does that enough without Munder giving him actual reasons, so unless the pain's really bad he tries to keep his mouth shut.
But there are some days, when the throbbing won't stop and no matter what he does he can't get comfortable, and on those days…on those days he doesn't even try to keep it in.
"Jesus."
Right on cue Dodge appears out of nowhere, hovering and looking worried and guilty. And that's the part Munder really hates, because it isn't Dodge's fault and Munder's getting tired of telling him that. "What's the matter?"
"Nothing," Munder says, but the gritted teeth kind of ruin the effect. "Just can't get comfortable."
"You want a pillow or something?" Dodge asks, already messing with the couch cushions and Munder gritted his teeth even harder to stop himself from telling Dodge to fuck off.
"No," he says instead, reaching out to catch Dodge's hand before he can rearrange any more of the couch. "I'm okay. Really."
Dodge doesn't look like he believes him, but he stops fussing and squeezes Munder's fingers before he lets go. "You want a painkiller?"
"No," Munder says again, because they knock him out every time and he's tired of sleeping. "Maybe a beer."
He expects Dodge to give him an argument, tell him he shouldn't be mixing meds and booze or some motherly shit like that. And Munder knows he means well, but he's no fun when he's busy playing nursemaid. If he'd just relax for a little while and stop acting like this whole thing was his fault…but Munder knows better than to say anything, because the one time he did bring it up they ended up screaming at each other and then Dodge would barely look at him for three days.
So he's prepared to let it go, but to his surprise Dodge nods and disappears into the kitchen. A minute later he's back with two beers, setting one on the coffee table within Munder's reach and picking up the remote. He flips through the channels until he finds an old kung fu movie, and Munder can't help grinning because he knows Dodge chose it for his benefit. He's not even sure Dodge likes these movies, but he puts up with them because he loves Munder.
"You know, this whole hogging the couch thing is getting pretty old," Dodge says, but he's gentle when he lifts Munder's legs and slides under them, settling them carefully over his own. "That bum leg excuse isn't going to fly forever."
Munder laughs at that and reaches for his beer, settling a little deeper into the couch cushions and stretching his leg experimentally. "You make a pretty good pillow, though."
Dodge rolls his eyes, but he can't quite stop the grin that's threatening to form. And it's true that he's a lot more comfortable now than he was a few minutes ago, so if it helps Dodge feel like he's doing something for Munder he's not going to complain.
~
Ficlet #4, for goldatamera, who wanted Boone feeling unappreciated. I think. It turned into more of a pity party than I'd anticipated, but I really have no clue what I'm doing with this character, so it's always an adventure.
His lip stings when he pokes at it, skin raw and puffy under his fingers. And he's not complaining, because Shannon's better and that's all that matters.
But he's a little surprised at how quickly Jack forgot about him. He hasn't asked if Boone's okay, hasn't asked how he's feeling or checked for infection or anything. He's pretty much just forgotten, only Boone's not really sure how when he's still wearing the evidence all over his face.
And okay, things have been kind of hectic what with Sawyer and all, so he understands. He does, because he's a businessman and he knows all about priorities. But it's not like they've got a whole lot to do out here, so he's pretty sure it wouldn't kill Jack to ask him if he's okay.
He still checks on Charlie all the time, even though Charlie stopped looking like he was going to shake himself apart a couple days ago. He goes down to the beach to check on the others and make sure Sayid and Sawyer haven't killed each other, checks on Shannon and spends a lot of time talking to Locke and Hurley about supplies.
But when it comes to Boone it's like Jack doesn't even remember, like he never washed the blood off Boone's face or cleaned out his cuts. Like he never went after Sawyer for what he did to Boone, and okay, maybe he was just doing the right thing, but it still meant something.
It meant something to Boone anyway, but evidently he's the only one, because everybody else is huddled around the fire, listing off the stuff they miss about home and nobody notices the quiet hiss that escapes his throat when he presses too hard against his lip.
"Maybe you should go get yourself gored by a wild animal or something."
"What?" Boone says, turning to glare at Shannon smirking at him. Her arms are wrapped around her knees, chin resting on them and she'd die if she could see how dirty she is, but that doesn't stop her from looking smug.
"He might notice you if you got yourself killed. Of course it wouldn't matter much then, would it?"
"Shut up," he hisses, frowning when she just smiles a little more smugly. "You don't even know what you're talking about."
He ignores her laugh and turns back to the fire, fingers still pressed against his lip and telling himself that she's wrong. He's not looking for attention like some pathetic kid; that's always been her job. But his gaze strays across the fire anyway, falling on Jack as he leans forward to stoke the flames. His eyes shine in the firelight and Boone's stomach does that weird thing he tries to ignore every time he thinks about Jack.
"How's that lip?" Jack asks, and it takes Boone a second to realize Jack's talking to him.
"Fine," he answers, pulling his fingers away abruptly and when Jack nods and turns away he tells himself it doesn't matter, because he can take care of himself and he doesn't need Jack. He ignores the sound of Shannon's muffled laughter and stands up, not glancing back at the rest of them as he heads to bed alone.