Altruistic Numbers
Author: Regency
Title: Altruistic Numbers
Crossover: The Closer / Women’s Murder Club
Pairing: Sharon Raydor/Lindsay Boxer
Rating: PG
Word count: 100
Warnings: implied violence.
Spoilers: None.
Summary: When an FID investigation goes bad, Raydor takes mental notes for the incident report she will inevitably have to write.
AN: This came about, firstly, because I really wanted to see Mary shoot something. Also, this was written with the perhaps incorrect assumption that FID officers carry weapons to crime scenes.
Disclaimer: I don’t own the characters. I’m just borrowing them for this little scenario.
~!~
“Eight,” Raydor counted, on the ground, poised behind a bullet-riddled car. She’d taken eight shots at the perpetrators in the distance. Couldn’t see ‘em, her glasses had broken long ago.
One, two, three, four.
She numbered the shots fired by the woman beside her: a stranger from another place with a badge. Her hair was falling in her eyes, but she reloaded and took the offensive again.
Three, two, one.
The time it took Raydor to follow suit, her squinted focus on the muzzle flashes at twenty yards.
Thirty-four.
The number she reached before the shooters stopped missing.
Two, three-
Title: Altruistic Numbers
Crossover: The Closer / Women’s Murder Club
Pairing: Sharon Raydor/Lindsay Boxer
Rating: PG
Word count: 100
Warnings: implied violence.
Spoilers: None.
Summary: When an FID investigation goes bad, Raydor takes mental notes for the incident report she will inevitably have to write.
AN: This came about, firstly, because I really wanted to see Mary shoot something. Also, this was written with the perhaps incorrect assumption that FID officers carry weapons to crime scenes.
Disclaimer: I don’t own the characters. I’m just borrowing them for this little scenario.
~!~
“Eight,” Raydor counted, on the ground, poised behind a bullet-riddled car. She’d taken eight shots at the perpetrators in the distance. Couldn’t see ‘em, her glasses had broken long ago.
One, two, three, four.
She numbered the shots fired by the woman beside her: a stranger from another place with a badge. Her hair was falling in her eyes, but she reloaded and took the offensive again.
Three, two, one.
The time it took Raydor to follow suit, her squinted focus on the muzzle flashes at twenty yards.
Thirty-four.
The number she reached before the shooters stopped missing.
Two, three-