Squee Meme: Create Something
So yes. I wrote fanfic. It's a Whitechapel/Endeavour-crossover in which I cheerfully ignore that young Morse would need a TARDIS to get from 60s Oxford to the current East End. And that's sort of the issue with this fic: the premise is somewhat cracky but the fic itself is quite gloomy (but then I dare you to write something featuring these two shows that is not depressing).
(In hindsight this would have worked almost as well with Hathaway instead of Morse and I wouldn't have had the issue with time-travel...well too late)
Title: The Need to Forget
Characters/Pairings: unrequited Kent/Chandler, Endeavour Morse/Emmerson Kent...sort of. Nothing really happens because I can't write explicit stuff, mentions of Morgan and Rosalind
Timeline: post S3 for Whitechapel and post-pilot for Endeavour
Kent knew that the reasonable thing after being awake and working for over 50 hours would be to go home and sleep. However the last thing he wanted right now was to be sober and alone with his thoughts and so he decided to do something very unreasonable and go to a pub. Perhaps several pints would get Morgan's face out of his head.
Of course it wasn't really about her face. He was a policeman and he'd seen bodies in a much worse state. What it actually was about was what she stood for, what she had made him realize. Before her he could ignore and suppress that nagging feeling, could gladly accept Chandler's explanation that he was overworked and tired and so excuse his outbreak in front of his boss.
What he definitely could not excuse was that spark of relief he felt when he saw her lying on the floor, the thought that this meant not having to watch Chandler being happy with somebody else in the future. He'd felt sick the moment this had crossed his mind and stumbled out the station as fast as he could.
Now he was sitting here, just staring at his pint (how many had he already had?) and hoping that it would finally drown out the cacophony of voices that told him what a horrible human being he was. When he took a moment and looked up from his eyes fell on a young man about his own age who stood out from the rest of the crowd because he was one of the few people in the pub who were alone. He also looked as miserable as Kent felt. Perhaps he should invite him to his table and they could be miserable together.
But it seemed like he was too late. A brunette girl who had been standing with a group of friends went to him and started to flirt.. Well trying to flirt with him. He looked extremely uncomfortable in his skin, started stammering and then said something that seemed to be a quote. A poem? definitely not one Kent had heard before (but then he didn't exactly knew that many poems). The girl laughed somewhat awkwardly and then left.
Kent wished his brain would be as tired and slow-acting as it should be after working 50 hours and would not supply the thought that he could imagine Chandler reacting in a similar way when he was met with unwanted attention. Before he could investigate the extremely unhealthy reasons for doing what he was doing he had already waved and invited the other man to his table.
“Thanks”
“You're welcome.”
For a few seconds they only stared awkwardly at each other but before the silence could stretch out Kent asked “So who are you?”
Morse opened his mouth, closed it again, then said “Endeavour.” He regretted it almost immediately, when he saw the other man's grin but as it turned out that wasn't the reason.
“Emerson.”
Now Morse also couldn't suppress a grin. “Poor sod.”
“Yeah...bet you wouldn't want to trade with me, right?”
“Never.”
He couldn't remember the last time he had told his first name to anybody but he didn't need a psychology degree to know him why he suddenly used it again. He'd always been Morse to Rosalind. Even on the autograph she'd given him. He'd gone here to forget about Rosalind and a part of him hoped it would help if for once he'd used his first name again which she never even knew. A much larger part of him feared that he would never be able to forget her just like after more than three years he still hadn't forgotten Susan. During the time with Rosalind he had almost managed to, had banished her far away - but she had reappeared after Rosalind's death and now he was haunted by two ghosts.
All he wanted here was to forget again. He couldn't kid himself into believing that he could forget them completely but a one night - or just a few hours - was all he was asking for right now. For that he needed to find somebody who was not Rosalind. That was really all he wanted. The girl he just met would have been enough not her; different hair, eyes, voice, taste in clothes, but he'd of course ruined it with his stupidity. He was helpless in company of women, had always been and it got even worse when they flirted with him so openly.
Sitting together with men was much easier, even though right now he had no idea if Emerson just wanted to get drunk with a random stranger for what ever reasons he had to be here and get drunk (he definitely looked like ha had reasons) or if perhaps he wanted more.
One part of his brain, one that was still working despite tonight's high alcohol-intake pointed out that Emerson seemed too drunk to be completely sure about that. Another part of his brain that seemed to be only working because of tonight's alcohol-intake, because there are things you don't admit to yourself while sober, pointed out that he didn't really care about this question. Either they would get drunk together, really drunk or - well - Emerson was even more not her than the girl had been. And that was after all everything he had wanted.
(In hindsight this would have worked almost as well with Hathaway instead of Morse and I wouldn't have had the issue with time-travel...well too late)
Title: The Need to Forget
Characters/Pairings: unrequited Kent/Chandler, Endeavour Morse/Emmerson Kent...sort of. Nothing really happens because I can't write explicit stuff, mentions of Morgan and Rosalind
Timeline: post S3 for Whitechapel and post-pilot for Endeavour
Kent knew that the reasonable thing after being awake and working for over 50 hours would be to go home and sleep. However the last thing he wanted right now was to be sober and alone with his thoughts and so he decided to do something very unreasonable and go to a pub. Perhaps several pints would get Morgan's face out of his head.
Of course it wasn't really about her face. He was a policeman and he'd seen bodies in a much worse state. What it actually was about was what she stood for, what she had made him realize. Before her he could ignore and suppress that nagging feeling, could gladly accept Chandler's explanation that he was overworked and tired and so excuse his outbreak in front of his boss.
What he definitely could not excuse was that spark of relief he felt when he saw her lying on the floor, the thought that this meant not having to watch Chandler being happy with somebody else in the future. He'd felt sick the moment this had crossed his mind and stumbled out the station as fast as he could.
Now he was sitting here, just staring at his pint (how many had he already had?) and hoping that it would finally drown out the cacophony of voices that told him what a horrible human being he was. When he took a moment and looked up from his eyes fell on a young man about his own age who stood out from the rest of the crowd because he was one of the few people in the pub who were alone. He also looked as miserable as Kent felt. Perhaps he should invite him to his table and they could be miserable together.
But it seemed like he was too late. A brunette girl who had been standing with a group of friends went to him and started to flirt.. Well trying to flirt with him. He looked extremely uncomfortable in his skin, started stammering and then said something that seemed to be a quote. A poem? definitely not one Kent had heard before (but then he didn't exactly knew that many poems). The girl laughed somewhat awkwardly and then left.
Kent wished his brain would be as tired and slow-acting as it should be after working 50 hours and would not supply the thought that he could imagine Chandler reacting in a similar way when he was met with unwanted attention. Before he could investigate the extremely unhealthy reasons for doing what he was doing he had already waved and invited the other man to his table.
“Thanks”
“You're welcome.”
For a few seconds they only stared awkwardly at each other but before the silence could stretch out Kent asked “So who are you?”
Morse opened his mouth, closed it again, then said “Endeavour.” He regretted it almost immediately, when he saw the other man's grin but as it turned out that wasn't the reason.
“Emerson.”
Now Morse also couldn't suppress a grin. “Poor sod.”
“Yeah...bet you wouldn't want to trade with me, right?”
“Never.”
He couldn't remember the last time he had told his first name to anybody but he didn't need a psychology degree to know him why he suddenly used it again. He'd always been Morse to Rosalind. Even on the autograph she'd given him. He'd gone here to forget about Rosalind and a part of him hoped it would help if for once he'd used his first name again which she never even knew. A much larger part of him feared that he would never be able to forget her just like after more than three years he still hadn't forgotten Susan. During the time with Rosalind he had almost managed to, had banished her far away - but she had reappeared after Rosalind's death and now he was haunted by two ghosts.
All he wanted here was to forget again. He couldn't kid himself into believing that he could forget them completely but a one night - or just a few hours - was all he was asking for right now. For that he needed to find somebody who was not Rosalind. That was really all he wanted. The girl he just met would have been enough not her; different hair, eyes, voice, taste in clothes, but he'd of course ruined it with his stupidity. He was helpless in company of women, had always been and it got even worse when they flirted with him so openly.
Sitting together with men was much easier, even though right now he had no idea if Emerson just wanted to get drunk with a random stranger for what ever reasons he had to be here and get drunk (he definitely looked like ha had reasons) or if perhaps he wanted more.
One part of his brain, one that was still working despite tonight's high alcohol-intake pointed out that Emerson seemed too drunk to be completely sure about that. Another part of his brain that seemed to be only working because of tonight's alcohol-intake, because there are things you don't admit to yourself while sober, pointed out that he didn't really care about this question. Either they would get drunk together, really drunk or - well - Emerson was even more not her than the girl had been. And that was after all everything he had wanted.