(no subject)
Title: Connection
Fandom: The Inside
Characters: Rebecca Locke, Virgil Webster
Prompt: 77-what
Word Count: 307
Rating: PG
Summary: Rebecca's stop at Webb's house provides a surprise.
Author's Notes: I actually wrote this story months ago but somehow I didn't end up posting it here. Be forewarned it has a Webb/Rebecca moment if that makes you squirm.
She hesitated in front of his door. Her hand was raised, poised to knock but her mind was suspended in mid thought. He didn’t want anyone invading his space, maybe it was a horrible idea to even stop by. The last time she had done that, he hadn’t even let her in, he merely acted as if she had interrupted something.
She was turning to leave, to head back home, when the sound of the door swinging open made her stop.
“Agent Locke, what are you doing here?”
Webb’s voice was gruff and his displeasure was evident.
“I...I just wanted to show you some errors I found,” she said finding herself gulping.
“Errors? Errors in what?”
Rebecca clutched the folders in her arms tighter to her chest. “Errors in the paperwork of the Charles Foster case.”
He stared at her for what seemed to be a long time, but was most likely just a few seconds. “Come in,” he said backing away from the door so that she could enter.
She noticed the glass and the bottle of half drained vodka on his coffee table. A regular yellow pencil and a yellow pad which was filled with writing was seated next to the liquor. She leaned in closer to the pad to better make out the words but suddenly it was swept away from her. She looked up to see Webb looking down at her, pad in hand.
“Don’t profile me Rebecca,” he said, nearly in a whisper.
She merely nodded and proceeded to speak concentrating on the case file so that she could ignore the roaring in her head. She went over in detail mistakes made on a report that was seven years old and written by someone no longer a member of the team. Rebecca felt more comfortable when she was absorbed in her work, a case, a problem that had to be solved. Although she didn’t like admitting it she also found some off kilter pleasure in finding mistakes other people had made. Maybe that was due to her feelings that she had made a near fatal mistake by trusting the man who kidnaped her.
She hadn’t noticed while she was deep into her speech to Webb that the two of them were sitting on his couch, legs nearly touching. But when she finished going over the file she became uncomfortably aware of the heat of his body.
“Um, so anyways I better be going,” she got up quickly and his hand caught her wrist.
“What are you doing here?” He asked his eyes slicing through her.
“I needed to show you that case file.” She wanted to tell him to let go, but a part of her didn’t want to lose the touch of another human being, she needed it at the moment.
“What are you doing here?” He repeated in almost a whisper.
“I told you, I...”
He shook his head. “There are mistakes Rebecca but it doesn’t matter. I shot Charles Foster. He’s dead and buried. That’s not why you came here on a Saturday.”
“Yes it is.”
“Lie to me all you want, but stop lying to yourself...Becky.”
The sound of her old nickname caused her to slap him across the face with her free hand. She hadn’t planned on doing that, it just suddenly occurred.
“Next time clench your fist,” he said grabbing the hand that had just assaulted him and sculpting it into a fist. “It will pack more of a punch.”
“Let go,” she said.
Webb released her and stood. He was mere inches from her and she could smell the vodka on his breath.
“Answer me. What are you doing here?”
“I...” She couldn’t complete the thought. She didn’t know why she was there, what was so important to give up a free Saturday for (although she preferred working to free time), she wasn’t sure why she let Webb get to her. “I don’t know,” she answered him and looked away.
His hands gently touched her face, moving it so she was looking back at him.
“Yes, you do. You know why you are here. Think.”
He was forcing into a place that her mind only drifted on occasion, a place which reason told her she shouldn’t be.
“Now tell me what are you doing here?” He was still holding her face, still staring into her eyes, still staring into her soul.
Rebecca wanted to leave, to run, to chide herself afterwards about what she was thinking. But she didn’t, instead she found herself looking back at him, being truthful not just searching for the right words for the situation.
“I’m here for you,” she said and met his mouth halfway.
Fandom: The Inside
Characters: Rebecca Locke, Virgil Webster
Prompt: 77-what
Word Count: 307
Rating: PG
Summary: Rebecca's stop at Webb's house provides a surprise.
Author's Notes: I actually wrote this story months ago but somehow I didn't end up posting it here. Be forewarned it has a Webb/Rebecca moment if that makes you squirm.
She hesitated in front of his door. Her hand was raised, poised to knock but her mind was suspended in mid thought. He didn’t want anyone invading his space, maybe it was a horrible idea to even stop by. The last time she had done that, he hadn’t even let her in, he merely acted as if she had interrupted something.
She was turning to leave, to head back home, when the sound of the door swinging open made her stop.
“Agent Locke, what are you doing here?”
Webb’s voice was gruff and his displeasure was evident.
“I...I just wanted to show you some errors I found,” she said finding herself gulping.
“Errors? Errors in what?”
Rebecca clutched the folders in her arms tighter to her chest. “Errors in the paperwork of the Charles Foster case.”
He stared at her for what seemed to be a long time, but was most likely just a few seconds. “Come in,” he said backing away from the door so that she could enter.
She noticed the glass and the bottle of half drained vodka on his coffee table. A regular yellow pencil and a yellow pad which was filled with writing was seated next to the liquor. She leaned in closer to the pad to better make out the words but suddenly it was swept away from her. She looked up to see Webb looking down at her, pad in hand.
“Don’t profile me Rebecca,” he said, nearly in a whisper.
She merely nodded and proceeded to speak concentrating on the case file so that she could ignore the roaring in her head. She went over in detail mistakes made on a report that was seven years old and written by someone no longer a member of the team. Rebecca felt more comfortable when she was absorbed in her work, a case, a problem that had to be solved. Although she didn’t like admitting it she also found some off kilter pleasure in finding mistakes other people had made. Maybe that was due to her feelings that she had made a near fatal mistake by trusting the man who kidnaped her.
She hadn’t noticed while she was deep into her speech to Webb that the two of them were sitting on his couch, legs nearly touching. But when she finished going over the file she became uncomfortably aware of the heat of his body.
“Um, so anyways I better be going,” she got up quickly and his hand caught her wrist.
“What are you doing here?” He asked his eyes slicing through her.
“I needed to show you that case file.” She wanted to tell him to let go, but a part of her didn’t want to lose the touch of another human being, she needed it at the moment.
“What are you doing here?” He repeated in almost a whisper.
“I told you, I...”
He shook his head. “There are mistakes Rebecca but it doesn’t matter. I shot Charles Foster. He’s dead and buried. That’s not why you came here on a Saturday.”
“Yes it is.”
“Lie to me all you want, but stop lying to yourself...Becky.”
The sound of her old nickname caused her to slap him across the face with her free hand. She hadn’t planned on doing that, it just suddenly occurred.
“Next time clench your fist,” he said grabbing the hand that had just assaulted him and sculpting it into a fist. “It will pack more of a punch.”
“Let go,” she said.
Webb released her and stood. He was mere inches from her and she could smell the vodka on his breath.
“Answer me. What are you doing here?”
“I...” She couldn’t complete the thought. She didn’t know why she was there, what was so important to give up a free Saturday for (although she preferred working to free time), she wasn’t sure why she let Webb get to her. “I don’t know,” she answered him and looked away.
His hands gently touched her face, moving it so she was looking back at him.
“Yes, you do. You know why you are here. Think.”
He was forcing into a place that her mind only drifted on occasion, a place which reason told her she shouldn’t be.
“Now tell me what are you doing here?” He was still holding her face, still staring into her eyes, still staring into her soul.
Rebecca wanted to leave, to run, to chide herself afterwards about what she was thinking. But she didn’t, instead she found herself looking back at him, being truthful not just searching for the right words for the situation.
“I’m here for you,” she said and met his mouth halfway.