ficlets, all in one place
I decided to put all the small pieces I wrote for people last week into one post. Just 'cause. And out of deference to people who insist drabbles are 100 words and only 100 words, I'm calling them ficlets, because God knows I can't stick to 100 words to save my life. :)
Listed together by fandom.
For pocky_slash who ended up with Josh/Donna from The West Wing.
Josh stood in the back of the hall during the rally, doing his best not to be noticed. The press would have a field day if they saw that Josh Lyman, architect of the dark horse Matt Santos' bid for President, was at a Bob Russell engagement in Iowa.
But Josh wasn't listening to Bob Russell. He'd certainly heard all of that before. Instead, he watched as Donna, hair pulled back into a ponytail and clipboard in hand, weaved her way through the media who were there, stopping to talk with some, handing out materials to others. She looked tired, dark circles under her eyes that her fair skin couldn't hide, even with makeup, but Josh had expected that. A national campaign was exhausting. She also looked poised, professional, and confident, and Josh had expected that, too.
What he wasn't sure of was whether she'd notice him or not. He expected that she wouldn't.
But this was Donna, and she did, looking up unexpectedly and catching his eye during a pause for applause in Russell's speech. She didn't look at Bob, or at Will. She looked at him.
She had to have known he was there the entire time; knowing her, she'd probably known it since the second he walked in the door.
She made her way over with a stunning, and studied, casualness, sidling up next to him on his left, her back also to the wall. They were silent for a moment until Donna said, "Good speech."
"Will wrote it?"
"Yeah."
Josh nodded.
"Doing some recon work, Josh?" Donna asked, her eyes still focused on the press, scanning the crowd. She'd barely looked at him.
Josh shook his head. "No." He paused. "Not for the campaign, if that's what you're asking."
That did bring Donna to face him. "Then for what?"
"For you," he said. Suddenly, he had to swallow hard. "You look like you're doing a fantastic job."
"Don't sound so surprised," she said, and her voice trembled somewhere between scorn, hurt, and a half-hearted attempt at banter.
"I'm not." He hoped that Donna would know from his tone that he was serious.
Her face softened, and he knew she'd read him right, gotten it. At least that hadn't changed. "Thanks," she said.
They stood there like that, as silence decended over them, until a couple of minutes later when Donna said, "Well. I have to go."
Josh nodded. "Yeah."
Donna opened her mouth as if to say something, stopped, shook her head. "Is there something else, Josh?" she asked, ready to take her clipboard back to the press.
"You used to be my girl," Josh blurted out, before he could stop himself.
Donna gave a ghost of a smile. "I'm still your girl," she said. "I'm just not your assistant." She was smiling, but her eyes looked serious.
"Oh," Josh said.
Donna tore the bottom off a piece of paper on her clipboard, and scribbled with her pen for a minute. She handed the scrap of paper to Josh, put it right in the palm of his hand.
"That's the name and number of the hotel where we're staying, and my room number. I'll be free by ten."
"Ten," Josh repeated, closing a fist around the paper.
"Yeah," Donna said. "I've gotta . . ." she titled her head toward the press, her ponytail swinging.
"Yeah. Go do the thing."
"I'll see you later," she said, turning, heading back off toward her future.
"Yeah," Josh said, even though she couldn't hear him. He put the paper in his coat pocket and left the hall, already waiting for ten, when the rest of his life might begin.
For fearlesstemp who requested Josh/Donna from The West Wing.
Donna leaned her head back against the headrest of the car and closed her eyes. Will was driving, and he had been going on and on for some time now about Josh and whether or not he was backing Santos just as a spoiler move to take votes away from Bingo Bob.
Will seemed to think Donna would know the truth, but the God's honest truth was that Donna had ceased to care about the subject at least twenty miles ago, if she ever had.
Besides which, Donna knew that once Josh had left Hoynes for Bartlet, there was no way he'd go back. The only way he'd leave the White House to back Santos was if he thought Santos was The Real Thing.
The car hit a small pothole, and Donna's head bumped back against the head rest. She thought of another bumpy car ride she'd taken two years ago, in the snow. Except that during that car ride Will had been prattling on about post-speech adrenaline highs and Donna had been sitting in Josh's lap. Donna knew which trip she had infinitely preferred.
She opened her eyes to the vast whiteness of New Hampshire and said, "Stop."
For cruisedirector who requested (and miraculously received :)) Josh Lyman/Matt Santos from The West Wing.
Josh, who was from Connecticut, couldn't help but stamp his feet and blow into his already gloved hands in order to keep warm; he knew that if he was suffering, Matt Santos, the man from Texas, certainly had to have been dying from the cold by now.
But if he was, you'd never know it. Josh observed as Matt stood in front of the Bonneville, New Hampshire post-office, shaking hands and greeting postal customers, a smile on his face and that smooth voice continually talking, muttering how-do-you-dos and introductions with grace and ease. He looked as gracious and warm as if he was standing on his own front porch in the middle of a spring day.
He wasn't even wearing any gloves. Josh grinned.
Josh stamped his feet to keep them warm one more time and then went over to Santos, placing his hand just under the other man's shoulder blade in order to get his attention. Santos finished greeting a woman with a small child attached to one hand, and then turned around.
"Ready to go?" Josh asked.
"To somewhere warm, I hope," Matt replied, grinning.
"Yeah," Josh said, and caught the small quirk to the corner of Matt's mouth. Yeah, somewhere warm, he thought, leading Matt back to the car.
For sheafortherdon who requested Remus/Sirius from Harry Potter.
Sirius met Remus at the door, holding what looked to be a pan of baked goods out as if in burnt offering. Sirius had his I'm-trying-to-be-good-really grin plastered to his face. He was wearing Muggle potholders that looked like mittens; they had "Home Is Where the Heart Is" stiched on each palm. Remus sighed melodramatically and hung his coat on the coat rack.
"Those look like brownies," Remus observed.
"They are brownies, Moony," Sirius said. "I thought you might like them after having to deal with the Ministry and their rubbish all day."
Remus rubbed his finger along the bridge of his nose. "Sirius, are there drugs in those brownies?"
"Oh, yeah," Sirius replied.
"Good. Let's eat," Remus said, taking the pan from Sirius and giving him a kiss on the nose in return. Sirius grinned.
For statelines who requested Remus/Sirius from HP fandom.
Remus picked the piece of parchment up off the nightstand.
Moony,
Wish I could say I was writing from somewhere warm, but I cannot, as I can neither say I am warm, nor if I was, where I am.
H seems to be having a difficult time this year. I wish you were there at school to keep an eye on him.
Hell, I wish I could be there to keep an eye on him.
If wishes were horses then beggars would ride, eh, Moony?
I think about you all the time. You are always in my heart.
You always have been. Doubt what you will, but not that.
Stay strong, Moony, and take care of H for me. I'll be back as soon as I can.
Yours,
Padfoot
Remus read the letter through once, folded it carefully, and put it in the small brown box he had transfigured from a handkerchief.
Sirius had kept his word and come back once, but he wouldn't again. If wishes were horses then beggars would ride, indeed.
Remus put the lid on the box, and slipped it behind the books on the top shelf of his bookcase, then went downstairs to see if the Aurors had returned yet with Harry.
For musesfool who requested Luke/Lorelai from Gilmore Girls.
Luke just sat and watched the process. First to go: the tomatoes. Then the broccoli. A mushroom or three joined the growing pile threatening to spill off the side of the plate and onto tablecloth. The poor, crisp cucumber came next. Finally, Luke drew the line at the carrot balancing precariously next to the tomatoes.
"Are you going to pick the lettuce out next?" he asked.
Lorelai looked up from her salad, a confused little wrinkle appearing between her eyebrows.
"It wouldn't be a salad without any lettuce," she replied logically.
"It's barely a salad now."
"Don't snap at me."
He sighed. "I'm not snapping at you."
"Yes, you are," Lorelai answeed, making a little click-click noise with her teeth, presumably to imitate snapping.
"Well, then I apologize," Luke said.
"Okay, then. I just . . . I'm eating this for you, you know," Lorelai confessed. "You said 'Eat a salad once in a while, would ya'," she intoned, dropping her voice into the lower register and pulling off a passing imitation of him. "So I thought I'd eat a salad. Geez. I didn't know there was a right way to eat one."
In spite of himself, Luke smiled. "There's no right or wrong way to eat a salad. Just the Lorelai way."
"Glad you see the light," Lorelai said. Luke leaned across the table and kissed her lightly.
As he leaned back into his own chair, Lorelai found a radish and started a pile on the other side of the plate.
"Do you think I could get them to put a little cheese on this?" she asked.
For trixiesfic who requested Joan/Grace from Joan of Arcadia.
They sat on the floor of Joan's room, Grace having climbed through the window of Joan's room, making a racket that Joan had been afraid would wake the entire house.
No one came down the hall though, and no lights got turned on, so Joan was fairly sure they were safe. Her own light was on, lamp that she had made at crazy camp that summer sparkling softly through pink beads and golden glitter.
"I don't want to be like her," Grace whispered.
"You won't be. You're not," Joan insisted, still whispering, but she could hear her own voice rising, gaining intensity. She took a deep breath and tried to throttle it back.
"It's like she . . . got trapped. Like, she suddenly had this whole life that she didn't choose. Maybe the booze makes her think she did choose it or maybe it makes it hurt less or maybe it makes her thinks she loves us . . ."
"She loves you," Joan interrupted.
"Yeah." Grace paused. "I just . . . want to be able to choose."
"You can, Grace. You have all the choices in the world, all the choices you want." Joan started out looking at Grace, but suddenly she stopped and looked down, blushing even in the dim light as she twirled a stray thread from her pajama bottoms around her finger.
"Do I?" Grace asked, and she didn't look down, just kept looking at Joan.
"Yeah," Joan said. She stopped twirling the thread, and reached her hand up to cup Grace's cheek instead. When Grace didn't flinch, she leaned in a little.
Grace closed the gap, and kissed her.
"All the choices in the world," Grace repeated, whispering, into Joan's mouth.
Thanks for playing, guys. That was fun!
Listed together by fandom.
For pocky_slash who ended up with Josh/Donna from The West Wing.
Josh stood in the back of the hall during the rally, doing his best not to be noticed. The press would have a field day if they saw that Josh Lyman, architect of the dark horse Matt Santos' bid for President, was at a Bob Russell engagement in Iowa.
But Josh wasn't listening to Bob Russell. He'd certainly heard all of that before. Instead, he watched as Donna, hair pulled back into a ponytail and clipboard in hand, weaved her way through the media who were there, stopping to talk with some, handing out materials to others. She looked tired, dark circles under her eyes that her fair skin couldn't hide, even with makeup, but Josh had expected that. A national campaign was exhausting. She also looked poised, professional, and confident, and Josh had expected that, too.
What he wasn't sure of was whether she'd notice him or not. He expected that she wouldn't.
But this was Donna, and she did, looking up unexpectedly and catching his eye during a pause for applause in Russell's speech. She didn't look at Bob, or at Will. She looked at him.
She had to have known he was there the entire time; knowing her, she'd probably known it since the second he walked in the door.
She made her way over with a stunning, and studied, casualness, sidling up next to him on his left, her back also to the wall. They were silent for a moment until Donna said, "Good speech."
"Will wrote it?"
"Yeah."
Josh nodded.
"Doing some recon work, Josh?" Donna asked, her eyes still focused on the press, scanning the crowd. She'd barely looked at him.
Josh shook his head. "No." He paused. "Not for the campaign, if that's what you're asking."
That did bring Donna to face him. "Then for what?"
"For you," he said. Suddenly, he had to swallow hard. "You look like you're doing a fantastic job."
"Don't sound so surprised," she said, and her voice trembled somewhere between scorn, hurt, and a half-hearted attempt at banter.
"I'm not." He hoped that Donna would know from his tone that he was serious.
Her face softened, and he knew she'd read him right, gotten it. At least that hadn't changed. "Thanks," she said.
They stood there like that, as silence decended over them, until a couple of minutes later when Donna said, "Well. I have to go."
Josh nodded. "Yeah."
Donna opened her mouth as if to say something, stopped, shook her head. "Is there something else, Josh?" she asked, ready to take her clipboard back to the press.
"You used to be my girl," Josh blurted out, before he could stop himself.
Donna gave a ghost of a smile. "I'm still your girl," she said. "I'm just not your assistant." She was smiling, but her eyes looked serious.
"Oh," Josh said.
Donna tore the bottom off a piece of paper on her clipboard, and scribbled with her pen for a minute. She handed the scrap of paper to Josh, put it right in the palm of his hand.
"That's the name and number of the hotel where we're staying, and my room number. I'll be free by ten."
"Ten," Josh repeated, closing a fist around the paper.
"Yeah," Donna said. "I've gotta . . ." she titled her head toward the press, her ponytail swinging.
"Yeah. Go do the thing."
"I'll see you later," she said, turning, heading back off toward her future.
"Yeah," Josh said, even though she couldn't hear him. He put the paper in his coat pocket and left the hall, already waiting for ten, when the rest of his life might begin.
For fearlesstemp who requested Josh/Donna from The West Wing.
Donna leaned her head back against the headrest of the car and closed her eyes. Will was driving, and he had been going on and on for some time now about Josh and whether or not he was backing Santos just as a spoiler move to take votes away from Bingo Bob.
Will seemed to think Donna would know the truth, but the God's honest truth was that Donna had ceased to care about the subject at least twenty miles ago, if she ever had.
Besides which, Donna knew that once Josh had left Hoynes for Bartlet, there was no way he'd go back. The only way he'd leave the White House to back Santos was if he thought Santos was The Real Thing.
The car hit a small pothole, and Donna's head bumped back against the head rest. She thought of another bumpy car ride she'd taken two years ago, in the snow. Except that during that car ride Will had been prattling on about post-speech adrenaline highs and Donna had been sitting in Josh's lap. Donna knew which trip she had infinitely preferred.
She opened her eyes to the vast whiteness of New Hampshire and said, "Stop."
For cruisedirector who requested (and miraculously received :)) Josh Lyman/Matt Santos from The West Wing.
Josh, who was from Connecticut, couldn't help but stamp his feet and blow into his already gloved hands in order to keep warm; he knew that if he was suffering, Matt Santos, the man from Texas, certainly had to have been dying from the cold by now.
But if he was, you'd never know it. Josh observed as Matt stood in front of the Bonneville, New Hampshire post-office, shaking hands and greeting postal customers, a smile on his face and that smooth voice continually talking, muttering how-do-you-dos and introductions with grace and ease. He looked as gracious and warm as if he was standing on his own front porch in the middle of a spring day.
He wasn't even wearing any gloves. Josh grinned.
Josh stamped his feet to keep them warm one more time and then went over to Santos, placing his hand just under the other man's shoulder blade in order to get his attention. Santos finished greeting a woman with a small child attached to one hand, and then turned around.
"Ready to go?" Josh asked.
"To somewhere warm, I hope," Matt replied, grinning.
"Yeah," Josh said, and caught the small quirk to the corner of Matt's mouth. Yeah, somewhere warm, he thought, leading Matt back to the car.
For sheafortherdon who requested Remus/Sirius from Harry Potter.
Sirius met Remus at the door, holding what looked to be a pan of baked goods out as if in burnt offering. Sirius had his I'm-trying-to-be-good-really grin plastered to his face. He was wearing Muggle potholders that looked like mittens; they had "Home Is Where the Heart Is" stiched on each palm. Remus sighed melodramatically and hung his coat on the coat rack.
"Those look like brownies," Remus observed.
"They are brownies, Moony," Sirius said. "I thought you might like them after having to deal with the Ministry and their rubbish all day."
Remus rubbed his finger along the bridge of his nose. "Sirius, are there drugs in those brownies?"
"Oh, yeah," Sirius replied.
"Good. Let's eat," Remus said, taking the pan from Sirius and giving him a kiss on the nose in return. Sirius grinned.
For statelines who requested Remus/Sirius from HP fandom.
Remus picked the piece of parchment up off the nightstand.
Moony,
Wish I could say I was writing from somewhere warm, but I cannot, as I can neither say I am warm, nor if I was, where I am.
H seems to be having a difficult time this year. I wish you were there at school to keep an eye on him.
Hell, I wish I could be there to keep an eye on him.
If wishes were horses then beggars would ride, eh, Moony?
I think about you all the time. You are always in my heart.
You always have been. Doubt what you will, but not that.
Stay strong, Moony, and take care of H for me. I'll be back as soon as I can.
Yours,
Padfoot
Remus read the letter through once, folded it carefully, and put it in the small brown box he had transfigured from a handkerchief.
Sirius had kept his word and come back once, but he wouldn't again. If wishes were horses then beggars would ride, indeed.
Remus put the lid on the box, and slipped it behind the books on the top shelf of his bookcase, then went downstairs to see if the Aurors had returned yet with Harry.
For musesfool who requested Luke/Lorelai from Gilmore Girls.
Luke just sat and watched the process. First to go: the tomatoes. Then the broccoli. A mushroom or three joined the growing pile threatening to spill off the side of the plate and onto tablecloth. The poor, crisp cucumber came next. Finally, Luke drew the line at the carrot balancing precariously next to the tomatoes.
"Are you going to pick the lettuce out next?" he asked.
Lorelai looked up from her salad, a confused little wrinkle appearing between her eyebrows.
"It wouldn't be a salad without any lettuce," she replied logically.
"It's barely a salad now."
"Don't snap at me."
He sighed. "I'm not snapping at you."
"Yes, you are," Lorelai answeed, making a little click-click noise with her teeth, presumably to imitate snapping.
"Well, then I apologize," Luke said.
"Okay, then. I just . . . I'm eating this for you, you know," Lorelai confessed. "You said 'Eat a salad once in a while, would ya'," she intoned, dropping her voice into the lower register and pulling off a passing imitation of him. "So I thought I'd eat a salad. Geez. I didn't know there was a right way to eat one."
In spite of himself, Luke smiled. "There's no right or wrong way to eat a salad. Just the Lorelai way."
"Glad you see the light," Lorelai said. Luke leaned across the table and kissed her lightly.
As he leaned back into his own chair, Lorelai found a radish and started a pile on the other side of the plate.
"Do you think I could get them to put a little cheese on this?" she asked.
For trixiesfic who requested Joan/Grace from Joan of Arcadia.
They sat on the floor of Joan's room, Grace having climbed through the window of Joan's room, making a racket that Joan had been afraid would wake the entire house.
No one came down the hall though, and no lights got turned on, so Joan was fairly sure they were safe. Her own light was on, lamp that she had made at crazy camp that summer sparkling softly through pink beads and golden glitter.
"I don't want to be like her," Grace whispered.
"You won't be. You're not," Joan insisted, still whispering, but she could hear her own voice rising, gaining intensity. She took a deep breath and tried to throttle it back.
"It's like she . . . got trapped. Like, she suddenly had this whole life that she didn't choose. Maybe the booze makes her think she did choose it or maybe it makes it hurt less or maybe it makes her thinks she loves us . . ."
"She loves you," Joan interrupted.
"Yeah." Grace paused. "I just . . . want to be able to choose."
"You can, Grace. You have all the choices in the world, all the choices you want." Joan started out looking at Grace, but suddenly she stopped and looked down, blushing even in the dim light as she twirled a stray thread from her pajama bottoms around her finger.
"Do I?" Grace asked, and she didn't look down, just kept looking at Joan.
"Yeah," Joan said. She stopped twirling the thread, and reached her hand up to cup Grace's cheek instead. When Grace didn't flinch, she leaned in a little.
Grace closed the gap, and kissed her.
"All the choices in the world," Grace repeated, whispering, into Joan's mouth.
Thanks for playing, guys. That was fun!