Happy New Year, bia_slytherin!
Title: To Days Gone By
Fandom: Mothership
Characters/Pairings: Ben Stone, Claire Kincaid, Mike Logan, Lennie Briscoe, Jack McCoy, Connie Rubirosa, Mike Cutter
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,517
Disclaimer: I make no profit from this work of fanfic.
A/N: I wanted to fit in as many of your favorite characters as possible, so I wrote a series of five vignettes spanning 15 years. Please forgive the lateness of my posting...I hope you enjoy!
i. New Year’s Eve, 1993
Stone/Kincaid
Claire glanced at the clock in Ben’s office for the third time in 30 minutes. Only 8:00 pm…she might still salvage something of this New Year’s Eve. She studied the man at the table with her. Ben was buried in the case file, probably oblivious to the date. Claire laughed to herself. Who was she kidding? She was with the person she wanted to be with, albeit not in the most glamorous setting. Claire made a note on the witness statement in front of her. When Ben had asked her if she had plans that night, she expected a dinner invitation…not a request to work late. She sighed.
“Something wrong, Claire?” Ben asked, staring at her over his glasses.
“No…nothing,” she answered, and bent over her paperwork again.
Those wonky glasses with the heavy frames really aren’t flattering, she thought. He’d look much better in the new wire-rim style. As if he heard her thoughts, Ben removed his glasses and rubbed a hand over his face.
“Claire,” he began, “I have a confession.” He was looking everywhere but right at her.
“Hmm?”
“When I asked if you had plans tonight, I…I really hadn’t planned on asking you to work late with me,” Ben said. “I was going to ask you to dinner.” Finally he chanced a look at her face.
Claire hid a smile. “It’s not too late. We could still do something.”
“It’s New Year’s Eve! I doubt a couple of prosecutors have the right kind of pull to get a table at a Manhattan restaurant tonight.”
“We could go to my place,” she began, “or…there’s a Greek diner near my apartment. I’m sure we can get a booth there.”
Ben smiled and stacked his legal pad on top of the nearest file. “Do they have gyros?”
“Wouldn’t be a Greek diner without gyros.” Claire closed her file and stood up.
They walked through Ben’s office and he grabbed his overcoat before ushering her through the door ahead of him. “Happy New Year, Claire.”
“I think it will be, Ben.”
ii. New Year’s Eve, 1994
Briscoe, Logan
At 11:00 pm Lennie Briscoe entered the bar and searched the crowd. When he caught Profaci’s eye, the man nodded toward the end of the brass bar and Lennie lifted his chin in response. He pushed his way through the crowd, many of them cops and their dates waiting to ring in the New Year. Reaching the end of the bar, he clasped his hand on Mike Logan’s shoulder.
“Lennie! How you doin’, man?” Mike shouted over the New Year’s Eve revelers. He tried to drain the rest of the beer in front of him, splashing much of it down his shirt. “Thought you had a date, man?” he said, wiping the beer that trickled from his chin.
“I did, man, and you’re gonna pay for that $20 steak I had to leave on the table. Suzanne isn’t too happy with you, either. C’mon, I think you’ve had enough.”
“Well, I don’t think I’ve had nearly enough.” He raised the bottle again and missed his mouth completely. “Who ratted me out? Was it Profaci? That son of a….”
“Mikey, don’t make me ask one of these nice ESU officers here celebrating if he has a Taser. Let me get you home nice and easy.” Lennie gripped Logan’s arm tightly and muscled him off the stool.
“Ok, Ok. Geeze.” Mike let himself be led to the door. “Hey, Lennie? You know why cops hate to tase drunks, right? ‘Cause they piss themselves.” Logan laughed long and loud while Briscoe’s eyes went skyward.
“Happy New Year to you, too, partner,” he muttered, and dragged Logan out into the frigid air toward home.
iii. New Year’s Eve, 1995
McCoy/Kincaid
Jack poured two glasses of champagne at 11:55 and pulled Claire against him. They were relaxing in a large sunken tub in the hotel suite Jack rented for the holiday. On the marble tile next to the tub were a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket and a silver bowl of strawberries. Red rose petals floating on the water scented the warm air. They could hear Dick Clark’s countdown from the TV in the adjoining bedroom.
Jack looks smug, Claire thought. He’s so proud of himself for arranging this. It’s nice, but he sure hit all the clichés, didn’t he? God, I can’t stand that self-satisfied grin.
Tonight couldn’t be more different from that New Year’s Eve she spent with Ben Stone, working in his office until he found the courage to ask her to dinner. All things considered, Claire would’ve preferred an impromptu date at a local diner to a night in a posh hotel suite.
Maybe she was just missing Ben. Things ended badly when he left the DA’s office, and there was Jack McCoy in his place. She’d told McCoy she wouldn’t be another one of his conquests, but…he did have his charms. At that moment Jack plucked a strawberry from the bowl and held it to her lips. Claire bit, juice running down her chin. Jack’s other hand slipped around her side, his fingers finding her breast. She arched at the contact, sending ripples through water.
“Happy New Year, Claire,” Jack’s voice rumbled in her ear.
Oh, yes…he did have his charms.
iv. New Year’s Eve, 1998
McCoy
Jack was stretched out on his sofa in the dark, listening to the hands of his grandfather clock creep closer to midnight. Long ago Jack had turned off the clock’s chiming mechanism so as not to disturb his neighbors…the old clock was loud!...but although it didn’t chime, Jack could still hear the inner workings whir and click every quarter hour as the clock prepared itself just in case. It had just marked 11:45.
The last time Jack celebrated New Year’s Eve had been with Claire at the hotel. What was it, three years now? Claire was killed just a few months later. Sure, there had been a woman or two since then, but Jack had never felt up to a big New Year’s date. He thought of champagne and strawberries and…Claire.
Jack closed his eyes against the guilt that still washed over him. He’d spent that day getting drunk with strangers in a bar, telling stories, puffing himself up. Just like his old man. And instead of waiting for Claire, he’d left the bar alone. She arrived later, left without him, and was killed by a drunk driver.
He flung his arm over his eyes. Maybe if he’d waited, she’d still be alive. Or maybe, if he’d gone with her, he’d be dead, too. He wasn’t sure if his guilt was because Claire was dead, or because he was still alive.
The clock whirred and clicked. Midnight.
Another new year.
v. New Year’s Eve, 2008
Cutter/Rubirosa
Promptly at 9:00, Mike pushed the buzzer outside Connie’s apartment building. He climbed two flights to her door, carrying her Christmas gifts and a bottle of champagne. Because their relationship was rather new, Mike and Connie had decided to spend Christmas alone with their respective families instead of exposing each other to cross-examination by nosy relatives. So, tonight they would celebrate both Christmas and New Year’s Eve together.
“You look…stunning,” Mike said, watching Connie’s red dress swirl around her knees.
“Thank you.” She took the champagne and indicated the side table by the door. “Now empty your pockets.”
“I know, I know,” Mike said, taking the Blackberry from his pocket and leaving it on the table. “I even turned it off. Satisfied?”
Connie raised an eyebrow. “We’ll see. C’mon in…I’ll put the champagne on ice.”
Mike hung up his coat and entered the living room, placing the presents under the small tree. Delicate white lights twinkled among red glass balls and silver icicles. Mike looked up as Connie reappeared carrying a tray.
“If you don’t mind, let’s save the champagne for later. I made a pitcher of sangria to go with our tapas tonight.” She placed the tray on the wooden coffee table and handed Mike a plate filled with an assortment of chorizo, olive, and shrimp tapas.
“Mmm, smells wonderful.” He juggled the plate while retrieving the gifts he’d placed under the tree. “Merry Christmas, Connie.”
She accepted the package with a smile and tore off the gold paper. “CDs…Ana Carolina and Jota Quest?”
“Hottest music out of Brazil. I know you enjoy Spanish singers, so I thought I’d choose something new from South America.”
Connie placed a finger over her mouth, trying to hide a grin. “Umm, Mike? You know they don’t speak Spanish in Brazil, right?”
Mike had just bitten into a piece of shrimp. “Wha’?” he mumbled.
“Brazilians speak Portuguese, Mike. You didn’t know that?”
He swallowed. “Brazil…Portuguese…of course I knew that. I bought these, didn’t I?” He pulled two folded papers from his pocket and held them out.
Connie grabbed the papers from his hand. “Tickets to Rio! Oh, Mike!” She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him.
Mike put down his plate and rubbed her back. “Happy New Year, Connie.”
Note to self, he thought. Buy Portuguese dictionary.
Fandom: Mothership
Characters/Pairings: Ben Stone, Claire Kincaid, Mike Logan, Lennie Briscoe, Jack McCoy, Connie Rubirosa, Mike Cutter
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,517
Disclaimer: I make no profit from this work of fanfic.
A/N: I wanted to fit in as many of your favorite characters as possible, so I wrote a series of five vignettes spanning 15 years. Please forgive the lateness of my posting...I hope you enjoy!
i. New Year’s Eve, 1993
Stone/Kincaid
Claire glanced at the clock in Ben’s office for the third time in 30 minutes. Only 8:00 pm…she might still salvage something of this New Year’s Eve. She studied the man at the table with her. Ben was buried in the case file, probably oblivious to the date. Claire laughed to herself. Who was she kidding? She was with the person she wanted to be with, albeit not in the most glamorous setting. Claire made a note on the witness statement in front of her. When Ben had asked her if she had plans that night, she expected a dinner invitation…not a request to work late. She sighed.
“Something wrong, Claire?” Ben asked, staring at her over his glasses.
“No…nothing,” she answered, and bent over her paperwork again.
Those wonky glasses with the heavy frames really aren’t flattering, she thought. He’d look much better in the new wire-rim style. As if he heard her thoughts, Ben removed his glasses and rubbed a hand over his face.
“Claire,” he began, “I have a confession.” He was looking everywhere but right at her.
“Hmm?”
“When I asked if you had plans tonight, I…I really hadn’t planned on asking you to work late with me,” Ben said. “I was going to ask you to dinner.” Finally he chanced a look at her face.
Claire hid a smile. “It’s not too late. We could still do something.”
“It’s New Year’s Eve! I doubt a couple of prosecutors have the right kind of pull to get a table at a Manhattan restaurant tonight.”
“We could go to my place,” she began, “or…there’s a Greek diner near my apartment. I’m sure we can get a booth there.”
Ben smiled and stacked his legal pad on top of the nearest file. “Do they have gyros?”
“Wouldn’t be a Greek diner without gyros.” Claire closed her file and stood up.
They walked through Ben’s office and he grabbed his overcoat before ushering her through the door ahead of him. “Happy New Year, Claire.”
“I think it will be, Ben.”
ii. New Year’s Eve, 1994
Briscoe, Logan
At 11:00 pm Lennie Briscoe entered the bar and searched the crowd. When he caught Profaci’s eye, the man nodded toward the end of the brass bar and Lennie lifted his chin in response. He pushed his way through the crowd, many of them cops and their dates waiting to ring in the New Year. Reaching the end of the bar, he clasped his hand on Mike Logan’s shoulder.
“Lennie! How you doin’, man?” Mike shouted over the New Year’s Eve revelers. He tried to drain the rest of the beer in front of him, splashing much of it down his shirt. “Thought you had a date, man?” he said, wiping the beer that trickled from his chin.
“I did, man, and you’re gonna pay for that $20 steak I had to leave on the table. Suzanne isn’t too happy with you, either. C’mon, I think you’ve had enough.”
“Well, I don’t think I’ve had nearly enough.” He raised the bottle again and missed his mouth completely. “Who ratted me out? Was it Profaci? That son of a….”
“Mikey, don’t make me ask one of these nice ESU officers here celebrating if he has a Taser. Let me get you home nice and easy.” Lennie gripped Logan’s arm tightly and muscled him off the stool.
“Ok, Ok. Geeze.” Mike let himself be led to the door. “Hey, Lennie? You know why cops hate to tase drunks, right? ‘Cause they piss themselves.” Logan laughed long and loud while Briscoe’s eyes went skyward.
“Happy New Year to you, too, partner,” he muttered, and dragged Logan out into the frigid air toward home.
iii. New Year’s Eve, 1995
McCoy/Kincaid
Jack poured two glasses of champagne at 11:55 and pulled Claire against him. They were relaxing in a large sunken tub in the hotel suite Jack rented for the holiday. On the marble tile next to the tub were a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket and a silver bowl of strawberries. Red rose petals floating on the water scented the warm air. They could hear Dick Clark’s countdown from the TV in the adjoining bedroom.
Jack looks smug, Claire thought. He’s so proud of himself for arranging this. It’s nice, but he sure hit all the clichés, didn’t he? God, I can’t stand that self-satisfied grin.
Tonight couldn’t be more different from that New Year’s Eve she spent with Ben Stone, working in his office until he found the courage to ask her to dinner. All things considered, Claire would’ve preferred an impromptu date at a local diner to a night in a posh hotel suite.
Maybe she was just missing Ben. Things ended badly when he left the DA’s office, and there was Jack McCoy in his place. She’d told McCoy she wouldn’t be another one of his conquests, but…he did have his charms. At that moment Jack plucked a strawberry from the bowl and held it to her lips. Claire bit, juice running down her chin. Jack’s other hand slipped around her side, his fingers finding her breast. She arched at the contact, sending ripples through water.
“Happy New Year, Claire,” Jack’s voice rumbled in her ear.
Oh, yes…he did have his charms.
iv. New Year’s Eve, 1998
McCoy
Jack was stretched out on his sofa in the dark, listening to the hands of his grandfather clock creep closer to midnight. Long ago Jack had turned off the clock’s chiming mechanism so as not to disturb his neighbors…the old clock was loud!...but although it didn’t chime, Jack could still hear the inner workings whir and click every quarter hour as the clock prepared itself just in case. It had just marked 11:45.
The last time Jack celebrated New Year’s Eve had been with Claire at the hotel. What was it, three years now? Claire was killed just a few months later. Sure, there had been a woman or two since then, but Jack had never felt up to a big New Year’s date. He thought of champagne and strawberries and…Claire.
Jack closed his eyes against the guilt that still washed over him. He’d spent that day getting drunk with strangers in a bar, telling stories, puffing himself up. Just like his old man. And instead of waiting for Claire, he’d left the bar alone. She arrived later, left without him, and was killed by a drunk driver.
He flung his arm over his eyes. Maybe if he’d waited, she’d still be alive. Or maybe, if he’d gone with her, he’d be dead, too. He wasn’t sure if his guilt was because Claire was dead, or because he was still alive.
The clock whirred and clicked. Midnight.
Another new year.
v. New Year’s Eve, 2008
Cutter/Rubirosa
Promptly at 9:00, Mike pushed the buzzer outside Connie’s apartment building. He climbed two flights to her door, carrying her Christmas gifts and a bottle of champagne. Because their relationship was rather new, Mike and Connie had decided to spend Christmas alone with their respective families instead of exposing each other to cross-examination by nosy relatives. So, tonight they would celebrate both Christmas and New Year’s Eve together.
“You look…stunning,” Mike said, watching Connie’s red dress swirl around her knees.
“Thank you.” She took the champagne and indicated the side table by the door. “Now empty your pockets.”
“I know, I know,” Mike said, taking the Blackberry from his pocket and leaving it on the table. “I even turned it off. Satisfied?”
Connie raised an eyebrow. “We’ll see. C’mon in…I’ll put the champagne on ice.”
Mike hung up his coat and entered the living room, placing the presents under the small tree. Delicate white lights twinkled among red glass balls and silver icicles. Mike looked up as Connie reappeared carrying a tray.
“If you don’t mind, let’s save the champagne for later. I made a pitcher of sangria to go with our tapas tonight.” She placed the tray on the wooden coffee table and handed Mike a plate filled with an assortment of chorizo, olive, and shrimp tapas.
“Mmm, smells wonderful.” He juggled the plate while retrieving the gifts he’d placed under the tree. “Merry Christmas, Connie.”
She accepted the package with a smile and tore off the gold paper. “CDs…Ana Carolina and Jota Quest?”
“Hottest music out of Brazil. I know you enjoy Spanish singers, so I thought I’d choose something new from South America.”
Connie placed a finger over her mouth, trying to hide a grin. “Umm, Mike? You know they don’t speak Spanish in Brazil, right?”
Mike had just bitten into a piece of shrimp. “Wha’?” he mumbled.
“Brazilians speak Portuguese, Mike. You didn’t know that?”
He swallowed. “Brazil…Portuguese…of course I knew that. I bought these, didn’t I?” He pulled two folded papers from his pocket and held them out.
Connie grabbed the papers from his hand. “Tickets to Rio! Oh, Mike!” She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him.
Mike put down his plate and rubbed her back. “Happy New Year, Connie.”
Note to self, he thought. Buy Portuguese dictionary.