I HAVE HAD A DECENT MONDAY. Don't come home and fuck it up, Kim & Mimi & Isreal! It is about nine thousand degrees out and staying in stuffy classrooms while still suffering from yesterday's migraine (really, I had two drinks on Saturday!) does not agree with me, BUT the last three periods were spent in the computer room "job searching." Which
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AND my drabble request is Faith/Fred, let's kick this back olllllllld school.
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Annnnd, I will get on that! :D
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SCORE.
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Also, obviously he does.
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Her hands are shaking but she takes a deep breath to steady herself. It's slow work, stitching up a wound like this, but they're miles from a proper hospital and at this point it's unlikely there are even any left. So she dips the needle in the thread and starts. Faith is taking small breaths, barely even moving, but her eyes have been on Fred the whole time ( ... )
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"It's the least I could do," Fred says, and Faith's thumb is still pressed to her pulse, and Fred bets if Faith wanted she could count the increase of beats per minute, could map out the exact moment that Fred - "I mean," Fred goes on, because if she's all right at stitching up wounds then she's an expert at making nervous conversation, "you let me come with you, so the least I could do is earn my keep."
"Are you kidding?" Faith asks. She stands, but she doesn't take her hand off Fred. In fact, her other hand is on Fred now, too, and it's moving up, up, and Fred's just wearing a tank top because it's a million degrees in the shade, but again - goosebumps. "It was your car. After all that went down in LA, I would've - well, I would've gotten out ( ... )
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