Ficlets: a round up.
Round up from various memes, just making them public and cross-posting.
Fic: Untitled
Fandoms: Torchwood/ Robin Hood
Words: 400 approx
Rating: Mild language warnings, adult themes.
Summary: Humour. Jack, caught by the Sheriff, comes into contact with various of our intrepid outlaws and has a crush on most of them. Plays on the Jack-is-slutty stereotype.
The part where he'd told Allan that his fringe was simply fabulous hadn't gone over well in the crowded tavern. Especially when someone dressed head to foot in leather (not something Jack normally complained about) had had the cheek to tell him his dress marked him as a foreigner before nodding his bully boys in his direction. At least Allan had ducked out the back like the tricky little bastard he was.
Maybe he could talk his way out of it.
"You know, when I said I wanted to experiment with chains-"
"God, will someone make him shut up?"
"Now, Gisborne, don't be such a spoil sport."
"Do me a favour, mirror-top," Jack called with a tilt of his head and a grin, "Bury me in a shallow grave when you're done."
It was going to be a long life, no matter how short this one was.
----
His first visitor drew a fingertip along his chained arm and raised an eyebrow. The curves were the same hourglass, perfect shape and the hair was long and dark, but that was where Lady Marian and Gwen's similarities ceased.
"What are you doing?"
Jack didn't have the right to use the long-suffering tone he did, but he did it anyway. Mostly because her answer of a combined arch smile and glare was as wickedly amused as he'd thought it would be.
"I am... curious."
He grinned, quickly and narrowing his eyes, letting his eyes stray to her bodice. "Well, now, if that's what you're after-"
A sharp slap, the sound of his door slamming and she was gone. Jack met the jailer's eyes and grinned, shrugging.
----
It had been three days since the tavern and Jack was so bored he was beginning to wish they'd just kill him already. Then, with them thinking him dead, he could fix his timewatch and get the hell out of England's craziest century.
He heard the door open up the stairs and sighed. He hoped, whoever they were, they were wearing leather. Then he could be distracted while they yammered.
Jack let out a half-strangled yelp, answered by the young, rather chiseled youth opposite with a roll of his eyes.
"All right, then?"
A quick grin, a clap on the tall one's shoulder, and Allan A Dale had opened the cell door. Standing nearer than was strictly necessary, the thief unlocked his chains.
"Good enough," Jack answered, not stepping back. "Thanks for helping, even if it's mostly your fault."
Jack walked towards the door, the dark-haired one waiting beside it.
"Oi!" Allan caught up, "Not all my fault. You wanted to see how I did that trick-"
The other one coughed. "Can this wait?"
As the group moved out of the castle, Jack was uncharacteristically quiet. He saw Allan glance his way, frowning suspiciously. Jack was really just weighing them up, and definitely wondering what was in the water for them all to be so very pretty.
He took his leave of the group on the edge of the forest, looking at the stylishly windswept leader, Robin. Of course he knew the stories, he just hadn't expected Robin Hood to be so scrawny. "Why'd you do it?"
"Annoying the sheriff is our favourite hobby," came the answer before the group melted away into the forest, Allan throwing him a grin over his shoulder.
----
Blinking back into Torchwood, he let out a breath and looked up to the only mildly surprised expression on Owen's face.
"Good trip?"
"Chains, pretty women, flagons," Jack grinned, "So you could say that."
"Ah, I see," Owen nodded, not even putting down his pizza. "Maybe you should put away the new toy now."
"Maybe I should," Jack smirked and leaned on the desk.
Owen made a mildly disgusted noise and handed him the next pizza box as the sound of Gwen and Tosh's voices grew louder. "Just because Ianto's in Scotland and you couldn't get a decent shag in the dark ages doesn't mean you're getting one off me."
END
Fic: Untitled (2)
Fandom: SG-1/Heroes/Firefly.
Words: 400 approx.
Warnings: None.
Summary: Three men in a bar: Jack O'Neill, Nathan Petrelli, Mal Reynolds. Nuff said.
Walter didn't get to finish his introduction, freezing against the door frame with eyebrows raised in delicate disapproval. Jack caught the ball he'd been throwing and looked at the man standing still, seemingly with effort, in front of his desk.
"What's this about?"
Nathan Petrelli, Jack thought as he sighed and sat up slowly, didn't waste time.
"Our very grateful guest is missing. We think he might be headed towards being your problem," the General stated, standing as Walter quietly left the office and tossing the ball.
Nathan caught it calmly with one hand, frowning. "Your people were supposed to make sure that didn't happen." The politician's eyes widened slightly. "Tell me you took his guns."
"Yes, we took his guns." Jack rolled his eyes and had to force himself not to sneer any more than he just had.
"Then let's go get and get him," Petrelli said slowly, as if it were obvious. "I bet he hasn't left Colorado Springs yet."
----
Jack thought a fierce expletive. He might be glad that Malcolm Reynolds hadn't gotten out of the state, but he wasn't looking forward to two things. The first was the inevitable 'I told you so' former Air Force lawyer Petrelli was about to throw in his direction. The second was getting Reynolds back to the mountain without him throwing up in a cab that Jack, inevitably, was going to have to pay for.
He could have more sympathy, he supposed. The man had lost most of everything he knew and misplaced the rest in a distant solar system. The least Reynolds deserved of the universe, Jack was forced to admit, was an uninterrupted beer or ten.
"This stinking ghosa couldn't-" Reynolds spluttered out when Jack and Nathan sat down opposite, "-get a tiny flyin' elephant drunk, not this ghosa."
"Tell that to the table," Nathan raised an eyebrow, "that is, if you can see it under the bottles. Now-"
Jack coughed and nodded to the bar. "Petrelli, what do you want?"
Nathan frowned and hesitated before sighing. "Beer. I could use a beer."
Jack held up three fingers and turned back to the table. "Reynolds, you coulda just asked." Jack rolled out his neck and sat back in the chair. "It's not easy saving the universe, I get that."
"It's not the saving the universe part that gets me," Reynolds answered, trying, failing, frowning and trying again to take the beer placed directly in front of his hand. "'s the idiots I have to work with. Seriously, you ain't never seen annoying 'til you've seen Kaylee. And don' get me started on Simon Tam. Prissy, superior, can't stay out of trouble for a single damn minute-"
"Sounds like Daniel," Jack took his own beer. "Worst thing? He's usually right, the bastard. Almost always right. Keeps gettin' killed, though. That's annoying."
"Yeah, somethin' like that," Reynolds muttered into the neck of the beer, startling slightly when it played a note.
"Oh, no," Nathan sat forward, "the kids are bad, but they're nothing to the older ones. Especially the ones that really know everything. And won't tell you. Or if they condescend to do that, it takes them ten hours and you don't understand it anyway."
"It's like they're in your head or something," Jack interjected, hitting the table with his fist lightly.
Nathan froze and Reynolds looked up.
----
END
Fic: Untitled (3)
Words: 100 approx.
Fandoms: House/SG-1
Summary: Vala and House. I may be grinning evilly right now.
House looked at the file, wincing at how little he was apparently allowed to know about this most fascinating individual.
"Is there any chance you could be pregnant?"
"Always."
House raised an eyebrow over the largely blacked-out page.
"But I didn't have any particularly interesting dreams last night, so no, I don't think it's likely that it's that this time."
House 'hmmed' and 'ahhed' for a few minutes, then left and told both her husband and her commanding officer he'd take the case.
He'd always liked the crazy ones.
END
Fic: Untitled (4)
Fandoms: BSG/SGA
Words: 200 approx.
Summary: Mental!Six and Rodney chat in Baltar's head.
"I'm sure he loves you for your mind," Rodney swallowed and nodded on the balcony, putting his hands behind his back and shifting from foot to foot.
"But what if I'm only in his mind?" She smirked, the woman in the red dress, as she said it.
"Well," Rodney shifted, "he'd be the most massively self-obsessed individual with bad hair I've met since Sheppard. And I have no problem with synthetic life forms, none at all, nope."
Baltar walked out onto the balcony with the drinks. "We're talking about sheep now?"
Rodney looked at him as Six turned back to the sea with a badly-concealed smile.
"Not exactly, Gaius."
"You know," Baltar frowned, holding the tray, "I really think my head's getting awfully crowded."
Rodney could sympathise, but wasn't going to give him an inch- at least he got a girl in a dress like that. He'd just gotten Cadman's running commentary on life, the universe and PMS.
END
Fic: Untitled
Word count: 100 approx.
Fandoms: Firefly/Heroes
Warnings: Language.
Summary: Mal, Peter/River: end of the line.
He didn't need to be seeing this, so he wasn't. He was turning his back and thinking soldiering chants really loud in his head.
A hundred apples in a barrel full o' shit-
She was a spark and a star; look at her from faraway and she was nothing but a light in the dark with all the other lights.
Somebody make sure Tracey's not hit-
Look close up and you got swirls, colours and thorns and damned if you could keep up. Damned if Mal could keep up. Boy Blue with the flying, with the sparks of his own, he managed.
No matter when the fires burn out-
Boy Blue with the magic healing and magic skin, not like River- River just moved too fast for hurt, usually. She'd carried it instead until now.
Browncoats aren't gonna run on home-
Fic: Untitled
Fandom: Robin Hood (BBC)
Words: 150 approx.
Summary: Detective AU: crack is where we live. Brilliant jewel thief Allan A Dale must dodge the honed detective skills of D.I. Scarlett and the wiles of a scornful ex-lover, Guy of Gisborne.
[Location: behind a curtain in a theatre, near a private box, in which Lady Marian is sitting with husband Lord Robin and wearing hired diamonds.]
WILL: Get down!
ALLAN: Not bein' funny, but how'd he even get an invite?
[Muffled crash.]
WILL [Hissed.]: I warned you. Waved some money around. You thieves are good at that.
ALLAN: If you need to beat with a stick, at least pull that one out of your arse. And actually, we prefer to steal it.
[ALLAN looks up, ducks.]
WILL: Guessing Gisborne didn't take you fleeing the country well, then.
ALLAN: [Glare.] Not exactly, no. And excuse me, but that's hardly your business, hidin' down here like a thief yourself.
WILL: [Beat.] I'm hiding because I've only got a warrant for one of you.
ALLAN: So long as it isn't me, I could care less, mate. [Beat, turns.] Is it me?
END
FIC: Untitled
Words: 150 approx.
Fandom: SG-1/Robin Hood (BBC)
Summary: Vala, Allan a Dale, forest, treasure.
"And I'm tellin' you, it's here, all right?"
"I don't think this is very funny either, just so you know."
"Look, just pass me that - yeah, it's in your bag, the second tablet."
[...]
"What's this?"
"It's a hair-dryer."
"Haven't seen anythin' like it before- where'd you say you came from?"
"Darling, I have gold coins with your name on them. Caius promised there'd be no ... questions."
"What do you need the tablet for, anyway?"
"That, Allan, is a question."
"... Gold, you said?"
"Yes. I'll even let you bite them."
FIC: Untitled
Fandom: Robin Hood
Summary: Will/Djaq, insomnia, spoilers for all of season two.
Words: 500 approx.
Of either them it's silly, but especially of her. She grew up in the same house that they now have rooms in; for her to be up standing and staring through carefully carved window shutters at the distant horizon is incomprehensible even in her own mind.
Djaq knows that her wakeful nature worries Will, even when he is asleep, thin blankets lying only clumsily and haphazardly across his body. If she stands at the window by the bed they now share, in a slow, carefully paced measure of time, he'll wake. He'll stir, turning once, turning back. He'll frown, just slightly, and open his mouth as if to say something. Then he'll wake up fully, seeing her at the edge of the room with a crooked smile.
Sometimes he gets up to join her, wrapping arms around her waist and bracing his palm against her upper arm. He'd talk quietly, and she'd feel the movement in his breathing, leaning back against his chest. Sometimes, the crooked smile would fade, he'd frown again, and hold out a hand. That had been the times when Djaq's horizon had stretched not to Sherwood, not to England, but only to graves in the sand.
More recently, he hadn't woken at all, or if he had, he'd allowed her the vigil she deemed necessary. From exhaustion, Djaq suspected. It had taken weeks of hard work and proving himself willing to learn, but the local artisans and tradesmen had adopted him. That decision made amongst the stalls and workshops, they'd taken him in decisively, keeping him with them until the bells rung through the town for evening prayers.
Djaq wasn't sure what it felt like exactly, prowling the dark house in the hours that the sun rose on a distant wood, drifting through corridors when even the birds and Will slept, but it felt like fading.
"Djaq?"
Djaq threads fingers through the rounded carvings made in the time her parents lived before looking back over her shoulder.
Will is standing in the doorway to the bird sanctuary in rough linen trousers, one of her scarves thrown around his neck in a gesture towards modesty. When she turns, he's a silhouette, with one arm raised to push back slightly longer hair. His voice is deliberately low, trying not to spook the birds. "You need to sleep, love."
Djaq freezes in place and feels her heart race. Her first instinct - to Will - had been to snap back, For what?
It's an argument they haven't had before and that she won't start- it worries her that she won't start it because she's too tired, more than anything.
"When you are at work," Djaq replies quietly, turning back to the window, "I do not work. Bassam is still the keeper here, and I have read through his library many times."
There's a beat of silence and Djaq worries that she's said something he doesn't know how to reply to. She jumps, hiccups a startled laugh and leans back when his palm presses lightly on her stomach, pulling her back against him.
"You knew it wouldn't be the same here."
Djaq swallows, closing her eyes. She wishes she could get angry in reply, even if it's irrational, but it would be misdirected. She did know what form her days would take, and still it was her choice to stay.
"Yes," Djaq answers, because it is the only logical answer.
"It's right that you would want to be home," Will says quietly and uncertainly a moment later.
Djaq opens her mouth to reply, then pauses because she isn't sure where or when he means - the choice to stay, or the choice to leave that she only just realises she's made.
She turns, never breaking contact with Will and letting go of the shutters. "I want to go home."
Will swallows, smiles and leans forward to put his forehead against hers.
The next night, the night before the ship leaves for England, Djaq sleeps.
END.
FIC: Untitled
Fandom: Jane Austen (Pride and Prejudice)
Words: 200 approx.
Summary: Missing scene: Darcy at Rosings Park.
His disposition was most displeased and that would indeed be how he would phrase it in his missive, despite the cloying tone it added to the letter. Charles Bingley knew his inclinations in style well enough to read both the words on the page and the sharp, jagged script in which he etched them. From this, Darcy presumed, Bingley would receive the intended message; simply that he was not content in his present situation and that aid, willingly provided, would be most amiably received.
It would suffice. He would not convey his regrets; Charles currently bore enough regrets of Darcy's making and though he could not foresee circumstances wherein he would have chosen a different course, Darcy did regret the melancholy that did not become his friend.
Darcy's present situation was thus: one ear respectfully drinking from the font of his aunt's boundless wisdom, the other equally respectfully listening to the piano-forte played by one Miss Elizabeth Bennet. A trio of notes struck softly in the always small silence between his aunt's conversational topics caused Darcy to raise his head at the tilted writing desk.
You will forgive me my brevity, dear sister, he began anew, and I pray, also this moment of sentimentality. Surely only days have passed since my last crossed your hand. I pray you practice as always and write to inform you that though never far from my thoughts, you appeared particularly vividly in my mind in our dearest aunt's drawing room after our midday meal. You may wonder, and I know that you will as I certainly would, why I might subject even your apparition to such a fate.
A young lady plays the piano-forte, one to whom I believe I have intimated my acquaintance on previous occasions. Her technique is overly sharp and her comprehension of rise and fall lacks most abominably. You will accuse me of an unkindness; pray, believe me, I say nothing she herself would and has not. You will again accuse me of an unkindness; why, when you work so tirelessly to be accomplished would I associate the music of our private study with that played by Miss. E.B. in this room we both know too well? In truth, Georgiana, it is my earnest hope that this answer you can communicate to myself, because I find the knowledge somewhat lacking.
'Darcy!'
Roused from his writing, Darcy stood from the desk and clasped his hands behind his back. 'Yes, ma'am?'
'Do return to us,' came the slow, languid reply, 'and tell us of the drapery Miss Darcy has chosen for the study at Pemberley. I do find the tastes of distinguished young ladies most diverting and feel I may say much upon the characters revealed therein. Would you not agree, Miss Bennet?'
Darcy folded his letter for Bingley carefully, slipping it into the pocket of his jacket. He did not, as his aunt well knew, find drapery diverting in the least; he could not, however, confer the same status upon Miss Bennet's quickly concealed expression of fear.
END.
FIC: Untitled
Fandom: SG-1
Words: 200 approx.
Summary: Vala: here was a box and she couldn't see the edges.
Fight. Win. Hold on. Survive.
All words to throw at the chains surrounding her. Can't move. Can't feel. Can't hear. There's air, space and dark.
They grabbed her on the last planet they surveyed. Last one, crouching behind a wall to dodge the blasts, she had ran for the gate like everyone else.
Then she wasn't there. Then she was here. Here was a box she couldn't see the edges of, with cruel voices floating through her mind. Here was a tomb.
She'd never craved anything like she craved a breeze. A chink of light. The smell of anything, team after five days' hike if it had to be. The brush of a knuckle against her hand, the slap of a P90 in her palm. Her nightmare - she could tell the difference because her dreams had colours - was that they were as trapped as she was.
They needed them for sustenance, for life, for survival. They were parasites.
She'd been in prisons, with bars or long thin wires in her brain. She'd been in prisons for cruelty and for purpose, but nothing had chilled her veins like the cold eye through the bars.
Fight. Win. Hold on. Survive.
Prisoner again, but this time there was a lock on the cage. She couldn't reach it but that lessened its luxury none in her mind. Wraith across the universe be damned; they were hers, they were coming, or they were dead.
END.
FIC: Untitled
Fandom: SG-1
Words: 150 approx.
Summary: Daniel/Vala. Future!fic. Mild spoilers for s4 SGA.
“I'm sorry.”
“About-”
“About the part of my throwing things that was ambiguous. Now get out of my room.”
“You weren't throwing them at me.”
A threatening glance. “One minute, Jack. Actually, that's really rather generous of me-”
The door closed.
Ten minutes later. The door opened.
“Heard you gave Jack a hard time.”
“Yes.” A tilt of her head. “What makes him think I'll be nice to you?”
A sigh. “You think we're happy about this?”
A raised chin. “If they say yes-”
“If.”
“If they say yes, you'll go.”
“Yes.”
“Cameron will go. And so will Teal'c.”
“Jack won't.”
“Then I'm less instantly hostile towards him.”
“Vala-”
“I'm pregnant, Sam's in Atlantis, and you're all going to go save them. And I can't come.”
“Wouldn't you rather-”
“Yes.”
A raise of an eyebrow. “If someone has to go and save them - Sam, annoying one with the lemon aversion, pretty boy and all - then yes, I'm glad it's you. But I'm not happy about staying here.”
He sat on the bed. “I'll be back in time.”
A glare. “You'd better be, or else there won't be another one and it won't be to do with any lacking anatomy on my part.” A tilt of the head. “So to speak.”
Daniel fought not to let his lips twitch. But they did. And then Vala met his eyes, and they laughed.
END.
Thanks for reading, all comments appreciated.
Fic: Untitled
Fandoms: Torchwood/ Robin Hood
Words: 400 approx
Rating: Mild language warnings, adult themes.
Summary: Humour. Jack, caught by the Sheriff, comes into contact with various of our intrepid outlaws and has a crush on most of them. Plays on the Jack-is-slutty stereotype.
The part where he'd told Allan that his fringe was simply fabulous hadn't gone over well in the crowded tavern. Especially when someone dressed head to foot in leather (not something Jack normally complained about) had had the cheek to tell him his dress marked him as a foreigner before nodding his bully boys in his direction. At least Allan had ducked out the back like the tricky little bastard he was.
Maybe he could talk his way out of it.
"You know, when I said I wanted to experiment with chains-"
"God, will someone make him shut up?"
"Now, Gisborne, don't be such a spoil sport."
"Do me a favour, mirror-top," Jack called with a tilt of his head and a grin, "Bury me in a shallow grave when you're done."
It was going to be a long life, no matter how short this one was.
----
His first visitor drew a fingertip along his chained arm and raised an eyebrow. The curves were the same hourglass, perfect shape and the hair was long and dark, but that was where Lady Marian and Gwen's similarities ceased.
"What are you doing?"
Jack didn't have the right to use the long-suffering tone he did, but he did it anyway. Mostly because her answer of a combined arch smile and glare was as wickedly amused as he'd thought it would be.
"I am... curious."
He grinned, quickly and narrowing his eyes, letting his eyes stray to her bodice. "Well, now, if that's what you're after-"
A sharp slap, the sound of his door slamming and she was gone. Jack met the jailer's eyes and grinned, shrugging.
----
It had been three days since the tavern and Jack was so bored he was beginning to wish they'd just kill him already. Then, with them thinking him dead, he could fix his timewatch and get the hell out of England's craziest century.
He heard the door open up the stairs and sighed. He hoped, whoever they were, they were wearing leather. Then he could be distracted while they yammered.
Jack let out a half-strangled yelp, answered by the young, rather chiseled youth opposite with a roll of his eyes.
"All right, then?"
A quick grin, a clap on the tall one's shoulder, and Allan A Dale had opened the cell door. Standing nearer than was strictly necessary, the thief unlocked his chains.
"Good enough," Jack answered, not stepping back. "Thanks for helping, even if it's mostly your fault."
Jack walked towards the door, the dark-haired one waiting beside it.
"Oi!" Allan caught up, "Not all my fault. You wanted to see how I did that trick-"
The other one coughed. "Can this wait?"
As the group moved out of the castle, Jack was uncharacteristically quiet. He saw Allan glance his way, frowning suspiciously. Jack was really just weighing them up, and definitely wondering what was in the water for them all to be so very pretty.
He took his leave of the group on the edge of the forest, looking at the stylishly windswept leader, Robin. Of course he knew the stories, he just hadn't expected Robin Hood to be so scrawny. "Why'd you do it?"
"Annoying the sheriff is our favourite hobby," came the answer before the group melted away into the forest, Allan throwing him a grin over his shoulder.
----
Blinking back into Torchwood, he let out a breath and looked up to the only mildly surprised expression on Owen's face.
"Good trip?"
"Chains, pretty women, flagons," Jack grinned, "So you could say that."
"Ah, I see," Owen nodded, not even putting down his pizza. "Maybe you should put away the new toy now."
"Maybe I should," Jack smirked and leaned on the desk.
Owen made a mildly disgusted noise and handed him the next pizza box as the sound of Gwen and Tosh's voices grew louder. "Just because Ianto's in Scotland and you couldn't get a decent shag in the dark ages doesn't mean you're getting one off me."
END
Fic: Untitled (2)
Fandom: SG-1/Heroes/Firefly.
Words: 400 approx.
Warnings: None.
Summary: Three men in a bar: Jack O'Neill, Nathan Petrelli, Mal Reynolds. Nuff said.
Walter didn't get to finish his introduction, freezing against the door frame with eyebrows raised in delicate disapproval. Jack caught the ball he'd been throwing and looked at the man standing still, seemingly with effort, in front of his desk.
"What's this about?"
Nathan Petrelli, Jack thought as he sighed and sat up slowly, didn't waste time.
"Our very grateful guest is missing. We think he might be headed towards being your problem," the General stated, standing as Walter quietly left the office and tossing the ball.
Nathan caught it calmly with one hand, frowning. "Your people were supposed to make sure that didn't happen." The politician's eyes widened slightly. "Tell me you took his guns."
"Yes, we took his guns." Jack rolled his eyes and had to force himself not to sneer any more than he just had.
"Then let's go get and get him," Petrelli said slowly, as if it were obvious. "I bet he hasn't left Colorado Springs yet."
----
Jack thought a fierce expletive. He might be glad that Malcolm Reynolds hadn't gotten out of the state, but he wasn't looking forward to two things. The first was the inevitable 'I told you so' former Air Force lawyer Petrelli was about to throw in his direction. The second was getting Reynolds back to the mountain without him throwing up in a cab that Jack, inevitably, was going to have to pay for.
He could have more sympathy, he supposed. The man had lost most of everything he knew and misplaced the rest in a distant solar system. The least Reynolds deserved of the universe, Jack was forced to admit, was an uninterrupted beer or ten.
"This stinking ghosa couldn't-" Reynolds spluttered out when Jack and Nathan sat down opposite, "-get a tiny flyin' elephant drunk, not this ghosa."
"Tell that to the table," Nathan raised an eyebrow, "that is, if you can see it under the bottles. Now-"
Jack coughed and nodded to the bar. "Petrelli, what do you want?"
Nathan frowned and hesitated before sighing. "Beer. I could use a beer."
Jack held up three fingers and turned back to the table. "Reynolds, you coulda just asked." Jack rolled out his neck and sat back in the chair. "It's not easy saving the universe, I get that."
"It's not the saving the universe part that gets me," Reynolds answered, trying, failing, frowning and trying again to take the beer placed directly in front of his hand. "'s the idiots I have to work with. Seriously, you ain't never seen annoying 'til you've seen Kaylee. And don' get me started on Simon Tam. Prissy, superior, can't stay out of trouble for a single damn minute-"
"Sounds like Daniel," Jack took his own beer. "Worst thing? He's usually right, the bastard. Almost always right. Keeps gettin' killed, though. That's annoying."
"Yeah, somethin' like that," Reynolds muttered into the neck of the beer, startling slightly when it played a note.
"Oh, no," Nathan sat forward, "the kids are bad, but they're nothing to the older ones. Especially the ones that really know everything. And won't tell you. Or if they condescend to do that, it takes them ten hours and you don't understand it anyway."
"It's like they're in your head or something," Jack interjected, hitting the table with his fist lightly.
Nathan froze and Reynolds looked up.
----
END
Fic: Untitled (3)
Words: 100 approx.
Fandoms: House/SG-1
Summary: Vala and House. I may be grinning evilly right now.
House looked at the file, wincing at how little he was apparently allowed to know about this most fascinating individual.
"Is there any chance you could be pregnant?"
"Always."
House raised an eyebrow over the largely blacked-out page.
"But I didn't have any particularly interesting dreams last night, so no, I don't think it's likely that it's that this time."
House 'hmmed' and 'ahhed' for a few minutes, then left and told both her husband and her commanding officer he'd take the case.
He'd always liked the crazy ones.
END
Fic: Untitled (4)
Fandoms: BSG/SGA
Words: 200 approx.
Summary: Mental!Six and Rodney chat in Baltar's head.
"I'm sure he loves you for your mind," Rodney swallowed and nodded on the balcony, putting his hands behind his back and shifting from foot to foot.
"But what if I'm only in his mind?" She smirked, the woman in the red dress, as she said it.
"Well," Rodney shifted, "he'd be the most massively self-obsessed individual with bad hair I've met since Sheppard. And I have no problem with synthetic life forms, none at all, nope."
Baltar walked out onto the balcony with the drinks. "We're talking about sheep now?"
Rodney looked at him as Six turned back to the sea with a badly-concealed smile.
"Not exactly, Gaius."
"You know," Baltar frowned, holding the tray, "I really think my head's getting awfully crowded."
Rodney could sympathise, but wasn't going to give him an inch- at least he got a girl in a dress like that. He'd just gotten Cadman's running commentary on life, the universe and PMS.
END
Fic: Untitled
Word count: 100 approx.
Fandoms: Firefly/Heroes
Warnings: Language.
Summary: Mal, Peter/River: end of the line.
He didn't need to be seeing this, so he wasn't. He was turning his back and thinking soldiering chants really loud in his head.
A hundred apples in a barrel full o' shit-
She was a spark and a star; look at her from faraway and she was nothing but a light in the dark with all the other lights.
Somebody make sure Tracey's not hit-
Look close up and you got swirls, colours and thorns and damned if you could keep up. Damned if Mal could keep up. Boy Blue with the flying, with the sparks of his own, he managed.
No matter when the fires burn out-
Boy Blue with the magic healing and magic skin, not like River- River just moved too fast for hurt, usually. She'd carried it instead until now.
Browncoats aren't gonna run on home-
Fic: Untitled
Fandom: Robin Hood (BBC)
Words: 150 approx.
Summary: Detective AU: crack is where we live. Brilliant jewel thief Allan A Dale must dodge the honed detective skills of D.I. Scarlett and the wiles of a scornful ex-lover, Guy of Gisborne.
[Location: behind a curtain in a theatre, near a private box, in which Lady Marian is sitting with husband Lord Robin and wearing hired diamonds.]
WILL: Get down!
ALLAN: Not bein' funny, but how'd he even get an invite?
[Muffled crash.]
WILL [Hissed.]: I warned you. Waved some money around. You thieves are good at that.
ALLAN: If you need to beat with a stick, at least pull that one out of your arse. And actually, we prefer to steal it.
[ALLAN looks up, ducks.]
WILL: Guessing Gisborne didn't take you fleeing the country well, then.
ALLAN: [Glare.] Not exactly, no. And excuse me, but that's hardly your business, hidin' down here like a thief yourself.
WILL: [Beat.] I'm hiding because I've only got a warrant for one of you.
ALLAN: So long as it isn't me, I could care less, mate. [Beat, turns.] Is it me?
END
FIC: Untitled
Words: 150 approx.
Fandom: SG-1/Robin Hood (BBC)
Summary: Vala, Allan a Dale, forest, treasure.
"And I'm tellin' you, it's here, all right?"
"I don't think this is very funny either, just so you know."
"Look, just pass me that - yeah, it's in your bag, the second tablet."
[...]
"What's this?"
"It's a hair-dryer."
"Haven't seen anythin' like it before- where'd you say you came from?"
"Darling, I have gold coins with your name on them. Caius promised there'd be no ... questions."
"What do you need the tablet for, anyway?"
"That, Allan, is a question."
"... Gold, you said?"
"Yes. I'll even let you bite them."
FIC: Untitled
Fandom: Robin Hood
Summary: Will/Djaq, insomnia, spoilers for all of season two.
Words: 500 approx.
Of either them it's silly, but especially of her. She grew up in the same house that they now have rooms in; for her to be up standing and staring through carefully carved window shutters at the distant horizon is incomprehensible even in her own mind.
Djaq knows that her wakeful nature worries Will, even when he is asleep, thin blankets lying only clumsily and haphazardly across his body. If she stands at the window by the bed they now share, in a slow, carefully paced measure of time, he'll wake. He'll stir, turning once, turning back. He'll frown, just slightly, and open his mouth as if to say something. Then he'll wake up fully, seeing her at the edge of the room with a crooked smile.
Sometimes he gets up to join her, wrapping arms around her waist and bracing his palm against her upper arm. He'd talk quietly, and she'd feel the movement in his breathing, leaning back against his chest. Sometimes, the crooked smile would fade, he'd frown again, and hold out a hand. That had been the times when Djaq's horizon had stretched not to Sherwood, not to England, but only to graves in the sand.
More recently, he hadn't woken at all, or if he had, he'd allowed her the vigil she deemed necessary. From exhaustion, Djaq suspected. It had taken weeks of hard work and proving himself willing to learn, but the local artisans and tradesmen had adopted him. That decision made amongst the stalls and workshops, they'd taken him in decisively, keeping him with them until the bells rung through the town for evening prayers.
Djaq wasn't sure what it felt like exactly, prowling the dark house in the hours that the sun rose on a distant wood, drifting through corridors when even the birds and Will slept, but it felt like fading.
"Djaq?"
Djaq threads fingers through the rounded carvings made in the time her parents lived before looking back over her shoulder.
Will is standing in the doorway to the bird sanctuary in rough linen trousers, one of her scarves thrown around his neck in a gesture towards modesty. When she turns, he's a silhouette, with one arm raised to push back slightly longer hair. His voice is deliberately low, trying not to spook the birds. "You need to sleep, love."
Djaq freezes in place and feels her heart race. Her first instinct - to Will - had been to snap back, For what?
It's an argument they haven't had before and that she won't start- it worries her that she won't start it because she's too tired, more than anything.
"When you are at work," Djaq replies quietly, turning back to the window, "I do not work. Bassam is still the keeper here, and I have read through his library many times."
There's a beat of silence and Djaq worries that she's said something he doesn't know how to reply to. She jumps, hiccups a startled laugh and leans back when his palm presses lightly on her stomach, pulling her back against him.
"You knew it wouldn't be the same here."
Djaq swallows, closing her eyes. She wishes she could get angry in reply, even if it's irrational, but it would be misdirected. She did know what form her days would take, and still it was her choice to stay.
"Yes," Djaq answers, because it is the only logical answer.
"It's right that you would want to be home," Will says quietly and uncertainly a moment later.
Djaq opens her mouth to reply, then pauses because she isn't sure where or when he means - the choice to stay, or the choice to leave that she only just realises she's made.
She turns, never breaking contact with Will and letting go of the shutters. "I want to go home."
Will swallows, smiles and leans forward to put his forehead against hers.
The next night, the night before the ship leaves for England, Djaq sleeps.
END.
FIC: Untitled
Fandom: Jane Austen (Pride and Prejudice)
Words: 200 approx.
Summary: Missing scene: Darcy at Rosings Park.
His disposition was most displeased and that would indeed be how he would phrase it in his missive, despite the cloying tone it added to the letter. Charles Bingley knew his inclinations in style well enough to read both the words on the page and the sharp, jagged script in which he etched them. From this, Darcy presumed, Bingley would receive the intended message; simply that he was not content in his present situation and that aid, willingly provided, would be most amiably received.
It would suffice. He would not convey his regrets; Charles currently bore enough regrets of Darcy's making and though he could not foresee circumstances wherein he would have chosen a different course, Darcy did regret the melancholy that did not become his friend.
Darcy's present situation was thus: one ear respectfully drinking from the font of his aunt's boundless wisdom, the other equally respectfully listening to the piano-forte played by one Miss Elizabeth Bennet. A trio of notes struck softly in the always small silence between his aunt's conversational topics caused Darcy to raise his head at the tilted writing desk.
You will forgive me my brevity, dear sister, he began anew, and I pray, also this moment of sentimentality. Surely only days have passed since my last crossed your hand. I pray you practice as always and write to inform you that though never far from my thoughts, you appeared particularly vividly in my mind in our dearest aunt's drawing room after our midday meal. You may wonder, and I know that you will as I certainly would, why I might subject even your apparition to such a fate.
A young lady plays the piano-forte, one to whom I believe I have intimated my acquaintance on previous occasions. Her technique is overly sharp and her comprehension of rise and fall lacks most abominably. You will accuse me of an unkindness; pray, believe me, I say nothing she herself would and has not. You will again accuse me of an unkindness; why, when you work so tirelessly to be accomplished would I associate the music of our private study with that played by Miss. E.B. in this room we both know too well? In truth, Georgiana, it is my earnest hope that this answer you can communicate to myself, because I find the knowledge somewhat lacking.
'Darcy!'
Roused from his writing, Darcy stood from the desk and clasped his hands behind his back. 'Yes, ma'am?'
'Do return to us,' came the slow, languid reply, 'and tell us of the drapery Miss Darcy has chosen for the study at Pemberley. I do find the tastes of distinguished young ladies most diverting and feel I may say much upon the characters revealed therein. Would you not agree, Miss Bennet?'
Darcy folded his letter for Bingley carefully, slipping it into the pocket of his jacket. He did not, as his aunt well knew, find drapery diverting in the least; he could not, however, confer the same status upon Miss Bennet's quickly concealed expression of fear.
END.
FIC: Untitled
Fandom: SG-1
Words: 200 approx.
Summary: Vala: here was a box and she couldn't see the edges.
Fight. Win. Hold on. Survive.
All words to throw at the chains surrounding her. Can't move. Can't feel. Can't hear. There's air, space and dark.
They grabbed her on the last planet they surveyed. Last one, crouching behind a wall to dodge the blasts, she had ran for the gate like everyone else.
Then she wasn't there. Then she was here. Here was a box she couldn't see the edges of, with cruel voices floating through her mind. Here was a tomb.
She'd never craved anything like she craved a breeze. A chink of light. The smell of anything, team after five days' hike if it had to be. The brush of a knuckle against her hand, the slap of a P90 in her palm. Her nightmare - she could tell the difference because her dreams had colours - was that they were as trapped as she was.
They needed them for sustenance, for life, for survival. They were parasites.
She'd been in prisons, with bars or long thin wires in her brain. She'd been in prisons for cruelty and for purpose, but nothing had chilled her veins like the cold eye through the bars.
Fight. Win. Hold on. Survive.
Prisoner again, but this time there was a lock on the cage. She couldn't reach it but that lessened its luxury none in her mind. Wraith across the universe be damned; they were hers, they were coming, or they were dead.
END.
FIC: Untitled
Fandom: SG-1
Words: 150 approx.
Summary: Daniel/Vala. Future!fic. Mild spoilers for s4 SGA.
“I'm sorry.”
“About-”
“About the part of my throwing things that was ambiguous. Now get out of my room.”
“You weren't throwing them at me.”
A threatening glance. “One minute, Jack. Actually, that's really rather generous of me-”
The door closed.
Ten minutes later. The door opened.
“Heard you gave Jack a hard time.”
“Yes.” A tilt of her head. “What makes him think I'll be nice to you?”
A sigh. “You think we're happy about this?”
A raised chin. “If they say yes-”
“If.”
“If they say yes, you'll go.”
“Yes.”
“Cameron will go. And so will Teal'c.”
“Jack won't.”
“Then I'm less instantly hostile towards him.”
“Vala-”
“I'm pregnant, Sam's in Atlantis, and you're all going to go save them. And I can't come.”
“Wouldn't you rather-”
“Yes.”
A raise of an eyebrow. “If someone has to go and save them - Sam, annoying one with the lemon aversion, pretty boy and all - then yes, I'm glad it's you. But I'm not happy about staying here.”
He sat on the bed. “I'll be back in time.”
A glare. “You'd better be, or else there won't be another one and it won't be to do with any lacking anatomy on my part.” A tilt of the head. “So to speak.”
Daniel fought not to let his lips twitch. But they did. And then Vala met his eyes, and they laughed.
END.
Thanks for reading, all comments appreciated.