x. gonna have it made
So I'm finally feeling like I'm mostly alive again. Stomach flu. pffbt. I have a bone to pick with who[m]ever declared winter/spring as cold & flu season. who, me? still contemplating who vs. whom? I don't know what you're talking about.
On the plus side, I come bearing CI fic. Because, yes, "Loyalty". And the last five minutes, during which I went from D: to :D to ~.~ and thus slightly cracky fic was born.
i hear jamaica's beautiful this time of year (two tickets to paradise)
L&O:CI, Goren/Eames, post Loyalty.
note: it's a bit silly in places- at this point they've earned it. first part is Eames POV, second is Goren's.
It's different now, or maybe it's the same as always: them against the world. Either way, it started a while ago (after the mentor and his daughter, before the bourbon and undercover missions) with an inside joke;
- flashback -
She touches his arm and smirks, a little tipsy. "Let's quit the PD and move to Jamaica. We'll run a PI service out of a B&B."
"At the same time?"
"Not much to investigate other than why the rum's all gone," she says with the air of someone who Knows These Things.
"Probably because you drank it all."
He allows a bit of amusement for that since he's seen his petite and not short partner drink men twice her size under the table.
"Damn straight," she mutters. (There's a good reason they picked Jamaica.)
Technically they both did and it wasn't actually rum and anyway, they're allowed- it was a long case. Lately there's been too much politics and not enough time for sitting on the couch eating greasy Chinese takeout with cold beer.
There'd been a little less talk and a little more alcohol when she first got that couch; neither of them slept her first night back, they'd installed the wooden blinds and left all the lights on. The slats still hang unevenly- tribute to their drunken efforts- and she likes that. He'd spent two weeks of evenings alternately breaking the couch in and helping her fix the house up but at the end of it she felt more like herself.
Bobby's muffled snort brings her thoughts back to the present. "I'd love to see how you're gonna explain that one to the cap."
She leans across him sloppily in that way of hers that he refuses (out of self preservation) to call adorable and snatches another wonton from the foam carton. She uses one hand to balance herself against him and pokes him with the other, smugly amused.
"The Captain likes me, I fill out my paperwork. I'll put a word in for you."
"You- you always do Eames." He's a little solemn, a little awestruck, obviously not nearly as affected by the liquor they've been steadily consuming but then, no matter how large her personality and how fierce she is, biology is biology.
They only unwind like this around each other, it kind of works because they usually get wound up around or about each other.
He takes another sip and wonders what it means. And then wonders what 'it' is.
She nods, matching his seriousness for a beat. They tend to leave a lot of things unspoken but understood. When 'things' inevitably see the light of day, they don't make a big production. After a moment of watching him she shifts gears and refills his tumbler.
"You were about to get maudlin again."
He'd be indignant if she didn't know him so well that arguing the point would be impossible. Instead he smiles and shakes off his previous train of thought. "Jamaica."
She grins mischievously. "Jamaica."
- present -
As far as he knows Eames is supposed to be setting up her new office right now, therefore he's surprised to find her in his house, and not entirely sure how she managed to get to his place before he did.
"You took a cab," she says simply, not bothering to look up from the corner of his couch where she is curled up with her laptop. He wasn't aware he'd asked out loud. A second later he realizes he hadn't, simultaneously processing the fact that if she's here instead of at 1 PP, then-
She raises a hand as if to halt some imminent protest.
"Bear in mind that if you ask me why I'm here or try to change my mind I'll shoot you."
Her tone is half joking, but regardless of her employment he's sure she still has her personal weapon. He sinks down on the other end of the couch and stares at her while he tries- not entirely successfully- to convince himself that his lack of protest is simply in response to her not-so-veiled threat.
A few minutes pass quietly as she taps away at... something, studiously ignoring the way his eyes haven't left her. Eventually she touches his arm. It reminds him of beer and too-crisp wantons on a rainy day.
Everything reminds him of something. A lot of things remind him of her.
She passes him the laptop and he has to blink twice just to make sure his eyes aren't playing tricks on him. Onscreen, what looks disturbingly like a yard gnome offers travel packages to Jamaica starting at six hundred dollars; he scrolls down and clicks on a reputable looking resort that he will never admit he's looked up before.
Knowing Eames (Alex now), she probably thinks the gnome's funny.
So. Jamaica.
"The indigenous Taino tribe originally named the island Xaymaca. It- it means 'land of wood and water,'" he starts quietly. A hundred other facts come to mind in quick succession; this might actually work.
"You've been saving these up haven't you?"
Alex sighs, a little long suffering but mostly amused and somehow lighter than he's seen her in a while.
They're probably grinning at each other like idiots right now and he doesn't even mind.
He knows what 'it' is.
-la fin-
yes, la fin. and yes, Eames might be channeling her inner Lisbon what with the threats of shooting and all. come to think of it, that would be a fun meeting to write. somebody please?
On the plus side, I come bearing CI fic. Because, yes, "Loyalty". And the last five minutes, during which I went from D: to :D to ~.~ and thus slightly cracky fic was born.
i hear jamaica's beautiful this time of year (two tickets to paradise)
L&O:CI, Goren/Eames, post Loyalty.
note: it's a bit silly in places- at this point they've earned it. first part is Eames POV, second is Goren's.
It's different now, or maybe it's the same as always: them against the world. Either way, it started a while ago (after the mentor and his daughter, before the bourbon and undercover missions) with an inside joke;
- flashback -
She touches his arm and smirks, a little tipsy. "Let's quit the PD and move to Jamaica. We'll run a PI service out of a B&B."
"At the same time?"
"Not much to investigate other than why the rum's all gone," she says with the air of someone who Knows These Things.
"Probably because you drank it all."
He allows a bit of amusement for that since he's seen his petite and not short partner drink men twice her size under the table.
"Damn straight," she mutters. (There's a good reason they picked Jamaica.)
Technically they both did and it wasn't actually rum and anyway, they're allowed- it was a long case. Lately there's been too much politics and not enough time for sitting on the couch eating greasy Chinese takeout with cold beer.
There'd been a little less talk and a little more alcohol when she first got that couch; neither of them slept her first night back, they'd installed the wooden blinds and left all the lights on. The slats still hang unevenly- tribute to their drunken efforts- and she likes that. He'd spent two weeks of evenings alternately breaking the couch in and helping her fix the house up but at the end of it she felt more like herself.
Bobby's muffled snort brings her thoughts back to the present. "I'd love to see how you're gonna explain that one to the cap."
She leans across him sloppily in that way of hers that he refuses (out of self preservation) to call adorable and snatches another wonton from the foam carton. She uses one hand to balance herself against him and pokes him with the other, smugly amused.
"The Captain likes me, I fill out my paperwork. I'll put a word in for you."
"You- you always do Eames." He's a little solemn, a little awestruck, obviously not nearly as affected by the liquor they've been steadily consuming but then, no matter how large her personality and how fierce she is, biology is biology.
They only unwind like this around each other, it kind of works because they usually get wound up around or about each other.
He takes another sip and wonders what it means. And then wonders what 'it' is.
She nods, matching his seriousness for a beat. They tend to leave a lot of things unspoken but understood. When 'things' inevitably see the light of day, they don't make a big production. After a moment of watching him she shifts gears and refills his tumbler.
"You were about to get maudlin again."
He'd be indignant if she didn't know him so well that arguing the point would be impossible. Instead he smiles and shakes off his previous train of thought. "Jamaica."
She grins mischievously. "Jamaica."
- present -
As far as he knows Eames is supposed to be setting up her new office right now, therefore he's surprised to find her in his house, and not entirely sure how she managed to get to his place before he did.
"You took a cab," she says simply, not bothering to look up from the corner of his couch where she is curled up with her laptop. He wasn't aware he'd asked out loud. A second later he realizes he hadn't, simultaneously processing the fact that if she's here instead of at 1 PP, then-
She raises a hand as if to halt some imminent protest.
"Bear in mind that if you ask me why I'm here or try to change my mind I'll shoot you."
Her tone is half joking, but regardless of her employment he's sure she still has her personal weapon. He sinks down on the other end of the couch and stares at her while he tries- not entirely successfully- to convince himself that his lack of protest is simply in response to her not-so-veiled threat.
A few minutes pass quietly as she taps away at... something, studiously ignoring the way his eyes haven't left her. Eventually she touches his arm. It reminds him of beer and too-crisp wantons on a rainy day.
Everything reminds him of something. A lot of things remind him of her.
She passes him the laptop and he has to blink twice just to make sure his eyes aren't playing tricks on him. Onscreen, what looks disturbingly like a yard gnome offers travel packages to Jamaica starting at six hundred dollars; he scrolls down and clicks on a reputable looking resort that he will never admit he's looked up before.
Knowing Eames (Alex now), she probably thinks the gnome's funny.
So. Jamaica.
"The indigenous Taino tribe originally named the island Xaymaca. It- it means 'land of wood and water,'" he starts quietly. A hundred other facts come to mind in quick succession; this might actually work.
"You've been saving these up haven't you?"
Alex sighs, a little long suffering but mostly amused and somehow lighter than he's seen her in a while.
They're probably grinning at each other like idiots right now and he doesn't even mind.
He knows what 'it' is.
-la fin-
yes, la fin. and yes, Eames might be channeling her inner Lisbon what with the threats of shooting and all. come to think of it, that would be a fun meeting to write. somebody please?