Even more fic. I be on the roll. Life fic: A Work In Progress. Step 1.
I've given up on the Fivey mood theme as Green Wing is just crackier. As shown below. Also I have a renewed love for the cast for various reasons (read: rewatching of Black Books, A Remedy for all Ills -or something to that meaning-, and an interview with Michelle Gomez on Shakespeare).
Series: A Work In Progress. Or: How Reese Learned To Stop Worrying and Move in With Crews.
Title: Step 1: He gets shot. Or: He doesn't die and needs time to recover.
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff
Rating (this chapter only): PG-13, maybe R for language (I only use f*** 3 times so I think not).
Characters & Pairings: Crews/Reese
Summary: This chapter is post-Trapdoor fic. The rest will be future fic. It does exactly what it says on the tin. This story will chart the move from partners to living together for Crews & Reese.
Notes: Unbetaed as usual, sorry. I also really don’t know how I feel about the ending of this chapter but I’ve had it on my HD for too long already. Also excuse the lengthy title I just don’t have it in me to change it, especially with my Dr. Strangelove poster staring down at me. This also is one of the first plot-y fics I've ever written, so I apologize in advance for any trip ups. And the A Work In Progress part of the title comes from the crews_reese community. So excuse the blatant ripping off.
A Work In Progress. Or: How Reese Learned To Stop Worrying and Move in With Crews.
Step 1. He gets shot. Or: He doesn't die and needs time to recover.
Nursing, being caring, is not something Dani Reese does. Even as a child she had been the girl who had stuffed bears eat her Barbies. But Charlie Crews has always had the ability to get under her skin, and nudge her (and force her, industrial glue and all) into things she wouldn't do normally.
When her partner is shot she stalks every single hospital worker that goes within 10 yards of him until the doctor finally sits her down and says: "He's stable." Then Reese starts planning the demise of the bastards who shot her partner, she and Stark are on a fucking vendetta, and they don't care who knows it.
At the end of the day though, when it is too late to interview anyone. Too late to pull out all of the old tricks her dad taught her about how to do things that don't bruise but hurt like a mother, all the things she usually keeps tightly in check. When all of that is done she takes the files to the hospital and spreads the papers over his legs, looking and checking and cross-referencing everything for a tiny hole to crucify Roman with. She talks to him, in that first week when he is too doped up on morphine to be any real help she'll talk at him, every harebrained theory that she has comes out and those occasional times he's awake and responding, well it isn't like his morphine ramblings are any different from what he sounds like normally. The nurses learned in the first few days that Reese was going to sit there no matter what the visiting hours were, and despite their stern lectures that scared the shit out of most people, Dani would stand tall in all of her 5 feet 3 inches and very softly say: "He's my partner." And they figure it's less disruptive to just let her be with him. So it isn't a surprise that the first time he's truly awake she's sitting on the chair at the side of the bed a file open in her lap her lips pursed unhappily.
"Reese." His voice isn't too hoarse, and he remembers vaguely talking to her. He figures there must still be some pain killers in his system 'cause all he feels from his shoulder is a dull pulsing ache.
She looks up, her mouth falling open just a little. She waits a moment, "You here Crews?"
"I'm here."
***
She had visited him every evening in the hospital and had waited until he fell asleep before she took off. On rare occasions she had fallen asleep only to be woken by a nurses soft prodding, or Crews' quiet "Reese." She talked to the physical therapist about recovery times and exercises. She talked to the doctors about changing dressings and appointments before she pushes his mandatory wheelchair out of the puke colored halls and into the LA sun. Ted's still in jail, and the girl is still in Mexico so he's alone in the house, which she doesn't like one bit.
That first night she sees him settled, he says thanks and she leaves. Charlie takes one look around his large empty house and part of him wishes he was back in the hospital.
Three hours later he hears a curse that has him and his gun downstairs, before she looks up and says: "I'm not your father."
He rolls his eyes and drops his gun to his side. "I didn't know it was him."
She nods her head in that way she's been doing more and more recently. The way she did when he said Rachel was a friend of the family. The way she did when he had told her he didn't know she and the Captain were hooking up. It was an all knowing, I'm secretly laughing at you nod. He had an urge to quote Zen at her, but stopped when he took in that she had a pot in her hand. He finally descended the large staircase too meet her. She had her head cocked to the side and amusement in her eyes.
"What's in the pot?" He peered at the large blue enameled item and realized there was a fantastic smell coming from it. "It smells delicious."
"Yeah, it's Iranian, if you don't mind." Reese looked down at the pot. "Mom has apparently moved from despair to spite. She's hasn't spoken a word of English in two weeks and has been cooking enough traditional dishes to feed several armies." Reese looked up a wry grin on her face.
"Your mom made me food." Charlie got one of his silly smiles. The one he had after she accidentally first called him her partner. The one that kind of made her want to laugh pat his head and tell him he was nuts, and take out her gun and kill anyone who even thought about hurting him.
"Well she was cooking, a lot, and you're alone here." She defended.
The grin didn't go away.
She turned with a small huff annoyance. "The kitchen's this way, right?" She took off before he could answer her.
He sat at the island in the kitchen, watching her warm their dinner on the stove. If someone had told him two months ago, or hell, this morning he'd be watching Dani Reese preparing dinner for the two of them he would have called a nurse to take the person back to the psychiatric ward.
Reese put the lid back on the pot and turned to face Charlie. Her face telling him they were going to have a serious conversation. Honestly, sometimes he felt she thought he was five.
"I get the no locks thing Crews." She starts. "Well not a hundred percent, but I get it, I respect it. But you were shot, and we couldn't get the bastards who did it, because there is a fucking conspiracy going on here Crews. So you know what?" She looks him straight in the eye and gathers every bit of being a tough bitch superior officer, before saying. "I want you to get a lock, or a security system, or a guard dog or something."
"Reese..." He doesn't know what to say to that. He's used to dealing with how people think of it as odd that he doesn't use locks. He's used to dealing with people wanting to fix him. He's not used to being protected. And that what she's doing, she doesn't care that he's fucked up, she just wants to make sure he's not dead. It breaks his heart a little looking at her, as she tries to stare at him with all of the contained fury she can muster, but it doesn't quite work because there is a glint in her eye that is pure worry and panic. It's that glint that makes him say softly. "I'll figure out something."
"Good." She turns back to the pot on his kitchen counter and asks: "Plates?"
"I'll-"
"Sit back down Detective." She says a small smile playing at the corner of her lips before he directs her to the second cupboard on the right of the fridge.
***
She came by every evening while he was still on leave after that. Sometimes she brought food from her mother. Sometimes they ordered in, and occasionally one of them would try their hand at cooking. That rarely ended well. She took him to every one of his check ups, sometime sitting with him while he waited, other times rushing off to catch the bad guys and returning to drive him back to his big empty house. She forced him to allow her to change his dressing the way the nurse had told her too and she saw his tattoo. She would diligently tell him about every lead she had followed, share every last detail of the work, and bring the files over for him too peruse so they could discuss the case of his shooting. Every night they would eventually, leave behind the work and they would talk about anything that took their fancy, they would relax and she would smile and even laugh on those nights in the big house bought with money he was granted in exchange for his life.
If it ever occurred to either of them that this pattern was odd, they never let it on to the other. Charlie decided they were like fight club, and Reese decided that to analyze it would be contrary to the idea of preserving her sanity.
By the time Crews was back on duty, Reese, who had been in his house twice before he was shot, could navigate the place in the dark. It probably helped that there was next to no furniture.
Comments would be muchly loved. I hope to have the next chapter up by the weekend.
Series: A Work In Progress. Or: How Reese Learned To Stop Worrying and Move in With Crews.
Title: Step 1: He gets shot. Or: He doesn't die and needs time to recover.
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff
Rating (this chapter only): PG-13, maybe R for language (I only use f*** 3 times so I think not).
Characters & Pairings: Crews/Reese
Summary: This chapter is post-Trapdoor fic. The rest will be future fic. It does exactly what it says on the tin. This story will chart the move from partners to living together for Crews & Reese.
Notes: Unbetaed as usual, sorry. I also really don’t know how I feel about the ending of this chapter but I’ve had it on my HD for too long already. Also excuse the lengthy title I just don’t have it in me to change it, especially with my Dr. Strangelove poster staring down at me. This also is one of the first plot-y fics I've ever written, so I apologize in advance for any trip ups. And the A Work In Progress part of the title comes from the crews_reese community. So excuse the blatant ripping off.
A Work In Progress. Or: How Reese Learned To Stop Worrying and Move in With Crews.
Step 1. He gets shot. Or: He doesn't die and needs time to recover.
Nursing, being caring, is not something Dani Reese does. Even as a child she had been the girl who had stuffed bears eat her Barbies. But Charlie Crews has always had the ability to get under her skin, and nudge her (and force her, industrial glue and all) into things she wouldn't do normally.
When her partner is shot she stalks every single hospital worker that goes within 10 yards of him until the doctor finally sits her down and says: "He's stable." Then Reese starts planning the demise of the bastards who shot her partner, she and Stark are on a fucking vendetta, and they don't care who knows it.
At the end of the day though, when it is too late to interview anyone. Too late to pull out all of the old tricks her dad taught her about how to do things that don't bruise but hurt like a mother, all the things she usually keeps tightly in check. When all of that is done she takes the files to the hospital and spreads the papers over his legs, looking and checking and cross-referencing everything for a tiny hole to crucify Roman with. She talks to him, in that first week when he is too doped up on morphine to be any real help she'll talk at him, every harebrained theory that she has comes out and those occasional times he's awake and responding, well it isn't like his morphine ramblings are any different from what he sounds like normally. The nurses learned in the first few days that Reese was going to sit there no matter what the visiting hours were, and despite their stern lectures that scared the shit out of most people, Dani would stand tall in all of her 5 feet 3 inches and very softly say: "He's my partner." And they figure it's less disruptive to just let her be with him. So it isn't a surprise that the first time he's truly awake she's sitting on the chair at the side of the bed a file open in her lap her lips pursed unhappily.
"Reese." His voice isn't too hoarse, and he remembers vaguely talking to her. He figures there must still be some pain killers in his system 'cause all he feels from his shoulder is a dull pulsing ache.
She looks up, her mouth falling open just a little. She waits a moment, "You here Crews?"
"I'm here."
***
She had visited him every evening in the hospital and had waited until he fell asleep before she took off. On rare occasions she had fallen asleep only to be woken by a nurses soft prodding, or Crews' quiet "Reese." She talked to the physical therapist about recovery times and exercises. She talked to the doctors about changing dressings and appointments before she pushes his mandatory wheelchair out of the puke colored halls and into the LA sun. Ted's still in jail, and the girl is still in Mexico so he's alone in the house, which she doesn't like one bit.
That first night she sees him settled, he says thanks and she leaves. Charlie takes one look around his large empty house and part of him wishes he was back in the hospital.
Three hours later he hears a curse that has him and his gun downstairs, before she looks up and says: "I'm not your father."
He rolls his eyes and drops his gun to his side. "I didn't know it was him."
She nods her head in that way she's been doing more and more recently. The way she did when he said Rachel was a friend of the family. The way she did when he had told her he didn't know she and the Captain were hooking up. It was an all knowing, I'm secretly laughing at you nod. He had an urge to quote Zen at her, but stopped when he took in that she had a pot in her hand. He finally descended the large staircase too meet her. She had her head cocked to the side and amusement in her eyes.
"What's in the pot?" He peered at the large blue enameled item and realized there was a fantastic smell coming from it. "It smells delicious."
"Yeah, it's Iranian, if you don't mind." Reese looked down at the pot. "Mom has apparently moved from despair to spite. She's hasn't spoken a word of English in two weeks and has been cooking enough traditional dishes to feed several armies." Reese looked up a wry grin on her face.
"Your mom made me food." Charlie got one of his silly smiles. The one he had after she accidentally first called him her partner. The one that kind of made her want to laugh pat his head and tell him he was nuts, and take out her gun and kill anyone who even thought about hurting him.
"Well she was cooking, a lot, and you're alone here." She defended.
The grin didn't go away.
She turned with a small huff annoyance. "The kitchen's this way, right?" She took off before he could answer her.
He sat at the island in the kitchen, watching her warm their dinner on the stove. If someone had told him two months ago, or hell, this morning he'd be watching Dani Reese preparing dinner for the two of them he would have called a nurse to take the person back to the psychiatric ward.
Reese put the lid back on the pot and turned to face Charlie. Her face telling him they were going to have a serious conversation. Honestly, sometimes he felt she thought he was five.
"I get the no locks thing Crews." She starts. "Well not a hundred percent, but I get it, I respect it. But you were shot, and we couldn't get the bastards who did it, because there is a fucking conspiracy going on here Crews. So you know what?" She looks him straight in the eye and gathers every bit of being a tough bitch superior officer, before saying. "I want you to get a lock, or a security system, or a guard dog or something."
"Reese..." He doesn't know what to say to that. He's used to dealing with how people think of it as odd that he doesn't use locks. He's used to dealing with people wanting to fix him. He's not used to being protected. And that what she's doing, she doesn't care that he's fucked up, she just wants to make sure he's not dead. It breaks his heart a little looking at her, as she tries to stare at him with all of the contained fury she can muster, but it doesn't quite work because there is a glint in her eye that is pure worry and panic. It's that glint that makes him say softly. "I'll figure out something."
"Good." She turns back to the pot on his kitchen counter and asks: "Plates?"
"I'll-"
"Sit back down Detective." She says a small smile playing at the corner of her lips before he directs her to the second cupboard on the right of the fridge.
***
She came by every evening while he was still on leave after that. Sometimes she brought food from her mother. Sometimes they ordered in, and occasionally one of them would try their hand at cooking. That rarely ended well. She took him to every one of his check ups, sometime sitting with him while he waited, other times rushing off to catch the bad guys and returning to drive him back to his big empty house. She forced him to allow her to change his dressing the way the nurse had told her too and she saw his tattoo. She would diligently tell him about every lead she had followed, share every last detail of the work, and bring the files over for him too peruse so they could discuss the case of his shooting. Every night they would eventually, leave behind the work and they would talk about anything that took their fancy, they would relax and she would smile and even laugh on those nights in the big house bought with money he was granted in exchange for his life.
If it ever occurred to either of them that this pattern was odd, they never let it on to the other. Charlie decided they were like fight club, and Reese decided that to analyze it would be contrary to the idea of preserving her sanity.
By the time Crews was back on duty, Reese, who had been in his house twice before he was shot, could navigate the place in the dark. It probably helped that there was next to no furniture.
Comments would be muchly loved. I hope to have the next chapter up by the weekend.