Bingolicious!
Yet another Sanctuary Bingo drabble from mein Brain.
Title: UG I can't think of a title. Leave any suggestions in the comments!
Fandom: Sanctuary
Rating: PG-13 I guess....
Warnings: Erm....naaah, nothing.
Disclaimer: They're not mine. I'm too poor to bother suing.
Spoilers: Set during Season 1, shortly after Will joins the Sanctuary.
Summary: Everyone likes patisserie, don't they?
Author's Notes: Written for the prompt 'New/Old City'. Essentially ripped off scene from every and any angsty romance movie you've ever seen. Two things I've noticed about me and William is that I tend to write him in the present simple and also that I like to make him a voyeur. Poor lad.
It's a Thursday afternoon and Will finds himself in New City. It's been quiet at the Sanctuary the last week; Ashley took her new bike out and hasn't been home for two days and Henry seems more interested in taking apart old machines and pillaging them for parts than talking so Will figured he'd take the time to head back to his old apartment and finally sort out his junk.
“There's a place for you here, Doctor Zimmerman,” Magnus had said. “If you'd like, that is. No pressure.” She gazed at him across her desk with a mild expression and Will had tapped the tip of his index finger against the arm of his chair and chewed on his lip for all of two seconds before giving her his answer. She'd smiled a dazzling, warm smile at him and although he'd never admit it, Will took a moment to appreciate once more quite how disconcertingly attractive his new boss was.
When he's boxed away the last few items, he stands at the door for a long minute and looks around his apartment one last time. He gives himself a moment to say goodbye, for the sake of giving this part of his life it's psychological due but he already knows he isn't going to miss it. There are other more interesting and more exciting things waiting for him across the bridge in Old City and he's starting to feel he might have found somewhere to call home. It's weird and strange and creepy and wonderful and even though he feels greener than that first year out of the Academy, it's totally utterly worth it. The door clicks closed behind him and he posts the keys into the mailbox downstairs and doesn't look back.
He loads the final box of books into the trunk of his car and wrinkles his nose as he walks around to the driver's side. He's not paying rent now so he's got more disposable income and perhaps he might just get himself something a little nicer to drive. Why not? His new employer just bought her daughter a BMW motorcycle that cost more than he's paid in rent the last two years and it wasn't even her birthday.
As he's driving across the city he stops in the queue of traffic and while he's waiting for the lights to change, peers out of the window at the facade of a cute boho cafe he'd promised Meg he'd take her to for lunch but never had. There are people sitting at tables outside sharing wine and chit chat and when the light goes green, Will cuts up the driver in the lane beside him so he can turn off down a side street and find somewhere to park.
Inside he waits at the counter while they fix him a coffee and pack a slice of a really really nice looking tarte aux framboises into a box for him. He passes the time skimming the lunch menu and though he could really really go for the entrecote he always thinks it's a bit depressing eating out alone and besides, he'd want half a bottle of Cabernet to wash it down with and he's still got to get across the bridge.
Behind him he hears a man talking in rapid French, getting progressively louder and louder. A woman replies in a hushed, hissing voice that tells Will she really doesn't want to be having such a conversation in public. Will doesn't speak much French so the topic of their discussion is mostly lost on him but from the sound of it, the conversation is rapidly turning into an argument. He lifts his head to peruse the selection of spirits on the shelf behind the counter and hears the squeal of chair legs against the tiled floor followed by the rapid click clack of high heels. The bell on the door clangs and then it clatters shut and Will turns his head to see a tall man with a mop of dark hair storming towards the door with a pout on his face.
It's the kind of face that leaves Will indifferent but he knows from experience this it's the kind of face women like. Tall with chiselled almost feline features and pouty lips and so utterly French Will wants to roll his eyes at how tragic it all is. It's hardly a leap for him to assume that Casanova is in the midst of a no doubt dreadfully angst-ridden and tediously cliché lover's tiff with whoever just flounced out of the door.
Will is not in anyway interested in the tawdry goings on of this perfect stranger and it's purely out of the boredom of waiting for his cake that he turns his head the other way to watch through the window as Casanova trots up the sidewalk after his amour. He reaches out and catches her roughly by the arm, her long wavy hair bounces appealingly over her shoulder and when Will sees her face his eyes go wide.
He snaps his head around and hides his face, mortified at the prospect of seeing his new boss in such a situation but more concerned with avoiding the awkwardness of morning meetings if she knew that he had seen. He has a feeling such public displays are anathema to the polished, upright Doctor Magnus, although imagines it's par for the course with her. Even when she's at her most prim, she exudes a warm sensuality that is very, very appealing. Will stares ahead at a bottle of Galliano on the shelf in front of him.
“Thanks,” he says in a loud voice as the barista hands him a white patisserie box, trying to drown out the muffled voices drifting through the window. When the barista rings up his bill, Will sees their warped reflection in the polished brass of the cash register. Casanova pulls her in for a kiss and Will can't stop from snapping his head around in time to see Dr Magnus pull back and slap him hard across the face.
He starts to think he ought to intervene when Casanova grabs her by the shoulders roughly. Magnus reaches up and grabs the collar of his coat hard in an effort to shove him away and Will isn't quite sure what happens next but then they're kissing again and Casanova is pulling her close and hugging her tight.
“Here's your change sir,” the barista says in that disinterested voice of someone who works somewhere so achingly hip and when Will hesitates before extending his palm to take the money, tuts before turning away and disappearing around the bar. Will stares at the pastry box in his hand and grips the coffee cup tightly. The contents are hot and his hand twinges uncomfortably while Will chews his lip and considers his next move but when he turns his head again, heaves a sigh of relief to see the sidewalk is empty.
He's kind of dazed as he makes his way back to the car and a little disturbed at how his profiler mind rationalises the little fantasy he invents about Magnus. Of course a woman like that has a lover, he tells himself, how could she not? He's a writer, no, not a writer but an artist. That's how they met, at an exhibition, Will muses, tapping his finger on the steering wheel as he crosses the bridge back into Old City, the shadow of suspension cables flickering across the windscreen. They made chit chat over the canapes, he invited her back to his atelier to see his unfinished works. His box of patisserie sits ignored on the passenger seat and his coffee is cold by the time he gets home.
Later he's unpacking the box and lining up the contents on a shelf in his office when there's a soft knock on his door. He turns to see Magnus giving him that smile and he turns the book over in his hand and rubs his forefinger up the spine.
“The last of your things?” she asks pleasantly, taking a step into the room.
“Hmm yeah, I finally got rid of my apartment so...,” Will hesitates, letting his eyes flick up and down her long, elegant form.
“So....” she says, still smiling. “No turning back. You're mine now Will,” she teases and her lip curls up devilishly and reveals a glimpse of perfect white teeth. Will chuffs out a breath of laughter but its more out of nervousness than amusement although if Magnus realises she doesn't give any indication of it. “Right, well I'll see you at dinner then.”
“Sure,” he replies. “Dinner.” Will watches as she turns and slips away down the hall, his eyes glued to her figure as she walks. When she disappears around a corner he keeps staring down the hall and through the wide bay window at the other end, the blurry lights of New City in the distance.
Title: UG I can't think of a title. Leave any suggestions in the comments!
Fandom: Sanctuary
Rating: PG-13 I guess....
Warnings: Erm....naaah, nothing.
Disclaimer: They're not mine. I'm too poor to bother suing.
Spoilers: Set during Season 1, shortly after Will joins the Sanctuary.
Summary: Everyone likes patisserie, don't they?
Author's Notes: Written for the prompt 'New/Old City'. Essentially ripped off scene from every and any angsty romance movie you've ever seen. Two things I've noticed about me and William is that I tend to write him in the present simple and also that I like to make him a voyeur. Poor lad.
It's a Thursday afternoon and Will finds himself in New City. It's been quiet at the Sanctuary the last week; Ashley took her new bike out and hasn't been home for two days and Henry seems more interested in taking apart old machines and pillaging them for parts than talking so Will figured he'd take the time to head back to his old apartment and finally sort out his junk.
“There's a place for you here, Doctor Zimmerman,” Magnus had said. “If you'd like, that is. No pressure.” She gazed at him across her desk with a mild expression and Will had tapped the tip of his index finger against the arm of his chair and chewed on his lip for all of two seconds before giving her his answer. She'd smiled a dazzling, warm smile at him and although he'd never admit it, Will took a moment to appreciate once more quite how disconcertingly attractive his new boss was.
When he's boxed away the last few items, he stands at the door for a long minute and looks around his apartment one last time. He gives himself a moment to say goodbye, for the sake of giving this part of his life it's psychological due but he already knows he isn't going to miss it. There are other more interesting and more exciting things waiting for him across the bridge in Old City and he's starting to feel he might have found somewhere to call home. It's weird and strange and creepy and wonderful and even though he feels greener than that first year out of the Academy, it's totally utterly worth it. The door clicks closed behind him and he posts the keys into the mailbox downstairs and doesn't look back.
He loads the final box of books into the trunk of his car and wrinkles his nose as he walks around to the driver's side. He's not paying rent now so he's got more disposable income and perhaps he might just get himself something a little nicer to drive. Why not? His new employer just bought her daughter a BMW motorcycle that cost more than he's paid in rent the last two years and it wasn't even her birthday.
As he's driving across the city he stops in the queue of traffic and while he's waiting for the lights to change, peers out of the window at the facade of a cute boho cafe he'd promised Meg he'd take her to for lunch but never had. There are people sitting at tables outside sharing wine and chit chat and when the light goes green, Will cuts up the driver in the lane beside him so he can turn off down a side street and find somewhere to park.
Inside he waits at the counter while they fix him a coffee and pack a slice of a really really nice looking tarte aux framboises into a box for him. He passes the time skimming the lunch menu and though he could really really go for the entrecote he always thinks it's a bit depressing eating out alone and besides, he'd want half a bottle of Cabernet to wash it down with and he's still got to get across the bridge.
Behind him he hears a man talking in rapid French, getting progressively louder and louder. A woman replies in a hushed, hissing voice that tells Will she really doesn't want to be having such a conversation in public. Will doesn't speak much French so the topic of their discussion is mostly lost on him but from the sound of it, the conversation is rapidly turning into an argument. He lifts his head to peruse the selection of spirits on the shelf behind the counter and hears the squeal of chair legs against the tiled floor followed by the rapid click clack of high heels. The bell on the door clangs and then it clatters shut and Will turns his head to see a tall man with a mop of dark hair storming towards the door with a pout on his face.
It's the kind of face that leaves Will indifferent but he knows from experience this it's the kind of face women like. Tall with chiselled almost feline features and pouty lips and so utterly French Will wants to roll his eyes at how tragic it all is. It's hardly a leap for him to assume that Casanova is in the midst of a no doubt dreadfully angst-ridden and tediously cliché lover's tiff with whoever just flounced out of the door.
Will is not in anyway interested in the tawdry goings on of this perfect stranger and it's purely out of the boredom of waiting for his cake that he turns his head the other way to watch through the window as Casanova trots up the sidewalk after his amour. He reaches out and catches her roughly by the arm, her long wavy hair bounces appealingly over her shoulder and when Will sees her face his eyes go wide.
He snaps his head around and hides his face, mortified at the prospect of seeing his new boss in such a situation but more concerned with avoiding the awkwardness of morning meetings if she knew that he had seen. He has a feeling such public displays are anathema to the polished, upright Doctor Magnus, although imagines it's par for the course with her. Even when she's at her most prim, she exudes a warm sensuality that is very, very appealing. Will stares ahead at a bottle of Galliano on the shelf in front of him.
“Thanks,” he says in a loud voice as the barista hands him a white patisserie box, trying to drown out the muffled voices drifting through the window. When the barista rings up his bill, Will sees their warped reflection in the polished brass of the cash register. Casanova pulls her in for a kiss and Will can't stop from snapping his head around in time to see Dr Magnus pull back and slap him hard across the face.
He starts to think he ought to intervene when Casanova grabs her by the shoulders roughly. Magnus reaches up and grabs the collar of his coat hard in an effort to shove him away and Will isn't quite sure what happens next but then they're kissing again and Casanova is pulling her close and hugging her tight.
“Here's your change sir,” the barista says in that disinterested voice of someone who works somewhere so achingly hip and when Will hesitates before extending his palm to take the money, tuts before turning away and disappearing around the bar. Will stares at the pastry box in his hand and grips the coffee cup tightly. The contents are hot and his hand twinges uncomfortably while Will chews his lip and considers his next move but when he turns his head again, heaves a sigh of relief to see the sidewalk is empty.
He's kind of dazed as he makes his way back to the car and a little disturbed at how his profiler mind rationalises the little fantasy he invents about Magnus. Of course a woman like that has a lover, he tells himself, how could she not? He's a writer, no, not a writer but an artist. That's how they met, at an exhibition, Will muses, tapping his finger on the steering wheel as he crosses the bridge back into Old City, the shadow of suspension cables flickering across the windscreen. They made chit chat over the canapes, he invited her back to his atelier to see his unfinished works. His box of patisserie sits ignored on the passenger seat and his coffee is cold by the time he gets home.
Later he's unpacking the box and lining up the contents on a shelf in his office when there's a soft knock on his door. He turns to see Magnus giving him that smile and he turns the book over in his hand and rubs his forefinger up the spine.
“The last of your things?” she asks pleasantly, taking a step into the room.
“Hmm yeah, I finally got rid of my apartment so...,” Will hesitates, letting his eyes flick up and down her long, elegant form.
“So....” she says, still smiling. “No turning back. You're mine now Will,” she teases and her lip curls up devilishly and reveals a glimpse of perfect white teeth. Will chuffs out a breath of laughter but its more out of nervousness than amusement although if Magnus realises she doesn't give any indication of it. “Right, well I'll see you at dinner then.”
“Sure,” he replies. “Dinner.” Will watches as she turns and slips away down the hall, his eyes glued to her figure as she walks. When she disappears around a corner he keeps staring down the hall and through the wide bay window at the other end, the blurry lights of New City in the distance.