Miscellaneous Wip Amnesty!
YAY! I had some fandom flirtations in my time, but never finished most of them. So, here they are.
”... The Blackbriar “Assets” can no more be held responsible for their actions in these respects than can a gun be brought to trial for murder. We have sentenced those responsible for the murder of citizens both of the United States and other countries that have been enemy, ally, and even neighbour. However, I will not see more pain brought to men and women who were decieved, and whose trust and patriotism were abused.
“I am ordering that psychiatric assistance and medical and financial aid be given to them, until they are capable of living as full fledged citizens of the country they have tried to defend for so long. And that they each be compensated for injuries, losses and traumas inflicted on them by the CIA and NSA.
“Blackbriar is hereby dissolved. All that remains is to root out the remnants and plant new and fresh work where it stood.”
Pam had gone to a tiger breeder's once, almost on a dare. The big cats had been caged both alone and together, and had watched her with eyes half interested, half bored, until their trainers had come in. Then they'd stood, growling to themselves excitedly.
She had left feeling a little like a steak that someone was too full to finish.
Being alone in the Blackbriar halfway house did almost the same thing. Assassins all watching her with blank eyes while “attendants” moved in the background. Men and women of various races and ages who spent days eating reading, exercising and occasionally staring into space. Waiting for assignments that would never come.
They only ever moved, or exhibited any real sign of outside stimulus when she came in, the attendants told her, like the tigers left in their cages. They wanted training. They wanted jobs.
There was no difference, besides the separate rooms, between male and female space. Pam had proposed it early on, and been met with uncomprehending stares. The assets didn't engage in sexual behaviour, they told her. It was a waste of time and energy.
But there was no time or energy to waste here.
No matter. The assets found each other as alien as they did the other people who walked the world, even those who gave them the orders, told them where and when and who to kill. They may have shared the same space, but it was with the courtesy and respect the tigers had given each other, occasionaly deference mixed with distance.
It was a mixed group. Some, like Webb, nearing their forties, a few as young as eighteen. Any decorations or individuality were props, things to indicate a normal life that didn't actually exist. As soon as the dye wore out of hair, or the holes closed where earrings had been, they were left.
I guess I was trying to figure out what the government would do to the remaining "assets" now that the whole thing was public. I'm assuming that they'd do the right thing, since these are American citizens with everyone's eyes on them.
Pam Landy was a favoured character of mine, and I like the idea of her being put in control of these tigers. I had faces and names for all of them, pasts, futures, crossovers, things like that. Then I just walked away and, well, never went back.
Don't get me wrong, I still like the fic. I just haven't found the heart to go back to it.
Later in life,Chad Ashworth decided to tell everyone it happened because someone decided to paint “faggot” on Ryan Evan's door. Ryan told them it was because he was irresistable. Chillax told them it was the E. Jeanie smacked her upside the head.
“Wait, it wasn't about the “E”?”
“Of course it wasn't about the “E”. Chilli doesn't even do “E”. She just likes to scandalize people.”
“Oh.”
“Then how did they... You know?”
“Start having sex with each other?”
“Whoa!”
“Well, it's a long story-”
“And it's our story, so we're going to tell it.”
“Story-stealer.”
“Bitch.”
“Whore.”
“Okay, that'll keep them occupied for a while.”
...........................................................................
Ryan and Chad wound up at the same university by accident, in a strange sort of way. Okay, it actually wasn't that strange. Chad had an athletic scholarship and Ryan would have had a theatrical scholarship, in fact, he had qualified for one, but since his family had more money than god, he'd politely declined.
Sharpey had also been offered a scholarship. She had put on more of a show about declining.
Anyhow, they wound up at the same college, the same dorm, you know the drill. All the makings of a great romantic comedy.
If not for the fact that they barely acknowledged each other. And that wasn't either one;s fault, they just...
College is interesting. New people, new friends, the LGBTA.
Okay, not for Chad. But Ryan never made a secret that he had joined, or that he was gayer than a Neil Gaiman creation on acid.
Chad was rooming with a guy on his basketball team. They had occasional get-togethers, semi-civilized style and he was at one when it came up.
“You know that Evans guy?”
“Yeah. We went to high school together.” He aimed a foam basketball at his door.
“Yeah? Was he a fag then, too?” One of the guys said and brayed loudly.
Chad stared at him, wondering if he'd sprout a tail and ears next.
“Come on, man, that's not cool,” Joey Montoya complained.
“Fuck off, Montoya.” Donkey-boy turned back to Chad. “Well?”
Chad shrugged. “I don't know. Never really paid that much attention to who the guy was fucking.”
It was the coward's way out, but Joey didn't say anything either.
........................................................
Chad was away for the weekend when somebody painted “Faggot” on Ryan's door, in soft, pretty pink. When he got back, Ryan was sticking sparkle-y butterfly stickers on it, and stencilling little flowers around the words.
“At least it's colour appropriate,” Sharpay said, bouncing one of her curls.
“Matches my favourite hat.” Ryan agreed.
Chad just stood there staring for a long time.
When he found the breath to speak, his voice was a little squeaky.
“Who the hell did that?”
“Well, you know, the funny thing about that is, the artist never signed his work.” Ryan said.
“Well, didn't you call someone? The police, the dean?”
The Evans twins gave him identical looks of disgust.
“Because, naturally, societally induced homophobia would be first on their list of things to investigate.”
I loved Ryan in both HS movies, and fell in love with Chad/Ryan when I saw the second film. Again, this is something I keep meaning to go back to, then wince and put aside.
The whole idea was to figure out what being queer would mean to Chad(an admittedly athletic, middle class POC) and Ryan(wealthy, musical, femme, but kept safe by his status, so far) and what that would mean to their friends. Are jocks as bad as they've been painted? Are all musical geeks as accepting as we think? Is paisley ever really in?
I wanted to develop a relationship with them away from their hs friends and their families(except for Troy and Sharpay) and see what it would mean to them to have choices and to see life really open up for them. But of course, I started ROS and it all sort of disappeared.
Zack likes autumn leaves. He likes to jump in them, pick them and glue them to things, put them down people's backs. He likes to glue them into scrapbooks, sometimes. Sometimes he picks them up and just looks at them.
Well, they're aesthetically pleasing. Colourful and in a variety of shapes.
Angela accepts the bouquet he brings in with a smile.
“Thank you, sweetie!”
“Most guys bring flowers.” Hodgins comments, one hand protective, maybe possessive, on Angela's back.
“These were more easily obtained.”
“They're beautiful.” Angela says. Her voice is full and liquid-like.
“And unlike flowers, they don't require water,” Dr. Brennan says, holding up a cup. “Don't let them get on any equipment, Angela.”
The leaves disappear when Angela does. Hodgins goes with them, although he takes a minute to pat Zack on the head. Zack assumes that growing his hair will mitigate that problem.
..............................................
When Booth turns around, murder on his face, Zack points over his shoulder with his thumb and says, “Hodgins told me to.”
Then he runs. He's not stupid and anyone could tell that sticking around for the explosion would be stupid.
So he runs and for some reason he can't stop running and there are trees dropping bright leaves on him and there are trees dropping bright leaves on him and there was a Sergeant Jenks, who followed him into the field the few times they actually needed a forensics anthropologist out there to find out what went wrong and where and how.
When there was a mine, Jenkins kept telling Zack how brave he was and when the mine was disarmed, he gave Zack a candy bar, even though Zack told him he wasn't a kid. Private Shaughnessay looked over her shoulder and laughed at him.
“Sarge does that with all civilians, Addy. Don't take it personal, alright?”
He comes back to the present. He's in a garden, almost on top of the flowers. There are fallen leaves in the path.
...................................
“Zack, I'm not going to kill you.”
He's hiding from Booth by locking the door to one of the labs and not opening it.
“I can always get Bones to give me another key.”
He thinks about that. Dr. Brennan won't like being disturbed for that.
Zack's a real love of mine, even now that he's gotten older and gained a little weight. I wanted to explore his return from Iraq, but I got distracted by "Life" and "Bones" pissed me off, so I wound up forgetting it. I might take bits from it for future stories, but I still have some affection for this.
Matt wakes up to the sound of Mohinder puttering around in the kitchen and rolls over, debating over whether or not to wake up. Finally, his bladder decides for him and he goes from the bathroom to the kitchen, dropping down at the table wearily.
Mohinder sets a plate of what looks like a mutated egg and some green matter in front of him.
Matter. God, before he decided to move in with this Professor X wannabe he never would have thought in terms of matter. It would've just been crap.
“Did you eat anything remotely like vegetables while I was gone?” Mohinder asks.
“Yep.”
“Besides chips.”
“French fries count.” Matt protests, around another yawn.
“Pizza doesn't.” Mohinder says, pointedly.
Molly, the little snitch, giggles as she passes the kitchen, as though she can't feel Matt's glare.
“We're going grocery shopping today.” Mohinder tells him.
Matt slumps and pokes at his egg...thing.
It bounces. Then pops a little.
Jesus.
.......................................
Matt hated grocery stores before he was telepathic. Afterwards, it was like everyday was Christmas and not in the good way.
He said that to Aubrey once, in a check out line, and she made a face at him and said everyone thought that way.
They do. The girl in front of them is seriously considering homicide if the couple ahead of them (a cry against gentrification if she ever saw one) doesn't move their asses like now. The guy behind them is feeling dizzy from all the noise and people. He needs to find a quiet place before his meds stop being effective. The clerk at the sample counter is going to strangle the next kid that wheelies past her and Matt is once more glad he didn't give in to Molly's pleas for a pair of her own.
“Look, asshat, pick a damn margarine and move your fucking cart, would you?” The girl finally snaps and Matt's just grateful she didn't throw her vinegar at them as she'd planned.
“Excuse me?” The male half of the couple glances up at her.
“You heard me.” She motions at their cart, which has been blocking the extremely thin aisle for about five minute(no, exactly five minutes, she's been counting). “Either pick a brand and move on, or get your fucking cart out of the goddamn way. Some of us have shit to do today.”
“Well, there's no reason to be rude.”
The girl laughs. “Okay, Barbie doll, this? This isn't rude. Rude would be me kicking your goddamn cart out of the way.” And telling my mom where she can shove her new husband and just getting up in her face and not taking it anymorewhydidshesaythattomeIhateherhateherhateyoufucking-
Matt jerks back a little, and reaches out, carefully maneuvering the cart so that there's a clear space in the aisle. The girl rushes past, muttering, “Thanks.”
The yuppie couple are still standing there, shocked. He shrugs and drags Mohinder and Molly past them.
In the dairy aisle a kid is wondering why his mother keeps buying stuff he's allergic to and expecting him to eat it. His mother is wondering why he can't just suck it up. The guy whose meds aren't working is hearing voices.
Actually, they're nice voices.
“Look, chocolate ripple ice cream!” Molly is jumping up and down, pointing.
Mohinder stares at it, not shocked, but a little disgusted and Matt misses ice cream, honestly, that's why he grabs it and throws it in the cart, glaring at Mohinder when he would've protested.
...But if I do and they find us, they'll find us, you know they will...
Matt can really only stave off one emotional disaster a day. He moves them on, barely letting Mohinder grab butter, cheese and milk. The voices fade as they move to the baking aisle.
There's a girl there who can bake with the power of her mind and it keeps dancing gleefully in her head as she gathers up ingredients for dishes he can't even pronounce, so while Mohinder and Molly make cookie plans, he watches her dance around with herself.
Then, then, THEN it's the vegetables and a girl holding a bag of potatoes in her arms, wondering if her boyfriend's flirting with the sample girl again, a couple hating each other in a civilized manner(except for the part where she's mentally cutting him to pieces in front of their kids), a little girl lost and a mom wondering where her daughter...
Oh.
He stops the woman, very young and she looks alone.
“Are you missing a little girl?”
She is and she's just four and there's no one else, no one ever, no family, no nothing, just the two of them and if she can just find her-
“I saw a little kid down that way,” He points in the direction of the apples “She looked a little lost.”
The woman rushes off and in a few minutes she rushes back, little girl in tow, falling all over herself to tell him how grateful she is. Matts smiles and wishes she would go away. She does, eventually, but not before he gets a headache and retreats to the bulk section, where he gets a headful of lentil soup recipes from a hippie in high heels and plastic beads.
“Jesus.”
Mohinder finds him there, wishing he'd never heard of raspberries.
“That was very kind of you.”
Matt's surprised Mohinder didn't bring his laptop so he could write it down. Maybe he just whips out a notebook for times like this.
“Not really. Anybody-”
“Would have done it? I rather doubt that.” Mohinder is smiling with almost proprietorial pride, and Matt finds himself smiling back.
Okay, maybe they can get through this.
He thought too soon. They're in the check out line. The cashier is plotting an obscene novel, although the names are familiar, but it's nothing compared to the play the guy ahead of them is writing, with her as the starring role.
Honestly, there were fetishes he didn't need to know about.
I mostly wrote this because I hate crowded stores. I just shut down and turn into a total jerk. So I imagined how bad it would be to a telepath.
It didn't take much imagining.
It's partially laziness keeping me from finishing this. It's also plain rage at the show for what it's done with the characters, the plotline and everything.
So, I'm posting it as part of my sulk.
Johnny Zull met Mike Webster and from there it was basically history.
Except for the part where it completely and totally wasn't, it was just two guys running into each other in the music room after hours and hanging out one being amused by the other, and from there on in it was music, rather than history, and it was friendship, because Johnny had been moved from NY to Ontario following 9/11 and Mike was one of the few people in school to treat him like a regular dude, instead of either the face oif a demon or a saint, depending on your family's politics.
Mike just said, “Hey, you play?”
Johnny, feeling a little uprooted and lost, had said, “Yeah.”
And, yeah, that was it.
..........................................
At first they tried internet jamming, but that didn't work too well, so Johnny wound up not having a band, which blew. It really blew.
Meanwhile, Mike(who was adorable)
Not one of my better ideas. I reset the timeline for early 2002 and transplanted Johnny from "Son Of Interflux" to "I Want To Go Home".
Yeah. It never really went anywhere.
”... The Blackbriar “Assets” can no more be held responsible for their actions in these respects than can a gun be brought to trial for murder. We have sentenced those responsible for the murder of citizens both of the United States and other countries that have been enemy, ally, and even neighbour. However, I will not see more pain brought to men and women who were decieved, and whose trust and patriotism were abused.
“I am ordering that psychiatric assistance and medical and financial aid be given to them, until they are capable of living as full fledged citizens of the country they have tried to defend for so long. And that they each be compensated for injuries, losses and traumas inflicted on them by the CIA and NSA.
“Blackbriar is hereby dissolved. All that remains is to root out the remnants and plant new and fresh work where it stood.”
Pam had gone to a tiger breeder's once, almost on a dare. The big cats had been caged both alone and together, and had watched her with eyes half interested, half bored, until their trainers had come in. Then they'd stood, growling to themselves excitedly.
She had left feeling a little like a steak that someone was too full to finish.
Being alone in the Blackbriar halfway house did almost the same thing. Assassins all watching her with blank eyes while “attendants” moved in the background. Men and women of various races and ages who spent days eating reading, exercising and occasionally staring into space. Waiting for assignments that would never come.
They only ever moved, or exhibited any real sign of outside stimulus when she came in, the attendants told her, like the tigers left in their cages. They wanted training. They wanted jobs.
There was no difference, besides the separate rooms, between male and female space. Pam had proposed it early on, and been met with uncomprehending stares. The assets didn't engage in sexual behaviour, they told her. It was a waste of time and energy.
But there was no time or energy to waste here.
No matter. The assets found each other as alien as they did the other people who walked the world, even those who gave them the orders, told them where and when and who to kill. They may have shared the same space, but it was with the courtesy and respect the tigers had given each other, occasionaly deference mixed with distance.
It was a mixed group. Some, like Webb, nearing their forties, a few as young as eighteen. Any decorations or individuality were props, things to indicate a normal life that didn't actually exist. As soon as the dye wore out of hair, or the holes closed where earrings had been, they were left.
I guess I was trying to figure out what the government would do to the remaining "assets" now that the whole thing was public. I'm assuming that they'd do the right thing, since these are American citizens with everyone's eyes on them.
Pam Landy was a favoured character of mine, and I like the idea of her being put in control of these tigers. I had faces and names for all of them, pasts, futures, crossovers, things like that. Then I just walked away and, well, never went back.
Don't get me wrong, I still like the fic. I just haven't found the heart to go back to it.
Later in life,Chad Ashworth decided to tell everyone it happened because someone decided to paint “faggot” on Ryan Evan's door. Ryan told them it was because he was irresistable. Chillax told them it was the E. Jeanie smacked her upside the head.
“Wait, it wasn't about the “E”?”
“Of course it wasn't about the “E”. Chilli doesn't even do “E”. She just likes to scandalize people.”
“Oh.”
“Then how did they... You know?”
“Start having sex with each other?”
“Whoa!”
“Well, it's a long story-”
“And it's our story, so we're going to tell it.”
“Story-stealer.”
“Bitch.”
“Whore.”
“Okay, that'll keep them occupied for a while.”
...........................................................................
Ryan and Chad wound up at the same university by accident, in a strange sort of way. Okay, it actually wasn't that strange. Chad had an athletic scholarship and Ryan would have had a theatrical scholarship, in fact, he had qualified for one, but since his family had more money than god, he'd politely declined.
Sharpey had also been offered a scholarship. She had put on more of a show about declining.
Anyhow, they wound up at the same college, the same dorm, you know the drill. All the makings of a great romantic comedy.
If not for the fact that they barely acknowledged each other. And that wasn't either one;s fault, they just...
College is interesting. New people, new friends, the LGBTA.
Okay, not for Chad. But Ryan never made a secret that he had joined, or that he was gayer than a Neil Gaiman creation on acid.
Chad was rooming with a guy on his basketball team. They had occasional get-togethers, semi-civilized style and he was at one when it came up.
“You know that Evans guy?”
“Yeah. We went to high school together.” He aimed a foam basketball at his door.
“Yeah? Was he a fag then, too?” One of the guys said and brayed loudly.
Chad stared at him, wondering if he'd sprout a tail and ears next.
“Come on, man, that's not cool,” Joey Montoya complained.
“Fuck off, Montoya.” Donkey-boy turned back to Chad. “Well?”
Chad shrugged. “I don't know. Never really paid that much attention to who the guy was fucking.”
It was the coward's way out, but Joey didn't say anything either.
........................................................
Chad was away for the weekend when somebody painted “Faggot” on Ryan's door, in soft, pretty pink. When he got back, Ryan was sticking sparkle-y butterfly stickers on it, and stencilling little flowers around the words.
“At least it's colour appropriate,” Sharpay said, bouncing one of her curls.
“Matches my favourite hat.” Ryan agreed.
Chad just stood there staring for a long time.
When he found the breath to speak, his voice was a little squeaky.
“Who the hell did that?”
“Well, you know, the funny thing about that is, the artist never signed his work.” Ryan said.
“Well, didn't you call someone? The police, the dean?”
The Evans twins gave him identical looks of disgust.
“Because, naturally, societally induced homophobia would be first on their list of things to investigate.”
I loved Ryan in both HS movies, and fell in love with Chad/Ryan when I saw the second film. Again, this is something I keep meaning to go back to, then wince and put aside.
The whole idea was to figure out what being queer would mean to Chad(an admittedly athletic, middle class POC) and Ryan(wealthy, musical, femme, but kept safe by his status, so far) and what that would mean to their friends. Are jocks as bad as they've been painted? Are all musical geeks as accepting as we think? Is paisley ever really in?
I wanted to develop a relationship with them away from their hs friends and their families(except for Troy and Sharpay) and see what it would mean to them to have choices and to see life really open up for them. But of course, I started ROS and it all sort of disappeared.
Zack likes autumn leaves. He likes to jump in them, pick them and glue them to things, put them down people's backs. He likes to glue them into scrapbooks, sometimes. Sometimes he picks them up and just looks at them.
Well, they're aesthetically pleasing. Colourful and in a variety of shapes.
Angela accepts the bouquet he brings in with a smile.
“Thank you, sweetie!”
“Most guys bring flowers.” Hodgins comments, one hand protective, maybe possessive, on Angela's back.
“These were more easily obtained.”
“They're beautiful.” Angela says. Her voice is full and liquid-like.
“And unlike flowers, they don't require water,” Dr. Brennan says, holding up a cup. “Don't let them get on any equipment, Angela.”
The leaves disappear when Angela does. Hodgins goes with them, although he takes a minute to pat Zack on the head. Zack assumes that growing his hair will mitigate that problem.
..............................................
When Booth turns around, murder on his face, Zack points over his shoulder with his thumb and says, “Hodgins told me to.”
Then he runs. He's not stupid and anyone could tell that sticking around for the explosion would be stupid.
So he runs and for some reason he can't stop running and there are trees dropping bright leaves on him and there are trees dropping bright leaves on him and there was a Sergeant Jenks, who followed him into the field the few times they actually needed a forensics anthropologist out there to find out what went wrong and where and how.
When there was a mine, Jenkins kept telling Zack how brave he was and when the mine was disarmed, he gave Zack a candy bar, even though Zack told him he wasn't a kid. Private Shaughnessay looked over her shoulder and laughed at him.
“Sarge does that with all civilians, Addy. Don't take it personal, alright?”
He comes back to the present. He's in a garden, almost on top of the flowers. There are fallen leaves in the path.
...................................
“Zack, I'm not going to kill you.”
He's hiding from Booth by locking the door to one of the labs and not opening it.
“I can always get Bones to give me another key.”
He thinks about that. Dr. Brennan won't like being disturbed for that.
Zack's a real love of mine, even now that he's gotten older and gained a little weight. I wanted to explore his return from Iraq, but I got distracted by "Life" and "Bones" pissed me off, so I wound up forgetting it. I might take bits from it for future stories, but I still have some affection for this.
Matt wakes up to the sound of Mohinder puttering around in the kitchen and rolls over, debating over whether or not to wake up. Finally, his bladder decides for him and he goes from the bathroom to the kitchen, dropping down at the table wearily.
Mohinder sets a plate of what looks like a mutated egg and some green matter in front of him.
Matter. God, before he decided to move in with this Professor X wannabe he never would have thought in terms of matter. It would've just been crap.
“Did you eat anything remotely like vegetables while I was gone?” Mohinder asks.
“Yep.”
“Besides chips.”
“French fries count.” Matt protests, around another yawn.
“Pizza doesn't.” Mohinder says, pointedly.
Molly, the little snitch, giggles as she passes the kitchen, as though she can't feel Matt's glare.
“We're going grocery shopping today.” Mohinder tells him.
Matt slumps and pokes at his egg...thing.
It bounces. Then pops a little.
Jesus.
.......................................
Matt hated grocery stores before he was telepathic. Afterwards, it was like everyday was Christmas and not in the good way.
He said that to Aubrey once, in a check out line, and she made a face at him and said everyone thought that way.
They do. The girl in front of them is seriously considering homicide if the couple ahead of them (a cry against gentrification if she ever saw one) doesn't move their asses like now. The guy behind them is feeling dizzy from all the noise and people. He needs to find a quiet place before his meds stop being effective. The clerk at the sample counter is going to strangle the next kid that wheelies past her and Matt is once more glad he didn't give in to Molly's pleas for a pair of her own.
“Look, asshat, pick a damn margarine and move your fucking cart, would you?” The girl finally snaps and Matt's just grateful she didn't throw her vinegar at them as she'd planned.
“Excuse me?” The male half of the couple glances up at her.
“You heard me.” She motions at their cart, which has been blocking the extremely thin aisle for about five minute(no, exactly five minutes, she's been counting). “Either pick a brand and move on, or get your fucking cart out of the goddamn way. Some of us have shit to do today.”
“Well, there's no reason to be rude.”
The girl laughs. “Okay, Barbie doll, this? This isn't rude. Rude would be me kicking your goddamn cart out of the way.” And telling my mom where she can shove her new husband and just getting up in her face and not taking it anymorewhydidshesaythattomeIhateherhateherhateyoufucking-
Matt jerks back a little, and reaches out, carefully maneuvering the cart so that there's a clear space in the aisle. The girl rushes past, muttering, “Thanks.”
The yuppie couple are still standing there, shocked. He shrugs and drags Mohinder and Molly past them.
In the dairy aisle a kid is wondering why his mother keeps buying stuff he's allergic to and expecting him to eat it. His mother is wondering why he can't just suck it up. The guy whose meds aren't working is hearing voices.
Actually, they're nice voices.
“Look, chocolate ripple ice cream!” Molly is jumping up and down, pointing.
Mohinder stares at it, not shocked, but a little disgusted and Matt misses ice cream, honestly, that's why he grabs it and throws it in the cart, glaring at Mohinder when he would've protested.
...But if I do and they find us, they'll find us, you know they will...
Matt can really only stave off one emotional disaster a day. He moves them on, barely letting Mohinder grab butter, cheese and milk. The voices fade as they move to the baking aisle.
There's a girl there who can bake with the power of her mind and it keeps dancing gleefully in her head as she gathers up ingredients for dishes he can't even pronounce, so while Mohinder and Molly make cookie plans, he watches her dance around with herself.
Then, then, THEN it's the vegetables and a girl holding a bag of potatoes in her arms, wondering if her boyfriend's flirting with the sample girl again, a couple hating each other in a civilized manner(except for the part where she's mentally cutting him to pieces in front of their kids), a little girl lost and a mom wondering where her daughter...
Oh.
He stops the woman, very young and she looks alone.
“Are you missing a little girl?”
She is and she's just four and there's no one else, no one ever, no family, no nothing, just the two of them and if she can just find her-
“I saw a little kid down that way,” He points in the direction of the apples “She looked a little lost.”
The woman rushes off and in a few minutes she rushes back, little girl in tow, falling all over herself to tell him how grateful she is. Matts smiles and wishes she would go away. She does, eventually, but not before he gets a headache and retreats to the bulk section, where he gets a headful of lentil soup recipes from a hippie in high heels and plastic beads.
“Jesus.”
Mohinder finds him there, wishing he'd never heard of raspberries.
“That was very kind of you.”
Matt's surprised Mohinder didn't bring his laptop so he could write it down. Maybe he just whips out a notebook for times like this.
“Not really. Anybody-”
“Would have done it? I rather doubt that.” Mohinder is smiling with almost proprietorial pride, and Matt finds himself smiling back.
Okay, maybe they can get through this.
He thought too soon. They're in the check out line. The cashier is plotting an obscene novel, although the names are familiar, but it's nothing compared to the play the guy ahead of them is writing, with her as the starring role.
Honestly, there were fetishes he didn't need to know about.
I mostly wrote this because I hate crowded stores. I just shut down and turn into a total jerk. So I imagined how bad it would be to a telepath.
It didn't take much imagining.
It's partially laziness keeping me from finishing this. It's also plain rage at the show for what it's done with the characters, the plotline and everything.
So, I'm posting it as part of my sulk.
Johnny Zull met Mike Webster and from there it was basically history.
Except for the part where it completely and totally wasn't, it was just two guys running into each other in the music room after hours and hanging out one being amused by the other, and from there on in it was music, rather than history, and it was friendship, because Johnny had been moved from NY to Ontario following 9/11 and Mike was one of the few people in school to treat him like a regular dude, instead of either the face oif a demon or a saint, depending on your family's politics.
Mike just said, “Hey, you play?”
Johnny, feeling a little uprooted and lost, had said, “Yeah.”
And, yeah, that was it.
..........................................
At first they tried internet jamming, but that didn't work too well, so Johnny wound up not having a band, which blew. It really blew.
Meanwhile, Mike(who was adorable)
Not one of my better ideas. I reset the timeline for early 2002 and transplanted Johnny from "Son Of Interflux" to "I Want To Go Home".
Yeah. It never really went anywhere.