Ficlet Requests:
For wizefics -
Burn Notice
Eye contact is not something you did in the Westen household. Eye contact meant guilt or pain depending on who you managed to catch the eye of, and Nate doesn’t do well with either. One he drinks away and the other was always on the periphery, laid on Michael’s shoulders until they bowed, but never broke.
Since Michael’s been back in Miami, Nate’s come to learn that eye contact is maybe something he and Michael should have been doing all along. If they had, maybe Nate would have understood why Michael bailed when he did, why he left the way he did. Maybe then Nate wouldn’t have spent as many years hating Michael as he did idolizing him. The thing about eye contact, of course, is that you only see what you want to see. What might be Michael signaling him to lay low and stay out of this is really Michael telling him to run like hell and leave no bullets left in the gun. Nine times out of ten, it’s the first, but sometimes, like this time, Nate’s almost positive that it’s the second.
Of course, if Nate’s wrong, there’s going to be hell to pay - not just from Michael from but Fi and Sam and the Miami-Dade police department and his mother, and Nate’s not even close to sure which one scares him the most.
For indigo419 -
BSG RPF
Jamie looks around the studio lot, watching pieces of the last five years of his life disappear one by one. Things are changing for all of them, right down to the sets. Galactica is nothing but a skeleton, creaky bones that feel as old as Jamie’s own. In some ways, they’re all coming back to Earth, and it feels as foreign in real life as it does in the script.
He says goodbye to people he won’t see again as he crosses the lot. He knows them all by name, works hard to know they. They do the real work; he just shows up, hits his marks, says his line and goes home. He’s glad it’s ending. He’s just not sure he’s glad it’s over.
There’s a farewell party scheduled for next week. The press will be there and they’ll all say the right things until the cameras go, and then they’ll all really say goodbye. Some will stay, and they’ll all see each other again - conventions and Vancouver being the default filming location for Hollywood guarantees that. But it won’t ever be the same.
He pauses outside the trailer, leaning against the cool metal. It’s unseasonably cold for Vancouver, and he shivers, tracing the name on the door before he knocks. Katee opens the door and looks down at him and smiles, nodding once before stepping back so he can come inside. It’s not unusual around here - they all slip and slide through each other’s lives and trailers. Some of them are closer than others, and Jamie’s never been one of those, but there’s sort of a ritual in goodbyes, so no one thinks to say a thing. He’s good at that - making sure there’s never anything for anyone to think to say.
“This is it.” His voice is rougher than he thinks it should be, but that happens sometimes when he’s trying so hard to stay with the flat, American accent. It doesn’t help that this goodbye is the hardest, because the fans want it to be the one that doesn’t happen. He’s not sure why it is, and he’s not sure why he fell into the cliché way back when, but he did and it’s done, and this is done after today. No more goodbyes.
“Two more scenes to film together,” she says, but they both know it’s not the same. She locks the door and he reaches out, his fingers curving around her cheek. She tries to shake her head, shake off his touch. It’s been sex lately, nothing more, and Jamie’s not sure he can let her let it be again. He needs it to mean something if it can’t mean anything anymore. So he strokes his thumb over her cheek and pulls her in, letting her struggle as much as she needs, but not letting her go. “Jamie.” She’s practically begging, her voice pitched high and dangerous with the threat of tears.
“Katee.” He whispers her name before he kisses her and they don’t move for a suspended moment. It’s a simple kiss, nothing deep but more real than they’ve shared in a long time. It’s not long before she breaks, her mouth opening against his and he tastes the heat of her, need as hot as his on her tongue. They walk backwards to the bed, a dance they’ve danced a thousand times, stripping off each other’s clothes so there’s nothing between them - not Kara, not Lee, not Katee, not Jamie - except whispered, hungry, desperate words that say everything but goodbye.
For black_hound -
Hornblower
Hornblower dislikes women on his ships, but tonight he is at the Admiralty - with Lady Barbara - and Bush recognizes that it is a small concession he can make to appease the look on Maria Hornblower’s face as she realizes her husband has left her already though they’ve yet to sail.
He helps her into the jolly boat and rows her out himself, trying to keep an even keel as she turns slightly green, pregnancy and the pitch of the waves disagreeing with each other. He touches her as he helps her up, and he realizes that, save his mother with his sisters, he’s never touched a woman ripe with child, and there is something lush and different about it, even in the simple curve of a back and buttocks.
Not allowing himself to think, Bush guides her around the ship, telling her in simple statements what is what and answering her surprisingly insightful questions. When they reach Hornblower’s cabin, she walks around in silence, touching things as if she might leave something of herself behind for the voyage. She opens the compass that sits on his table and touches it, her smile almost a mockery of the word.
“His true north is anywhere that I am not, isn’t it, Mr. Bush?”
“He loves the service.”
“No.” Maria shakes her head and smiles ruefully, and he can tell the truth of this costs her by the pain in her face and the press of her hand to her swollen stomach. “Well, yes. He loves the service. He loves everything about it, and I cannot compare.”
“No one can,” Bush offers, the words sticking in his throat.
“I think we both know that is not true, Mr. Bush.” She continues to smile, moving away from the compass after shutting it and putting it back to rights, exactly where Hornblower had left it. “He trusts you, doesn’t he? With his ship.”
“As much as anyone, I would suppose. The captain must trust his crew, trust them to at least carry out his orders.” Bush takes a step toward her, the small cabin seeming more crowded as he draws closer.
“He trusts you with everything. Trusts you to do as you must.” She faces him and he can see the acceptance in her gaze, the resigned acknowledgement that this is what it is and no more. Bush reaches out and curves a hand over her breast before he kisses the skin of her neck and tastes her, saying Hornblower’s goodbyes.
Burn Notice
Eye contact is not something you did in the Westen household. Eye contact meant guilt or pain depending on who you managed to catch the eye of, and Nate doesn’t do well with either. One he drinks away and the other was always on the periphery, laid on Michael’s shoulders until they bowed, but never broke.
Since Michael’s been back in Miami, Nate’s come to learn that eye contact is maybe something he and Michael should have been doing all along. If they had, maybe Nate would have understood why Michael bailed when he did, why he left the way he did. Maybe then Nate wouldn’t have spent as many years hating Michael as he did idolizing him. The thing about eye contact, of course, is that you only see what you want to see. What might be Michael signaling him to lay low and stay out of this is really Michael telling him to run like hell and leave no bullets left in the gun. Nine times out of ten, it’s the first, but sometimes, like this time, Nate’s almost positive that it’s the second.
Of course, if Nate’s wrong, there’s going to be hell to pay - not just from Michael from but Fi and Sam and the Miami-Dade police department and his mother, and Nate’s not even close to sure which one scares him the most.
For indigo419 -
BSG RPF
Jamie looks around the studio lot, watching pieces of the last five years of his life disappear one by one. Things are changing for all of them, right down to the sets. Galactica is nothing but a skeleton, creaky bones that feel as old as Jamie’s own. In some ways, they’re all coming back to Earth, and it feels as foreign in real life as it does in the script.
He says goodbye to people he won’t see again as he crosses the lot. He knows them all by name, works hard to know they. They do the real work; he just shows up, hits his marks, says his line and goes home. He’s glad it’s ending. He’s just not sure he’s glad it’s over.
There’s a farewell party scheduled for next week. The press will be there and they’ll all say the right things until the cameras go, and then they’ll all really say goodbye. Some will stay, and they’ll all see each other again - conventions and Vancouver being the default filming location for Hollywood guarantees that. But it won’t ever be the same.
He pauses outside the trailer, leaning against the cool metal. It’s unseasonably cold for Vancouver, and he shivers, tracing the name on the door before he knocks. Katee opens the door and looks down at him and smiles, nodding once before stepping back so he can come inside. It’s not unusual around here - they all slip and slide through each other’s lives and trailers. Some of them are closer than others, and Jamie’s never been one of those, but there’s sort of a ritual in goodbyes, so no one thinks to say a thing. He’s good at that - making sure there’s never anything for anyone to think to say.
“This is it.” His voice is rougher than he thinks it should be, but that happens sometimes when he’s trying so hard to stay with the flat, American accent. It doesn’t help that this goodbye is the hardest, because the fans want it to be the one that doesn’t happen. He’s not sure why it is, and he’s not sure why he fell into the cliché way back when, but he did and it’s done, and this is done after today. No more goodbyes.
“Two more scenes to film together,” she says, but they both know it’s not the same. She locks the door and he reaches out, his fingers curving around her cheek. She tries to shake her head, shake off his touch. It’s been sex lately, nothing more, and Jamie’s not sure he can let her let it be again. He needs it to mean something if it can’t mean anything anymore. So he strokes his thumb over her cheek and pulls her in, letting her struggle as much as she needs, but not letting her go. “Jamie.” She’s practically begging, her voice pitched high and dangerous with the threat of tears.
“Katee.” He whispers her name before he kisses her and they don’t move for a suspended moment. It’s a simple kiss, nothing deep but more real than they’ve shared in a long time. It’s not long before she breaks, her mouth opening against his and he tastes the heat of her, need as hot as his on her tongue. They walk backwards to the bed, a dance they’ve danced a thousand times, stripping off each other’s clothes so there’s nothing between them - not Kara, not Lee, not Katee, not Jamie - except whispered, hungry, desperate words that say everything but goodbye.
For black_hound -
Hornblower
Hornblower dislikes women on his ships, but tonight he is at the Admiralty - with Lady Barbara - and Bush recognizes that it is a small concession he can make to appease the look on Maria Hornblower’s face as she realizes her husband has left her already though they’ve yet to sail.
He helps her into the jolly boat and rows her out himself, trying to keep an even keel as she turns slightly green, pregnancy and the pitch of the waves disagreeing with each other. He touches her as he helps her up, and he realizes that, save his mother with his sisters, he’s never touched a woman ripe with child, and there is something lush and different about it, even in the simple curve of a back and buttocks.
Not allowing himself to think, Bush guides her around the ship, telling her in simple statements what is what and answering her surprisingly insightful questions. When they reach Hornblower’s cabin, she walks around in silence, touching things as if she might leave something of herself behind for the voyage. She opens the compass that sits on his table and touches it, her smile almost a mockery of the word.
“His true north is anywhere that I am not, isn’t it, Mr. Bush?”
“He loves the service.”
“No.” Maria shakes her head and smiles ruefully, and he can tell the truth of this costs her by the pain in her face and the press of her hand to her swollen stomach. “Well, yes. He loves the service. He loves everything about it, and I cannot compare.”
“No one can,” Bush offers, the words sticking in his throat.
“I think we both know that is not true, Mr. Bush.” She continues to smile, moving away from the compass after shutting it and putting it back to rights, exactly where Hornblower had left it. “He trusts you, doesn’t he? With his ship.”
“As much as anyone, I would suppose. The captain must trust his crew, trust them to at least carry out his orders.” Bush takes a step toward her, the small cabin seeming more crowded as he draws closer.
“He trusts you with everything. Trusts you to do as you must.” She faces him and he can see the acceptance in her gaze, the resigned acknowledgement that this is what it is and no more. Bush reaches out and curves a hand over her breast before he kisses the skin of her neck and tastes her, saying Hornblower’s goodbyes.