Hell has frozen over
(Hey, tab, cool.)
I've got fic here. I came back to room last night after a final email check and posting some pictures, and I sat down and wrote some fic. God knows where it came from, as I haven't written a word since May.
(And may I say I think people who don't bring their headphones to the hotspot and yet play music anyway are really, really rude. I'm of a mind to start singing along to my country songs really loudly.)
Anyway, I'm not sure how it is. And if anyone is following along with the Bobby's family's names saga, I think I've come to a resolution - they seem determined that these are their names. But you'll just have to read to find out.
ETA: My touchpad hates me. I touch it, and it jumps back three screens, deleting my complete post. Arg.
Title: Olfaction
Fandom: CSI
Pairing: It's Family!Bobby fic.
Rating: gslash-worthy
Summary: Marcel Proust reflected that "the smell and taste of things remain poised a long time, ready to remind us... the immense edifice of memory."
Author's Note: Alright, Bobby's family, this is it. You better be certain these are your names. I mean, you've been making me look worse than CBS with all this switching.
Olfaction
By Davey
3 October, 2004
Scents were powerful sensations. Truthfully, all sensations can be powerful - sight, touch, taste, sound, all along with smell. The brain has the power to create links between particular sensations - a sound, a scent, a color, a certain food, a certain texture - and a memory. Bobby had always found that he associated scents with his memories more than any other sensation. When he’d learned about the brain in anatomy class, he’d wondered whether his olfactory receptors were stronger than most people’s or if his hippocampus was larger. Not that he really had any way to easily figure out the whys and wherefores of this particular quirk. So he just contented himself with the knowledge that scents could have remarkable power over him.
******************
His Pappy had always smelled of gunpowder and gun oil wrapped up with the scent of his cigars. The first time Bobby had held a gun - his Pappy’s, of course - he recognized the scent as one he already knew intimately, from the great big bear hugs his Pappy had always favored. The relationship between that scent and his grandfather was just as strong thirty years after that initial realization. It served to balance Bobby whenever work in the lab got particularly hectic. He would just take a deep breath and for just a moment he’d be five again, holding that hunting rifle and knowing that his grandfather would teach him everything he wanted to know. And with that one moment’s respite he’d be revitalized, the happy-go-lucky Bobby Dawson everyone knew and loved, the Bobby Dawson he loved to be.
******************
Shaun smelled like sweat when they first met. Not a bad stink, but just the healthy scent of male musk from a night of hard work. He’d been beautiful standing in the pre-dawn light, smelling like...Shaun. Or, rather, that scent which Bobby now identified as Shaun. It was at times a rather unfortunate connection. Shaun would come home from an afternoon pick-up game at the park, having worked up a healthy sweat, and Bobby would want to forget all about work. Shaun would laugh, give him a kiss, and shove him out the door with promises about working up another sweat when Bobby got home in the morning. And Bobby would find himself grinning foolishly all the way to work and into the ballistics lab. Greg would roll his eyes at him over coffee in the break room, making a joking comment about married bliss. The morning that Greg blushed as Nick walked in on the heels of the joke was when Bobby knew he would soon be able to make jokes right back.
******************
When the nurses first placed Sammie into his arms, she smelled like baby powder and warmed milk. Scents that Bobby had once identified merely as “baby smells” instantly became so much more. They were the scents of his daughter, of his and Shaun’s daughter, and he knew that the experience of warming milk on those particular days when he had trouble falling asleep would be forever changed. With that thought in mind, he held his daughter close, kissing her tiny head as Shaun kissed his nape, and just breathed her in.
Fin.
P.S. I hate time differences. It's going to be forever before anyone comments. Le sigh.
I've got fic here. I came back to room last night after a final email check and posting some pictures, and I sat down and wrote some fic. God knows where it came from, as I haven't written a word since May.
(And may I say I think people who don't bring their headphones to the hotspot and yet play music anyway are really, really rude. I'm of a mind to start singing along to my country songs really loudly.)
Anyway, I'm not sure how it is. And if anyone is following along with the Bobby's family's names saga, I think I've come to a resolution - they seem determined that these are their names. But you'll just have to read to find out.
ETA: My touchpad hates me. I touch it, and it jumps back three screens, deleting my complete post. Arg.
Title: Olfaction
Fandom: CSI
Pairing: It's Family!Bobby fic.
Rating: gslash-worthy
Summary: Marcel Proust reflected that "the smell and taste of things remain poised a long time, ready to remind us... the immense edifice of memory."
Author's Note: Alright, Bobby's family, this is it. You better be certain these are your names. I mean, you've been making me look worse than CBS with all this switching.
Olfaction
By Davey
3 October, 2004
Scents were powerful sensations. Truthfully, all sensations can be powerful - sight, touch, taste, sound, all along with smell. The brain has the power to create links between particular sensations - a sound, a scent, a color, a certain food, a certain texture - and a memory. Bobby had always found that he associated scents with his memories more than any other sensation. When he’d learned about the brain in anatomy class, he’d wondered whether his olfactory receptors were stronger than most people’s or if his hippocampus was larger. Not that he really had any way to easily figure out the whys and wherefores of this particular quirk. So he just contented himself with the knowledge that scents could have remarkable power over him.
******************
His Pappy had always smelled of gunpowder and gun oil wrapped up with the scent of his cigars. The first time Bobby had held a gun - his Pappy’s, of course - he recognized the scent as one he already knew intimately, from the great big bear hugs his Pappy had always favored. The relationship between that scent and his grandfather was just as strong thirty years after that initial realization. It served to balance Bobby whenever work in the lab got particularly hectic. He would just take a deep breath and for just a moment he’d be five again, holding that hunting rifle and knowing that his grandfather would teach him everything he wanted to know. And with that one moment’s respite he’d be revitalized, the happy-go-lucky Bobby Dawson everyone knew and loved, the Bobby Dawson he loved to be.
******************
Shaun smelled like sweat when they first met. Not a bad stink, but just the healthy scent of male musk from a night of hard work. He’d been beautiful standing in the pre-dawn light, smelling like...Shaun. Or, rather, that scent which Bobby now identified as Shaun. It was at times a rather unfortunate connection. Shaun would come home from an afternoon pick-up game at the park, having worked up a healthy sweat, and Bobby would want to forget all about work. Shaun would laugh, give him a kiss, and shove him out the door with promises about working up another sweat when Bobby got home in the morning. And Bobby would find himself grinning foolishly all the way to work and into the ballistics lab. Greg would roll his eyes at him over coffee in the break room, making a joking comment about married bliss. The morning that Greg blushed as Nick walked in on the heels of the joke was when Bobby knew he would soon be able to make jokes right back.
******************
When the nurses first placed Sammie into his arms, she smelled like baby powder and warmed milk. Scents that Bobby had once identified merely as “baby smells” instantly became so much more. They were the scents of his daughter, of his and Shaun’s daughter, and he knew that the experience of warming milk on those particular days when he had trouble falling asleep would be forever changed. With that thought in mind, he held his daughter close, kissing her tiny head as Shaun kissed his nape, and just breathed her in.
Fin.
P.S. I hate time differences. It's going to be forever before anyone comments. Le sigh.