(no subject)
Title: To Parts Unknown
Fandom: Dead Like Me/Lost
Characters/Pairings: Daisy, Rube, Mason, Roxy, George
Word Count: 862
Rating: PG
Author's Note: For toestastegood
Summary: When everyone else gets yellow and she ends up with some angry shade of lime green she ignores it and sips her coffee.
They all learned their lesson last time. Well, technically, Mason learned it most of all, but it was acknowledged by everyone that colored post-it’s didn’t mean much other than the local office supply store was out of yellow. Not that Daisy imagined people really needed enough post-it’s to run a store out of stock, but she knew very little of offices, other than what she’d seen at Happy Time.
So when everyone else gets yellow and she ends up with some angry shade of lime green she ignores it and sips her coffee.
“Out of yellow again, Rube?” George asks, briefly glancing at the post-it and then back at Rube from across the table.
His attention seems to be mostly on his breakfast, and he barely looks up as he tells her, “No.”
That makes Daisy look up, all sense of security in reason gone in a single word. She clears her throat, getting everyone’s attention but Rube’s and when that doesn’t work she asks, “Excuse me?”
Rube’s eyes rise to meet hers. “Do you have a problem?”
“If they aren’t out of yellow then why is my post-it green?” Her voice is way too clear, contrasting against the absolute silence of everyone else at the table as they wait for an answer.
“Why don’t you read it?” He tells her simply, which would be stupid normally, normally she would’ve already done that, but she had been too busy remarking over the color.
“These are a bunch of numbers.” She tells him, thrusting it forward. He makes no move to take it. “You know I don’t do math.”
He pushes her hand back, clearly unhappy with her invading his personal space and interrupting his breakfast. Boo-hoo for him, she was the one with the messed up post-it. “They are coordinates.”
Which may make sense, but she doesn’t really understand coordinates or where these particular ones are. “Can’t you just write an address?”
“There is no address.”
“Well then how am I supposed to know where to go?” He’s either really stupid or she’s missing something and naturally she’s going to assume it’s the former.
Roxy grabs the post-it out of her hands, rather rudely if you ask her, but she’s glad someone is trying to help her at least. After a moment Roxy hands it back to her, looking at Rube, “Don’t those put her right in the middle of the Pacific Ocean?”
“That they do.”
“Excuse me,” she says again, and from the look Rube gives her she is definitely trying his patience. “I’m all for a nice vacation but don’t you think is just a bit extreme.”
“This is not a vacation. This is a transfer.” He says, a little too easily.
“A transfer?” George asks, her voice loud enough that it attracts a few glances from the other patrons.
“Georgia,” Daisy admonishes, with a faked calm smile, as she turns to address Rube. “This is not how they did it in SoHo.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, you’re not in SoHo.” Really, she thinks, sarcastically, but refrains from saying it, because she actually needs him to explain and the bitchier she gets the more irritated he becomes. “And you were kicked out of SoHo. That’s different.”
As much as she wants to, she can’t argue with that. It’s fact. “So I’m being transferred to an island.”
“Correct.”
“And what is this island called.”
“It doesn’t have a name.”
“Are you playing with me, Rube?” She’s starting to wonder if this isn’t just one big joke for him. He doesn’t look like he’s in a particularly silly mode but perhaps he’s a better actor than she gives credit for. “An unnamed island, random coordinates, off-color post-it’s. Is this some kind of trick?”
“No trick,” he assures, much to her dissatisfaction. “Now you’ll need to fly to Los Angeles and then to Sydney, Australia.” He shoves a ticket across the table.
That she reads. “I thought you said it was an island.”
“I did.”
“Wait, I’m remembering something.” Mason says, out of the blue, the first thing he’s really said all morning surprisingly. Sit back and watch isn’t really his thing. “Didn’t a plane just go down on that route? Oceanic or something.”
“Oceanic Flight 815. Exactly.”
“Aren’t they all dead? Didn’t they find the plane?” Roxy asks.
“They found a plane. But that isn’t the plane. And since they seem to be having a surplus of deaths over there I’ve been advised to send a reaper their way. You’re a reaper.”
“So, not only am I transferring but I’m also going to be crashing?”
“It’s not like it’ll kill you.”
“Crashing into an ocean? The Pacific Ocean?” Rube only nods in response. “No way.”
“I don’t recall it being a question.”
“Why do I have to go?”
“Because someone needs to reap those souls. Unless you want them to all be stuck there.”
She crosses her arms, frustrated but resigned. She wasn’t going to get out of this. “Do I get to transfer back?”
“That isn’t up to me.”
And so, three days later, Daisy Adair, one-time actress, full-time reaper, gets on a plane and waits for signs of turbulence.
---
Title: Worn Out Faces
Fandom: Grey's Anatomy/Lost
Characters/Pairings: Meredith, Jack, briefly Izzie
Word Count: 771
Rating: PG
Author's Note: Written for mad_carrie
Summary: So, on the fifth night, when she is the only one there, when everyone else is either at home or on-shift at the hospital, she makes her way to the back of the bar, to his table, and puts on her best impression of a warm smile. "Do you want some company?"
There’s this man, in the bar, four nights in a row. She’s never seen him before, never, and this bar has practically become a second home to all of them because of it’s proximity to the hospital. But she’s never seen him.
Meredith watches him, sometimes, just out of curiosity. He stays at the same table, toward the back, out of the way of everyone else. He doesn’t talk. To anyone. Ever. And he drinks to get drunk.
He drinks like someone with something they badly want to forget.
So, on the fifth night, when she is the only one there, when everyone else is either at home or on-shift at the hospital, she makes her way to the back of the bar, to his table, and puts on her best impression of a warm smile. “Do you want some company?”
He looks up from what appears to be vodka and his eyes are only slightly glassy. He hasn’t been here that long, not long enough to be anything past buzzed. The dark beard and dark eyes give the impression of someone you wouldn’t want to be messing with in an alley or anywhere actually but there’s something there, a demeanor, a vibe, that he gives off that says looks can be deceiving.
“I just...I see you sitting here and you kind of looked lonely.” She explains, before he can answer. It’s only weird if you make it weird, and she kind of is, but she’s trying not to.
Luckily, he nods his head. “Thanks.”
She takes it as an unspoken invitation and takes the seat across from him, her drink in hand. “You’re not from around here, are you?”
He smiles, a charming smile that she would’ve never seen coming from him. “No, I’m not.”
“Where are you from?” It’s just small talk.
“Los Angeles.”
She nods. “You’re a long way from home.”
“I needed to get away.” His eyes connect with hers from over the table and it’s enough to make her shiver, just a little bit. She thinks she may understand that.
“So is this a vacation or a move?”
“Move. Temporary.”
“Well, welcome to Seattle. I hope you like cold and rainy.” She tells him. No one really does. “So, in order to properly welcome you I would need your name.”
“Jack. Jack Shepherd.” He offers his hand.
She takes it in her own, shaking on, “Meredith Grey.” With a slight pause, a note of hesitation on his last name, she looks to the reason she came over here. “So why this bar? You live around here?”
“Sort of.” Jack shrugs. “It’s near the hospital; I’ve been around them my whole life so it’s kind of a...comfort zone for me.”
“Seattle Grace?” She asks, even if it is the closest to here. Just to make sure. “I work there.”
“You’re a doctor?”
“Yeah.”
“So am I.” Her eyes widen, slightly, surprised by that. She wouldn’t have ever thought he was. “Or I used to. I’m not really practicing.”
“How come?” She hesitates to ask; wonders if the drinking played a part in the past tense.
“Lost my taste for it.” He looks at her, eyes fighting against the dim light. “You don’t know who I am, do you?”
“Should I?”
He laughs, and there’s relief in the melody of it. “No.”
She decides maybe that means he doesn’t want her to, and rather than push she opts to leave that for another night. She has a feeling that this won’t be a one time only thing, the way he’s talking. “Well if you ever feel like getting back into, I’m sure the Chief would be happy to have you.”
“Thanks.” He tells her. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Meredith hears the bells over the door jingle, taking one swift glance over at the door and watching Izzie walk through it, scanning the bar for any sign of friends. She looks back at Jack, thinking it over for a moment.
He seemed harmless. Just a nice man who was having a few problems and probably just needed human contact. People need people, especially in bad times, and so she takes pity on him, and decides, right then and there, to take him under her wing. Dark and twisty is something she knows how to deal with.
“There’s someone I want you to meet.” She finally says, searching his eyes for some agreement, some form of permission, not wanting to scare him away, but, albeit uneasily, he nods. “Iz,” she waves at her friend, catching her eyes after a moment, watching her face light up in recognition, “over here.”