Ficlets, Assorted
Over the weekend, reccea tried to kick my writing mojo back in gear by demanding drabbles ficlets. They may not be the fandoms you seek, but they actually turned out pretty well. If I do say so myself. The first four could be from larger stories if I ever get around to writing them, but the last one is pretty standalone.
#1: Fixer-Upper
Fandom: NCIS: LA
Characters: G & Sam (are there other characters...?)
Rating: PG
"This place is a dump," Sam said. "You can't live here."
"Just because it needs some work?" G asked, rounding on his heel to direct that quizzical look at Sam. "You think it's damaged goods?"
"Just because it does not have a roof," Sam pointed out. "I think that a house that does not have a roof is not fit for human habitation. Not even when you're the human. And something tells me the county inspector's gonna agree with me."
"I could build it a roof," G offered. "Maybe even put in some plumbing."
"This place doesn't have plumbing?" Sam asked. "Man. You put on a roof, you put in some plumbing, you put in some electricity and a plasma tv, and then we'll start talking about Superbowl Sunday."
G's attention was on him then, sunny and smiling. "You'll bring the pizza, right?"
Fin
#2: A West Coast Avenger in Prince Arthur's Court (yes, again)
Fandom: Merlin/Iron Man
Characters: Arthur, Merlin, Tony Stark
Rating: PG
"What do we do with him?" Merlin whispered urgently to Arthur.
"We take him back to the castle and throw him in the dungeon," Arthur said without bothering to lower his voice. "It seems to be the best way to break in newcomers. Don't you agree, Merlin?"
"Maybe if the only danger was that he'd be put in the stocks for telling the prince he's a prat." Merlin glanced over his shoulder at the dark-haired man fiddling with his dented helm. "But look at him! Your father will have him executed for sorcery before the sun sets!"
"Don't be an idiot," Arthur said, his gaze shifting to follow Merlin's. "Executions are held at dawn."
"If it's all the same to you," the man named Stark called from where he was working, "I'd rather skip the hanging and just head on back to my own war. So I think I'll just be walking - " He pointed a finger at the road leading away from Camelot. " - that way. Right?"
"First off," Arthur started, swaggering up to Stark, and Merlin sighed in defeat. "The method of execution in Camelot is beheading."
"Then I'm almost certain I want to go the other way," Stark said.
"Secondly," Arthur said, as if Stark hadn't spoken, but Merlin sighed at the note of annoyance that meant Arthur was about to become absolutely insufferable. "It is my duty as the crown prince of Camelot to evaluate and disarm all possibly dangers to the kingdom."
"Yeah, see, that's where we're going to have a little problem," Stark said. And then, as Merlin and Arthur watched, fire came from his boots and he rose up into the air - and just as quickly dropped from the height of Arthur's head. He crashed to the ground in a clatter of armor, and found Arthur's sword tip at his throat. "Well," he said. "Shit."
Fin
#3: The End is the Beginning, or Something
Fandom: Life (set post-finale)
Characters: Reese/Tidwell, Reese/Crews (implied)
Rating: PG-13
In the end, Tidwell went back to New York.
He'd asked Dani to come too, to come with him, to see New York, to maybe stay. To maybe stay with him. She'd said no.
They'd fought and they'd made up, and they fought and made up, and sometimes they just made up without bothering to do the actual fighting, but one night, he said, "Come with me. Be with me. I love you."
And she said, "I love you, too. But I can't leave Charlie." And then there was no more fighting. There was a little bit more making up, and there were a lot of goodbyes, and neither of them said more than two words to Charlie for almost a month.
But in the end, Tidwell went back to New York. And that, it turned out, was just the beginning.
Fin
#4: Doctor's Orders (yes, yes, totally swiped)
Fandom: Star Trek Reboot
Characters: Kirk, McCoy (and some Sulu and Chekov)
Rating: PG
"Take the chair, Bones," Jim invited, standing up and circling around the captain's seat. "C'mon. You know you want to." He patted the backrest invitingly.
McCoy scowled. "Like hell," he shot back. "I'll let you and Spock arm-wrestle over the damn thing."
"You're command-rated," Jim said. "What if there's an emergency? You should have experience commanding a starship. If something should happen to me - "
"Nothing's going to happen to you," McCoy interrupted. "Unless you keep talking nonsense and I have to haul you down to sickbay for a full physical and mental evaluation."
Jim grinned. "What if something happens to Spock while I'm on an away mission? It's an order, Bones. The con is yours. I'm going down to the planet to see how Spock and the scientists are doing with the tree-people."
"I have duties in sickbay," McCoy retorted, realizing with a growing sense of dread that Jim might not actually be joking about this harebrained scheme. "What if one of you ends up breaking out in blood blisters from alien poison ivy?"
"Then it's a good thing we have a doctor in charge," Jim said cheerfully. "Mr. Chekov, make sure Doctor McCoy doesn't work himself into too big of a snit on his first day in the chair, okay?"
"Aye, aye, sir!"
McCoy glared at the kid. He didn't have to sound so goddamned excited about it. Jim waved and stepped into the turbolift, a beatific smile on his too-damned-pretty face. McCoy shifted his glare to the closing doors of the lift, and then around the bridge, making sure everyone was aware of his displeasure at being left on the hook like this.
Everyone made sure to look very studious and busy and McCoy realized pretty damn fast that there was nothing left to do but sit in the damn chair. He stomped measuredly up the steps of the raised platform and glared at the offending piece of furniture. There were a helluva lot of buttons on those armrests.
He settled gingerly in the seat, making sure not to accidentally launch a few photon torpedoes by sticking his elbows in the wrong place. The leather sank with his body weight and the memory gel rose up against his legs, adjusting to the shape of his muscles and settling into the most comfortable and ergonomically beneficial configuration. McCoy scowled and shifted. He was not getting comfortable in the chair.
At the helm, Sulu cleared his throat. "How does it feel, sir?" he asked.
"It's got no damn lumbar support," McCoy barked. "My back'll be a pretzel by the time our esteemed captain gets his ass back on this boat."
He slouched a little lower into the lure of the memory gel and pretended not to hear Chekov's giggle.
Fin
#5: Fever Dreams
Fandom: Star Trek Reboot
Characters: Kirk/McCoy, academy-era
Rating: PG
"You've got the Plebian Rot," Bones said without looking up from his tablet as Jim tried to cough subtly behind his own book.
"I do not," Jim said immediately. "I'm not even a plebe anymore."
"Doesn't matter," Bones replied. "They come in every year, mixing and spreading their far-flung germs, cooking up a nasty viral stew of congestion and fever. You stray too close, and you pick up whatever's on tap today."
Jim scowled across the room. Bones never got sick. He was disgustingly healthy, even though he drank almost as much as Jim and never worked out if he could help it and had the worst attitude of anyone Jim had ever met. Pessimism was supposed to be bad for your health. His mother had told him so.
"I feel fine," he croaked, and jackknifed double in a coughing fit that was lousy enough to bring Bones to his side.
"Yeah," Bones agreed. "I can tell. You got a bridge in New York you want to sell me, too?"
Jim could hear the comforting hum of the tiny diagnostic device Bones circled round his head and closed his eyes.
"Well," Bones said brusquely. "I'm sure someone will have a cure whipped up in a day or two, but in the meantime I'll give you a hypo with a cocktail of decongestants, sedatives, and painkillers to manage your symptoms."
"You're not going to check my fever?" Jim asked, folding his arms into a pillow on his desk and resting his head against his sleeve.
There was a beat of silence and then Bones leaned down and pressed his mouth against Jim's forehead. "Yeah, you got one," he muttered.
Jim smiled, pleased. "I'm lucky my roommate's a doctor," he said innocently, just before the hypospray punched him in the neck. "Ow."
"You're damn spoiled is what you are," Bones complained, gripping his shoulder and shaking him. "Get up. If you want me to sit through that stupid test for you tomorrow, you should get to some sleep and let me finish my lab report."
"Tuck me in?" Jim asked, but his words were already slurring as he let Bones push him toward bed.
"You are the biggest baby," Bones said, but he tucked the blanket up to Jim's ears and turned out the overhead lights. And he checked Jim's fever one more time.
Fin
#1: Fixer-Upper
Fandom: NCIS: LA
Characters: G & Sam (are there other characters...?)
Rating: PG
"This place is a dump," Sam said. "You can't live here."
"Just because it needs some work?" G asked, rounding on his heel to direct that quizzical look at Sam. "You think it's damaged goods?"
"Just because it does not have a roof," Sam pointed out. "I think that a house that does not have a roof is not fit for human habitation. Not even when you're the human. And something tells me the county inspector's gonna agree with me."
"I could build it a roof," G offered. "Maybe even put in some plumbing."
"This place doesn't have plumbing?" Sam asked. "Man. You put on a roof, you put in some plumbing, you put in some electricity and a plasma tv, and then we'll start talking about Superbowl Sunday."
G's attention was on him then, sunny and smiling. "You'll bring the pizza, right?"
Fin
#2: A West Coast Avenger in Prince Arthur's Court (yes, again)
Fandom: Merlin/Iron Man
Characters: Arthur, Merlin, Tony Stark
Rating: PG
"What do we do with him?" Merlin whispered urgently to Arthur.
"We take him back to the castle and throw him in the dungeon," Arthur said without bothering to lower his voice. "It seems to be the best way to break in newcomers. Don't you agree, Merlin?"
"Maybe if the only danger was that he'd be put in the stocks for telling the prince he's a prat." Merlin glanced over his shoulder at the dark-haired man fiddling with his dented helm. "But look at him! Your father will have him executed for sorcery before the sun sets!"
"Don't be an idiot," Arthur said, his gaze shifting to follow Merlin's. "Executions are held at dawn."
"If it's all the same to you," the man named Stark called from where he was working, "I'd rather skip the hanging and just head on back to my own war. So I think I'll just be walking - " He pointed a finger at the road leading away from Camelot. " - that way. Right?"
"First off," Arthur started, swaggering up to Stark, and Merlin sighed in defeat. "The method of execution in Camelot is beheading."
"Then I'm almost certain I want to go the other way," Stark said.
"Secondly," Arthur said, as if Stark hadn't spoken, but Merlin sighed at the note of annoyance that meant Arthur was about to become absolutely insufferable. "It is my duty as the crown prince of Camelot to evaluate and disarm all possibly dangers to the kingdom."
"Yeah, see, that's where we're going to have a little problem," Stark said. And then, as Merlin and Arthur watched, fire came from his boots and he rose up into the air - and just as quickly dropped from the height of Arthur's head. He crashed to the ground in a clatter of armor, and found Arthur's sword tip at his throat. "Well," he said. "Shit."
Fin
#3: The End is the Beginning, or Something
Fandom: Life (set post-finale)
Characters: Reese/Tidwell, Reese/Crews (implied)
Rating: PG-13
In the end, Tidwell went back to New York.
He'd asked Dani to come too, to come with him, to see New York, to maybe stay. To maybe stay with him. She'd said no.
They'd fought and they'd made up, and they fought and made up, and sometimes they just made up without bothering to do the actual fighting, but one night, he said, "Come with me. Be with me. I love you."
And she said, "I love you, too. But I can't leave Charlie." And then there was no more fighting. There was a little bit more making up, and there were a lot of goodbyes, and neither of them said more than two words to Charlie for almost a month.
But in the end, Tidwell went back to New York. And that, it turned out, was just the beginning.
Fin
#4: Doctor's Orders (yes, yes, totally swiped)
Fandom: Star Trek Reboot
Characters: Kirk, McCoy (and some Sulu and Chekov)
Rating: PG
"Take the chair, Bones," Jim invited, standing up and circling around the captain's seat. "C'mon. You know you want to." He patted the backrest invitingly.
McCoy scowled. "Like hell," he shot back. "I'll let you and Spock arm-wrestle over the damn thing."
"You're command-rated," Jim said. "What if there's an emergency? You should have experience commanding a starship. If something should happen to me - "
"Nothing's going to happen to you," McCoy interrupted. "Unless you keep talking nonsense and I have to haul you down to sickbay for a full physical and mental evaluation."
Jim grinned. "What if something happens to Spock while I'm on an away mission? It's an order, Bones. The con is yours. I'm going down to the planet to see how Spock and the scientists are doing with the tree-people."
"I have duties in sickbay," McCoy retorted, realizing with a growing sense of dread that Jim might not actually be joking about this harebrained scheme. "What if one of you ends up breaking out in blood blisters from alien poison ivy?"
"Then it's a good thing we have a doctor in charge," Jim said cheerfully. "Mr. Chekov, make sure Doctor McCoy doesn't work himself into too big of a snit on his first day in the chair, okay?"
"Aye, aye, sir!"
McCoy glared at the kid. He didn't have to sound so goddamned excited about it. Jim waved and stepped into the turbolift, a beatific smile on his too-damned-pretty face. McCoy shifted his glare to the closing doors of the lift, and then around the bridge, making sure everyone was aware of his displeasure at being left on the hook like this.
Everyone made sure to look very studious and busy and McCoy realized pretty damn fast that there was nothing left to do but sit in the damn chair. He stomped measuredly up the steps of the raised platform and glared at the offending piece of furniture. There were a helluva lot of buttons on those armrests.
He settled gingerly in the seat, making sure not to accidentally launch a few photon torpedoes by sticking his elbows in the wrong place. The leather sank with his body weight and the memory gel rose up against his legs, adjusting to the shape of his muscles and settling into the most comfortable and ergonomically beneficial configuration. McCoy scowled and shifted. He was not getting comfortable in the chair.
At the helm, Sulu cleared his throat. "How does it feel, sir?" he asked.
"It's got no damn lumbar support," McCoy barked. "My back'll be a pretzel by the time our esteemed captain gets his ass back on this boat."
He slouched a little lower into the lure of the memory gel and pretended not to hear Chekov's giggle.
Fin
#5: Fever Dreams
Fandom: Star Trek Reboot
Characters: Kirk/McCoy, academy-era
Rating: PG
"You've got the Plebian Rot," Bones said without looking up from his tablet as Jim tried to cough subtly behind his own book.
"I do not," Jim said immediately. "I'm not even a plebe anymore."
"Doesn't matter," Bones replied. "They come in every year, mixing and spreading their far-flung germs, cooking up a nasty viral stew of congestion and fever. You stray too close, and you pick up whatever's on tap today."
Jim scowled across the room. Bones never got sick. He was disgustingly healthy, even though he drank almost as much as Jim and never worked out if he could help it and had the worst attitude of anyone Jim had ever met. Pessimism was supposed to be bad for your health. His mother had told him so.
"I feel fine," he croaked, and jackknifed double in a coughing fit that was lousy enough to bring Bones to his side.
"Yeah," Bones agreed. "I can tell. You got a bridge in New York you want to sell me, too?"
Jim could hear the comforting hum of the tiny diagnostic device Bones circled round his head and closed his eyes.
"Well," Bones said brusquely. "I'm sure someone will have a cure whipped up in a day or two, but in the meantime I'll give you a hypo with a cocktail of decongestants, sedatives, and painkillers to manage your symptoms."
"You're not going to check my fever?" Jim asked, folding his arms into a pillow on his desk and resting his head against his sleeve.
There was a beat of silence and then Bones leaned down and pressed his mouth against Jim's forehead. "Yeah, you got one," he muttered.
Jim smiled, pleased. "I'm lucky my roommate's a doctor," he said innocently, just before the hypospray punched him in the neck. "Ow."
"You're damn spoiled is what you are," Bones complained, gripping his shoulder and shaking him. "Get up. If you want me to sit through that stupid test for you tomorrow, you should get to some sleep and let me finish my lab report."
"Tuck me in?" Jim asked, but his words were already slurring as he let Bones push him toward bed.
"You are the biggest baby," Bones said, but he tucked the blanket up to Jim's ears and turned out the overhead lights. And he checked Jim's fever one more time.
Fin