FICLETS: Multifandom Post
I present a collection of ficlets written for teffy's brilliant Fic or Treat lovefest.
Disclaimer: I own none of the characters below. I'm not writing for profit. Hoohah.
Warning: Please read at your own risk - I've not bothered my darling beta erin2326 to read these since I wrote them all in comments. Some of the ficlets involve drug use, naughty language, and even a bit of slash, so do read the ratings.
Enjoy!
Title: At Least
Written For: inthevast
Fandom / Characters: Veronica Mars: Veronica, Logan, and Lilly
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~800
Spoilers: None
Summary: Veronica always goes to the rescue.
Veronica picked he way over the broken bottles and bits of rubber from shredded truck tires alongside the road, cursing the day Logan had found the key to his parents' liquor cabinet.
"Why do I always have to be Miss Responsibility?" she hissed through clenched teeth as she scraped something unrecognizable and mushy off of her shoe on what remained of a sign warning people away from the dangerous and rocky beach where so many cars had gone off the PCH into the ocean. "Why do I always have to come and pick their asses up...and on a school night, too!" She clenched her fists as she slid down the slippery stones that led to the beach.
Lilly had called - it had been nearing one a.m. - she was screaming with laughter, but Veronica could make out that her dad's SUV was stuck in the sand, and could she be a dear and come get her?
Veronica had agreed without so much as a second thought, but the second she stole out to her own car - which, technically, she was about to drive illegally, but who was counting? - the sky had opened and buckets of cold rain drenched her to the skin.
The rain stopped as suddenly as it had started, but now she was freezing, wet, and pissed off - and the rain hadn't made the descent to the godforsaken spit of sand below one the PCH's worst curves any easier to get to. And now she had drunk Lilly with an option on drunk-er Logan to contend with.
Finally, after having only skidded about three feet on her ass down the slope, Veronica arrived at the bottom. The SUV was certainly mired in the dirty, silty sand, and Veronica knew she'd have to get Lilly and Logan back to the top before she could get home, dry off, and go back to bed. She cursed.
Lilly saw her first and she bounded across the rocky beach to embrace her with the open display of friendship only becoming of someone so smashed. "'Ronica! What're you doin' here?" she slurred.
Veronica gave her friend a pained look. "Come on, Lilly, let's go home."
"Home?" she asked, incredulous. "I'm neeeeever goin' home. Moms is..." she seemed to search the air for a word before completing her thought with a very succinct, "Bitch!"
"You called me, remember? To come get you?"
Lilly screwed up her face and studied Veronica, and Veronica snapped her fingers. "I'm the one in the middle. Now let's go."
"Go?" Logan had joined them.
Veronica rolled her eyes and took Lilly by the arm. "Yeah, go. Home. Now."
"But, Veronica!" Logan started, petulant. "The party's just..." he trailed off and made a vaguely philosophical gesture.
"It's over," Veronica snapped, coaxing Lilly toward the base of the hill.
"I think," Lilly proclaimed, stumbling and nearly pulling Veronica down onto the wet sand. "I think... I think I'm gonna..." before she could complete her thought, Lilly bent over and retched on the ground, narrowly missing Veronica's sodden, formerly white Keds.
Veronica turned beseechingly towards Logan.
He seemed to waver unsteadily on his feet for a moment before returning to Earth. "I think she's right."
Veronica wasn't clear on which 'she' Logan referred to, but in either case, he stepped forward and lifted Lilly in his arms. With a sigh on gratitude, Veronica led him very slowly to her car.
Once they had laid Lilly in the backseat, Logan sat dutifully in the passenger's seat and she drove them towards Neptune.
She pulled up to Logan's, with the intent of taking Lilly home to her house to spare her the wrath of Celeste Kane the following morning - not that her friend deserved it.
Logan turned and smiled blearily at her. "Thanks, 'Ronica. You're a good..." he trailed off again, focusing on her with one eye closed. Abruptly and without warning, her leaned across the console and kissed her. It was sloppy and tasted horribly of vodka, but...
Veronica pulled away, wiping her mouth and looking at him in horror.
Logan didn't seem to notice. "'Morrow, 'Ronica," he slurred, finally pushing himself out of the vehicle and ambling unsteadily up the wide drive.
Still filled with terror, Veronica glanced into the rearview. Lilly was dead to the world, so she hadn't seen, but... wouldn't she know?
Veronica gulped a breath and started the car once more, piloting it onto the street and towards home.
For even as damp and dismayed as she felt, she couldn't get over the warmth that sloppy, liquor-stained kiss had built within her. She sighed, allowed herself one grin, and then promptly put it out of her mind.
Well, at least she tried.
**
Title: A Little Fall of Rain
Written For: fangirlgonewild
Fandom / Characters: Veronica Mars: Veronica and Logan
Rating: PG
Word Count: ~500
Spoilers: "The Bitch is Back"
Summary: Veronica needs a rescue.
It was raining.
It was that disgustingly lame sort of rain that never even worked itself into real drops - when one went out into it, it was just as if the world was spitting into one's face.
Veronica sighed the deep, beleaguered sigh of someone who had had to walk too far, too long with the world spitting in her face. In fact, she had been walking through the rain - for two long, two wet, two slow miles.
She blew out a weary breath when she finally spotted the service station. It was closed. For good. So much for 4-1-1.
She eyed her cell phone. It was another source of anxiety - she was only about twenty miles north of LA, yet she may as well have been on another planet for all the service her mobile was getting. She shook it, holding it up into the misty air, hoping for another bar to join its solitary mate. She almost smiled when one did - only to see that it had sapped the battery life, leaving the power indicator blinking ominously. Well she hoped there was time and power enough for one call.
But who to call? Her dad was in New York promoting his second book - this one a crime thriller that he'd written all by himself. Piz was home in Seattle where Veronica had left him, probably mending his "broken heart" with his neighbor, Mindy. Wallace was in Chicago with his dad, and Mac was in Denver visiting Parker. Even her own faithful dog wasn't at home to whine at the ringing phone - Veronica had boarded him at a kennel while she visited Piz.
She sat down on a railroad tie left rotting by the road and studied the infernal device growing steadily weaker in her hands. There was only one person she knew in Neptune who would be there if she called... but would he be there for her?
Veronica sighed again, sounding even more put-upon as her sodden hair fell into her eyes.
Holding her breath, she pressed the speed dial button that still stored his number. She waited in agonizing silence as the phone connected, rang once, twice, three times...
"Are you okay?"
Veronica forced herself not to react to his immediate show of concern. Instead, she told the truth. "I'm... I could use your help." She gave him an abbreviated version of what had led her to be sitting alongside the interstate two miles from her car and God only knew how far from anything else.
"I'll be there in an hour. Go back to your car."
"But..." she sputtered. Home was probably two hours away easy, what with LA traffic.
"I'll be there."
Veronica closed her phone, forced down a smile, and started the two mile trek back to her car, feeling suddenly light-hearted.
**
Title: And Again And Again
Written For: afrocurl
Fandom / Characters: Veronica Mars: Veronica and Logan
Rating: PG
Word Count: ~350
Spoilers: None
Summary: Veronica and Logan meet again.
She was wholly unprepared for seeing Logan that unassuming Wednesday evening while she was on assignment in France. He was the furthest thought from her mind to be honest, but when she saw him lounging in typical long-legged sprawl at a Parisian street cafe, the world spun and she nearly dropped her camera.
Instantly, she looked down to assess her wardrobe - a functional khaki-colored skirt that hid her still-shapely calves, an unassuming black tee shirt advertising a band no one had ever heard of save a handful of people she knew from an long assignment in Texas, and battered flip flops. Of course. And him - well he looked as though he'd just walked off a runway. She grimaced, seriously considering the time it might take to get back to her pricey hotel suite on the Champs Elysees to change before he noticed her.
She didn't have time to turn tail and run, because with almost preternatural instinct, he locked eyes with her and she felt incapable of movement.
He grinned - it was a catlike smile, seeming guarded perhaps to those who didn't know him, but Veronica knew that the first words out his mouth would be something uncivil hidden behind a mannerly and polite exterior. She almost cringed, but instead, she forced herself to approach him.
"Logan, what a surprise," she told him honestly, unsure of what to do with her hands. In the end, she offered a handshake.
He grinned at her, seeming to consider the offer, before leaning forward to give her a brief hug. Veronica hated that the contact left her a bit breathless.
"Why a surprise, Veronica? Have you lost all you sleuth superpowers so soon? What was your kryptonite - or is that another think I'm not allowed to ask?"
She cocked an eyebrow at him, making no reply.
"I've been trying to get a hold of you for months," he told her shortly, folding his arms as if shielding himself. "Ben would like to see you before he leaves for school. Don't you think you owe your son at least that?"
**
Title: Drowning
Written For: flinkkamingo3
Fandom / Characters: Veronica Mars and Buffy the Vampire Slayer: Logan and Xander
Rating: PG
Word Count: ~550
Spoilers: Fourth season Buffy and general spoilers for Veronica
Summary: A cracktastic meeting between Logan and Xander.
"Scotch, rocks."
The kid next to him slammed the drink down at an alarming rate, and Xander lifted his eyebrows. He'd worked in enough bars to know women troubles when he saw them.
"Another."
The bartender didn't seem fazed in the least - he poured the drink and slid it across the bar with a glance at Xander, "You ready?"
Xander nodded and pushed what remained of the lukewarm swill toward the barman. As he took it, Xander stopped him. "Hey, I'll have what he's having. A double?"
The barman shrugged indifferently and poured the drink.
Xander shot another glance at the kid. He still had half of his drink, and that was a good sign. Not normally one to befriend strangers in bars - not after the things he'd seen and the people he'd met in them - he felt automatic kinship with the kid. So going against his practical side, he lifted his glass toward him, "To drowning 'em."
The kid looked at him, seemed to consider a moment, then lifted his glass in response. He threw the rest of his drink back. "Amen."
*
Logan grinned. The guy next to him wasn't half as weird as he'd originally thought. He could have chalked it up to the half empty bottle of scotch sitting on the bar between them, but he didn't. Xander was good people.
They'd talked idly about some baseball game on the TV at the end of the bar, had quickly found out that neither one cared a bit about baseball, then segued into a conversation that would have sounded to anyone listening like two very old friends catching up.
He found out Xander had graduated from the infamous Sunnydale High - Logan remembered playing them in soccer when he was in junior high. He also remembered something strange involving a bomb and a - was he right in this? - a big snake?
The guy had moved around a lot, which Logan could relate to, having roamed after his disastrous freshman year at Hearst - he also didn't seem too willing to spill his life story, which Logan liked. He felt the same way. Xander also didn't seem to know who he was - he liked that best.
As the bottle emptied, the conversation drifted to something both had lots of experience with - chicks.
"Damnit," Xander slurred, "They jus' don' know what they want, ya know? It's like... they say they want a nice guy, but then... I dunno. They always go for dark and broody. You know what I mean?"
Logan laughed darkly, lifting his glass. "I know exactly what you mean. And... and it doesn't matter if you treat 'em like the goddamn queen or something - they turn around an' blame you for everything anyway."
"Cheers to that, my friend," Xander toasted again. His smile slipped for a moment. "There was the one girl once... she was like my best friend. It was us against everyone else... and she understood me, you know? We were... we could have been.."
Logan nodded. "I know that feeling, too. What happened to her?"
Xander snorted indelicately. "Lesbian. Freakin' witch."
Logan nodded sympathetically. "Sorry, man."
"And yours. Your friend?"
"Also a witch, dude. She just like..." Logan waved his hand in the negative space between them as if conjuring the girl he'd lost. "She's gone now."
"Dude, chicks, dude. They'll screw up your life."
Logan lifted his glass to that. "To drownin' 'em."
Xander grinned. "Amen."
**
Title: Together
Written For: meagan868
Fandom / Characters: Friday Night Lights: Mr. and Mrs. Coach
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~350
Spoilers: Through 2.04, "Backfire"
Summary: Eric just can't seem to say the right thing.
Tami threw her hands up in complete disgust. "I don't even know why I bother talking to her!"
Eric winced from his position on the sofa. He tended to agree with his wife, but when it came to the rebellious 'her' in question, he had to tread lightly. He'd only just returned to them, and his position in Julie's life was tenuous at best - he knew his wife would love him no matter what, and whatever fight they might have would blow over before bedtime. Julie would also love him forever, he knew, but the awful silent treatment she'd learned from God knew where hurt his heart. So, yeah, he coddled her a bit.
However, he felt the storm brewing the minute he didn't jump to Tami's side of the ever-widening rift between mother and daughter. Eric knew there'd be hell to pay, and as soon as he looked up into his wife's beautiful face, the rain began to fall.
"Well?" she spat. "Aren't you going to say anything?"
Eric opened his mouth to speak - a very dangerous thing, indeed, but he had to say something. "Why don't you just give her a little space, and-" It was the wrong thing to say, clearly, and Tami cut across him, fury writ large across her features.
"Space?" she hissed. "Space! You want to let our sixteen-year-old daughter run wild? Space! I never-"
"Now, you know that's not what I-"
Again, it was the wrong thing to say.
"How do I know, Eric? Huh? You tell me. You've been gone for months and then you waltz back in, and she just clings to you like some damn hero, and I..." Tami sighed and shook her head sadly. "I just don't know what to do anymore."
"Come here," Eric said softly. She seemed to weigh him in her eyes for a moment before sitting stiffly on the sofa beside him. He pulled her close, and she tensed.
"It'll be okay. We'll get through this together."
His wife relaxed against him, burying her face in his shirt and wrapping her arm across his chest.
Finally, he'd said the right thing.
**
Title: Neapolitan
Written For: aoibhe
Fandom / Characters: Pushing Daisies: Ned, Chuck, Olive, and Emerson
Rating: PG
Word Count: ~700
Spoilers: General
Summary: Chuck won't let Ned's birthday pass without a celebration.
Birthdays were not the Piemaker's favorite occasions - at least his were not. Before, presents and birthday cake and balloons had been plentiful, but After, well, there had been little to celebrate.
In recent years, he'd received a single birthday card each year - from his dentist. The cheerless little postcard with a rubber-stamped greeting warned the Piemaker away from spoiling his sweet tooth, but wished him another year of good oral health. Still, a gift was a gift, and each year, Ned stuck the postcard dutifully to his refrigerator with a magnet shaped like a smiling anthropomorphic tooth.
This year, however, that tradition proved disastrous.
"What's this?" Chuck asked, indignantly waving the postcard at him.
"A postcard. From my dentist," Ned explained, feeling inexplicably nervous in the face of Chuck's diminutive wrath.
"It's a birthday card, Ned!" she accused. Then, softer, "Why didn't you tell me?"
Ned shrugged. In that small motion, he explained that birthdays held no joy for him, that the death of his mother, the abandonment of his father, and the relative solitude with which his unique gift required of him left him little reason to celebrate the anniversary of his birth. A slight tilt of Ned's head added that he'd be more than happy to skip it altogether - it even offered to celebrate both or Chuck's birthdays if she could only just forget his. Chuck heard none of these silent pleas and explanations. Chuck only saw a man who needed a birthday party.
And so, not five hours later and with Olive Snook's help, Chuck had blown up thirty three bags of balloons, made four matching paper crowns, and baked a three-layer cake - vanilla on the bottom and top, chocolate in the middle, and strawberry frosting all over. Emerson Cod had knitted a very speedy scarf during the proceedings.
Ned smiled blandly through the entire proceeding, accepting his scarf from Emerson with genuine thanks, a new apron from Olive (one that read 'Kiss the Cook') with a blush and a bow of his head, and a porcelain cow creamer from Chuck with a goofy grin. After he saw his guests out, he sank back against the door with a sigh.
"Please, let's not do that again."
Chuck looked up from where she was wading amongst the multicolored balloons, her cheeks rosy with her exertions during a very competitive game of Pin the Tail on the Donkey, her paper crown slightly askew on her dark curls. She was beaming.
"What?" asked Ned, suddenly suspicious.
"I got you one other thing," she told him, leaning over the couch to lift up a small, brightly wrapped box. The paper was yellow - the Piemaker's favorite color.
He smiled. "You shouldn't have."
"But I did."
He grinned at her for a moment before she prompted him to open his present.
He undid the careful bow and peeled the paper away fastidiously. Ned lifted the lid off the box - nestled inside a heap of yellow tissue paper lay a pair of thick utility gloves.
Ned was puzzled for a moment - sure, he'd changed a fuse or two in his life, but... then realization dawned on him. Ned gulped.
When he looked at Chuck, he saw that she was blushing and chewing her lower lip. Gone was the bravado with which she had given the gift. That emboldened the Piemaker just a enough so he smiled at her.
"Thanks - really. Thank you."
"Well," she said, swallowing hard, "Aren't you going to try them on?"
Ned nodded and hurried to slip the gloves on. They fit snugly as though made for him, and he held his breath as she stepped nearer.
Cautiously, he reached out, his hand hovering an inch from her cheek. Chuck looked straight in his eyes and grasped his hand, guiding in the rest of the way.
And through the stiff fabric that kept her safe, the Piemaker caressed Chucks' cheek for the first time.
**
Title: Sometimes You Lose
Written For: gwendolyngrace
Fandom / Characters: Supernatural: Dean
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~350
Spoilers: General
Summary: The unthinkable happens to Dean Winchester - a woman turns him down.
There weren't too many lines in the Dean Winchester repertoire that did not yield the desired results. In fact, until this very evening, Dean was certain that every line, whether it was a real winner or not, could work provided the proper amount of charm, the correct application of his grin, a well-spun manipulation of the truth or two, and / or the right amount of liquor - not that he generally needed alcohol, that is, but sometimes, he liked chicks to be a little more... pliant.
He reflected on his more recent achievements as he wiped lukewarm Purple Hooter off his face with grim acceptance.
There had been the bad-ass biker chick in Aberdeen. Sam had actually cowered in fear when she strode past them, grabbing a cue from the rack, and inviting herself to their friendly game. Dean had won her over when he told her how adorable he found the little butterfly trailing stars tattooed to her shoulder blade. She'd actually blushed - who knew?
The whip-smart teacher's aide in Poughkeepsie had fallen victim to Dean's falsified background in archeology - not that it was entirely off-base. Dean had seen his share of catacombs and human skeletal remains, and his profession did lend itself to a certain amount of macabre history. Not that it mattered in the end - she really didn't seem to care that much about anything except the living, breathing present when they were finally alone.
Then there had been the sweet little French girl he met while working a case in Madison. He wasn't even entirely sure she understood him, but when they were finally behind the locked doors of her apartment, her delighted squeals translated into any language.
Dean was good at what he did. He enjoyed himself, and he made sure the women he took to bed did as well. Point of fact, he was probably too good - but that didn't make a failure sting any less.
Oh, well. From now on, he'd know never to compliment a woman on her shoes and then offer to screw her in the bathroom.
**
Title: The Power of Suggestion
Written For: doomette
Fandom / Characters: Harry Potter: Harry and Draco
Rating: PG-13 (it's vaguely slashy)
Word Count: ~250
Spoilers: General
Summary: Harry needs a little consolation following detention.
Harry walked out of the dungeon storeroom, his back aching from climbing down into narrow holes in the floor in search of dusty potion bottles, half of which were mislabeled. His hands and arms were cut, some of them still weeping fresh blood, but Harry was too tired, too weary to wipe it away. He just trudged toward the stone staircase that would eventually carry him towards the blissful respite of his bed.
As he turned the corner, he spotted Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle turning an opposing corner and groaned. Not this, not now... please...
But Malfoy wouldn't let him pass - no surprise there. "Potter," he spat, his voice dripping venom, "How was your detention? I hope Professor Snape made it worth his while, having your scrawny ass to whip across his knee."
"Poor Snape," Harry retorted, the picture of nonchalance, "He complained the entire time to me how much he missed your ass in his lap."
Crabbe made the mistake of sniggering and Malfoy whirled on him. He didn't even have to speak, as Goyle grabbed his friend's arm and hauled him away down the hall.
Malfoy sneered at his thugs going to opposite way, and as soon as their retreat was total, he turned back to Harry with a sly grin. "You'll pay for that later, you know."
Harry grinned in response, brushing subtly against him as he made for the staircase. "I can hardly wait."
**
Title: All's Fair
Written For: heartfelt_angel
Fandom / Characters: Doctor Who: Ten and Rose
Rating: PG
Word Count: ~150
Spoilers: General
Summary: Rose and the Doctor while away the hours (they do not confer with the flowers, however.)
"You're dreadful at this."
Rose frowned. "No I'm not."
The Doctor cocked his head, crossed his eyes, and stuck out his tongue. Rose blinked.
"Damn!"
"See, I told you. You're terrible."
Rose sighed. "Well I'd probably be better if I'd been practicing for 900 years."
"I have not been..."
"Oh don't lie!"
He looked sheepish for a moment then grinned brightly. "Let's play another game!"
Rose groaned. "We have the whole of time and space at our fingertips, but you want to play board games?"
He shrugged, already opening and closing cabinets in rapid succession in search of more things to join the rapidly growing pile of discarded distractions on the floor.
"Clue?"
"No."
"Scrabble?"
"Very no."
"Monopoly?"
"Uh-uh."
"Ooooh... Trivial Pursuit!"
"No way!"
The Doctor grumbled. Then he turned around holding a box of Chinese checkers. He lifted his eyebrows in question.
Rose bit back a grin and nodded.
They played long into the night - and Rose won every game.
**
Title: Someplace New
Written For: elethoniel
Fandom / Characters: Doctor Who: Ten and Rose
Rating: PG
Word Count: ~300
Spoilers: General
Rose skirted a fallen fir daintily as the Doctor bounded over its branches into a clearing.
"See? Just as promised! Somewhere entirely new, somewhere I've never even been!"
Rose looked around skeptically. There were trees as far as she could see, but they weren't purple or orange or glittering or talking - they were just trees. She bit down on her lip, trying to hide her obvious disappointment.
"...and I think the closest star is only 150 million kilometres from hear, which, remarkably, is just about the same distance as your Earth is from your Sun - give or take a few metres. The atmosphere is..." he sniffed the air, considered, then went on, "mostly oxygen. Ish. And the largest population on the planet is..."
"Ouch!" Rose cried, slapping her arm.
The Doctor grinned. "Anopheles gambiae."
Rose arched an eyebrow. "Felt like a mosquito."
The Doctor looked sheepish, and Rose sighed. "It was a mosquito, wasn't it?"
He hunched his shoulders, his expression wounded. "Well, you said you wanted to go somewhere I'd never been. I've never been here."
Rose felt a pang for making him frown. "Come on then, what else has this place got? Maybe a few secret underground caves filled with banana groves?" The Doctor didn't look up. "Maybe a man-eating dragon named Harriet?" Still nothing. Rose elbowed him gently. "How about puppy farm where they raise dogs with no noses?" That earned her a laugh, and he hooked his arm through hers quite unexpectedly. With a gallant sweep of his free hand, he encompassed the humid forest around them.
"Come on, Rose Tyler, I will impress you yet."
As she let him lead her, listening to him prattle on about flora, fauna, and anything that caught his eye, Rose grinned. She'd never let on that he already had impressed her long ago.
**
Title: The White Rose and the Nightingale
Written For: teffy
Fandom / Characters: Doctor Who: Nine and Rose
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~700
Spoilers: General
Summary: Rose listens to a storyteller's tale.
Rose sighed and settled deeper into the sumptuous cushions on the common room floor. She'd secreted herself out of the seraglio to find the Doctor and had happened upon him listening to the court storyteller. The Naqqal's voice was hypnotic, and along with the hookah smoke that filled the room and the sweet scent of burning opium, Rose was lulled into a trance at the Doctor's side. She decided she never wanted to leave Persia - even if that meant living as a handmaiden to the khanum in the seraglio.
The Naqqal went on with the tale he'd only just begun. "The Royal menagerie housed many exotic birds, bright and vivid of color, gifted of song, all truly a glory to behold. One of the royal birds was a Nightingale - he lived amongst the prettier birds as a wretch, for where they sang pretty lullabies, he could only chirp, and where they shone in glossy hues of the most fantastic jewels, his feathers were dull and dun.
"One night, when the stars were plentiful and the moon full, the Nightingale spied a White Rose climbing the Palace wall. He was mesmerized by her velvety, pristine petals and her freedom, for he had lived his whole life behind bars. For the first time in his life, He sang out to Her, high and sweet, low and long, mournfully and soulfully - the sound was so tragic, anyone who heard it cried in their dreams. But the Rose was unmoved. She did not open her petals to drink in the sad song, and that only made the Nightingale's song more plaintive."
Rose blinked back the tears pricking at her lids, suddenly full of sorrow for the Nightingale. How could anyone be so cruel to miss such a song? Rose felt as though she could hear the notes in her mind, pitiable and filled with terrible longing, but all the more beautiful for their sadness.
"Night after night, the Nightingale sang for the Rose, but it was for naught. The Rose never opened to him. She did, however, grow higher with every rising sun, and one day, she perched herself at the top of the wall."
Rose clasped her hands to her breast, as she was so thoroughly caught up in the tale, she felt her heart crying for a happy ending for the Nightingale. She leaned forward in anticipation of the Naqqal's next words, ignorant of the peculiar look the Doctor gave her.
"The Nightingale sang for all He was worth, and the other birds turned to look in awe as he pressed himself to the very top of the cage bars, struggling furiously against them. At last, the Nightingale grasped the Rose and pulled her near, singing out his joy in high, crisp wonderful tones. The other birds in the menagerie only had a moment to feel jealous of the Nightingale's singular passion before He fell to the floor of the cage.
"There the Nightingale lay, pierced through the heart by one cruel thorn, never to sing again. One proud peacock, humbled by the display, looked up to berate the wicked Rose who had taken the Nightingale from them. He squawked in undignified horror - the White Rose had turned Red."
Rose shuddered and fell back against the cushions, utterly bereft at the unhappy turn the tale had taken. Her cheeks were wet, and she could feel her tears running down her jaw. She couldn't even gain sufficient control over her hands to wipe her tears away - she felt as though she'd never be happy again. She desperately wanted to leave Persia.
Then she felt a cool touch on her wet face. Thought bleary eyes and watery mind, she saw the Doctor wiping away her tears.
"Come on, Rose. I think it's time we left."
And though her heart was pained, she clutched him to her breast, smiling into his shoulder.
"I won't die that way, will I?" she whispered. More confidently, she said, "I won't."
"No, Rose," he assured her, his voice unusually thick, "You won't."
**
Title: To Take Care
Written For: sea0tter12
Fandom / Characters: Doctor Who: Ten and Rose
Rating: PG
Word Count: ~1300
Spoilers: General
Summary: The Doctor falls ill, and Rose finds help.
They'd had either landed much too hard or they hand landed on solid marble... either way, Rose wasn't looking forward to venturing out of the TARDIS' doors.
"Just... Rose... find... people... medi...medi..." With that, the Doctor's brown eyes rolled back and he collapsed onto the console. The TARDIS hum quieted completely, and that frighted Rose almost as much as the sight of the Doctor with a fever. Even as hot as he appeared to be - sweat had broken out on his pale forehead and his eyes were overbright - he still felt relatively cool to her touch, and Rose had no idea what to do for him. Whatever was wrong had come on so suddenly, he hadn't had time to tell her what to do. He'd just told her to trust him, and then he was on his knees, crying out in pain. All she could do was stroke his back as he lay whimpering while the TARDIS flew unsteadily toward some fixed point of her own devise.
Still, as afraid as she was, she was unwilling to let him die on the floor - not that she really expected him to die that is, but she'd only just gotten used to the buoyant, brown-haired version of her Doctor, and she was unwilling to let him go so easily.
"Come on," she coaxed, gentling him to his feet. He was barely lucid as she half-dragged, half-carried him out the door. They were somewhere that didn't appear very alien in landscape, but that meant little. And not one to idly enjoy scenery while supporting a sick, sick man, she set out in the first direction her gut told her to go.
She followed the edge of a dense wood, hoping against hope to find some civilization. Why they couldn't have landed on the rooftop of a hospital was beyond her, but she didn't have time to over-think it. The Doctor, for his slight weight, was growing very heavy indeed.
Instinct guided her downhill and toward water - something primal inside her must have guessed that'd be the most likely place for a settlement to lay down roots. She was not very far off the mark when she finally saw a plume of smoke on the horizon, and within an hour, she saw a group of caravans and tents set up on the bank of a wide river.
Rose almost cried out in relief as two people - human at least in appearance - rushed toward her.
"He's hurt?" inquired a slight girl.
"Sick," Rose gasped.
"Chavo! Help her! Love of God, can't you see she cannot support him!" the girl snapped.
The boy hurried to Rose's side, and though her was thin and stood a head shorter the Rose, he took the Doctor's weight easily.
"Take him to Elena." When he faltered a moment, wide-eyed with terror, the girl prompted, "Now, you little mongrel!"
The girl turned back to Rose who began to follow. She grasped Rose's arms to stop her. "You mustn't go into camp in such... garments." She apprised Rose's jeans and jumper with a look of distaste. "Come, I will give what I can."
Rose started to protest, but the girl shook her head. "He is with Elena, learned in medicine as she is, now. God will guide her hand in mending him."
*
It was almost three weeks and the Doctor's fever still hadn't broken, and in those three weeks, Rose got a crash course in Romany lifestyle. Her fingers had bled from pounding out grain from dawn 'til midday, she was fairly sure she'd never eat chicken again after having seen one flop around after it's head was removed, and dark circles appeared under her eyes from spending most of her nights watching over the Doctor until she passed out from sheer exhaustion.
The Gypsies were not without entertainment - nightly, they held bonfires where they played music, danced, and told stories. One night, Rose felt she couldn't stay away from their hospitality any longer, and she left the Doctor's at the behest of the girl who'd helped her the first night, Violca.
Violca led Rose to the fire. The Gypsies were dancing wildly, singing Romany chants, and making up rhymes on the spot. There were so many colors and scents, for a moment, Rose was caught up in swirling sights and sounds, laughing and clapping along.
Mirela, the camp's mystic in residence stood and went to the fire. A hush fell over the crowd - Rose knew what to expect from the whisperings she'd heard around camp while she worked alongside the Romany women. It was said that when Mirela chose to speak at the bonfire, she made exactly one prediction - one prediction that never failed to come true. Rose was so caught up, she waited with bated breath to see for whom the future would be told. To her utter surprise, Mirela bent before her and took her hand, turning it palm up.
Mirela's fingers traced Rose's hand so lightly, she shuddered - at last that's to what she attributed the eerie feeling that crept over her.
In a singsong voice, one so low, Rose strained to hear, Mirela said:
"One heart to two,
Three hearts combined.
Light and death, life once more just begun -
separation is destined,
three become two and one."
Mirela dropped Rose's hand and stared somberly at her. The Gypsy reached out and brushed a blonde lock away from Rose's eyes. "Child, you are far from home, and you'll end even farther." The Gypsy dropped her hand and turned away - all at once, the camp let go a deep breath.
Violca and a few of the others rushed to her side, but Rose shook them off and fled from the fireside.
When she reached the Doctor's bedside, he awoke and blinked up at her.
"Hello," he said, his voice hoarse, but steady. The Doctor was already grinning, and Rose wept at the sight of his healthy glow.
"Hello," she answered, flinging her arms around him. "Welcome back."
*
They left the next day as the Gypsies began to decamp. The Gypsies sent them off in high Romany style, draping them in garlands of wildflowers and cheap baubles, and Rose and the Doctor offered all they had in their pockets as payment. The Gypsies refused the paper money, but kept the loose coins they had between them, the odd buttons and loose wires the Doctor came up with, and Rose's driver's licence.
The walk back to the TARDIS was strangely silent after Rose's vivid life among the Gypsies. Inside, the ship greeted them with warm, welcoming light and the distinct hum of a healthy engine.
The Doctor set about flipping switches and turning knobs.
"Where to, Rose? Come on... give me a challenge... there's got to be somewhere you've wanted to go! Where ever you want! We could go to Maurya - it has these mountain, Rose - Rose?"
She stood, her back to him, trying to keep still as sobs wracked her weary body. Before she could stop the tears, he had her wrapped in his arms. He felt even thinner under his bulky coat, but it didn't stop Rose from clinging to him.
He whispered platitudes to her until she calmed enough to tell him what the mystic had said.
He held her at arms length, but she could see the conflict in his eyes even as he assured her it wasn't true. There had been a grain of truth the the woman's prophecy, of that Rose was certain.
Too weary to walk away, and too tired to stand on her own power, she let the Doctor lead her to the jump seat. He covered her with his coat, combed the hair out of her eyes, watched her until she slept.
"I won't let it happen, Rose," he promised her softly after her eyes were closed. "I won't."
And with that he steered them somewhere safe, somewhere where she could rest and forget - he steered them home.
**
Disclaimer: I own none of the characters below. I'm not writing for profit. Hoohah.
Warning: Please read at your own risk - I've not bothered my darling beta erin2326 to read these since I wrote them all in comments. Some of the ficlets involve drug use, naughty language, and even a bit of slash, so do read the ratings.
Enjoy!
Title: At Least
Written For: inthevast
Fandom / Characters: Veronica Mars: Veronica, Logan, and Lilly
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~800
Spoilers: None
Summary: Veronica always goes to the rescue.
Veronica picked he way over the broken bottles and bits of rubber from shredded truck tires alongside the road, cursing the day Logan had found the key to his parents' liquor cabinet.
"Why do I always have to be Miss Responsibility?" she hissed through clenched teeth as she scraped something unrecognizable and mushy off of her shoe on what remained of a sign warning people away from the dangerous and rocky beach where so many cars had gone off the PCH into the ocean. "Why do I always have to come and pick their asses up...and on a school night, too!" She clenched her fists as she slid down the slippery stones that led to the beach.
Lilly had called - it had been nearing one a.m. - she was screaming with laughter, but Veronica could make out that her dad's SUV was stuck in the sand, and could she be a dear and come get her?
Veronica had agreed without so much as a second thought, but the second she stole out to her own car - which, technically, she was about to drive illegally, but who was counting? - the sky had opened and buckets of cold rain drenched her to the skin.
The rain stopped as suddenly as it had started, but now she was freezing, wet, and pissed off - and the rain hadn't made the descent to the godforsaken spit of sand below one the PCH's worst curves any easier to get to. And now she had drunk Lilly with an option on drunk-er Logan to contend with.
Finally, after having only skidded about three feet on her ass down the slope, Veronica arrived at the bottom. The SUV was certainly mired in the dirty, silty sand, and Veronica knew she'd have to get Lilly and Logan back to the top before she could get home, dry off, and go back to bed. She cursed.
Lilly saw her first and she bounded across the rocky beach to embrace her with the open display of friendship only becoming of someone so smashed. "'Ronica! What're you doin' here?" she slurred.
Veronica gave her friend a pained look. "Come on, Lilly, let's go home."
"Home?" she asked, incredulous. "I'm neeeeever goin' home. Moms is..." she seemed to search the air for a word before completing her thought with a very succinct, "Bitch!"
"You called me, remember? To come get you?"
Lilly screwed up her face and studied Veronica, and Veronica snapped her fingers. "I'm the one in the middle. Now let's go."
"Go?" Logan had joined them.
Veronica rolled her eyes and took Lilly by the arm. "Yeah, go. Home. Now."
"But, Veronica!" Logan started, petulant. "The party's just..." he trailed off and made a vaguely philosophical gesture.
"It's over," Veronica snapped, coaxing Lilly toward the base of the hill.
"I think," Lilly proclaimed, stumbling and nearly pulling Veronica down onto the wet sand. "I think... I think I'm gonna..." before she could complete her thought, Lilly bent over and retched on the ground, narrowly missing Veronica's sodden, formerly white Keds.
Veronica turned beseechingly towards Logan.
He seemed to waver unsteadily on his feet for a moment before returning to Earth. "I think she's right."
Veronica wasn't clear on which 'she' Logan referred to, but in either case, he stepped forward and lifted Lilly in his arms. With a sigh on gratitude, Veronica led him very slowly to her car.
Once they had laid Lilly in the backseat, Logan sat dutifully in the passenger's seat and she drove them towards Neptune.
She pulled up to Logan's, with the intent of taking Lilly home to her house to spare her the wrath of Celeste Kane the following morning - not that her friend deserved it.
Logan turned and smiled blearily at her. "Thanks, 'Ronica. You're a good..." he trailed off again, focusing on her with one eye closed. Abruptly and without warning, her leaned across the console and kissed her. It was sloppy and tasted horribly of vodka, but...
Veronica pulled away, wiping her mouth and looking at him in horror.
Logan didn't seem to notice. "'Morrow, 'Ronica," he slurred, finally pushing himself out of the vehicle and ambling unsteadily up the wide drive.
Still filled with terror, Veronica glanced into the rearview. Lilly was dead to the world, so she hadn't seen, but... wouldn't she know?
Veronica gulped a breath and started the car once more, piloting it onto the street and towards home.
For even as damp and dismayed as she felt, she couldn't get over the warmth that sloppy, liquor-stained kiss had built within her. She sighed, allowed herself one grin, and then promptly put it out of her mind.
Well, at least she tried.
**
Title: A Little Fall of Rain
Written For: fangirlgonewild
Fandom / Characters: Veronica Mars: Veronica and Logan
Rating: PG
Word Count: ~500
Spoilers: "The Bitch is Back"
Summary: Veronica needs a rescue.
It was raining.
It was that disgustingly lame sort of rain that never even worked itself into real drops - when one went out into it, it was just as if the world was spitting into one's face.
Veronica sighed the deep, beleaguered sigh of someone who had had to walk too far, too long with the world spitting in her face. In fact, she had been walking through the rain - for two long, two wet, two slow miles.
She blew out a weary breath when she finally spotted the service station. It was closed. For good. So much for 4-1-1.
She eyed her cell phone. It was another source of anxiety - she was only about twenty miles north of LA, yet she may as well have been on another planet for all the service her mobile was getting. She shook it, holding it up into the misty air, hoping for another bar to join its solitary mate. She almost smiled when one did - only to see that it had sapped the battery life, leaving the power indicator blinking ominously. Well she hoped there was time and power enough for one call.
But who to call? Her dad was in New York promoting his second book - this one a crime thriller that he'd written all by himself. Piz was home in Seattle where Veronica had left him, probably mending his "broken heart" with his neighbor, Mindy. Wallace was in Chicago with his dad, and Mac was in Denver visiting Parker. Even her own faithful dog wasn't at home to whine at the ringing phone - Veronica had boarded him at a kennel while she visited Piz.
She sat down on a railroad tie left rotting by the road and studied the infernal device growing steadily weaker in her hands. There was only one person she knew in Neptune who would be there if she called... but would he be there for her?
Veronica sighed again, sounding even more put-upon as her sodden hair fell into her eyes.
Holding her breath, she pressed the speed dial button that still stored his number. She waited in agonizing silence as the phone connected, rang once, twice, three times...
"Are you okay?"
Veronica forced herself not to react to his immediate show of concern. Instead, she told the truth. "I'm... I could use your help." She gave him an abbreviated version of what had led her to be sitting alongside the interstate two miles from her car and God only knew how far from anything else.
"I'll be there in an hour. Go back to your car."
"But..." she sputtered. Home was probably two hours away easy, what with LA traffic.
"I'll be there."
Veronica closed her phone, forced down a smile, and started the two mile trek back to her car, feeling suddenly light-hearted.
**
Title: And Again And Again
Written For: afrocurl
Fandom / Characters: Veronica Mars: Veronica and Logan
Rating: PG
Word Count: ~350
Spoilers: None
Summary: Veronica and Logan meet again.
She was wholly unprepared for seeing Logan that unassuming Wednesday evening while she was on assignment in France. He was the furthest thought from her mind to be honest, but when she saw him lounging in typical long-legged sprawl at a Parisian street cafe, the world spun and she nearly dropped her camera.
Instantly, she looked down to assess her wardrobe - a functional khaki-colored skirt that hid her still-shapely calves, an unassuming black tee shirt advertising a band no one had ever heard of save a handful of people she knew from an long assignment in Texas, and battered flip flops. Of course. And him - well he looked as though he'd just walked off a runway. She grimaced, seriously considering the time it might take to get back to her pricey hotel suite on the Champs Elysees to change before he noticed her.
She didn't have time to turn tail and run, because with almost preternatural instinct, he locked eyes with her and she felt incapable of movement.
He grinned - it was a catlike smile, seeming guarded perhaps to those who didn't know him, but Veronica knew that the first words out his mouth would be something uncivil hidden behind a mannerly and polite exterior. She almost cringed, but instead, she forced herself to approach him.
"Logan, what a surprise," she told him honestly, unsure of what to do with her hands. In the end, she offered a handshake.
He grinned at her, seeming to consider the offer, before leaning forward to give her a brief hug. Veronica hated that the contact left her a bit breathless.
"Why a surprise, Veronica? Have you lost all you sleuth superpowers so soon? What was your kryptonite - or is that another think I'm not allowed to ask?"
She cocked an eyebrow at him, making no reply.
"I've been trying to get a hold of you for months," he told her shortly, folding his arms as if shielding himself. "Ben would like to see you before he leaves for school. Don't you think you owe your son at least that?"
**
Title: Drowning
Written For: flinkkamingo3
Fandom / Characters: Veronica Mars and Buffy the Vampire Slayer: Logan and Xander
Rating: PG
Word Count: ~550
Spoilers: Fourth season Buffy and general spoilers for Veronica
Summary: A cracktastic meeting between Logan and Xander.
"Scotch, rocks."
The kid next to him slammed the drink down at an alarming rate, and Xander lifted his eyebrows. He'd worked in enough bars to know women troubles when he saw them.
"Another."
The bartender didn't seem fazed in the least - he poured the drink and slid it across the bar with a glance at Xander, "You ready?"
Xander nodded and pushed what remained of the lukewarm swill toward the barman. As he took it, Xander stopped him. "Hey, I'll have what he's having. A double?"
The barman shrugged indifferently and poured the drink.
Xander shot another glance at the kid. He still had half of his drink, and that was a good sign. Not normally one to befriend strangers in bars - not after the things he'd seen and the people he'd met in them - he felt automatic kinship with the kid. So going against his practical side, he lifted his glass toward him, "To drowning 'em."
The kid looked at him, seemed to consider a moment, then lifted his glass in response. He threw the rest of his drink back. "Amen."
*
Logan grinned. The guy next to him wasn't half as weird as he'd originally thought. He could have chalked it up to the half empty bottle of scotch sitting on the bar between them, but he didn't. Xander was good people.
They'd talked idly about some baseball game on the TV at the end of the bar, had quickly found out that neither one cared a bit about baseball, then segued into a conversation that would have sounded to anyone listening like two very old friends catching up.
He found out Xander had graduated from the infamous Sunnydale High - Logan remembered playing them in soccer when he was in junior high. He also remembered something strange involving a bomb and a - was he right in this? - a big snake?
The guy had moved around a lot, which Logan could relate to, having roamed after his disastrous freshman year at Hearst - he also didn't seem too willing to spill his life story, which Logan liked. He felt the same way. Xander also didn't seem to know who he was - he liked that best.
As the bottle emptied, the conversation drifted to something both had lots of experience with - chicks.
"Damnit," Xander slurred, "They jus' don' know what they want, ya know? It's like... they say they want a nice guy, but then... I dunno. They always go for dark and broody. You know what I mean?"
Logan laughed darkly, lifting his glass. "I know exactly what you mean. And... and it doesn't matter if you treat 'em like the goddamn queen or something - they turn around an' blame you for everything anyway."
"Cheers to that, my friend," Xander toasted again. His smile slipped for a moment. "There was the one girl once... she was like my best friend. It was us against everyone else... and she understood me, you know? We were... we could have been.."
Logan nodded. "I know that feeling, too. What happened to her?"
Xander snorted indelicately. "Lesbian. Freakin' witch."
Logan nodded sympathetically. "Sorry, man."
"And yours. Your friend?"
"Also a witch, dude. She just like..." Logan waved his hand in the negative space between them as if conjuring the girl he'd lost. "She's gone now."
"Dude, chicks, dude. They'll screw up your life."
Logan lifted his glass to that. "To drownin' 'em."
Xander grinned. "Amen."
**
Title: Together
Written For: meagan868
Fandom / Characters: Friday Night Lights: Mr. and Mrs. Coach
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~350
Spoilers: Through 2.04, "Backfire"
Summary: Eric just can't seem to say the right thing.
Tami threw her hands up in complete disgust. "I don't even know why I bother talking to her!"
Eric winced from his position on the sofa. He tended to agree with his wife, but when it came to the rebellious 'her' in question, he had to tread lightly. He'd only just returned to them, and his position in Julie's life was tenuous at best - he knew his wife would love him no matter what, and whatever fight they might have would blow over before bedtime. Julie would also love him forever, he knew, but the awful silent treatment she'd learned from God knew where hurt his heart. So, yeah, he coddled her a bit.
However, he felt the storm brewing the minute he didn't jump to Tami's side of the ever-widening rift between mother and daughter. Eric knew there'd be hell to pay, and as soon as he looked up into his wife's beautiful face, the rain began to fall.
"Well?" she spat. "Aren't you going to say anything?"
Eric opened his mouth to speak - a very dangerous thing, indeed, but he had to say something. "Why don't you just give her a little space, and-" It was the wrong thing to say, clearly, and Tami cut across him, fury writ large across her features.
"Space?" she hissed. "Space! You want to let our sixteen-year-old daughter run wild? Space! I never-"
"Now, you know that's not what I-"
Again, it was the wrong thing to say.
"How do I know, Eric? Huh? You tell me. You've been gone for months and then you waltz back in, and she just clings to you like some damn hero, and I..." Tami sighed and shook her head sadly. "I just don't know what to do anymore."
"Come here," Eric said softly. She seemed to weigh him in her eyes for a moment before sitting stiffly on the sofa beside him. He pulled her close, and she tensed.
"It'll be okay. We'll get through this together."
His wife relaxed against him, burying her face in his shirt and wrapping her arm across his chest.
Finally, he'd said the right thing.
**
Title: Neapolitan
Written For: aoibhe
Fandom / Characters: Pushing Daisies: Ned, Chuck, Olive, and Emerson
Rating: PG
Word Count: ~700
Spoilers: General
Summary: Chuck won't let Ned's birthday pass without a celebration.
Birthdays were not the Piemaker's favorite occasions - at least his were not. Before, presents and birthday cake and balloons had been plentiful, but After, well, there had been little to celebrate.
In recent years, he'd received a single birthday card each year - from his dentist. The cheerless little postcard with a rubber-stamped greeting warned the Piemaker away from spoiling his sweet tooth, but wished him another year of good oral health. Still, a gift was a gift, and each year, Ned stuck the postcard dutifully to his refrigerator with a magnet shaped like a smiling anthropomorphic tooth.
This year, however, that tradition proved disastrous.
"What's this?" Chuck asked, indignantly waving the postcard at him.
"A postcard. From my dentist," Ned explained, feeling inexplicably nervous in the face of Chuck's diminutive wrath.
"It's a birthday card, Ned!" she accused. Then, softer, "Why didn't you tell me?"
Ned shrugged. In that small motion, he explained that birthdays held no joy for him, that the death of his mother, the abandonment of his father, and the relative solitude with which his unique gift required of him left him little reason to celebrate the anniversary of his birth. A slight tilt of Ned's head added that he'd be more than happy to skip it altogether - it even offered to celebrate both or Chuck's birthdays if she could only just forget his. Chuck heard none of these silent pleas and explanations. Chuck only saw a man who needed a birthday party.
And so, not five hours later and with Olive Snook's help, Chuck had blown up thirty three bags of balloons, made four matching paper crowns, and baked a three-layer cake - vanilla on the bottom and top, chocolate in the middle, and strawberry frosting all over. Emerson Cod had knitted a very speedy scarf during the proceedings.
Ned smiled blandly through the entire proceeding, accepting his scarf from Emerson with genuine thanks, a new apron from Olive (one that read 'Kiss the Cook') with a blush and a bow of his head, and a porcelain cow creamer from Chuck with a goofy grin. After he saw his guests out, he sank back against the door with a sigh.
"Please, let's not do that again."
Chuck looked up from where she was wading amongst the multicolored balloons, her cheeks rosy with her exertions during a very competitive game of Pin the Tail on the Donkey, her paper crown slightly askew on her dark curls. She was beaming.
"What?" asked Ned, suddenly suspicious.
"I got you one other thing," she told him, leaning over the couch to lift up a small, brightly wrapped box. The paper was yellow - the Piemaker's favorite color.
He smiled. "You shouldn't have."
"But I did."
He grinned at her for a moment before she prompted him to open his present.
He undid the careful bow and peeled the paper away fastidiously. Ned lifted the lid off the box - nestled inside a heap of yellow tissue paper lay a pair of thick utility gloves.
Ned was puzzled for a moment - sure, he'd changed a fuse or two in his life, but... then realization dawned on him. Ned gulped.
When he looked at Chuck, he saw that she was blushing and chewing her lower lip. Gone was the bravado with which she had given the gift. That emboldened the Piemaker just a enough so he smiled at her.
"Thanks - really. Thank you."
"Well," she said, swallowing hard, "Aren't you going to try them on?"
Ned nodded and hurried to slip the gloves on. They fit snugly as though made for him, and he held his breath as she stepped nearer.
Cautiously, he reached out, his hand hovering an inch from her cheek. Chuck looked straight in his eyes and grasped his hand, guiding in the rest of the way.
And through the stiff fabric that kept her safe, the Piemaker caressed Chucks' cheek for the first time.
**
Title: Sometimes You Lose
Written For: gwendolyngrace
Fandom / Characters: Supernatural: Dean
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~350
Spoilers: General
Summary: The unthinkable happens to Dean Winchester - a woman turns him down.
There weren't too many lines in the Dean Winchester repertoire that did not yield the desired results. In fact, until this very evening, Dean was certain that every line, whether it was a real winner or not, could work provided the proper amount of charm, the correct application of his grin, a well-spun manipulation of the truth or two, and / or the right amount of liquor - not that he generally needed alcohol, that is, but sometimes, he liked chicks to be a little more... pliant.
He reflected on his more recent achievements as he wiped lukewarm Purple Hooter off his face with grim acceptance.
There had been the bad-ass biker chick in Aberdeen. Sam had actually cowered in fear when she strode past them, grabbing a cue from the rack, and inviting herself to their friendly game. Dean had won her over when he told her how adorable he found the little butterfly trailing stars tattooed to her shoulder blade. She'd actually blushed - who knew?
The whip-smart teacher's aide in Poughkeepsie had fallen victim to Dean's falsified background in archeology - not that it was entirely off-base. Dean had seen his share of catacombs and human skeletal remains, and his profession did lend itself to a certain amount of macabre history. Not that it mattered in the end - she really didn't seem to care that much about anything except the living, breathing present when they were finally alone.
Then there had been the sweet little French girl he met while working a case in Madison. He wasn't even entirely sure she understood him, but when they were finally behind the locked doors of her apartment, her delighted squeals translated into any language.
Dean was good at what he did. He enjoyed himself, and he made sure the women he took to bed did as well. Point of fact, he was probably too good - but that didn't make a failure sting any less.
Oh, well. From now on, he'd know never to compliment a woman on her shoes and then offer to screw her in the bathroom.
**
Title: The Power of Suggestion
Written For: doomette
Fandom / Characters: Harry Potter: Harry and Draco
Rating: PG-13 (it's vaguely slashy)
Word Count: ~250
Spoilers: General
Summary: Harry needs a little consolation following detention.
Harry walked out of the dungeon storeroom, his back aching from climbing down into narrow holes in the floor in search of dusty potion bottles, half of which were mislabeled. His hands and arms were cut, some of them still weeping fresh blood, but Harry was too tired, too weary to wipe it away. He just trudged toward the stone staircase that would eventually carry him towards the blissful respite of his bed.
As he turned the corner, he spotted Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle turning an opposing corner and groaned. Not this, not now... please...
But Malfoy wouldn't let him pass - no surprise there. "Potter," he spat, his voice dripping venom, "How was your detention? I hope Professor Snape made it worth his while, having your scrawny ass to whip across his knee."
"Poor Snape," Harry retorted, the picture of nonchalance, "He complained the entire time to me how much he missed your ass in his lap."
Crabbe made the mistake of sniggering and Malfoy whirled on him. He didn't even have to speak, as Goyle grabbed his friend's arm and hauled him away down the hall.
Malfoy sneered at his thugs going to opposite way, and as soon as their retreat was total, he turned back to Harry with a sly grin. "You'll pay for that later, you know."
Harry grinned in response, brushing subtly against him as he made for the staircase. "I can hardly wait."
**
Title: All's Fair
Written For: heartfelt_angel
Fandom / Characters: Doctor Who: Ten and Rose
Rating: PG
Word Count: ~150
Spoilers: General
Summary: Rose and the Doctor while away the hours (they do not confer with the flowers, however.)
"You're dreadful at this."
Rose frowned. "No I'm not."
The Doctor cocked his head, crossed his eyes, and stuck out his tongue. Rose blinked.
"Damn!"
"See, I told you. You're terrible."
Rose sighed. "Well I'd probably be better if I'd been practicing for 900 years."
"I have not been..."
"Oh don't lie!"
He looked sheepish for a moment then grinned brightly. "Let's play another game!"
Rose groaned. "We have the whole of time and space at our fingertips, but you want to play board games?"
He shrugged, already opening and closing cabinets in rapid succession in search of more things to join the rapidly growing pile of discarded distractions on the floor.
"Clue?"
"No."
"Scrabble?"
"Very no."
"Monopoly?"
"Uh-uh."
"Ooooh... Trivial Pursuit!"
"No way!"
The Doctor grumbled. Then he turned around holding a box of Chinese checkers. He lifted his eyebrows in question.
Rose bit back a grin and nodded.
They played long into the night - and Rose won every game.
**
Title: Someplace New
Written For: elethoniel
Fandom / Characters: Doctor Who: Ten and Rose
Rating: PG
Word Count: ~300
Spoilers: General
Rose skirted a fallen fir daintily as the Doctor bounded over its branches into a clearing.
"See? Just as promised! Somewhere entirely new, somewhere I've never even been!"
Rose looked around skeptically. There were trees as far as she could see, but they weren't purple or orange or glittering or talking - they were just trees. She bit down on her lip, trying to hide her obvious disappointment.
"...and I think the closest star is only 150 million kilometres from hear, which, remarkably, is just about the same distance as your Earth is from your Sun - give or take a few metres. The atmosphere is..." he sniffed the air, considered, then went on, "mostly oxygen. Ish. And the largest population on the planet is..."
"Ouch!" Rose cried, slapping her arm.
The Doctor grinned. "Anopheles gambiae."
Rose arched an eyebrow. "Felt like a mosquito."
The Doctor looked sheepish, and Rose sighed. "It was a mosquito, wasn't it?"
He hunched his shoulders, his expression wounded. "Well, you said you wanted to go somewhere I'd never been. I've never been here."
Rose felt a pang for making him frown. "Come on then, what else has this place got? Maybe a few secret underground caves filled with banana groves?" The Doctor didn't look up. "Maybe a man-eating dragon named Harriet?" Still nothing. Rose elbowed him gently. "How about puppy farm where they raise dogs with no noses?" That earned her a laugh, and he hooked his arm through hers quite unexpectedly. With a gallant sweep of his free hand, he encompassed the humid forest around them.
"Come on, Rose Tyler, I will impress you yet."
As she let him lead her, listening to him prattle on about flora, fauna, and anything that caught his eye, Rose grinned. She'd never let on that he already had impressed her long ago.
**
Title: The White Rose and the Nightingale
Written For: teffy
Fandom / Characters: Doctor Who: Nine and Rose
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~700
Spoilers: General
Summary: Rose listens to a storyteller's tale.
Rose sighed and settled deeper into the sumptuous cushions on the common room floor. She'd secreted herself out of the seraglio to find the Doctor and had happened upon him listening to the court storyteller. The Naqqal's voice was hypnotic, and along with the hookah smoke that filled the room and the sweet scent of burning opium, Rose was lulled into a trance at the Doctor's side. She decided she never wanted to leave Persia - even if that meant living as a handmaiden to the khanum in the seraglio.
The Naqqal went on with the tale he'd only just begun. "The Royal menagerie housed many exotic birds, bright and vivid of color, gifted of song, all truly a glory to behold. One of the royal birds was a Nightingale - he lived amongst the prettier birds as a wretch, for where they sang pretty lullabies, he could only chirp, and where they shone in glossy hues of the most fantastic jewels, his feathers were dull and dun.
"One night, when the stars were plentiful and the moon full, the Nightingale spied a White Rose climbing the Palace wall. He was mesmerized by her velvety, pristine petals and her freedom, for he had lived his whole life behind bars. For the first time in his life, He sang out to Her, high and sweet, low and long, mournfully and soulfully - the sound was so tragic, anyone who heard it cried in their dreams. But the Rose was unmoved. She did not open her petals to drink in the sad song, and that only made the Nightingale's song more plaintive."
Rose blinked back the tears pricking at her lids, suddenly full of sorrow for the Nightingale. How could anyone be so cruel to miss such a song? Rose felt as though she could hear the notes in her mind, pitiable and filled with terrible longing, but all the more beautiful for their sadness.
"Night after night, the Nightingale sang for the Rose, but it was for naught. The Rose never opened to him. She did, however, grow higher with every rising sun, and one day, she perched herself at the top of the wall."
Rose clasped her hands to her breast, as she was so thoroughly caught up in the tale, she felt her heart crying for a happy ending for the Nightingale. She leaned forward in anticipation of the Naqqal's next words, ignorant of the peculiar look the Doctor gave her.
"The Nightingale sang for all He was worth, and the other birds turned to look in awe as he pressed himself to the very top of the cage bars, struggling furiously against them. At last, the Nightingale grasped the Rose and pulled her near, singing out his joy in high, crisp wonderful tones. The other birds in the menagerie only had a moment to feel jealous of the Nightingale's singular passion before He fell to the floor of the cage.
"There the Nightingale lay, pierced through the heart by one cruel thorn, never to sing again. One proud peacock, humbled by the display, looked up to berate the wicked Rose who had taken the Nightingale from them. He squawked in undignified horror - the White Rose had turned Red."
Rose shuddered and fell back against the cushions, utterly bereft at the unhappy turn the tale had taken. Her cheeks were wet, and she could feel her tears running down her jaw. She couldn't even gain sufficient control over her hands to wipe her tears away - she felt as though she'd never be happy again. She desperately wanted to leave Persia.
Then she felt a cool touch on her wet face. Thought bleary eyes and watery mind, she saw the Doctor wiping away her tears.
"Come on, Rose. I think it's time we left."
And though her heart was pained, she clutched him to her breast, smiling into his shoulder.
"I won't die that way, will I?" she whispered. More confidently, she said, "I won't."
"No, Rose," he assured her, his voice unusually thick, "You won't."
**
Title: To Take Care
Written For: sea0tter12
Fandom / Characters: Doctor Who: Ten and Rose
Rating: PG
Word Count: ~1300
Spoilers: General
Summary: The Doctor falls ill, and Rose finds help.
They'd had either landed much too hard or they hand landed on solid marble... either way, Rose wasn't looking forward to venturing out of the TARDIS' doors.
"Just... Rose... find... people... medi...medi..." With that, the Doctor's brown eyes rolled back and he collapsed onto the console. The TARDIS hum quieted completely, and that frighted Rose almost as much as the sight of the Doctor with a fever. Even as hot as he appeared to be - sweat had broken out on his pale forehead and his eyes were overbright - he still felt relatively cool to her touch, and Rose had no idea what to do for him. Whatever was wrong had come on so suddenly, he hadn't had time to tell her what to do. He'd just told her to trust him, and then he was on his knees, crying out in pain. All she could do was stroke his back as he lay whimpering while the TARDIS flew unsteadily toward some fixed point of her own devise.
Still, as afraid as she was, she was unwilling to let him die on the floor - not that she really expected him to die that is, but she'd only just gotten used to the buoyant, brown-haired version of her Doctor, and she was unwilling to let him go so easily.
"Come on," she coaxed, gentling him to his feet. He was barely lucid as she half-dragged, half-carried him out the door. They were somewhere that didn't appear very alien in landscape, but that meant little. And not one to idly enjoy scenery while supporting a sick, sick man, she set out in the first direction her gut told her to go.
She followed the edge of a dense wood, hoping against hope to find some civilization. Why they couldn't have landed on the rooftop of a hospital was beyond her, but she didn't have time to over-think it. The Doctor, for his slight weight, was growing very heavy indeed.
Instinct guided her downhill and toward water - something primal inside her must have guessed that'd be the most likely place for a settlement to lay down roots. She was not very far off the mark when she finally saw a plume of smoke on the horizon, and within an hour, she saw a group of caravans and tents set up on the bank of a wide river.
Rose almost cried out in relief as two people - human at least in appearance - rushed toward her.
"He's hurt?" inquired a slight girl.
"Sick," Rose gasped.
"Chavo! Help her! Love of God, can't you see she cannot support him!" the girl snapped.
The boy hurried to Rose's side, and though her was thin and stood a head shorter the Rose, he took the Doctor's weight easily.
"Take him to Elena." When he faltered a moment, wide-eyed with terror, the girl prompted, "Now, you little mongrel!"
The girl turned back to Rose who began to follow. She grasped Rose's arms to stop her. "You mustn't go into camp in such... garments." She apprised Rose's jeans and jumper with a look of distaste. "Come, I will give what I can."
Rose started to protest, but the girl shook her head. "He is with Elena, learned in medicine as she is, now. God will guide her hand in mending him."
*
It was almost three weeks and the Doctor's fever still hadn't broken, and in those three weeks, Rose got a crash course in Romany lifestyle. Her fingers had bled from pounding out grain from dawn 'til midday, she was fairly sure she'd never eat chicken again after having seen one flop around after it's head was removed, and dark circles appeared under her eyes from spending most of her nights watching over the Doctor until she passed out from sheer exhaustion.
The Gypsies were not without entertainment - nightly, they held bonfires where they played music, danced, and told stories. One night, Rose felt she couldn't stay away from their hospitality any longer, and she left the Doctor's at the behest of the girl who'd helped her the first night, Violca.
Violca led Rose to the fire. The Gypsies were dancing wildly, singing Romany chants, and making up rhymes on the spot. There were so many colors and scents, for a moment, Rose was caught up in swirling sights and sounds, laughing and clapping along.
Mirela, the camp's mystic in residence stood and went to the fire. A hush fell over the crowd - Rose knew what to expect from the whisperings she'd heard around camp while she worked alongside the Romany women. It was said that when Mirela chose to speak at the bonfire, she made exactly one prediction - one prediction that never failed to come true. Rose was so caught up, she waited with bated breath to see for whom the future would be told. To her utter surprise, Mirela bent before her and took her hand, turning it palm up.
Mirela's fingers traced Rose's hand so lightly, she shuddered - at last that's to what she attributed the eerie feeling that crept over her.
In a singsong voice, one so low, Rose strained to hear, Mirela said:
"One heart to two,
Three hearts combined.
Light and death, life once more just begun -
separation is destined,
three become two and one."
Mirela dropped Rose's hand and stared somberly at her. The Gypsy reached out and brushed a blonde lock away from Rose's eyes. "Child, you are far from home, and you'll end even farther." The Gypsy dropped her hand and turned away - all at once, the camp let go a deep breath.
Violca and a few of the others rushed to her side, but Rose shook them off and fled from the fireside.
When she reached the Doctor's bedside, he awoke and blinked up at her.
"Hello," he said, his voice hoarse, but steady. The Doctor was already grinning, and Rose wept at the sight of his healthy glow.
"Hello," she answered, flinging her arms around him. "Welcome back."
*
They left the next day as the Gypsies began to decamp. The Gypsies sent them off in high Romany style, draping them in garlands of wildflowers and cheap baubles, and Rose and the Doctor offered all they had in their pockets as payment. The Gypsies refused the paper money, but kept the loose coins they had between them, the odd buttons and loose wires the Doctor came up with, and Rose's driver's licence.
The walk back to the TARDIS was strangely silent after Rose's vivid life among the Gypsies. Inside, the ship greeted them with warm, welcoming light and the distinct hum of a healthy engine.
The Doctor set about flipping switches and turning knobs.
"Where to, Rose? Come on... give me a challenge... there's got to be somewhere you've wanted to go! Where ever you want! We could go to Maurya - it has these mountain, Rose - Rose?"
She stood, her back to him, trying to keep still as sobs wracked her weary body. Before she could stop the tears, he had her wrapped in his arms. He felt even thinner under his bulky coat, but it didn't stop Rose from clinging to him.
He whispered platitudes to her until she calmed enough to tell him what the mystic had said.
He held her at arms length, but she could see the conflict in his eyes even as he assured her it wasn't true. There had been a grain of truth the the woman's prophecy, of that Rose was certain.
Too weary to walk away, and too tired to stand on her own power, she let the Doctor lead her to the jump seat. He covered her with his coat, combed the hair out of her eyes, watched her until she slept.
"I won't let it happen, Rose," he promised her softly after her eyes were closed. "I won't."
And with that he steered them somewhere safe, somewhere where she could rest and forget - he steered them home.
**