Fic: Post Op
Author: 
tahirire
Wordcount: 385
Rating: PG
Beta: Off-the cuff comment fic
Genre: Tag for 7.03
Spoilers: For 7.03
Characters: Bobby, Sheriff Mills
For ratherastory 's comment fic meme thingie. Prompt: Can anybody write a short little tag about Sheriff Mills? I mean, she *just* had fairly major surgery, and Bobby said he was going to check on her...and then it was three weeks later. Has he been in contact with her?
Post Op
What little adrenaline Jodi's exhausted body had managed to summon wore off hours ago, and every muscle hurts. She keeps eyeing the pills on her nightstand, but she can't get the image of that gaping ... sarlac-thing out of her head. Also, she hasn't quite been able to talk her hand into releasing her Glock .45 long enough to grab anything else.
So, in the end, he's really just lucky she's too fuzzy to aim the damn thing straight.
Still only missed him by a few inches, though. Take that, Legion of Darkness.
He yelps in protest, and she giggles. So maybe the morphine isn't totally gone after all. She squints at the dark, wobbly shadow in her bedroom. "Singer?"
He moves to the side of her bed and pushes her hand aside. "Dammit, woman, yes. You gonna shoot me NOW after all we've been through? Put the piece down."
He looks frazzled, and for Singer, that's saying something. She feels her lips move into a u-shape that feels backwards. "Whatryou doin' ... in my bedroom, Singer."
It's his turn to squint. "You won the lottery, Sheriff. Caught yourself a couple of real big fish. I'm on my way to grab the idgits now. Need you to do me a favor, you get the chance."
"Ooooh-ho, no. No, nono. Not goin' anywhere tonight." She turns the gun loose and gives him a conciliatory pat on the shoulder. He rolls his eyes at her.
"You ain't gotta go anywhere. In fact, don't leave here until I call. I got a feelin' we're gonna be headed out of town, so I'm leaving this with you." He presses a flash drive into her hand and curls her fingers around it. "Don't lose it. You don't hear from me by the end of the week, you email every single one of those contacts and tell them to hit the gym, then you erase this. Understand?"
She nods, then shakes her head, then nods some more. "Got it," she sighs, letting her eyes slip closed. "Hey, Singer?"
There is a rustle, and her blankets start rearranging themselves. "Yeah?"
"Why's everything wanna eat me?"
She thinks he must be laughing at her, but there's no categorical evidence. She gives up, slipping off into exhaustion, and she never hears his answer.
tahirire
Wordcount: 385
Rating: PG
Beta: Off-the cuff comment fic
Genre: Tag for 7.03
Spoilers: For 7.03
Characters: Bobby, Sheriff Mills
For ratherastory 's comment fic meme thingie. Prompt: Can anybody write a short little tag about Sheriff Mills? I mean, she *just* had fairly major surgery, and Bobby said he was going to check on her...and then it was three weeks later. Has he been in contact with her?
Post Op
What little adrenaline Jodi's exhausted body had managed to summon wore off hours ago, and every muscle hurts. She keeps eyeing the pills on her nightstand, but she can't get the image of that gaping ... sarlac-thing out of her head. Also, she hasn't quite been able to talk her hand into releasing her Glock .45 long enough to grab anything else.
So, in the end, he's really just lucky she's too fuzzy to aim the damn thing straight.
Still only missed him by a few inches, though. Take that, Legion of Darkness.
He yelps in protest, and she giggles. So maybe the morphine isn't totally gone after all. She squints at the dark, wobbly shadow in her bedroom. "Singer?"
He moves to the side of her bed and pushes her hand aside. "Dammit, woman, yes. You gonna shoot me NOW after all we've been through? Put the piece down."
He looks frazzled, and for Singer, that's saying something. She feels her lips move into a u-shape that feels backwards. "Whatryou doin' ... in my bedroom, Singer."
It's his turn to squint. "You won the lottery, Sheriff. Caught yourself a couple of real big fish. I'm on my way to grab the idgits now. Need you to do me a favor, you get the chance."
"Ooooh-ho, no. No, nono. Not goin' anywhere tonight." She turns the gun loose and gives him a conciliatory pat on the shoulder. He rolls his eyes at her.
"You ain't gotta go anywhere. In fact, don't leave here until I call. I got a feelin' we're gonna be headed out of town, so I'm leaving this with you." He presses a flash drive into her hand and curls her fingers around it. "Don't lose it. You don't hear from me by the end of the week, you email every single one of those contacts and tell them to hit the gym, then you erase this. Understand?"
She nods, then shakes her head, then nods some more. "Got it," she sighs, letting her eyes slip closed. "Hey, Singer?"
There is a rustle, and her blankets start rearranging themselves. "Yeah?"
"Why's everything wanna eat me?"
She thinks he must be laughing at her, but there's no categorical evidence. She gives up, slipping off into exhaustion, and she never hears his answer.