2 more ficlets for 2009
I wrote these for the pan-fandom fic-a-thon inell is currently hosting. So with just over three hours to go...
Atonement
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Rating: teen-ish (language)
Characters: Faith & Buffy
Summary: She's no good at saying sorry - because, most of the time, she isn't.
A/N: Post-series, no comics spoilers. 430 words.
They sat on the bus’s front hood, legs dangling over the grille. Neither spoke as the sun sank lower and lower and the sky went from the color of blood to the color of a scar, before fading to black. The stars came out, sharp as knife-points, and the temperature dropped. In the desert night’s dry chill, Faith tried to find her voice.
She had to swallow a few times and run the tip of her tongue over her lips. Even then, the words came out all strange, kind of crinkly-sounding, like her throat was lined with broken glass. “B,” she said, “I ain’t good at this. At sayin’ sorry. Mostly ‘cause I’m usually not. But…”
“It’s okay,” Buffy said quietly, still looking straight ahead. At where Sunnydale would’ve been if it weren’t a big gaping hole in the ground. “Honestly, you don’t have to say anything. You were there when it counted. That’s enough.”
And it should’ve been. It might’ve been … before the Mayor and Angel and a fuckton of other things that rose up in the way of … whatever they’d had four years ago. Faith hesitated to call it friendship. Friendship was what the little Slayerettes had with one another. Friendship was what Buffy had with Willow and Xander, though it ran a whole lot deeper. Whatever she and Buffy had had four years ago, it was something else.
“It ain’t enough,” Faith said stubbornly. “It’s-” Her blunt fingernails skittered over the hood, making a small, whiny sound.
“Oh, my God, please-” Buffy began.
“Sorry.” Faith scratched at her denim-clad thighs instead. “Uh. Guess what I’m tryin’ to say is …” She picked a star and stared determinedly at it. “Of all the things I lost in my life, I’m glad you weren’t one.” The words just slipped out of her that time. They left her heart feeling like it had been wrung dry.
Buffy was quiet for so long that Faith wondered if maybe she hadn’t said the words after all. Or if, by saying them, she’d somehow broken Buffy. Giles was gonna be pissed if that were the case.
“Uh,” Faith said uncertainly. “B? You in there at all?”
“I think so,” Buffy replied in a very small voice. “Um, pinch me? No, wait - don’t,” she added quickly as Faith began to raise her hand. “I believe you. I’m glad too.” She shifted a little closer. Not so close that they were touching, just enough so that a sliver of warmth was trapped between them.
And Faith was okay with that.
12/31/09
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Pillowcase
Fandom: Star Trek Reboot
Rating: teen-ish (language, allusions to sex)
Ship: Kirk/McCoy (UST)
Summary: He has this shirt of Bones's, and he's not giving it back.
A/N: 700 words. I borrowed some elements from the Forever-verse, so this could take place between Heading Straight For A Fall and The Next Time You Say Forever. Or it could be read as a completely independent ficlet.
ETA: shingo-the-pest made art! Eeee!
Jim totally stole it. Bones’s gray hoodie with the words STARFLEET MEDICAL splashed across the front in big blue letters. He stole it and he’s not sorry. He’s not giving it back, either. Since it’s been about six months, and Bones still hasn’t demanded its return, Jim figures he’s forgotten all about it. And that’s fine, that’s perfectly fine.
He remembers the exact circumstances of the theft, too. Though he’ll deny all knowledge if Bones ever goes rifling through his drawers and finds it. Not that he’s likely to. They don’t wear the same uniform anymore, so their laundry isn’t as likely to get mixed up. And they don’t spend as many nights passed out on each other’s floors as they used to - hardly any since Jim made captain and picked Bones as his CMO - so they don’t find themselves needing to borrow each other’s things all that often.
Actually, that’s sort of how Jim came to possess the shirt. After a particularly interesting shore leave (involving a good deal of drinking and two beautiful purple women in leather) Jim meandered back to Bones’s quarters and collapsed on his bed. (Bones had not been in bed at the time. Unfortunately.) He’d awoken to a splitting headache and the sight of his gold uniform shirt in shreds. (The purple women’s doing, not Bones’s. Unfor - well, no, the women had been fun, and it had been a very dry couple of months.) On the nightstand he’d found a glass of water, a few tablets of acetaminophen, and a gray sweatshirt, folded neatly.
It’s a little embarrassing, probably a little childish, but what the hell. Jim never had a teddy bear or a security blanket. Well, all right, fine, he’d had plenty of toys, but not one he’d been particularly attached to except for this green plush dinosaur, but that had been Sam’s, really, and-
So, anyway, he has this shirt of Bones’s and he’s not giving it back.
Yes, he sleeps with it under his cheek, when he’s had a stressful day or is recovering from an injury and doesn’t need to spend the night in Sickbay. It smells more like Jim than Bones by now, but that’s all right because it’s not Jim’s, it’s Bones’s, and…
And yeah, Jim thinks as he rubs his cheek against the battered cotton, it would be better if he had the man. (If he ever does get Bones, he won’t give him up, either. He can change, honestly. He can be steady and true.) He’ll probably have to explain about the sweatshirt then, but he figures that if - when - he finally does get Bones where he wants him, there won’t be any need for secrets.
As it stands, there are only two he’s keeping from Bones at the moment:
I want you.
I got your shirt.
He thinks these secrets at Bones sometimes, when they’re on the bridge or sharing a cup of coffee in the officer’s mess. Just, you know, on the off chance they pass through an ion cloud and Bones suddenly becomes telepathic or something. Weirder things have happened on the Enterprise. So far, no dice, but Jim’s an optimist.
And yeah, he knows he could always tell Bones the old-fashioned way - with words, or a kiss on those soft, beautiful lips of his. But he isn’t sure how that would go down. He’s an optimist, yes, but he’s learned the hard way that baring your heart to another person … well, it’s never a good idea. Unless you’re sure he or she feels the same way. And Jim isn’t sure.
Yes, he knows it’s pathetic.
Yes, he knows Bones feels something for him. Something more than friendship. Or different from friendship. Or -
He just gets this look in his eyes, sometimes. This wide-open, naked-to-the-soul sort of look. Usually after a few rounds, or after Jim wakes up in Sickbay, broken but healing. Jim can’t say anything then. He can’t take advantage of Bones’s vulnerability. He’s afraid of what might happen if he pushes.
Yes, there is something James T. Kirk fears.
So he hugs the fucking sweatshirt. He buries his face in it. Inhales. Wants. Waits.
12/31/09
Atonement
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Rating: teen-ish (language)
Characters: Faith & Buffy
Summary: She's no good at saying sorry - because, most of the time, she isn't.
A/N: Post-series, no comics spoilers. 430 words.
They sat on the bus’s front hood, legs dangling over the grille. Neither spoke as the sun sank lower and lower and the sky went from the color of blood to the color of a scar, before fading to black. The stars came out, sharp as knife-points, and the temperature dropped. In the desert night’s dry chill, Faith tried to find her voice.
She had to swallow a few times and run the tip of her tongue over her lips. Even then, the words came out all strange, kind of crinkly-sounding, like her throat was lined with broken glass. “B,” she said, “I ain’t good at this. At sayin’ sorry. Mostly ‘cause I’m usually not. But…”
“It’s okay,” Buffy said quietly, still looking straight ahead. At where Sunnydale would’ve been if it weren’t a big gaping hole in the ground. “Honestly, you don’t have to say anything. You were there when it counted. That’s enough.”
And it should’ve been. It might’ve been … before the Mayor and Angel and a fuckton of other things that rose up in the way of … whatever they’d had four years ago. Faith hesitated to call it friendship. Friendship was what the little Slayerettes had with one another. Friendship was what Buffy had with Willow and Xander, though it ran a whole lot deeper. Whatever she and Buffy had had four years ago, it was something else.
“It ain’t enough,” Faith said stubbornly. “It’s-” Her blunt fingernails skittered over the hood, making a small, whiny sound.
“Oh, my God, please-” Buffy began.
“Sorry.” Faith scratched at her denim-clad thighs instead. “Uh. Guess what I’m tryin’ to say is …” She picked a star and stared determinedly at it. “Of all the things I lost in my life, I’m glad you weren’t one.” The words just slipped out of her that time. They left her heart feeling like it had been wrung dry.
Buffy was quiet for so long that Faith wondered if maybe she hadn’t said the words after all. Or if, by saying them, she’d somehow broken Buffy. Giles was gonna be pissed if that were the case.
“Uh,” Faith said uncertainly. “B? You in there at all?”
“I think so,” Buffy replied in a very small voice. “Um, pinch me? No, wait - don’t,” she added quickly as Faith began to raise her hand. “I believe you. I’m glad too.” She shifted a little closer. Not so close that they were touching, just enough so that a sliver of warmth was trapped between them.
And Faith was okay with that.
12/31/09
_________________________________
Pillowcase
Fandom: Star Trek Reboot
Rating: teen-ish (language, allusions to sex)
Ship: Kirk/McCoy (UST)
Summary: He has this shirt of Bones's, and he's not giving it back.
A/N: 700 words. I borrowed some elements from the Forever-verse, so this could take place between Heading Straight For A Fall and The Next Time You Say Forever. Or it could be read as a completely independent ficlet.
ETA: shingo-the-pest made art! Eeee!
Jim totally stole it. Bones’s gray hoodie with the words STARFLEET MEDICAL splashed across the front in big blue letters. He stole it and he’s not sorry. He’s not giving it back, either. Since it’s been about six months, and Bones still hasn’t demanded its return, Jim figures he’s forgotten all about it. And that’s fine, that’s perfectly fine.
He remembers the exact circumstances of the theft, too. Though he’ll deny all knowledge if Bones ever goes rifling through his drawers and finds it. Not that he’s likely to. They don’t wear the same uniform anymore, so their laundry isn’t as likely to get mixed up. And they don’t spend as many nights passed out on each other’s floors as they used to - hardly any since Jim made captain and picked Bones as his CMO - so they don’t find themselves needing to borrow each other’s things all that often.
Actually, that’s sort of how Jim came to possess the shirt. After a particularly interesting shore leave (involving a good deal of drinking and two beautiful purple women in leather) Jim meandered back to Bones’s quarters and collapsed on his bed. (Bones had not been in bed at the time. Unfortunately.) He’d awoken to a splitting headache and the sight of his gold uniform shirt in shreds. (The purple women’s doing, not Bones’s. Unfor - well, no, the women had been fun, and it had been a very dry couple of months.) On the nightstand he’d found a glass of water, a few tablets of acetaminophen, and a gray sweatshirt, folded neatly.
It’s a little embarrassing, probably a little childish, but what the hell. Jim never had a teddy bear or a security blanket. Well, all right, fine, he’d had plenty of toys, but not one he’d been particularly attached to except for this green plush dinosaur, but that had been Sam’s, really, and-
So, anyway, he has this shirt of Bones’s and he’s not giving it back.
Yes, he sleeps with it under his cheek, when he’s had a stressful day or is recovering from an injury and doesn’t need to spend the night in Sickbay. It smells more like Jim than Bones by now, but that’s all right because it’s not Jim’s, it’s Bones’s, and…
And yeah, Jim thinks as he rubs his cheek against the battered cotton, it would be better if he had the man. (If he ever does get Bones, he won’t give him up, either. He can change, honestly. He can be steady and true.) He’ll probably have to explain about the sweatshirt then, but he figures that if - when - he finally does get Bones where he wants him, there won’t be any need for secrets.
As it stands, there are only two he’s keeping from Bones at the moment:
I want you.
I got your shirt.
He thinks these secrets at Bones sometimes, when they’re on the bridge or sharing a cup of coffee in the officer’s mess. Just, you know, on the off chance they pass through an ion cloud and Bones suddenly becomes telepathic or something. Weirder things have happened on the Enterprise. So far, no dice, but Jim’s an optimist.
And yeah, he knows he could always tell Bones the old-fashioned way - with words, or a kiss on those soft, beautiful lips of his. But he isn’t sure how that would go down. He’s an optimist, yes, but he’s learned the hard way that baring your heart to another person … well, it’s never a good idea. Unless you’re sure he or she feels the same way. And Jim isn’t sure.
Yes, he knows it’s pathetic.
Yes, he knows Bones feels something for him. Something more than friendship. Or different from friendship. Or -
He just gets this look in his eyes, sometimes. This wide-open, naked-to-the-soul sort of look. Usually after a few rounds, or after Jim wakes up in Sickbay, broken but healing. Jim can’t say anything then. He can’t take advantage of Bones’s vulnerability. He’s afraid of what might happen if he pushes.
Yes, there is something James T. Kirk fears.
So he hugs the fucking sweatshirt. He buries his face in it. Inhales. Wants. Waits.
12/31/09