comment_fic 456-460: WC, HL, original, WC/Leverage, Under the Red Hood
Title: Love was more than just a word
Fandom: White Collar
Disclaimer: not my characters; title from Deanna Carter
Warnings: future!fic
Pairings: pre-Peter/Neal/Elizabeth
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 340
Point of view: third
Prompt: Any but SPN, any, "This is my soul, in paper and ink; see it stain your fingers, now tell me what you think."
Elizabeth pushed Peter to invite Neal over for Christmas Eve and morning that first year. June was visiting with family and Mozzie apparently had an annual pilgrimage that he made every year, so Neal would've been alone. And while Peter had wanted to invite him, until El gave the order, he'd felt hesitant to do it. No one except El had ever had such power over him, and to realize that he was so drawn to not only a criminal, but a male one…
He'd needed to have many talks with Elizabeth, but finally, he realized that it was okay to care for Neal. Now, he only had to let Neal know, which wouldn't happen until after the anklet was off and Neal had chosen to stay.
So four Christmases in a row, Peter and Elizabeth had Neal over. They exchanged presents and watched A Christmas Story and drank eggnog. And it felt right, so very right, except that Neal still held himself slightly away from them. Elizabeth and Peter both pretended to ignore the longing on his face as he watched them cuddle and whisper into each other's ear.
And then came the fifth Christmas, when Neal was a free man. The day after, he'd vanished from New York, though every week the Burkes got a postcard in the mail. Neal had spent weeks on the road, from London to Tokyo, and then he came home in time for Christmas.
He smiled at them both, gave Satchmo a quick ear scratch, and held out two packages. "Merry Christmas," he said quietly, stepping back as Peter ripped through the paper. El just stared at hers, then looked at Peter.
It was a sketchbook. Peter flipped through it for a few moments before raising his head to look Neal in the eyes. "Yes," he said. "Elizabeth, open it."
She did, gasping in pleasure and wonder at the drawings on each page, sketches of her and Peter and Neal. She nodded, rushing forward to pull Neal into her arms, murmuring, "Yesyesyes, about time, yes."
Title: the fear of thunder and the sword
Fandom: Highlander
Disclaimer: not my characters; title from Milton
Warnings: spoilers for the Horsemen arc
Pairings: none
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 220
Point of view: third
Prompt: Any, any, "I have walked through many lives, some of them my own / And I am not who I was"
After five thousand years-and more, so much more-he has gone by more names, lived more lives, than anyone else can even begin to contemplate. He has been a conquering warlord, a high king, a supreme emperor, a chief and a priest, a servant and a slave, a prisoner and a toy, a shopkeeper and tavern owner, an inventor and a painter, a beggar and a thief. He was even the Pope for awhile. He has been a part of the history of every existing country, and many which no longer exist. His place in the history books is assured, though only he knows when he canters across the pages, sword in hand.
Always a sword, though he's mastered every weapon forged and fashioned, every weapon from a stone to the most sophisticated computer-guided missile.
He does not remember his name as a man, before he died and became Death. He does not remember the life he lived then, though he recalls perfectly every life since then. Whoever that man was, Methos knows that he could not have imagined what he would become, who he would be, the power he would wield.
Only he, Methos-Death-, can understand. There is no one else in the world close enough to be his equal to comprehend. Not anymore, and never again.
Title: I scorn to change my state with kings
PG, 260 words
Prompt: Author's choice, Author's choice, "I've lived and died thousands of times. I've mourned hundreds of lovers, parents, children and friends. I've fought wars, delivered babies, been tortured and laughed til I cried. I'm not sheltered. I *read*."
Title from Shakespeare
Hey, kid, get over here. You see that girl in the corner? Yeah, her, the one with messy hair and paint on her cheek. Look, stay away from her if you know what's good for you. She's strange, that one. Always reading or scribbling somethin' down. I got her notebook away from her once, right before she kicked me in the jewels. Couldn't even read her writing, it was so bad. Messy as her hair. Sure wadn't English.
I asked her once, long time ago, back when we were friends, why she always read so much. Tried to get me to do it, too, like I didn't have better things. I mean, I'm on the football team and I run track. I'm going places, you know? Got a grand future ahead of me, and she wants me to waste time stickin' my head in a book? Crazy chick, let me tell ya.
Anyway, kid, she said that she goes places and does things every day, places she can barely imagine till she sees them, things she can't begin to describe. She said she's won a thousand games, run a thousand miles, all without leaving her favorite spot by the cherry tree.
That spot, in fact, over there.
Huh? Yeah, word-for-word. But that don't mean nothin'.
Fine, if you wanna be weird. She always likes talkin' to people. She'll write about you, though. Writes about everyone. Yeah, even me.
Your funeral, kid.
Wait. Hey, tell her somethin' for me, would ya? Tell her... Shane wadn't half bad. Not half bad at all.
Title: They were of fame, and had been glorious in another day
Fandom: White Collar/Leverage
Disclaimer: not my characters; title from Byron
Warnings: pre-series for both; spoilers for season 1 of both
Pairings: gennish
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 115
Point of view: third
Prompts: White Collar/Leverage; Eliot/Neal; A year into his prison sentence, Neal gets his first letter
The front of the postcard is a fairly boring painting, a pastoral landscape that isn't even worth the cost of the brushes that painted it. There is no name, no return address beyond the city printed on the upper corner of the back.
The words are scrawled messily, barely discernable, but it is handwriting Neal learned how to read long ago.
Thinking of you, kid. Wish you'd done a better job of not getting caught. Took care of some business in Europe.
Tell Morrison he still owes me.
See you when you get out.
Neal studies that second-to-last with a smirk. One mystery solved.
He'd been wondering why everyone gave him a wide berth.
continues here
Title: stained and scarred
Fandom: Batman Under the Red Hood
Disclaimer: not my characters
Warnings: references to a less-than-stellar childhood
Pairings: none
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 265
Point of view: third
Prompt: DCU, Jason Todd, He isn't the animal everyone thinks he is; he just likes getting his hands dirty while he gets the job done.
He knows that he's not the hero. Knows that his hands are stained and scarred with red. He knew that going in, long before Batman took a kid off the street and tried to clean him up, make him better. Turn him into a hero, like that guy whose place he could never fill. Compared to Batman, compared to Nightwing, the Red Hood is only a fallen shadow.
But he's always been a shadow. Does his best work in the dark. He learned that a long time before he tried to steal the wheels off the Batmobile. And it was nice, being a ward of Bruce Wayne. He almost felt safe for awhile.
But Bruce... Jason was broken a long time ago. Before Bruce, before the Joker, he was just a boy in pieces and no one can put him back together. Nobody.
And he's not rabid, no matter what Bruce and Alfred and even Dick think. He's not a monster, getting off on violence and blood.
He should be. By all rights, he goddamned should be. Not just anyone can get killed by the Joker and come out the other end just fine.
A crowbar and an explosion. And then the Batman's own teacher, trying to make amends and just fucking everything up even worse.
Jason knows what he is. And he knows what he's not.
Batman is the hero. Red Hood is just a bastard doing his best to clean up the streets, even though his hands are stained and scarred with blood.
(It's so much easier to kill than not.)