Fic: I love the way you lie (11.04 episode coda)
The only things I knew about 11.04 were...[Spoiler (click to open)]that it was called Baby and it was going to be told from the Impala's POV. For some reason, I interpreted this as 'Baby gets turned into a person' and I was quite nervous about the whole episode. Consequently, I spent the entire episode waiting with trepidation for Baby to turn into a person and was quite perplexed when that didn't happen! It wasn't until my second watch-through that I realised that practically the whole thing was filmed from inside the car! So then I had to watch it again.
This episode had pretty much everything I want from an episode, which caused me no end of trauma when trying to decide what to write about, because apparently my episode tags are either fix-it fics or that one scene I wanted but didn't get. What to write about when you get everything you wanted?
I considered writing about Dean's: "I'm not little, like I actually was when he taught me to drive", but I've read more than one excellent fic written by really talented writers that deal with Dean learning to drive when he was a little kid, so I decided against that. In the end I decided to write about Piper, for the simple reason that I thought her scene was shot through her gaze and I appreciated that. Also, I do wonder if she's going to turn out to be something more. I always remember that Ruby was initially presented to us as an insignificant hook up...
--
Title: I love the way you lie
Author: zara_zee
Beta: Not beta’d
Genre(s): Episode coda
Rating: PG-13, Gen
Spoilers: Episode 11.04
Word Count: ~1,800
Disclaimer: Not mine, just playing in the sand box.
Title from the Rihanna song of the same name.
Summary: When all is said and done, there’s no chance for a real relationship here and she doesn’t want to become just a regular booty call. This-last night-was something she chose. She wanted and she offered, on her terms.
--
The diner doesn’t get a lot of trade in the evenings, not with Jimmy’s Sleazehouse just up the road. They get most of their customers during the day when the Roadhouse is closed.
Piper’s friend Chloe, who works the diner’s 8.00am til 4.00pm shift, says it’s guys from the container yard and the cement factory mostly, and lately guys from the road works construction crew too, who come in to get egg-and-bacon muffins and strong hot coffee for morning smoko and a burger or a steak sandwich at lunchtime.
A lot of beefcake, Chloe says. A lot of beer bellies too, but enough muscular, work-toned bodies and strong calloused fingers to stock Chloe’s fantasy bank.
Tonight though, as usual, the diner (and Piper’s fantasy bank) is pretty empty; an older couple who are road tripping and Doug who works security down at the container yard, a sort of semi-retirement gig. When the doorbell jangles, Piper looks up with her standard Customer Welcome Smile, but it morphs into something much more genuine when she gets a good look at tall, dark and really, really ridiculously good-looking. It’s been a long time since some decent fantasy material walked through the door during her shift.
She straightens her pumpkin-orange uniform and snatches up a menu. Swings her hips as she walks across to his table. He’s chosen a table at the rear of the diner and is sitting on the wall-side, facing out toward the entry door, with the glass front windows on his right and the fire exit to his left. There’s a hessian messenger bag on the bench seat beside him and he’s in the process of pulling out a lap top when she sidles up beside him.
“Hi,” she says. “I’m Piper, your waitress,” she hands him the menu and he meets her eyes searchingly and then smiles, his eyes filling with liquid warmth. She smiles back, mesmerised. He tugs a little on the menu and, oh yes, need to let go of that. She flushes a little and dips her eyes, before reeling off the day’s specials. “Can I get you a drink, to start?” she concludes.
He asks for a mocha latte with whipped cream and Piper likes him even more for not being all straight-black and macho about his choice of coffee.
He orders the chicken fried chicken with whipped potato and vegetables and gets the dinner salad to start. Piper watches his long forefinger trail over the menu as he makes his selections and blushes again when she finds him smiling up at her with an amused expression. Big hands, she thinks vaguely, strong, but with a delicate touch. She straightens her skirt down over her thighs and recites his order back at him. He has dimples. And such kind eyes.
She retreats to the kitchen to place his order and tries to regroup. This guy is worthy of her A-game and she’s just not bringing it right now.
She manages to catch a glimpse of his screen as she slides his salad onto his placemat, sees a shield-type logo, a lot of blue and white and the words Lane County Sheriff’s Department, before he snaps the lap top shut.
“Working on a case?” she says.
His smile looks a little frozen now and she wonders if it’s the sort of thing that could get him into trouble, letting a civilian see details of a crime on an official police website.
“Sorry, Officer,” she says. “None of my business. I just…have a lot of respect for you people who are out there making the world a safer place for us.”
His smile turns just a shade rueful. “Yeah,” he says. “Thanks. And it’s Agent, not Officer.”
Her eyes widen. “So you’re…FBI? DEA?”
“FBI,” he says. “Agent Sam Henley.”
“Henley,” she says, “Like the singer from The Eagles?”
He laughs, bright and genuine. “That’s right.”
She blushes again. “My Dad’s a fan.”
She has to leave then, to take Doug his check and get the old couple a serve of the cherry pie each, but she’s back quickly with his chicken fried chicken.
“Thanks, Piper,” he licks his lips. “Pretty quiet in here tonight.”
“Pretty quiet in here every night. We’re not licensed and we don’t play loud, pumping mullet-rock. Makes it hard to compete with the Sleazehouse up the road.”
His laughter is loud and infectious and it immediately becomes Piper’s mission in life to make Agent Henley laugh like that again.
“Oh man,” he says. “Sleazehouse,” he shakes his head. “Sounds about right. My brother’s in there trying to pick up,” he grins. “And mullet-rock is definitely his genre.”
“And what’s your genre, Agent?” she asks.
“Sam,” he corrects, and then shrugs. “I’m not picky. Classic rock, country, whatever’s in the Top 40. What about you?”
“R&B, dance-pop. I’m a big Rihanna fan.”
A loud throat-clearing attracts her attention and she sees the old man standing up near the counter with his wallet out. She excuses herself to Agent…Sam and goes to take care of the payment. And then, well, he’s had a chance to eat some of his meal now, she really ought to go across and make sure he’s happy with the food. It’s part of her job; good customer service.
He’s happy with his meal and she licks her lips and takes a chance, tells him she’s going to take her meal break now, while it’s quiet, but if he needs anything, he shouldn’t hesitate to interrupt her.
“Oh,” he says. “You should join me. You know, if you want.”
Oh she wants. Boy does she want.
Sam is easy to talk to and really good at keeping the focus of the conversation off him and on her. She finds herself telling him about her family, about her college fund, her dreams for a better life. “My step-dad’s on Disability,” she says, “and my mom works the checkout at Walmart. College is a way out of that life.”
“I hear you,” he says. “College was a way out of a life I didn’t want for me too.”
“So you got out?” she says. “I guess you must have, if you made it into the FBI.”
He looks away and his mouth twitches unhappily. “It’s complicated. Sometimes your old life comes looking for you.”
She asks him what he means by that and he rubs a hand across his chin and appears to be choosing his words carefully. “Someone in my family made a deal with a seriously bad guy. And then, years later, someone turned up on my doorstep, looking to collect. Didn’t matter that it wasn’t my deal, didn’t matter that I had a life,” his jaw clenches and he looks away again; seems to need time to collect himself.
She moves to fill the silence. “So,” she says, “I’m guessing you had to, like, re-mortgage your house or sell your car to pay off your dad’s gambling debts?”
He laughs, but it isn’t a happy sound this time. “Something like that. Anyway, after everything that went down, joining the, uh, FBI is a way to fight back; to hunt down as many evil sons of bitches as I can.”
Piper reaches out and puts a hand over his. “If you could have your time over, would you do anything different?”
He meets her eyes. “Yeah. There are a lot of things I would do differently if I could. But going to college? Trying to get out and have a normal life. I don’t regret that. Not a second of it.”
It’s an odd way to put it, ‘a normal life’, but his hand is warm beneath hers and she wants to bring back his warm smile and happy eyes.
“Well,” she says, “here’s to crossroads,” she feels him go rigid.
“What?” he says.
“Crossroads,” she repeats with a frown. “You know, being at a crossroad in life and having to make the right choice.”
“Right,” he relaxes.
“So,” she says, thinking about the last time she saw his happy smile. “Tell me about your brother? Do you guys get along?”
She learns that his brother is called Dean and that they not only work together as partners in the FBI, they also live together in a house in Kansas, along with a third housemate who she thinks is a doctor, because Sam mentions him being able to heal them when they get banged up on a job.
They’ve had issues, Sam and his brother, hell they’ve had subscriptions; mostly about not being truthful with each other, or one brother deciding that he knew what was best for the other and not bothering to consider how the other brother might have felt about things. But for all that, the love and respect is obvious. Piper finds that she envies them their relationship. She doesn’t have that with her sister or her half-brothers.
Joe comes out from the kitchen and asks Sam rather pointedly if Piper can get him anything else and Sam apologizes for monopolizing the waitress and asks for the check.
“It’s alright, son,” Joe says. “Ain’t like it’s busy.”
Once Sam has paid, Joe tells Piper that she can go on home, that he’ll close up, and Sam walks with her to the door.
“So, uh,” he says hesitantly, “do you maybe want to go somewhere for a drink?”
“Not in my work uniform,” she says and he nods and seems like he’s about to beat a retreat so she reaches out and grabs hold of his arm and says, “but I’m nowhere near ready to let you go yet. Do you have a motel around here somewhere?”
He doesn’t, but he does have a jet black 1967 Chevy Impala with a big back seat and that is good enough for Piper. He even puts down a blanket.
Sam’s brother Dean turns up the next morning, proclaiming that mistakes were made and Piper would have to agree, because Dean is one fine specimen and despite the really great sex she had with Sam, she regrets the lost opportunity for a threesome. If the casual way Dean peeks in the window and grins at a very naked Sam is any indication, she doesn’t think the fact that they’re brothers would particularly bother either of them and the idea of them both focused on her is one hell of a turn on.
“So hey,” Sam says when they’re both mostly dressed. “Can I have your number?”
She thinks about it, but when all is said and done, there’s no chance for a real relationship here and she doesn’t want to become just a regular booty call. This-last night-was something she chose. She wanted and she offered, on her terms. She had power and she had agency and that isn’t something she wants to lose.
Besides, she may not be college educated yet, but she’s smart enough to see that there are a lot of holes in the stories Sam told her; a lot of truths carefully skirted.
She cups his face in her hand. “It’s been fun,” she says. “But I think I’d rather leave things on the first page of our story, where the future still seems bright.”
She gets out of the car and then reaches into her purse. She pulls out her headphones and selects the Rihanna playlist on her phone. She walks away without a backward glance.
On the first page of our story
The future seemed so bright
Then this thing turned out so evil
I don’t know why I’m still surprised
Even angels have their wicked schemes
And you take that to new extremes
But you’ll always be my hero
Even though you’ve lost your mind
Just gonna stand there and watch me burn
But that’s all right because I like the way it hurts
Just gonna stand there and hear me cry
But that’s all right because I love the way you lie
I love the way you lie
--
This episode had pretty much everything I want from an episode, which caused me no end of trauma when trying to decide what to write about, because apparently my episode tags are either fix-it fics or that one scene I wanted but didn't get. What to write about when you get everything you wanted?
I considered writing about Dean's: "I'm not little, like I actually was when he taught me to drive", but I've read more than one excellent fic written by really talented writers that deal with Dean learning to drive when he was a little kid, so I decided against that. In the end I decided to write about Piper, for the simple reason that I thought her scene was shot through her gaze and I appreciated that. Also, I do wonder if she's going to turn out to be something more. I always remember that Ruby was initially presented to us as an insignificant hook up...
--
Title: I love the way you lie
Author: zara_zee
Beta: Not beta’d
Genre(s): Episode coda
Rating: PG-13, Gen
Spoilers: Episode 11.04
Word Count: ~1,800
Disclaimer: Not mine, just playing in the sand box.
Title from the Rihanna song of the same name.
Summary: When all is said and done, there’s no chance for a real relationship here and she doesn’t want to become just a regular booty call. This-last night-was something she chose. She wanted and she offered, on her terms.
--
The diner doesn’t get a lot of trade in the evenings, not with Jimmy’s Sleazehouse just up the road. They get most of their customers during the day when the Roadhouse is closed.
Piper’s friend Chloe, who works the diner’s 8.00am til 4.00pm shift, says it’s guys from the container yard and the cement factory mostly, and lately guys from the road works construction crew too, who come in to get egg-and-bacon muffins and strong hot coffee for morning smoko and a burger or a steak sandwich at lunchtime.
A lot of beefcake, Chloe says. A lot of beer bellies too, but enough muscular, work-toned bodies and strong calloused fingers to stock Chloe’s fantasy bank.
Tonight though, as usual, the diner (and Piper’s fantasy bank) is pretty empty; an older couple who are road tripping and Doug who works security down at the container yard, a sort of semi-retirement gig. When the doorbell jangles, Piper looks up with her standard Customer Welcome Smile, but it morphs into something much more genuine when she gets a good look at tall, dark and really, really ridiculously good-looking. It’s been a long time since some decent fantasy material walked through the door during her shift.
She straightens her pumpkin-orange uniform and snatches up a menu. Swings her hips as she walks across to his table. He’s chosen a table at the rear of the diner and is sitting on the wall-side, facing out toward the entry door, with the glass front windows on his right and the fire exit to his left. There’s a hessian messenger bag on the bench seat beside him and he’s in the process of pulling out a lap top when she sidles up beside him.
“Hi,” she says. “I’m Piper, your waitress,” she hands him the menu and he meets her eyes searchingly and then smiles, his eyes filling with liquid warmth. She smiles back, mesmerised. He tugs a little on the menu and, oh yes, need to let go of that. She flushes a little and dips her eyes, before reeling off the day’s specials. “Can I get you a drink, to start?” she concludes.
He asks for a mocha latte with whipped cream and Piper likes him even more for not being all straight-black and macho about his choice of coffee.
He orders the chicken fried chicken with whipped potato and vegetables and gets the dinner salad to start. Piper watches his long forefinger trail over the menu as he makes his selections and blushes again when she finds him smiling up at her with an amused expression. Big hands, she thinks vaguely, strong, but with a delicate touch. She straightens her skirt down over her thighs and recites his order back at him. He has dimples. And such kind eyes.
She retreats to the kitchen to place his order and tries to regroup. This guy is worthy of her A-game and she’s just not bringing it right now.
She manages to catch a glimpse of his screen as she slides his salad onto his placemat, sees a shield-type logo, a lot of blue and white and the words Lane County Sheriff’s Department, before he snaps the lap top shut.
“Working on a case?” she says.
His smile looks a little frozen now and she wonders if it’s the sort of thing that could get him into trouble, letting a civilian see details of a crime on an official police website.
“Sorry, Officer,” she says. “None of my business. I just…have a lot of respect for you people who are out there making the world a safer place for us.”
His smile turns just a shade rueful. “Yeah,” he says. “Thanks. And it’s Agent, not Officer.”
Her eyes widen. “So you’re…FBI? DEA?”
“FBI,” he says. “Agent Sam Henley.”
“Henley,” she says, “Like the singer from The Eagles?”
He laughs, bright and genuine. “That’s right.”
She blushes again. “My Dad’s a fan.”
She has to leave then, to take Doug his check and get the old couple a serve of the cherry pie each, but she’s back quickly with his chicken fried chicken.
“Thanks, Piper,” he licks his lips. “Pretty quiet in here tonight.”
“Pretty quiet in here every night. We’re not licensed and we don’t play loud, pumping mullet-rock. Makes it hard to compete with the Sleazehouse up the road.”
His laughter is loud and infectious and it immediately becomes Piper’s mission in life to make Agent Henley laugh like that again.
“Oh man,” he says. “Sleazehouse,” he shakes his head. “Sounds about right. My brother’s in there trying to pick up,” he grins. “And mullet-rock is definitely his genre.”
“And what’s your genre, Agent?” she asks.
“Sam,” he corrects, and then shrugs. “I’m not picky. Classic rock, country, whatever’s in the Top 40. What about you?”
“R&B, dance-pop. I’m a big Rihanna fan.”
A loud throat-clearing attracts her attention and she sees the old man standing up near the counter with his wallet out. She excuses herself to Agent…Sam and goes to take care of the payment. And then, well, he’s had a chance to eat some of his meal now, she really ought to go across and make sure he’s happy with the food. It’s part of her job; good customer service.
He’s happy with his meal and she licks her lips and takes a chance, tells him she’s going to take her meal break now, while it’s quiet, but if he needs anything, he shouldn’t hesitate to interrupt her.
“Oh,” he says. “You should join me. You know, if you want.”
Oh she wants. Boy does she want.
Sam is easy to talk to and really good at keeping the focus of the conversation off him and on her. She finds herself telling him about her family, about her college fund, her dreams for a better life. “My step-dad’s on Disability,” she says, “and my mom works the checkout at Walmart. College is a way out of that life.”
“I hear you,” he says. “College was a way out of a life I didn’t want for me too.”
“So you got out?” she says. “I guess you must have, if you made it into the FBI.”
He looks away and his mouth twitches unhappily. “It’s complicated. Sometimes your old life comes looking for you.”
She asks him what he means by that and he rubs a hand across his chin and appears to be choosing his words carefully. “Someone in my family made a deal with a seriously bad guy. And then, years later, someone turned up on my doorstep, looking to collect. Didn’t matter that it wasn’t my deal, didn’t matter that I had a life,” his jaw clenches and he looks away again; seems to need time to collect himself.
She moves to fill the silence. “So,” she says, “I’m guessing you had to, like, re-mortgage your house or sell your car to pay off your dad’s gambling debts?”
He laughs, but it isn’t a happy sound this time. “Something like that. Anyway, after everything that went down, joining the, uh, FBI is a way to fight back; to hunt down as many evil sons of bitches as I can.”
Piper reaches out and puts a hand over his. “If you could have your time over, would you do anything different?”
He meets her eyes. “Yeah. There are a lot of things I would do differently if I could. But going to college? Trying to get out and have a normal life. I don’t regret that. Not a second of it.”
It’s an odd way to put it, ‘a normal life’, but his hand is warm beneath hers and she wants to bring back his warm smile and happy eyes.
“Well,” she says, “here’s to crossroads,” she feels him go rigid.
“What?” he says.
“Crossroads,” she repeats with a frown. “You know, being at a crossroad in life and having to make the right choice.”
“Right,” he relaxes.
“So,” she says, thinking about the last time she saw his happy smile. “Tell me about your brother? Do you guys get along?”
She learns that his brother is called Dean and that they not only work together as partners in the FBI, they also live together in a house in Kansas, along with a third housemate who she thinks is a doctor, because Sam mentions him being able to heal them when they get banged up on a job.
They’ve had issues, Sam and his brother, hell they’ve had subscriptions; mostly about not being truthful with each other, or one brother deciding that he knew what was best for the other and not bothering to consider how the other brother might have felt about things. But for all that, the love and respect is obvious. Piper finds that she envies them their relationship. She doesn’t have that with her sister or her half-brothers.
Joe comes out from the kitchen and asks Sam rather pointedly if Piper can get him anything else and Sam apologizes for monopolizing the waitress and asks for the check.
“It’s alright, son,” Joe says. “Ain’t like it’s busy.”
Once Sam has paid, Joe tells Piper that she can go on home, that he’ll close up, and Sam walks with her to the door.
“So, uh,” he says hesitantly, “do you maybe want to go somewhere for a drink?”
“Not in my work uniform,” she says and he nods and seems like he’s about to beat a retreat so she reaches out and grabs hold of his arm and says, “but I’m nowhere near ready to let you go yet. Do you have a motel around here somewhere?”
He doesn’t, but he does have a jet black 1967 Chevy Impala with a big back seat and that is good enough for Piper. He even puts down a blanket.
Sam’s brother Dean turns up the next morning, proclaiming that mistakes were made and Piper would have to agree, because Dean is one fine specimen and despite the really great sex she had with Sam, she regrets the lost opportunity for a threesome. If the casual way Dean peeks in the window and grins at a very naked Sam is any indication, she doesn’t think the fact that they’re brothers would particularly bother either of them and the idea of them both focused on her is one hell of a turn on.
“So hey,” Sam says when they’re both mostly dressed. “Can I have your number?”
She thinks about it, but when all is said and done, there’s no chance for a real relationship here and she doesn’t want to become just a regular booty call. This-last night-was something she chose. She wanted and she offered, on her terms. She had power and she had agency and that isn’t something she wants to lose.
Besides, she may not be college educated yet, but she’s smart enough to see that there are a lot of holes in the stories Sam told her; a lot of truths carefully skirted.
She cups his face in her hand. “It’s been fun,” she says. “But I think I’d rather leave things on the first page of our story, where the future still seems bright.”
She gets out of the car and then reaches into her purse. She pulls out her headphones and selects the Rihanna playlist on her phone. She walks away without a backward glance.
On the first page of our story
The future seemed so bright
Then this thing turned out so evil
I don’t know why I’m still surprised
Even angels have their wicked schemes
And you take that to new extremes
But you’ll always be my hero
Even though you’ve lost your mind
Just gonna stand there and watch me burn
But that’s all right because I like the way it hurts
Just gonna stand there and hear me cry
But that’s all right because I love the way you lie
I love the way you lie
--