Fic: Umbrellas Under Clear Skies
Fic: Umbrellas Under Clear Skies
Fandoms: Sandman/NCIS
Genre: Crossover
Rating: PG
Words: 497
Warnings: None. No spoilers.
Beta: alas_a_llama and azremodehar, who are both stars.
Notes: Apologies for any failures in medical technique: I did one First Aid course when I was eight and that’s it. Inspiration for the premise is due to Terry Pratchett.
Summary: Abby and Death: a conversation between fragments of time.
“His heart’s stopped, you know.”
“Don’t be stupid,” Abby snapped, sounding breathless as she pounded on Gibbs’s chest. “He’s not gonna die! He’s Gibbs!”
Death took a moment to flick through a mental checklist, twisting her umbrella thoughtfully against her shoulder. She had to admit, Abby was perilously close to being right: this one just refused to give up. She’d had to do this three times already, and - although Gibbs’s repartee had always been entertaining - since that dude with the thorns repetition had never really been her thing. Hence the impulse to have a chat instead with the cute Goth kid who was in the process of ensuring that Gibbs’s current predicament would indeed be only temporary.
“Not this time, no. It’s what you call a near-death experience, only it’s reciprocal. He’s near death, I’m near him.”
One goth stared at the other, even as Abby kept going with the CPR. Flatly, “You have got to be joking.”
Death sighed. She was sure the guy with the scythe never had this much difficulty in getting people to believe him, but then that was conformation to popular anthropomorphism for you. Although to be fair, his look did leave far fewer opportunities for rocking makeup. “No, although I do know a great one about pigeons...” Helpfully, “You need to do the mouth-to-mouth again now.”
The look Abby gave her could have peeled paint.
“Why am I listening to you, anyway?” she demanded suddenly. “Whenever you’re there, it’s because this hasn’t worked.”
Death grinned brightly. “All those near-me experiences, remember? I’ve been there all the times it’s worked, too. There’s no-one in the whole universe who knows more about life than me. Anyway, it’s in my own best interests for you to get this right, because I’ve got another NME in southern Guam in... oh, about five minutes’ time now.”
Abby scowled at her, counting compressions under her breath. “I don’t believe in you, you know.”
“I get that a lot,” Death admitted, sounding cheerful. “It’s okay, though. Everyone believes in me in the end.”
Abby pressed her ear to Gibbs’s chest again, listening hopefully for a beat. “And he’s definitely not gonna die, right?”
Death shook her head, the movement making her hair glint raven-black. “Everything dies eventually, even me. Even Leroy Jethro Gibbs. Probably. But not today.”
Abby’s red lips (courtesy Mad Maxie’s Bloody Hell #42) twisted briefly with indecision. “...What’s it like, dying?”
The other girl cocked her head at her, magpie-like. “I don’t know. I haven’t died yet, after all.”
“Haven’t you asked?” Abby demanded, startled enough that she almost lost count.
“Why spoil the surprise?”
Abby almost smiled, her ear to Gibbs’s inert chest. Suddenly she squeaked with glee - she could hear a beat. “BONUS LIFE!”
“Wicked!” Death laughed, unfurling her umbrella like a gothic Mary Poppins. “In that case, must be off. Give my love to Donald?”
“Wait!” Abby looked up wildly. “One more question? Pretty please?”
Tolerantly, “Go on.”
“Where did you get that lipstick?”
Fandoms: Sandman/NCIS
Genre: Crossover
Rating: PG
Words: 497
Warnings: None. No spoilers.
Beta: alas_a_llama and azremodehar, who are both stars.
Notes: Apologies for any failures in medical technique: I did one First Aid course when I was eight and that’s it. Inspiration for the premise is due to Terry Pratchett.
Summary: Abby and Death: a conversation between fragments of time.
“His heart’s stopped, you know.”
“Don’t be stupid,” Abby snapped, sounding breathless as she pounded on Gibbs’s chest. “He’s not gonna die! He’s Gibbs!”
Death took a moment to flick through a mental checklist, twisting her umbrella thoughtfully against her shoulder. She had to admit, Abby was perilously close to being right: this one just refused to give up. She’d had to do this three times already, and - although Gibbs’s repartee had always been entertaining - since that dude with the thorns repetition had never really been her thing. Hence the impulse to have a chat instead with the cute Goth kid who was in the process of ensuring that Gibbs’s current predicament would indeed be only temporary.
“Not this time, no. It’s what you call a near-death experience, only it’s reciprocal. He’s near death, I’m near him.”
One goth stared at the other, even as Abby kept going with the CPR. Flatly, “You have got to be joking.”
Death sighed. She was sure the guy with the scythe never had this much difficulty in getting people to believe him, but then that was conformation to popular anthropomorphism for you. Although to be fair, his look did leave far fewer opportunities for rocking makeup. “No, although I do know a great one about pigeons...” Helpfully, “You need to do the mouth-to-mouth again now.”
The look Abby gave her could have peeled paint.
“Why am I listening to you, anyway?” she demanded suddenly. “Whenever you’re there, it’s because this hasn’t worked.”
Death grinned brightly. “All those near-me experiences, remember? I’ve been there all the times it’s worked, too. There’s no-one in the whole universe who knows more about life than me. Anyway, it’s in my own best interests for you to get this right, because I’ve got another NME in southern Guam in... oh, about five minutes’ time now.”
Abby scowled at her, counting compressions under her breath. “I don’t believe in you, you know.”
“I get that a lot,” Death admitted, sounding cheerful. “It’s okay, though. Everyone believes in me in the end.”
Abby pressed her ear to Gibbs’s chest again, listening hopefully for a beat. “And he’s definitely not gonna die, right?”
Death shook her head, the movement making her hair glint raven-black. “Everything dies eventually, even me. Even Leroy Jethro Gibbs. Probably. But not today.”
Abby’s red lips (courtesy Mad Maxie’s Bloody Hell #42) twisted briefly with indecision. “...What’s it like, dying?”
The other girl cocked her head at her, magpie-like. “I don’t know. I haven’t died yet, after all.”
“Haven’t you asked?” Abby demanded, startled enough that she almost lost count.
“Why spoil the surprise?”
Abby almost smiled, her ear to Gibbs’s inert chest. Suddenly she squeaked with glee - she could hear a beat. “BONUS LIFE!”
“Wicked!” Death laughed, unfurling her umbrella like a gothic Mary Poppins. “In that case, must be off. Give my love to Donald?”
“Wait!” Abby looked up wildly. “One more question? Pretty please?”
Tolerantly, “Go on.”
“Where did you get that lipstick?”