Ficlets: "Five Variations on a Theme" (various pairings, PG-13)
Fandom: CSI: NY
Title: Five Variations on a Theme
Author: gin200168
Rating: PG-13 for language and implications
Summary: Multiple small ficlets of various pairings all inspired by the same piece.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Property of Jerry Bruckheimer, Alliance Atlantis, CBS, etc.
Pairing/Characters: Mac Taylor, Stella Bonasera, Don Flack and Danny Messer are all mentioned in various situations/pairings, both het and slash, some established, some unrequited. It would take a while to list/explain them all. (I would love, however, to see which characters/pairings you think are central to each piece.)
A/N: stellaluna_ did the usual fixing.
A/N #2: This all started with a conversation, a desire to write something, and a post that stellaluna_ wrote with songs and ficlets that can be found here. The variations themselves are all inspired by this particular piece:
"There's comfort in stasis, even though it breaks your heart when you lie in bed at night and can't sleep, and you look carefully away, look at nothing, every time either one of them walks past your window. If you make the mistake of meeting their eyes, all you'll do is remember the way they looked at you the night you caught them together."
Feedback always welcome.
You're shocked-- not so much about what you just saw, but that he never told you. Never gave you a clue. You could have sworn you knew everything about him, even things he never knew himself. You never would have thought for a second he liked men, and maybe he doesn't. Maybe he just likes certain people, and when they've managed to worm their way past the walls and defenses he shores up daily, he's willing to ignore what physical features are attached. Maybe life's changed him enough to learn to take what's given before the ephemeral nature of life takes over. Or maybe you just can't wrap your head around it because you never saw it coming, and never ever realized that it would hurt this much.
What. The. Hell??? That's your friend. Friend. It's not supposed to feel like someone went and ripped your heart out of your chest and stomped on it just because you found him hiding in the corner and making out with some girl just like high school. And not like that jealousy you had about Joanie and RJ back then neither-- your gut twists and burns cause it's him and then you feel even worse cause you're not supposed to feel that way about him. Guys don't feel that way about their best friends. About another guy. Especially when you know he loves her as much as he does, all the hours you spent listening to him ramble while sitting on the couch half drunk and supposedly watching the game. You should be happy for him, be there to watch him smile. Instead all you can do is turn away and try to keep the burn in your eyes and your chest from welling up and consuming you from the inside out, showing the world the big horrible secret that burns inside you.
They're completely ignorant of your presence, and as you walk away you try desperately to tamp down on the twisting and burning in your chest. Part of you wants to say something to them, to call them out in front of everyone on their behavior, but you just can't bring yourself to. You try to tell yourself that it's not a big deal, they always have been professional when the need arises-- and they'd never do anything to intentionally compromise themselves or anything else. You're not afraid to step in if you have to, but you would prefer that it would not have to come to that, and sure they would be as well. You want to be happy for her, knowing how much having someone will make her happy, especially someone who will treat her right and understands the profession. All the little clues that danced in the back of your mind that something was up with her suddenly click into place; she was always her reliable self, on your back and you never worried about any of it because she was happy and healthy and right there standing next to you and you were ok with that. You know that he's a good, loyal man, who will try to give her everything she deserves; but the other part of you can't help but worry because it's not you there behind her. You watching her back, keeping her safe, keeping her happy and sharing her bed. Not that he wouldn't try his best, and give his life to do it, just that every day you worry that anyone's best just might not be good enough. Maybe not even yours. And that hurts even more.
It's like he went and rubbed salt in your wounds that day, tagging along with her at the scene. It's not that he didn't belong there-- far from it-- just that he couldn't have made it any more obvious than if he had stuck a goddamn neon sign over his head. And the fact that he told everyone else first --even Flack, who's not even part of the team-- before he could be fucking bothered to tell you hurt. A lot. Like you don't mean shit, don't belong. Don't need to know anything important, and those stolen moments in the dark corners didn't mean anything. No fucking way that's true-- especially given the feeling in the pit of your stomach that tingled and throbbed and creeped out with gnarled fingers in time with the shuddering gasps of hot air that tickled against your throat as he leaned against you. The boiling mixture of want, confusion, hurt, guilt and pleasure in his eyes when he lingered to look at you was proof enough. Your mouth twists up in vengeful happiness, knowing that she's not going to be enough for that creature inside of him; and when she isn't, and he comes skulking back, you're going to be waiting, this time with all the power.
You can't help but think it was inevitable, despite how much it hurts. If you had to put him with anyone, it'd be her-- she knows him the best of anyone alive, and probably truly loves him for (or maybe even despite) how much of an idiot he really can be. They'd die for each other in a heartbeat, and you almost wish that she would so he'd fall apart-- except that you know you'd fall apart too. You realize that in this weird way, that somehow you've become another piece of them without trying. You love and want her too, not just for the striking beauty and curves in all the right places--and now you want to be her-- and just don't quite get where it came from or how it came to be. Maybe it's better that she keeps him because god knows he'd never get past his hangups and issues to have more than a fuck in the corner, and never get around to shutting up whatever it is inside him telling him that you're not worth more than that. You can see in his eyes that part of him maybe does think more of you, except that he treats you like crap anyway, which just ends up pissing you off even more. After the first couple times the sting that look left in your heart was less and less, easier to shove down and ignore, or channel into a punching bag. As much as it hurts you, you hope to god it hurts him more-- except you can't help feeling that somehow in it all you're getting the short end of the stick, just like you always have.
Fin
3/07
Link to all of my stories
Title: Five Variations on a Theme
Author: gin200168
Rating: PG-13 for language and implications
Summary: Multiple small ficlets of various pairings all inspired by the same piece.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Property of Jerry Bruckheimer, Alliance Atlantis, CBS, etc.
Pairing/Characters: Mac Taylor, Stella Bonasera, Don Flack and Danny Messer are all mentioned in various situations/pairings, both het and slash, some established, some unrequited. It would take a while to list/explain them all. (I would love, however, to see which characters/pairings you think are central to each piece.)
A/N: stellaluna_ did the usual fixing.
A/N #2: This all started with a conversation, a desire to write something, and a post that stellaluna_ wrote with songs and ficlets that can be found here. The variations themselves are all inspired by this particular piece:
"There's comfort in stasis, even though it breaks your heart when you lie in bed at night and can't sleep, and you look carefully away, look at nothing, every time either one of them walks past your window. If you make the mistake of meeting their eyes, all you'll do is remember the way they looked at you the night you caught them together."
Feedback always welcome.
You're shocked-- not so much about what you just saw, but that he never told you. Never gave you a clue. You could have sworn you knew everything about him, even things he never knew himself. You never would have thought for a second he liked men, and maybe he doesn't. Maybe he just likes certain people, and when they've managed to worm their way past the walls and defenses he shores up daily, he's willing to ignore what physical features are attached. Maybe life's changed him enough to learn to take what's given before the ephemeral nature of life takes over. Or maybe you just can't wrap your head around it because you never saw it coming, and never ever realized that it would hurt this much.
What. The. Hell??? That's your friend. Friend. It's not supposed to feel like someone went and ripped your heart out of your chest and stomped on it just because you found him hiding in the corner and making out with some girl just like high school. And not like that jealousy you had about Joanie and RJ back then neither-- your gut twists and burns cause it's him and then you feel even worse cause you're not supposed to feel that way about him. Guys don't feel that way about their best friends. About another guy. Especially when you know he loves her as much as he does, all the hours you spent listening to him ramble while sitting on the couch half drunk and supposedly watching the game. You should be happy for him, be there to watch him smile. Instead all you can do is turn away and try to keep the burn in your eyes and your chest from welling up and consuming you from the inside out, showing the world the big horrible secret that burns inside you.
They're completely ignorant of your presence, and as you walk away you try desperately to tamp down on the twisting and burning in your chest. Part of you wants to say something to them, to call them out in front of everyone on their behavior, but you just can't bring yourself to. You try to tell yourself that it's not a big deal, they always have been professional when the need arises-- and they'd never do anything to intentionally compromise themselves or anything else. You're not afraid to step in if you have to, but you would prefer that it would not have to come to that, and sure they would be as well. You want to be happy for her, knowing how much having someone will make her happy, especially someone who will treat her right and understands the profession. All the little clues that danced in the back of your mind that something was up with her suddenly click into place; she was always her reliable self, on your back and you never worried about any of it because she was happy and healthy and right there standing next to you and you were ok with that. You know that he's a good, loyal man, who will try to give her everything she deserves; but the other part of you can't help but worry because it's not you there behind her. You watching her back, keeping her safe, keeping her happy and sharing her bed. Not that he wouldn't try his best, and give his life to do it, just that every day you worry that anyone's best just might not be good enough. Maybe not even yours. And that hurts even more.
It's like he went and rubbed salt in your wounds that day, tagging along with her at the scene. It's not that he didn't belong there-- far from it-- just that he couldn't have made it any more obvious than if he had stuck a goddamn neon sign over his head. And the fact that he told everyone else first --even Flack, who's not even part of the team-- before he could be fucking bothered to tell you hurt. A lot. Like you don't mean shit, don't belong. Don't need to know anything important, and those stolen moments in the dark corners didn't mean anything. No fucking way that's true-- especially given the feeling in the pit of your stomach that tingled and throbbed and creeped out with gnarled fingers in time with the shuddering gasps of hot air that tickled against your throat as he leaned against you. The boiling mixture of want, confusion, hurt, guilt and pleasure in his eyes when he lingered to look at you was proof enough. Your mouth twists up in vengeful happiness, knowing that she's not going to be enough for that creature inside of him; and when she isn't, and he comes skulking back, you're going to be waiting, this time with all the power.
You can't help but think it was inevitable, despite how much it hurts. If you had to put him with anyone, it'd be her-- she knows him the best of anyone alive, and probably truly loves him for (or maybe even despite) how much of an idiot he really can be. They'd die for each other in a heartbeat, and you almost wish that she would so he'd fall apart-- except that you know you'd fall apart too. You realize that in this weird way, that somehow you've become another piece of them without trying. You love and want her too, not just for the striking beauty and curves in all the right places--and now you want to be her-- and just don't quite get where it came from or how it came to be. Maybe it's better that she keeps him because god knows he'd never get past his hangups and issues to have more than a fuck in the corner, and never get around to shutting up whatever it is inside him telling him that you're not worth more than that. You can see in his eyes that part of him maybe does think more of you, except that he treats you like crap anyway, which just ends up pissing you off even more. After the first couple times the sting that look left in your heart was less and less, easier to shove down and ignore, or channel into a punching bag. As much as it hurts you, you hope to god it hurts him more-- except you can't help feeling that somehow in it all you're getting the short end of the stick, just like you always have.
Fin
3/07
Link to all of my stories