Portions of this actually incorporate some material from what I had in mind for Rowan's "The Plot Thickens" challenge, and include this as a visual ref:
a locale employed.
Beta'd by Mav (any goofs are entirely my own), who also supplied the title.
So, it's a June evening in 1997, and fate steps in to give things a kick a butt...
(
the fic )
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He turned to face me, smiled. "Not exactly. Toby..."
Ok, you know how much I love this in all it's noirish goodness, but I adore this exchange above because it's such a subtle twist on what we know from canon. I also love how you let slip little clues that things aren't what they appear to be. Harvard, etc. Just a wonderfully crafted, stylish piece.
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That made him smile, a softer and more intimate version of that powerhouse grin, sadness lingering in his eyes. "I wish."
Oh, I wish too. This story *got me* at so many points. Like the one above. And this one:
He was tall and dark and beautiful, and I could always blame the martinis for the way I took note of the snug fit of his blue jeans.
So good. As always :)
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P.S. Hope you're reading safe and sound and high and dry.
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