drabble: On the TrainkangeikoJanuary 18 2006, 11:20:22 UTC
He almost missteps when she turns around, caught blind-sided at the feeling pooling wetly in his belly. Like an echo of a phantom wound, it slides up and through his armour - muscle and sinew and forgotten ice - to make his hands shake and his palms sweat with cold, sour fear at the sight of his wife's uncovered body.
He tastes bile and knows, then, that this feeling is not desire.
Irina's smile is bright and sharp, and all Jack can feel is recognition crawling across his skin, like a knife peeling off the slick pelt of its prey.
140 words: not quite a drabble!kangeikoJanuary 18 2006, 11:37:31 UTC
Maybe she should kill the infant now. There was still time to close this place down and to go back to Moscow before any more damage was done. There was still time to look for the prophecy. On a wing and half a prayer, stranded in the middle of nowhere, and all she knew was that this little one would feature in some way: a baby so small that she could be held in the cupped hands of a woman.
She'd be best off killing her. She would.
There was still time.
Overhead, the one luxury in this forsaken place turned in its leisurely rotation, keeping the heat and mosquitoes away.
The baby cooed in her sleep, her mouth puckering into a pout, and all Elena could think of was how little Irina had been when she had been born.
130 words - Not quite a drabble!kangeikoJanuary 18 2006, 11:59:17 UTC
Henry misses Lancashire cheese so badly his teeth ache.
It's a stupid thing to miss, considering that Lancashire isn't there anymore. Shouldn't he be missing Lancashire everything? Lancashire chips, Lancashire music, Lancashire accents, Lancashire biscuits -
"Hey."
"Hey," Henry croaks after a moment.
Lancashire pubs, Lancashire girls, Lancashire boys -
Jim says nothing at all.
"You shot me," Henry says eventually, sounding almost surprised.
"Yeah."
"And -" How did I get here, he wants to ask, but doesn't.
When Irina had been seven years old, all she had longed for had been a red scarf and a beret. "When can I have one, mama, when can I?"
"When you're older, Ira."
Older, and in uniform - red scarf, beret and sickle badge - Irina had longed for an interview. "I understand that it is not an open position, comrade, but I want to serve my country. I am old enough. I can do this."
The KGB officer - short cropped hair, severe green uniform and squinty eyes - looked her over carefully. "Well. Maybe you'll do."
Older, and out of uniform - long hair, long skirt and floaty blouse - Irina had longed for -
"Mom! Mom! Look at them! When can I join, mom, when can I?"
Comments 9
And I'm still waiting on my Five Things!
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...
They've turned into a fic.
I will now have to not only write 1) five things, but also 2) the fic of the five things.
I blame you entirely.
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He tastes bile and knows, then, that this feeling is not desire.
Irina's smile is bright and sharp, and all Jack can feel is recognition crawling across his skin, like a knife peeling off the slick pelt of its prey.
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(The comment has been removed)
She'd be best off killing her. She would.
There was still time.
Overhead, the one luxury in this forsaken place turned in its leisurely rotation, keeping the heat and mosquitoes away.
The baby cooed in her sleep, her mouth puckering into a pout, and all Elena could think of was how little Irina had been when she had been born.
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(The comment has been removed)
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It's a stupid thing to miss, considering that Lancashire isn't there anymore. Shouldn't he be missing Lancashire everything? Lancashire chips, Lancashire music, Lancashire accents, Lancashire biscuits -
"Hey."
"Hey," Henry croaks after a moment.
Lancashire pubs, Lancashire girls, Lancashire boys -
Jim says nothing at all.
"You shot me," Henry says eventually, sounding almost surprised.
"Yeah."
"And -" How did I get here, he wants to ask, but doesn't.
Lancashire roads, Lancashire air, Lancashire tea -
Belatedly, he noticed Jim's hospital gown; the drip; the guards at the door.
There's a crucifix nailed opposite his bed and he squints up at it; at Jim.
"Where are we?"
He doesn't really care what the answer is, as long as it's not Lancashire.
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"When you're older, Ira."
Older, and in uniform - red scarf, beret and sickle badge - Irina had longed for an interview. "I understand that it is not an open position, comrade, but I want to serve my country. I am old enough. I can do this."
The KGB officer - short cropped hair, severe green uniform and squinty eyes - looked her over carefully. "Well. Maybe you'll do."
Older, and out of uniform - long hair, long skirt and floaty blouse - Irina had longed for -
"Mom! Mom! Look at them! When can I join, mom, when can I?"
The Girl Scout troupe - scarves, badges, berets - finished filing past. Irina petted her daughter's hair. "When you're older, Sydney."
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