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Ficlet(s)

Summary: Drabbles and ficlets from prompts

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Multiple Crossings > General > Ficlet Collections - OthertootsFR15713,5910124,26316 Jul 111 Nov 12No

Chapter One

Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter, Terminator: TSCC, Buffy, Charmed, Criminal Minds, Dark Angel, Fast and Furious franchise, The Big Bang Theory, Firefly, General Hospital, Stargate: Atlantis, Leverage, and Veronica Mars. That’s J.K. Rowling, Josh Friedman, Joss Whedon, Constance M. Burge, Jeff Davis, James Cameron, Universal Studios, Chuck Lorre and Bill Prady, Frank and Doris Hursley, Brad Wright and Robert Cooper, Dean Devlin, and Rob Thomas.
Author’s Notes: From prompts from http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/.

Harry Potter; Hermione (& Lily Evans Potter); it is not beyond the ability of the dead to visit the living in dreams

The sunshine was bright, warming her skin until she was drowsy with it, the water lapping at the edges of the lake, sloshing a bit more as several First Years squealed in delight as they jumped in, only to be hauled back out by the giant octopus. Hermione didn’t even have to open her eyes to know where she was. She did anyway and smiled when Hogwarts came into view, upside down because of the way she was laying. That was apt, of course, because Hogwarts had turned her entire world upside down and inside out in seven short years.

“This place does that to everybody, you know,” a happy, unfamiliar female voice said and Hermione jerked upright in shock. “Not just the Muggleborns.”

Hermione had never met this girl, yet she knew who she was. “Lily. I mean, Mrs. Potter.”

Mrs. Potter laughed, shaking her head as she reached out to nudge Hermione’s thigh. “Call me Lily. Please. You finished what I started, after all.”

“Excuse me?” Hermione asked, a little dazed. Maybe it was because she’d heard hundreds of people say it or maybe it was because she was seeing it for herself, but Harry really did have his mother’s eyes, vibrant green and full of life. Maybe it was because Lily looked not much older than the average Seventh Year and this was all so very surreal.

Lily laughed again. “You finished what I started. You protected him, you saved him. You love my son, Hermione, and I have to thank you for that.”

“I’m not in love with Harry,” Hermione denied, shaking her head.

Lily shot her a look, clever and a bit sly, as she said, “I didn’t say you were. I said you loved him. Sometimes, that’s all a boy needs, Hermione. A boy who, since the death of his parents when he was an infant, hadn’t been loved, not for who he could be. You loved him despite the scar, Hermione. And that was so much more important than being in love with him. Thank you.”

Hermione stared into those familiar yet unfamiliar eyes and could only think of one thing to say. “Thank you for choosing him.”

Lily reached out and gently patted her cheek, aging a bit until she was the age she’d been when she died. “Oh, Darling. You’re a mother now. You understand. We do everything we can for our children.”

Hermione closed her eyes to blink back tears and when she opened them, she was looking into Ron’s eyes.

“Must have been some dream,” he said, wiping the tears from her cheeks as he frowned in worry.

She smiled suddenly, obviously startling him, then laughed. “It was. It really was. Come, now. We have to get everyone ready or we’ll be late. Harry and the others will be waiting for us at Platform 9 and 3/4. We don’t want the children to be late for the train.”

He grabbed her waist, hauling her back into him when she sat up, saying, “Wait just a minute. Tell us about this dream, then.”

She twisted a bit so that she could run her hand over his hair, then bent to press a chaste kiss to his temple as she muttered, “Just a bit of a blessing, is all.”

He let her squirm away even though he was still curious and she went to get ready. Perhaps she would remind Albus Severus that he had his grandmother’s eyes today.



Terminator:TSCC, Derek/Sarah or John, never touch a legend

Derek had never inexplicably hated anyone as much as he hated Charlie Dixon.

It was hard to explain because the man had saved his life and Derek had always practiced an odd sort of brutal honesty that came across as rude, but he’d never been a dick for no reason. And there was a reason, only it was sort of ephemeral. Never touch a legend. Where Derek came from, when he came from, there were no bigger legends than John and Sarah Connor.

But Charlie Dixon obviously didn’t know who he was dealing with. Sarah and John were just the woman he’d been in love with and the boy he’d treated as his own. They were normal when they were with Charlie, at least as normal as they ever got. And Derek couldn’t help but think that that was just a lie that made them weak. Charlie Dixon made them weak.

Because John was Kyle’s son, not Charlie’s, and he was never meant to be normal. Because Sarah Connor was a fierce, kickass woman, not somebody’s wife. They weren’t normal and pretending to be, getting attached to civilians wasn’t safe, it wasn’t smart. It wasn’t as stupid as having metal in the house, but it was pretty close.

And maybe…maybe it didn’t have anything to do with any of that. Maybe none of it had to do with legends or doing the smart thing. Maybe it was because, from the moment John Connor told him, with Sarah standing at his back, that Kyle had been a soldier and he’d died a hero, he’d known. That they were his now, like they should’ve been Kyle’s. They were his now and they didn’t need Charlie Dixon anymore.

Buffy, Buffy/Faith or Buffy & Faith, Annie Oakley and Calamity Jane

(One was a lady, still able to outdraw any man that came along, but worthy of society’s respect. The other drank and cursed and had a fine time stirring up trouble. Annie Oakley and Calamity Jane. Giles didn’t know many tales about the Wild West but he knew most tales that involved strong women. And, as he watched Buffy and Faith across the room, standing with the other Slayers, yet still separate, he had the oddest sense that history was trying to repeat itself. Two legends, so very different, standing out in a sea of other women. Giles took a deep breath, wallowing in the wash of pride that struck him. They would be a part of history, those girls. They would be remembered and revered.)

Charmed, Chris, a soldier’s last breath is babies being born (Dave Matthews Band)

(Most people didn’t have memories of the day they were born. For that fact, most people didn’t have memories of the last time they died, either. Chris was both blessed and cursed to remember both, alibi in a sort of hazy way.

He tilted his shot glass and sang softly to himself, “Happy Birthday to you, happy birthday to you…”

Tomorrow, he would officially be older than himself. He snorted, then laughed, startling the bartender, who glanced around nervously for his boss. Chris rolled his eyes, even as he had to admit to himself that getting drunk in his mother’s own bar probably wasn’t the smartest move he’d ever made. P3 remained one of the hottest clubs in the city, despite the restaurant taking most of his mother’s time.

Chris scrubbed a hand over his face, relegating his mother to the back of his mind as he wondered what tomorrow would be like. Would he still have strange flashes of intuition that didn’t come from his own experiences? Would he still remember what it felt like to cry at his mother’s grave even as he sat across from her at breakfast? Would he finally, irrevocably be alone in his own head? For some reason, he doubted it. The double vision that came with the déjà vu maybe would stop but the memories…no, the memories and all the baggage they carried with them were his, now.

The jammed crowd parted like the Red Sea and Chris saw his mother striding purposely towards him, mouth unsmiling and eyes worried. He sighed, setting the empty glass down. Honestly, it wouldn’t have mattered where he drank, his mother was a touchstone in the nightclub industry in San Francisco and she would have heard about it sooner rather than later.

“You said you were going home,” she announced, coming to a stop at his elbow.

He glanced over the club, then towards the office that Aunt Paige had undoubtedly orbed her into, where his other self, the one that died the day he was born, had slept him when he came back to save the future. Chris did a slow blink, possibly too smashed to reason out time travel at the moment and realized his mother was still waiting for him to say something.

He flicked a finger around, then pointed towards the office and offered her a grim grin. “Close enough.”

Her face flickered, softened, and she said, “Chris, honey…”

And she tapered off, just like she always did when it became uncomfortably apparent that he remembered his past life just a little too well. He sighed, toppling over slightly until he could rest his head on her shoulder and her arm came up, hand running down his back.

“You might have his memories, but he wasn’t you,” she said quietly, so quietly it almost got swallowed up by the crowd.

Chris’s breath caught. His mom never spoke of the other Chris, even though Aunt Phoebe and Aunt Paige told stories about him, sometimes. Aunt Phoebe liked to tell about how Aunt Paige wanted to castrate him while she was goddessized and about the spirit walk that revealed who he really was. Aunt Paige liked to tell the story of Jenny the Genie and complain about his manic drive to save his brother, to save the world, and to keep the future as secret as possible. Even Dad told about jumping through time with him. But mom, she never spoke of him, although Chris knew she had a photo of him playing blocks with Wyatt as a baby tucked away that she didn’t think anyone knew about.

“He was neurotic and paranoid and desperate and, oh, baby, he wasn’t you,” she said, touching his hair. “You might share the same soul, but you haven’t lived the same life. You’re different men.”

“Did you love him?” Chris asked and, damn, but that was a stupid question. He’d found the worn photo with the shaky words, ‘Chris and Wyatt’ scrawled across the back when he was nine and he’d known that that was him, sort of, and his mother had loved him. The question he wanted to ask, had always desperately wanted to ask was, ‘Did you love him better than me?’

“Of course I did,” she said and Chris jerked before he realized she was answering the question he’d asked, not the one he couldn’t. “He was my son, like you and Wyatt are my sons, like Melinda’s my daughter. I could love him no more or no less than I love any of you.”

Chris melted into her a bit, peace swamping him. She had that affect, in all of his memories. “We love you, Mom.”)

Charmed, Piper/Leo, Wyatt and Chris compare their parents' romance to the movies.

(Piper heard shuffling through the vent in the kitchen and scowled. Melinda had obviously been spying on her brothers again using Phoebe’s favorite vent. Piper wasn’t sure which one needed scolding more, Melinda for butting into her brothers’ personal lives or Phoebe for encouraging her little sister antics.

She reached out to flip the vent closed when she heard Wyatt say, “…But don’t you want that?”

“Not today,” Chris said, annoyance rife in his tone, although Piper was almost positive he was laughing at his brother. “Honestly, Wy, I’m 16. I’ve got ages to find that kind of romance. Today, I’m going out with a girl who’s hot and interesting and I don’t care if I’m her rebound guy. I just want a little fun.”

Wyatt’s sigh carried all the way out of the vent and Piper covered her mouth to keep her laughter from alerting the boys to her snooping. Leo came in, mouth open to ask something and she shook her head frantically at him, motioning to the vent and the sounds coming from it. He frowned but crossed to stand behind her, hand on her shoulder.

“Chris, if you want the kind of love that Mom and Dad have, you can’t date just to date,” Wyatt lectured earnestly. “You have to be looking for it. Their love is storybook, man. Like the movies. Like…like Sleepless in Seattle! Or that black and white flick Aunt Phoebe loves so much. It’s classic.”

Chris snorted and something crashed. Considering the state of their youngest son’s room, neither Piper nor Leo panicked. Although, if Piper ever had to go into his room, she panicked. Dear God, but her son was a slob.

“More like Runaway Bride meets Terminator,” Chris said and he was way too young to have that much biting sarcasm in him. “It wasn’t fluffy or easy, Wy. You might not have overheard Aunt Paige talking about all the stuff the Elders put them through, but I did. And I’m not in a hurry to go through it myself, so if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a date to get ready for.”

“Of course I’ve heard about the Elders,” Wyatt said indignantly. “But they triumphed, Chris. And look at them, three kids later and they still sometimes act like newlyweds.”

Piper could practically see Chris’s eyes rolling in his head. Her boys, they were ridiculously endearing in their differences.

There was another crash and Wyatt yelped as Chris said, “Seriously, dude, out.”

Piper rolled her eyes and snapped the vent shut, turning to look up at Leo. He was grinning delightedly down at her.

“Newlyweds, huh?” He said, pulling her into his arms. “I think I remember how that felt.”

She was laughing as he dipped her into a kiss and laughed harder when Melinda stomped in and snapped, “Oh, ew. Stop that. Youngsters in the room. Jeez, that’s so gross.”

Piper snuggled into Leo’s hug, pretty sure that they weren’t fairy tale classic or movie material. They were just run of the mill, average soulmates.)

Charmed, gen, set during s6: Piper is injured and Chris takes care of her.

(Glancing fireballs stung. Piper rotated her arm, hissing as the burned flesh stretched and pulled in unfortunate ways.

“Stop that,” Chris snapped, grabbing her elbow and pulling her arm back down. “That’ll just make it hurt worse.”

“Obviously,” she said dryly, ignoring the way his hands shook as he carefully cleaned the wound.

Piper occasionally had to wonder what the Elders were on, giving the Charmed Ones a Whitelighter that couldn’t heal. Chris was nice enough…okay, so he was neurotic and pushy and single mindedly devoted to the destruction of all demons everywhere. He was good to have around in a pinch, but it would have been nice to not have to bear the proof of the burdens of their destiny quite so permanently on her skin.

“You shouldn’t have tried that vanquish alone,” he admonished. Again.

“I killed it, didn’t I? That’s all that matters,” she said, fighting a scowl. She winced instead when he pressed a poultice to it. “Ow.”

He paled a little, looking torn between yanking his hand back and finishing the treatment. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright,” she sighed, biting back another wince.

She knew better than to complain or whine too much. Every time she got hurt and he had to tend to her, it seemed to pain him almost as much as her. He’d get paler and shakier the longer it took, then afterward, he’d disappear for a couple of days, only to reappear with yet another demon to fight. If her sisters had been there instead of spread across the globe, she’d have had them do it. Unfortunately, it was just him, her, and her infant son holding down the fort these days.

“Almost done,” he murmured, bent to his task.

She reached out and pushed his hair out of his face, an impulse that had him jerking like she’d bit him. “You need a haircut,” she said, at a loss as to why she’d touched him.

He bound off his chair, eyes too big in his pale face. “I just-I need-,” he flailed for a second, then practically shouted, “Scissors!”

He hurried away upstairs as Piper stared, eyebrows pitched high on her forehead. She’d dealt with a lot of strange people since becoming a witch, but Christopher Perry got weirder every day. And it was possible that he’d driven her to his level of crazy because she kept having the strangest urge to mother him, to nag about the state of his clothes and what he was eating and where he was sleeping. She wasn’t even sure if she liked him and she wanted to take care of him.

He was gone long enough that she thought he’d just left, so she started tidying up the scattered swabs and bloody rags. He came loping down the stairs as she was standing, already shaking his head.

“Hey, hey, no,” he said, grabbing the bowl of water from her and setting it back on the table and nudging her back into her seat. “I’ve got to finish dressing that. I couldn’t find the scissors.”

He pulled the heavy sewing sheers out of his back pocket and waggled them at her, his proof that he hadn’t been running from her.

She sat and watched him closely, aware that his hands were steadier and that he kept enough space between them to avoid accidental contact. He was quick and almost professional and as soon as her bandage was taped, he disappeared. Piper sighed, closing her eyes and shaking her head. Christopher Perry was a very, very strange, possibly emotionally stunted young man and she did not have time to unravel his mystery. She already had a house, a club, and, most importantly, a son to tend to. She didn’t need to try to tame the stray that had showed up at her doorstep and now wouldn’t leave. No matter how much her instincts were begging her to.)

Criminal Minds, Rossi, it's hard being the only human

(Morgan was invading his space again. He didn’t mean anything by it, Rossi knew, it was just instinct and it was mostly subtle. But they had the ‘Personal Space Means Stay Out’ conference at least once every six months because of things like this. Strauss considered controlling instincts in a professional setting the height of decorum and used mandatory meetings to enforce her will. Of course, she was a vampire and all vampires were notoriously stuffy.

The BAU was possibly the oddest unit in the FBI. In most of the law enforcement agencies, actually. Not only because of their specialty, although that gave most people pause, but because, except for Rossi, they were all Weres. Strauss didn’t count since she wasn’t a field agent. But most units had more diversity, at least 2 different species of Other. But not the BAU. Even former agents Elle Greenaway and Jason Gideon had been Weres. It wasn’t a conscious decision on their part or an effort to exclude other kinds. They were just the most qualified people for the job and they happened to be Weres.

The unfortunate side effect of that, though, was that it was simply natural for them to pack up, to instinctively act on behaviors that weren’t typically human. And Strauss hated that, especially the part where Rossi just allowed it. Like it was undignified for the only human of the group to be happy that he’d been accepted.

“Morgan,” Rossi finally muttered, nudging him a proper enough distance away.

There was a flicker of annoyance, quickly shuttered by Morgan’s congenial human façade, then he clapped him on the shoulder and said, “Sorry, man.”

Rossi shrugged, not pulling away, and turned back to his paperwork. “It’s fine.”

And it was. It was just instinct, after all. Rossi was still new, mostly accepted but still to be thoroughly tested. Hotch couldn’t push because he was the leader and he always had to have control, so it fell to Morgan to find out where the lines were drawn. The ladies each pushed in their own way, but Reid, who seemed to be looked upon as the unit’s pup, was shuffled out of the line of fire more often than not.

Morgan finally pulled away from him, turning to harass Reid and Emily about something, getting entirely too close to them, too. Rossi scrubbed a hand over his face and reminded himself that they weren’t supposed to try to profile each other. And then he realized what he was doing, what he’d been doing since he joined the team. He was discounting what was likely just typical Derek Morgan behavior and filing it away under instinct. And he’d been doing it to the whole team, taking habits that could be human and crediting their Otherness for it. He was a little ashamed of himself, honestly.

He looked around and caught Hotch watching him closely. Rossi gave a rolling shrug, sort of pantomiming, ‘Whoops, what can you do?’ Hotch studied him a second long, dark eyes too serious before giving him one of those barely noticeable smiles and turning to listen JJ speak.

He’d forgotten that they were just as human as they were Other and that, when they wanted to, they appear to the world to be as human as Rossi. It was a misstep, a serious one, one that Rossi hadn’t made in a long time. One that he wouldn’t make again.)

Criminal Minds, Hotch+Garcia, Teaching Penelope to shoot a gun was not something Hotch ever pictured himself doing, but when there's zombies, really, what can you do?

(Hotch didn’t think it could be possible but Penelope really was a worse shot than Reid. Teaching her to shoot was a necessity because the world had gone mad, the dead were walking among them craving living flesh, and he couldn’t leave her defenseless. Still, he was a little worried she was going to shoot him in the foot if she kept jumping at every little pop and creak of the building they were in.

“Penelope,” he said, fortunately after he’d set a hand on her arm to keep her from jerking towards him. “You need to relax.”

“Relax?” she hissed, glancing around them and swallowing, her eyes huge behind her glasses. “Hotch, Kevin wanted to eat me. In the nonsexy way. I was trapped in my apartment, my very small apartment, with him for hours before you guys got to me. So excuse me if I’m jumpy.”

Hotch sighed, fighting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Penelope, you need to learn to shoot a gun. I want to teach you to do that, but I’m worried you’ll accidentally shoot me because you keep jerking around like that. At least take your finger off the trigger until you’re ready to shoot.”

She pursed her lips, glaring at him, before taking a deep breath and placed her finger along the line of the barrel, seeming to calm as she looked at him. “Okay,” she finally said, taking more deep breaths. “Okay, I’m ready.”

He pointed her towards the target, helped her line up, and said, “It’s really very simple…”)

Criminal Minds, Morgan/Garcia, Morgan being paternal with someone else's kids makes Penelope's biological clock exploded

(She wanted to ask him where he learned how to hold a baby. Not because he was doing it wrong or anything. It just seemed like an odd skill for a man such as Derek Morgan to have. Henry was perfectly content, being cuddled as he was against Derek’s broad chest. Penelope was 90% positive her ovaries were trying to explode. Her biological clock had certainly ticked into overdrive.

Derek looked up suddenly, his happy smile sliding into something a bit darker, warmer, more sensual when he saw her watching him. The others had scattered around the room while he communed with the baby but Penelope had frozen at the sight.

He stepped in close to her, eyes skating over her face as he asked, voice quiet and deep, “Hey, Mama, what’s going on in that head of yours?”

She fought the urge to fan herself because, good Lord, the room just got hotter. “You look good,” she finally managed, then fumbled around, trying to make it sound less like she was hitting on him and more like she was just stating an observation. “Holding a baby. I mean, the way you hold a baby. I mean, oh, you know what I mean.”

He studied her for a second, then nodded. “Yeah, I know what you mean,” he said and everybody else seemed to disappear. It was just him and her and a baby in this moment. He carefully held Henry out, his eyes locked on hers. “Here. You hold him.” Penelope swallowed but took Henry, instinctively cuddling him close and looking down into his perfect, handsome little face. “Yeah,” Morgan murmured and she looked up to see his dark eyes staring, soft and heated, at her. “I know what you mean.” He gently pushed a stray lock of hair off her cheek. “Devastating.”

Penelope’s heart thumped hard and she thought for a second her panties had melted. Derek Morgan, the sexiest man in the history of the world, thought she was devastating. She swallowed again and managed an, “Oh.”

Derek’s slow smiled was pleased and promised things, so many naughty, fun things. He traced the shell of her ear lightly under the guise of tucking her hair behind it. “Yeah. Oh.”

Penelope tore her eyes away from his, scanning the room until she saw JJ walking sedately towards them, arguing lightly with Reid. Penelope quickly foisted Henry off onto Reid, mumbled something that was hopefully appropriate, and made her way out of the room, her knees shaking a bit. She couldn’t resist looking back and nearly tripped when she saw Morgan following her.

“Oh boy,” she breathed and made tracks for her office. Her secluded, private office. “Oh boy, oh boy.”)

Dark Angel, Max/Alec, Max was surprised that she actually enjoyed Alec braiding her hair

(Max had always enjoyed her hot baths, despite having to steal the electricity to heat the hot water heater. It was the one luxury, besides keeping her kick ass bike well tuned, that she allowed herself and she wallowed in it. So, of course she was in an excellent mood when she climbed out of the tub and wrapped a fluffy robe around herself. That meant she wasn’t in the mood to do more than grimace when she came out of the bathroom to see Alec lounging back on her bed.

“Shoes on the floor, you ass,” she snapped, ripping a brush through her hair.

Her movements were quick and efficient and apparently completely abhorrent to Alec because he was suddenly behind her, yanking the brush out of her hand and wrapping a hand around her arm to tug her towards the bed.

He grimaced at her when she glanced up at him and said, “I’ll do it. You looked like you were going to pull your hair out.”

She rolled her eyes but allowed him to tug her along, then sat between his knees after he’d tossed a pillow onto the floor and motioned to it. “That’s just how I brush my hair.”

He grimaced again. “Yeah, that’s what I figured.”

She started out tense, uncomfortable with the idea of someone tending to her like she was a child. But, the longer he stayed quiet, the easier it was to just relax muscle by muscle as he gently pulled the brush through her hair, untangling it with his fingers.

“You’re good at this,” she said, feeling drowsy.

“Yeah, well,” he said and she looked up at him to catch the pained look in his eye and a jerky shrug. “There was a girl.”

He gently turned her face until she was looking away from him again, his fingers ghosting along the line of her jaw. Then he was deftly braiding her hair, fingers kneading across her scalp as he moved, and it was strange, letting him do as he wanted.

“There,” he said gruffly, running his hand down the sleek line of the braid.

She stood, shifting uncomfortably between his knees as she turned to look down at him. “Thanks,” she said, giving a jerky shrug.

There was a familiar shiver under her skin as she looked down into those hazel eyes, saw his cocky smirk slide into place. She felt a moment’s panic because she wasn’t supposed to go into heat, anymore. Manticore had fixed that. But then it occurred to her that this just normal, everyday lust. It was wanting, pure and unblemished and absolutely her choice.

She leaned down suddenly, pressing an almost chaste kiss to his lips, bringing a hand up to cup his cheek. He was startled but game, sliding his hand up her thigh, across her backside, until it spanned the small of her back and pulled her closer. His neck had to be uncomfortable at the angle it was tilted but he seemed to want as much of her touching him as he could. She shifted until she was straddling him, knees to either side of his hips, and her robe parted at the jostling.

He groaned, kneading his fingers into the curve of her hip before sliding his up to cup her breasts. She felt a spike of something unwanted, panicking fizzing along her nerve endings and she pulled away, allowing him to drop his head into her neck and pant for breath.

“We have to stop,” she said, shaky hands pushing him away from her breasts and tugging the edges of her robe closed.

He groaned and flopped back onto the bed, looking up at her in confusion. She swung off his lap, then tucked as much of the robe around her as she could. She didn’t owe him anything. She didn’t.

But maybe she wanted to tell. “I’ve never decided to have sex,” she said and she waited. Either he would understand or he wouldn’t.

There was a sharply indrawn breath, then he sat up beside her, carefully pushing a curl that had slipped free of the braid behind her ear. “You escaped before they found out about the heat,” he said quietly. “I forgot about that.”

She jerked a shoulder. “They fixed it. When I got captured, they fixed it. But I’ve never, not without it being there.”

His fingers trailed down her cheek and she turned to look at him, maybe craving the touch. “It’s your choice, now, Max,” he said, unusually solemn. “It’s up to you.”

She closed her eyes, pressing her cheek into his hand.)

**Fast and Furious series,Dom/Brian(/Letty),Brian can't deal with loosing the Dom or Dom's family

He went back to the Bureau. It was a just punishment, after all. The Bureau was all black suits, white shirts, and grey walls. He sank himself into it and allowed its colorlessness to sink into his life. He’d had color, once. Bright and vibrant, occasionally harsh. He’d injected himself into it, immersed himself and wallowed in it. And he’d destroyed it.

He could have stayed with Rome in Miami, could have siphoned away all the vibrancy that was in the streets and people there. But he felt L.A.’s pull from across the country and made himself leave the comfortable for the cold and grey.

Pulling all nighters was pretty common for him. He didn’t need the sleep, didn’t have family to go home to. He had a cold, barren one room rental as far away from the streets that were favored for racing as he could find. Still, when even the boss was making comments about too many long nights, Brian headed out of the office to lock himself away for a couple of days before he could turn around and go right back.

He knew as soon as he opened his door something was different, that someone was there. His gun was in his hand before he really thought about it. He edged further into the room, then froze. His first thought was a stupid one but he was in shock, so sue him. ‘Letty’s wearing a dress.’ It shouldn’t have been what he focused on. That, or the way her eyes sought his even as she took another long pull off the Corona in her hand.

His gun dropped to his side and he fumbled back a step to yank his keys out of his door as she smirked at him. She watched him, amused as hell, as he dropped everything on the wobbly table by the door, took five steps to his fridge to pull out his own Corona, then collapsed on the edge of bed because there wasn’t another chair to sit in. Hell, there wasn’t room for another chair.

“This place,” she said, voice sounding like music to his ears as she slowly twirled a finger in a circle, “is a shithole.”

He shrugged because it was true. It was bland, it was boring, and it wasn’t home. He couldn’t go home.

She stood, stretched, set aside her beer and, even in heels, she had the same strut she’d always had. That she came to rest between his knees and capture his chin in one of her small, capable hands, searching his face with solemn dark eyes, thumb sweeping across one of his cheekbones. He forced himself to close his eyes, to turn away from her touch. She was all golden and spice and that wasn’t what he deserved, anymore.

She caught his chin in a tight grip, hands stronger than they appeared due to years spent fucking around in the insides of a car.

“I fucked up,” he told her, looking her in the eye as he captured her wrist to push her away or pull her closer or to just feel the beat of her pulse under his fingers. “I fucked everything up, Letty.”

She squeezed his chin. “I know. And now you’re going to help me fix it.”

He closed his eyes but this time swayed into her, pressing his forehead against her collarbone. She hesitated but finally wrapped an arm across his shoulders. They’d both revolved around Dom, managing never to collide, and Brian was pretty sure this was the first time she’d really touched him. He wrapped his hands around the back of her thighs and pulled her closer, breathing deep. She smelled like cars, new leather and wind.

She gave in, wrapped herself around him and murmured, “We’re going to find a way to bring him home. He needs to come home.”

She settled herself in his lap and Brian just breathed and remembered how to see colors, how to feel them, experience them. They were going to fix this. Dom needed to come home so Brian could find it, again. They needed Dom to come home.





The Big Bang Theory, Sheldon/Penny, Sheldon finds his libido

(Sheldon blames Leonard. He kept bringing her over, after all. Sheldon told him, repeatedly, that it wasn’t going to go anywhere. Well, it went somewhere but Sheldon’s nearly positive down the tubes wasn’t where Leonard wanted it to go.

Of course, if he blames Leonard, he has to blame Penny, too. First, because she made herself invaluable as a friend and he couldn’t deny her requests to spend time together. Then, because she injured herself accidentally and he just as accidentally fondled her mammary gland. And Sheldon may be very, very good at denying most of his body’s demands and he might have been oblivious to the majority of the fairer sex during the first third or so his lifespan, but not even he can stifle biological imperatives when he’s holding something like that in his hand.

It all went downhill from there. He would catch wind of her scent and have to excuse himself. She would laugh, things would jiggle, and he would lose his train of thought. It’s as though once he turned his libido on, he can’t find the kill switch. Thank God he’s only reacting like that with Penny. He can’t imagine ever getting anything done if he was attracted to as many women as Wolowitz or Koothrappali seem to be.

The most frustrating thing about it, of course, is that Penny seems to have no idea. She’s causing tons of emotional upheaval and she can’t even be bothered to notice.

Well, she couldn’t before a half an hour ago

“Sheldon,” she says slowly, looking up at him.

“Yes, Penny?” he asks, trying to think past the surge of hormones. It’s surprisingly difficult.

“Did you learn that off the Internet?”

“Yes,” he said eagerly. “There are a surprising number of tutorials, although several spin off into roleplay and other forms of fetishism that I find distasteful.”

“Sheldon,” she said, cupping his cheeks, thumbs sweeping over his cheekbones.

“Yes?”

“Stop talking and kiss me.”



T:TSCC, Derek or John, things that shouldn't frighten me

(It was stupid. Derek knew John in the future, had gotten drunk with him, cursed him, saluted him. He knew he survived to lead the Resistance, yet every time teenage John left the house, cold fear twisted through Derek’s guts. If this was how Sarah had felt for the past 17 years, it wasn’t any wonder she was a little crazy.

Sarah hated marching bands. They were loud and conspicuous and, on bad days, they could sound like bombs falling. She wouldn’t say she was afraid of them, she wouldn’t say she was afraid of anything except failing John and then the world.

John was afraid of people. Of losing them, specifically, but trusting them was getting harder. Everyone around him died. It’d been a hard lesson, one learned young and at great cost. And now he knew that, in the future, they all died for him.

Cameron wasn’t afraid of anything. She could fake it if she needed to; mimicry was a base skill for infiltrator units, after all. But she wasn’t afraid of anything, not like humans were. She had picked up determination, curiosity, and other useful skills that allowed her to blend. She could learn to be afraid, but it didn’t seem to be an effective emotion, so she veered her study of humanity towards the emotions that could help her protect John Connor. He was her mission.)



Firefly, Jayne & Simon, After a slow month, Jayne doesn't have enough money to send home for Mattie's medicine.

(Of all the people that could’ve been waiting for him in his infirmary, Jayne would’ve been his last choice. If he wasn’t bleeding or unconscious, Jayne did his best to avoid it and the Tams.

Simon cleared his throat and Jayne hid the vial he’d been fiddling with. Simon wasn’t angry so much as perplexed.

“Do you need something?” he asked cordially. Being polite to him always seemed to throw Jayne off balance.

He slowly set aside the vial and picked up a data chip, thrusting it forward. “We’ve run short on pay the last few months. I ain’t got enough credits for Mattie’s treatments. I was wonderin’ if you had something that could help hold her over.”

Simon plugged the chip into his palm reader and blanched at the girl’s diagnosis. “Does she take hydroplastid or plastinines?”

“Neither,” Jayne said and shrugged when Simon looked at him, shocked. “Hydra’s too far from the Core. Even if we could afford the cure, we couldn’t get it. She takes the treatments.”

Simon’s jaw snapped shut as he was once again reminded of how different life in the Core was as opposed to life on the Rim, where protein was worth killing over and medicine shipments often had armed guards. He moved, instead, to a low cabinet, pulling out the box that was inside, then shoving most of his upper torso into the tight space. River had shown him the hiding space, barely big enough for the brief case that was carefully tucked inside the nook. He’d kept a few things from the Ariel job, with Mal’s blessing, although he hadn’t been sure what he’d do with them.

He carefully opened the case and let out a breath that all the vials were still intact. He pulled out four and turned to Jayne. “I have enough hydroplastid for the first round of the cure. But these three are Hydronine, something that’ll hold her over until jobs pick back up again and you can afford the treatment. If we could set up another job like Ariel, then I’d suggest sending home a vial of Hydronine and the three vials of hydroplastid. Once she starts taking the hydroplastid, though, she won’t be able to go back to taking the treatment. I’d like to save as many vials as I can, so I’m going to let you decide.”

Jayne rocked back on his heels. “You think we can pull another job like Ariel?”

Simon shrugged. “There are half a dozen hospitals on Ariel alone, just like the one we robbed. In all honesty, between Miranda and skirmishes on the border, I’m pretty sure that robbery’s already been forgotten.”

“Why would you want to help me?” Jayne asked and Simon could almost see the wheels squeakily churning away, trying to figure him out.

“I don’t,” Simon said honestly, bluntly. “I want to help Mattie. I want…” He trailed off, flinching for a moment, before continuing, “I can’t cure River of what was done to her. I can help her find a way to maintain a sort of equilibrium but I can’t fix her. I can fix Mattie. Three more vials and your sister is healthy again.” Simon cleared his throat, turning away for a moment, fidgeting with things on the counter. “Besides. I’m a doctor. I swore an oath to help people, no matter whose brother or sister they are or where they come from.”

Jayne was quiet for so long Simon started bracing himself for some unlikely calamity. The heavy tread of Jayne’s boots had him looking up. Jayne clapped him on the shoulder as he passed, saying, “Thanks, doc. I’ll talk to Mal, see if we can’t swing by a Sky Plex, send Ma and Mattie them two vials, then find us a hospital to rob.”

It was as close to gratitude and camaraderie as he was likely to ever get with Jayne but Simon let his spirits lift as he tucked two of the Hydronine vials back into the case and slid it back into its cubby. He couldn’t cure River, that was true. But better Jayne’s sister than none.)

General Hospital, Jason Morgan/Lucky Spencer/Sam McCall, the alcohol doesn't numb the pain, but Jason and Sam seem to

(It’d been awhile since Jason had had to fish Lucky Spencer out of trouble, but it definitely felt like old hat. Even if this trouble didn’t involve fire or guns. He plucked the glass out of his hand even as he was lifting it, balled a hand in the back of his jacket, and started hauling him out of Coleman’s.

“What the hell?” Lucky said, finally struggling a bit.

“Your sister called me,” Jason said, glaring down a patron that wanted to protest Sonny’s enforcer hauling a cop out of a bar. Lucky stopped struggling, just slumped in his grasp and let him shove him the rest of the way out of the bar, which was absolutely predictable. Luke and Lucky, Nicholas and Ethan, they’d all give their left nut to make Lulu Spencer happy.

“You can let me go,” Lucky said when they were out of the bar, tugging a little to free himself. “I won’t go back into the bar.”

“I promised her I wouldn’t just pour you into a cab, that I’d see you home safe,” Jason said, steering him towards his car. If he hadn’t been holding onto him, he wouldn’t have felt the little jerk at that statement. “Unless you can think of somewhere else you’d rather go as long as there’s no booze.”

“Home it’ll have to be, then,” Lucky said, bitterness creeping into his voice.

Jason pursed his lips as he shoved Lucky into the car and knew he’d regret what he was going to do in the morning. He wished he at least had time to call Sam, give her some warning, considering their history. But he just swung into the driver’s seat and got going, glad that their apartments were in vaguely the same direction.

He figured Lucky would protest when he missed the turn off to his place but, other than tensing up in his seat a little, he didn’t react. Jason set his hand on his leg, anyway. It was brief comfort, a little warning, definitely an invitation, and Lucky’s thigh tensed under his hand before relaxing.

When he’d parked the car and they’d both swung out of it, he wasn’t surprised to find Lucky willingly invading his space. Not getting in his face, no, but walking close enough that Jason set a hand wide between his shoulder blades to guide him. Lucky fidgeted when Jason pulled back to get his keys out of his pocket but his front door swung open before he could get them out, Sam’s gaze shifting from one to the other before she stepped back.

Lucky likely would have turned and left, but Jason wrapped a hand around the back of his neck and just stood there with him. He made it clear that wherever he went, Jason was going with him. That had less and less to do with Lulu and more and more to do with Lucky.

Lucky stepped through the door and Jason let his hand soften a bit, let his thumb sweep down the side of his neck, while he shut the door behind them. Sam hesitated, looking at Jason for a second, before she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his waist, resting her head against his chest. Lucky went loose all over, arms wrapping tight around her, pulling her as close as he could get. Jason stepped in behind him, wrapping his arms around both of them, and just waited. Lucky started to shake and Jason sighed softly, dropping his chin onto his shoulder. He didn’t cry but he did fall apart.

When Lucky became still again, Jason pressed a kiss to his neck. Lucky made a startled noise, then tilted his neck to give better access. He must have loosened his hold on Sam because she stepped back, eyes going dark at the sight of them. She bumped into the arm of the couch, bringing her hands up to hang onto it.

He pressed an open mouth kiss to Lucky’s pulse, arms coming around him. Lucky clutched at his wrist before he turned in Jason’s arms. Lucky’s pupils were blown to black and his mind wasn’t anywhere but here. Jason dipped his head to capture his lips when pounding started on the door.

“Stone cold! The Jackal has news of great importance, so if you will please allow me to interrupt!”

Jason groaned into Lucky’s neck, before pushing him in Sam’s direction, saying, “Take it upstairs.”

Sam grabbed Lucky’s hand before he could protest, pulling him along in her wake. Jason ran a hand over his face, switching from one mindset to another just that easily.

When he pulled open the door, Spinelli took one look at his face and said, “Oh boy.”

Spinelli outlined the problem as quickly as his stuttering would allow and Jason bit back curses, rubbing his hands over his face in his agitation. This was a problem he was going to have to fix and now instead of later. He grabbed the back of Spinelli’s shirt, propelling him towards the door, calling up the stairs as he was leaving, “Sam, there’s a problem I’ve gotta see to. I’ll be back.”

He slammed the door behind him, possibly a little more pissed off than he should’ve been.

Three hours and one serious bad temper later, he quietly let himself back into his apartment. Lucky’s jacket was still tossed over a chair and Sam’s purse was on the desk. He hung up the jackets and quietly stripped as he made his way up the stairs. The lights in the bedroom were off but streetlights allowed him to see two bodies curled together. Stepping closer, he could see Lucky playing big spoon to Sam’s little spoon and he maybe smiled a bit before pulling back the sheets and sliding in behind them.

Lucky tensed up but Jason just pressed a kiss to his shoulder blade and threw an arm around both of them as he spooned behind him. Lucky relaxed bit by bit until his breathing went deep and even again. Sam whispered, “We are definitely talking about this in the morning.”

In the morning, it didn’t seem to matter, though, because Lucky was gone when they woke up. Jason told himself that that was only surprising because stealth had never been Lucky’s strong suit. Throughout the day, Jason snapped at Spinelli three times and Sonny once, and Sam had had to come home at lunch because she was scaring her clients.

So, by five, he really wasn’t in the mood for any more interruptions and he was fully prepared to give whoever was on the other side of that door hell. Pulling it open, seeing Lucky standing there, was like having the air knocked out of him.

“Spinelli,” he said, not looking away from the cop fidgeting on his threshold. “Go away.”

Spinelli scrambled, wide eyed, to do as he was told as Jason stepped back and let Lucky in. He slammed the door behind him and called up the stairs, “Sam! Lucky’s here!”

Then he herded Lucky against the door and stared down at him.

Lucky brought his hands up to Jason’s hips, thumbs digging his black t-shirt out of his pants so his fingers could twist in it as he said, “Nothing else helps. Nothing else feels good.”

He heard Sam clattering down the stairs but he dipped in close and pressed a kiss against Lucky’s jaw before saying quietly, “When we put you to bed, we want to wake up with you.”

“I had to go to work,” Lucky said, hands finally running up his shirt.

Jason was pretty sure he’d been running away, at least on some level, but he kissed him, hot and hard, anyway, before stepping back and letting Sam wiggle in between them to get her own. This’d been a long time coming and, regardless of how stupid it might be, Jason wasn’t letting go.)

SGA, John/any, "I feel like mowing the lawn." "...what?"

(There was a newspaper on the table in front of him, a cup of coffee in his hand, a baby in his lap, and the smell of breakfast wafting through the air. The wave of peace, of normal that swept over John was so startling, his breath caught in his chest, causing it to tighten.

“I feel like mowing the lawn,” he announced, breath easing out with a smile.

Teyla, dressed in one of his black t-shirts and a pair of his boxers, turned from where she’d been gathering Torren’s breakfast and smiled bemusedly. “Excuse me?”

“It’s just an urge,” he shrugged, gesturing with his mug. “This feels so Earth-like normal that I feel like I should be going out to mow the lawn.”

She turned back to the stove but he still saw the smile. “Perhaps this is simply Pegasus-like normal.”

John snorted, bouncing Torren one his knee and making funny faces at him to make him laugh as he said, “Teyla, Pegasus-like normal is the city trying to kill us or being shot at or almost blown up.”

“I was under the impression that people got shot and blown up on Earth, too,” Teyla said, turning to look at him with her eyebrow raised.

John froze. “Well. In places. But-”

She sauntered over, setting Torren’s bowl of baby goop on the table, then leaned into him. “Earth or Pegasus, John, all humans make their own normal. My son is Athosian. Yet, he will be raised on Atlantis and he may even be allowed to study on Earth, if Rodney has anything to say about it.” And Rodney had definitely had something to say about it. Torren hadn’t even started walking and Rodney had already started talking about universities. She ran fingers along the edge of John’s cheek and said, “We will find a balance, we will find our normal.”

He smiled up at her as he said, “Yeah, okay. I guess I can get used to that.”

Teyla kissed him lightly, then picked Torren up and started feeding him the funky goop that Athosians favored instead of the baby food. Yeah, he could get used to this.)



Leverage, Hardison/Parker/Eliot, Tara's POV (Theme: Outside PoV)

(Tara likes to think she would have noticed without Sophie telling her but, honestly, she’s not sure she would have. Since she’d never seen them before, she’s pretty sure she can’t tell how they’re different in the after. And in the after, there’s really nothing about them that screams threesome.

Eliot growled at everybody equally, although Tara’s the only one he watches with any sort of menace. Hardison was both professional and intrusive with everyone, although she doubts anybody else’s accounts have been put through the ringer like hers had lately. And Parker was…Parker. Tara considers herself lucky that she hasn’t been set on fire.

But, since she’s looking for it, she catches the looks. The teasing that has an undercurrent to it that never appears when they’re poking at Nate. It isn’t until the psychic job, until Rand, that she ever sees the touching, though. Parker isn’t one for casual touches, Eliot has well-defined special boundaries, and Hardison, well, Tara’s pretty sure that Hardison would cling to anybody that would let him. His bad luck that none of his crew were touchy people.

Walking into Nate’s living room cum Leverage headquarters and seeing Parker stretched across Eliot’s chest sleeping brings her to a standstill. He rolls his head to look at her but he doesn’t stop combing his fingers through her hair. Tara’s just wondering where Hardison’s hiding when he peeps around the edge of the couch where he’d been sitting on the floor, head propped up on Parker’s hip. Parker stirs and Hardison twists and shushes her and she goes still again. Eliot watches Tara as she carefully, silently eases backwards out of the apartment, her heart knocking against the ribs. No one had been naked, but that was still a thoroughly intimate situation. And she gets it. They hide the most private part of themselves as easily as they work a job.



Veronica Mars, Wallace Fennel, Cookie Monster

There’s a thief in the dorms. Considering the fact that since he’d started at Hearst, he’d helped Veronica track down a murderer and a pair of serial rapists, something like petty thievery shouldn’t be shocking. Still, this was the third batch of cookies to go missing since the semester began so he put the skills he’d learned from Veronica to good use and began ruling out the usual suspects.

It wasn’t Piz because he’d begun receiving his own batches of oatmeal raisin and Wallace hated to be the one to tell him but those were probably preemptive ‘let’s just be friend’ measures on Veronica’s part. Parker got her own triple chocolate chip whenever she asked for them and Mac was dieting, still trying to shed her freshmen 15, “For my health, not for vanity,” she always asserted. (He maybe even would’ve believed her except she occasionally looked at his snicker doodles like she thought they’d be better than sex.) But Parker, who’d accidentally started the whole ‘dieting for health’ thing, gave her a few of hers to help stave off cravings.

Which left Veronica, the originator of the cookies who could make her own if she wanted them, Logan, who’d finally been denied Veronica’s cookies, and Weevil, who despite his best efforts at friendship, had never gotten any of Veronica’s cookies.

And that left him nowhere because Logan hated cinnamon and Wallace didn’t even think Weevil knew about the cookies. He was thinking of posting signs for that big blue Sesame Street character because he really had no other idea.

Wallace slipped into his dorm room and realized he’d forgotten someone, seeing Dick Casablancas shove a stack of snicker doodles, whole, into his mouth as Piz watched with disgusted fascination.

“What the hell?” Wallace yelped, surging forward to rip his spirit box from Dick’s grasping clutches.

(Yes, Veronica still made him spirit boxes to encourage good grades. And as long as they kept coming with awesome cookies, amusing anecdotes, and possible blackmail material on his current professors, he wasn’t going to complain about the sparkly pink unicorns she insisted on plastering the box with.)

“I thought you knew,” Piz said, holding up his hands when Wallace whirled on him.

Dick smirked when he turned to glare at him and Wallace snapped, “Why didn’t you eat his cookies?”

Dick snorted. “Oatmeal raisin? They look like they’ve got rat turds in them.” Piz made an affronted noise, which everybody ignored. “Besides, it’s cruel to eat a dude’s breakup cookies.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Wallace saw Piz’s mouth fall open to deny that they were broken up, saw the clues add up and his mouth snap shut and tighten rather unattractively.

He’d forgotten that Dick had known Veronica for as long as Logan had, would’ve experienced her cookies before Wallace even knew they existed. That kind of memory was from Before, Lilly’s time, when Lilly would have been leading them all into temptation. After was Wallace’s time and he followed Veronica.

Dick stood, swiping cinnamon off on his pants and passed Wallace with a wink and a smirk. “Snicker doodles were always my favorite.”

The door banged softly shut behind him and Wallace, clutching his spirit box to his chest, scowled at Piz and said, “I’m buying a safe.”



***Author's Notes: I actually have a full fledged story that's sort of like that drabble, but it's going to be awhile in coming.
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