LINDSAY MONROE (CSI NY) for alphabetdrabble
Lindsay became a CSI because it’s good to see things that others don’t, to be able to piece things together and get closure for the loved ones of the victim. And also because she really couldn’t see herself helping out on Daddy’s ranch forever. So she did her training and her first job was a woman who’d apparently been mauled by a hungry bear, until Lindsay found the duct tape and realised it was a body dump. And that’s why she loves this job so much. She can always see the curves and angles that make up the big picture.
Lindsay’s hands always get odd looks; the curved scars that wreck her palms. In Montana, everyone had those scars- in fact, it was unusual if they didn’t. But now, in New York City, people catch sight of the old, worn blisters, mostly healed but forever marking her for who she is, and frown. In fact, Lindsay takes some kind of sadistic pleasure in telling them she got the scars rawhide braiding; the looks of complete confusion are always entertaining.
Although she can’t help wondering if it’s deliberate she has a job that entails wearing latex gloves most of the time.
In Montana, they had murderers. They had blood and dead bodies and guns and police tape. They had late nights and too much caffeine and candy bars instead of proper food for three days straight. They had handcuffs and interrogation rooms and shifty glances and ‘good cop, bad cop’. They had imaginative methods of killing (maybe not as imaginative as in New York, Lindsay reflects with a grin, but then there are considerably fewer tigers. The mountain bears, on the other hand…). What they didn’t have in Montana, Lindsay comes to realise, was a Mac Taylor or a Danny Messer.
SAM/JACK (STARGATE SG-1) for alphabetdrabble
Carter sees stuff that no one else sees and Jack doesn’t just mean those
O’Neill is being unspeakable to her, which is in itself kind of ironic, since he’s not actually speaking to her at *all*. There’s the occasional ‘major-what-do-you-think-we-should-do-ab
But she’s with Pete now, and Pete is a really great guy, and she does love him, and Sam hates that she has to keep reminding herself of this.
Carter’s engagement breaks down over a weekend. Jack doesn’t even try to help piece her together. He can tell she is waiting for him to say I told you so. So he doesn’t say it. Just lets it hang over her head any time he comes near her. And watches her crumple. He still hardly speaks to her; maybe because the only words on his tongue are the ones he won’t say, even now, with Carter trying to recover from her almost-marriage, when she could really use something more substantial than I care about her… more than I’m supposed to.
It’s astonishing how many things can be excused as a result of them being “just one of those Sam-and-Jack things”. Jonas would find it hilarious if it wasn’t quite so confusing. The list of taboo conversation topics is getting ridiculously long. And Teal’c keeps adding to it. Once, it used to be a page ripped out of the back of one of Daniel’s notebooks, a list written in black biro on a boring mission. Now it’s neatly typed up, and circulates the base on a regular basis, and for some unknown reason Sam and Jack never find out about it.
Sam arrived at work with an unmistakable ring on that finger.
“Pete finally popped the question then?” asked Jack, wishing he were keeping his mouth shut.
“Yes,” she replied.
“I didn’t know you two were up to the marriage stage,” he remarked, hoping it didn’t sound too bitter.
“You didn’t ask,” she muttered, as Daniel congratulated her.
So you’re not going to congratulate me then?
What do you think?
Stop being such a dick. You missed your chance.
Fine. Just don’t expect me to come to the fucking wedding.
(Gotta love that silent communication between a CO and his 2IC…)
Jack and Sam share their first proper kiss in the sunlight offworld while waiting for Daniel and Teal’c to finish up making nice with the locals. Sam leans against the DHD, hair fluttering in the breeze. Neither of them speak, but eventually Jack leans down and presses his lips against hers. Sam reaches up to cup the back of Jack’s head; his hair is warm from the sun, and her mouth opens helplessly, and when they finally draw apart Daniel is looking stunned and Teal’c is smiling in that way that means he knows something, although he’s not telling what.
Sometimes Sam feels like asking him exactly what it is that he wants from her, smiling every day and calling her ‘Carter’ like it’s downright dirty (and sometimes it is, the sinful way it drops from his lips, accompanied by suggestive looks that bring her skin out in goosebumps). As it is, she just keeps herself going, waiting for the day when he’ll actually realise she’s been waiting on him forever, and do something about it. But Colonel O’Neill has that thing about taking his own sweet time, so Sam grits her teeth and gets on with it and waits.
HOUSE/CHASE/WILSON (HOUSE MD) for drabbles100
022. Enemies (100)
House and Wilson are actually going to kill each other eventually, constantly feuding or not feuding in a relationship that can’t be healthy for anyone involved, and yet that neither of them can live without. Everyone thinks Chase is the masochistic one, but he isn’t really, not when you look at the way Wilson lets House kick him down and down and down into the dust and then goes back for more. He sometimes wonders whether something is happening between the two of them, whether maybe something ought to happen between them, but he never tries to get himself involved.
035. Sixth Sense (115)
Chase’s hair is in his eyes, his shirt is slipping off his shoulders to reveal impossibly creamy skin, and his breathing is shallow and rapid. Wilson takes a moment to appreciate the sight (it’s really quite a view), and Chase’s prettiness is almost enough to block out all the other thoughts in his head. Not quite enough, of course, because although Wilson’s done this many times (admittedly not with Australians with thighs like that), the guilt always lingers.
“There’s no way,” Chase says softly, not looking at him, “That House won’t know. He’s got, like, a sixth-”
“Shut up,” Wilson hisses, capturing Chase’s mouth again, hoping that that might make the niggling doubt go away.
039. Taste (102)
There’s a pizza on the desk between them and a half-assed game of monopoly beside it. It’s Thursday afternoon and Foreman is staffing the clinic for them.
“Come on,” Wilson protests, “Look at her. She’s gorgeous. Just because you blew it-”
House studies Cameron’s ass through the glass wall for a moment, and then moves his gaze higher.
“Nah,” he says, “Cuddy’s got a better rack. And Cameron’s too… You have no taste at all.”
“All right then,” Wilson says, “What about Chase?”
They both study the blonde and the pen he’s casually molesting.
“You could be onto something there,” House accedes.
CAMERON/STACY (HOUSE MD) for the alphabet soup challenge at femslash100
Cameron just about manages to turn her head.
(But how can she talk so calmly when last night there was- and I- and she- and she’s married and House- and- but I- but she- Mark!- but I couldn’t- but- and- oh my God, I can’t believe- oh fuck…)
(Pulling her slacks on over bruised legs and she can only vaguely remember why the bruises are there in the first place. This morning she could only vaguely remember what the hell had happened except that Stacy was smiling like she’d won something and everything is so complicated)
Cameron knows what it’s like to sit by a sick husband’s bedside and watch him inevitably crumble. She did it, and sometimes she looks back and thinks, God, she was so young.
So she knows exactly what Stacy is going through, clutching Mark’s hand and tears glazing on her cheeks, not sleeping and not eating and trying to be everything she can be in the hope blind faith can keep him alive.
And perhaps, if things were not so complicated, Cameron might try to comfort her. As it is, she watches her through her eyelashes and doesn’t say a word.
Stacy’s teeth scrape gently over Allison’s neck, as she untwists her hair from the tight bun Allison has had it in all day. Her hair tumbles around her bare shoulders, lips swollen, breath coming in shallow gasps.
Allison could say ‘stop’ for altogether too many reasons. But she can’t and she doesn’t because House won’t look at her, but Stacy will, and somehow the two of them are so similar that it’s not even like a consolation prize if she gets one but not the other.
And House says ‘no’ with such certainty but Stacy is all about ‘why not?’.