(Yeah, I ship Gwen/Suzie, but Tosh needs to do stuff more, because she is lovely.)
Gwen didn’t love Owen, but she fucked him anyway.
Tosh is beginning to suspect that Gwen has no idea how to love Rhys anymore, but she still lives with him.
And whatever Gwen feels for Jack is deep and dark and incomprehensible, but it probably isn’t love.
Half-drunk, half-hysterical, blood under their fingernails and their boss still conspicuously absent after four months of waiting, Gwen pulls Tosh towards her and kisses her desperately.
The first woman Tosh ever kissed was Mary. But Mary actually wanted her. Mary claimed to love her. Tosh isn’t sure how she felt about Mary but it could have been love.
Gwen doesn’t kiss anything like Mary did.
She tastes like panic and her fingers dig too hard into Tosh’s shoulders. Tosh wants to say ‘no’ but she’s so desperately alone, and Owen and Ianto are too busy arguing or bonding in a masculine fashion or shagging or whatever to pay any attention to her. She needs not to be on her own any more.
So she obediently tangles her hands in Gwen’s hair, kisses her back with the anxiety-masquerading-as-passion they’re clinging to, and forgets the feeling of everything except Gwen.
But this isn’t love either.
(Inspired by 3x02- Not What It Looks Like. I got this really cute mental image of Lindsay and Stella watching Breakfast at Tiffany’s, and my mother, although not at all approving of my writing fanfiction, agreed with me that it was cute. Anyway. So I wrote it.)
It’s Valentine’s Day. Stella woke up this morning to exactly no cards, no flowers, no boxes of chocolates, and no declarations of love. She’d be depressed, except for the fact that after Frankie, she just isn’t prepared to feel like that again. Not yet, anyway.
Lindsay is sniffling helplessly into a Kleenex on the sofa beside her. Stella would attempt to comfort her, except that she’s sobbing too. Lindsay passes her a tissue and they huddle together on the couch, ignoring the popcorn split on the coffee table.
“I’d forgotten how much I love this movie,” Lindsay manages to say, wiping her eyes. Stella nods in agreement, suddenly glad that the latest case made her dig out Breakfast At Tiffany’s on DVD and invite Lindsay over to watch it, what with it being Valentine’s and neither of them having anyone to spend it with.
They wipe their eyes off, laugh sheepishly at how they got emotionally caught out by the film again, and start attempting to clear up the popcorn mess.
“Thanks for this,” Lindsay says, grinning. Stella grins back. She knows that she won’t be ready for love for a long time. But friendship- she can deal with that.
(Slightly angstier than it was meant to turn out. I think it’s because I was watching CSI at the time and Greg got beaten up and I was sad. Yay anyway.)
The companion policy when it comes to dating is painfully complicated (although surprisingly non-existent when it comes to casual sex), and the policy regarding actually falling in love requires the cutting through of so much red tape that it’s quicker to attempt to remain aloof and away from everyone.
Easier said than done, though. At first, boarding Serenity seemed like the most logical way to avoid temptation; Wash, Zoe and Jayne were all off-limits, and Mal was just too obvious to be a real threat.
Then, of course, Inara met Kaylee.
Kaywinnet Lee Frye, all broad smiles, smeared with engine grease and pretty and messy and everything Inara shouldn’t want. But she does.
The Guild would frown (or more than frown) at her if they could see her now, finding the tiniest of excuses to get Kaylee into her shuttle, brushing her hair and cleaning her nails and letting her dress up, fixing her hair, just to watch her smile with surprise at just how elegant she looks.
Kaylee sets down her teacup, standing up, brushing her hands off on her overalls.
“I need to go check the entry couplings are still holdin’ up,” she explains, touching her styled hair self-consciously. “Inara… do you think Simon will like it?”
She looks so worried that Inara can’t help but reassure her.
“Of course he will, mei mei, you look wonderful.”
Kaylee bounces off, smiling. Inara sighs and mumbles wǒ ài nǐ to the empty shuttle, safe because no one can hear.
wǒ ài nǐ- I love you (apparently. I don’t speak the language. What do I know.)
(I love these two. I know I’m writing Cameron/Cuddy for this year’s Around The Clock challenge, but Cameron/Stacy holds my heart. They’re just so nasty. I think it comes from not really liking either of them.)
“Stop,” Cameron breathes when she’s down to her underwear and Stacy’s nails are digging too hard into her hips.
Stacy looks at her.
“What?” she asks, sarcasm rich as the smeared lipstick on her mouth. “You want me to tell you that I love you? I gather from House that’s the only way to get you to put out.”
Cameron, were it not for the fact that the last two years of working for House have hardened her like skin after a blister, would probably be hurt by this. Now, she’s merely irritated.
“I don’t want you to tell me you love me,” she informs her tightly.
“Just as well,” Stacy says, “Because I spend enough time lying to my husband. Don’t make me have to start lying to you.”
(I really do heart these girls.)
There’s something in those blue eyes as they stare at House. Something uncontrollable, something that she’s told everyone that she no longer feels, no longer thinks about, but it’s there, as flaming and bright as a brand.
He hates her. No. No, he doesn’t. He sees her as a nuisance some days, and a toy on the days that he’s taken a few too many Vicodin, and maybe once he might have thought about fucking her, but that’s clearly gone by the wayside.
She still looks at him with that unconditional love in her eyes, incapable of feeling for anyone else, although Chase looks at her as though he might still have a chance of catching her at her lowest point and taking advantage, and Foreman brings her coffee and tentative smiles, and Wilson’s always there as the all-important shoulder to cry on, sympathetic and fully prepared to destroy his marriage vows if she so much as blinks.
It’s House, though, that Cameron has eyes for.
And Stacy chews her pen and sits in her office doodling on a notepad and wondering just what it would take to make Cameron look at her like that.
(After all, there’s a breaking point for everyone, and stealing Cameron’s attention would surely be beneficial in her plan to make House see exactly how stupid he was, forcing her out all those years ago.)
(Besides- Cameron really is prettier than anyone has a right to be.)
(And Stacy always gets what she wants.)