femslash100 drabbles for challenge #103 “Hate”
CSI:NY: Lindsay/Aiden (250)
Lindsay finds herself looking up Aiden’s number and inviting her for coffee because she’s sick of being second best. No one says anything; but it’s there underneath.
They drink lattés in silence, trying to work each other out. Aiden is everything that Lindsay isn’t, and it stings more than Lindsay wants to admit.
Aiden, draining her coffee cup, tells Lindsay she wants to do this again sometime. Lindsay can’t work out why, but agrees.
The third time they meet up, Aiden kisses her. Lindsay can’t stop herself from kissing back, because Aiden is everything she can’t be.
Lindsay leaves bruises intentionally, desperate to leave some kind of mark on her.
“Wow,” Aiden laughs. “You really hate me, don’t you?”
She rolls over in bed, lights a cigarette.
“I don’t-” Lindsay begins, trails off. “And how do you feel about me?”
“Nice try,” Aiden smirks.
They do this for weeks and it’s confusing because Lindsay doesn’t really know why, except that it’s better than being alone.
“I think,” she mumbles one evening, drunk, obscurely angry and resentful of every wave in Aiden’s hair, “That I’d like to be you.”
“Well,” Aiden replies, “You can’t. You know that.”
It sounds like she’s saying you’ll never be good enough. So Lindsay bites Aiden’s shoulder hard enough to bruise.
But somehow, eventually, insanely, they start having conversations and Aiden doesn’t seem nearly as frustrating. In the end, Lindsay turns around and says:
“When did I stop hating you?”
“Maybe you never did.”
Firefly: Inara/Saffron (225)
Saffron is dirty and wet and bruised and tired when she comes stumbling up the Guild’s steps, asking for Inara. Inara is immediately suspicious, but times change, and there’s enough hate out in the black without her adding to it.
“Help me,” Saffron whispers, and Inara can’t work out what to do. She decides she might as well, because Saffron either genuinely needs her help, or needs to manipulate Inara, and both options will require some form of input from her.
“What happened?” she asks, running a hot bath and adding crushed rose petals. Saffron looks at her warily through her damp fringe. “All right, don’t tell me.”
Saffron remains quiet, shivering in the near-scalding water.
“I shouldn’t have come here,” she mumbles eventually. “Why are you even helping me? You hate me.”
Inara can’t deny that, so she just offers to help Saffron wash her hair.
She decides, when they’ve both eaten, that Saffron is here for some quick and easy money. Inara could throw her out, but she won’t, and instead allows Saffron to pull her close murmuring thank you against her mouth.
The next morning, Inara wakes up to find four of her finest dresses and an elaborate haircomb gone, but Saffron has very deliberately left the safe untouched. Inara can’t help smiling.
Maybe there is something more than hatred between them.
Torchwood: Tosh/Suzie (200)
(Written partially because widowedanthem and justian nodded in a wise [and faintly irritating] fashion until I agreed to write some.)
The evening Suzie dies, Ianto and Owen bugger off pretty quickly looking shell-shocked and tired. Tosh thinks she should go home too, but she can’t.
Jack’s expression is sympathetic and for the first time it occurs to her that he probably knew everything, knew the evenings when they were both working late, where complaining about how inconsiderate aliens were to never give them a moment’s rest turned to mugs of coffee and then awkward kisses. Suzie was always on the edge of sanity and Tosh knows she shouldn’t have been drawn to her so inevitably, so deeply, but it’s too late for regrets now. Suzie pulled her in and now she’s gone and Tosh doesn’t know what to do.
In the silent Hub, Jack pulls her close and lets Tosh sob relentlessly into his shirt. It’s ugly, spilling out this much emotion, but she can’t stop.
“I hate-” Tosh begins hesitantly, but she’s unable to finish the sentence. She can’t work out whether she hates Suzie, or whether she hates what she did. It’s all too blurred together to be clear.
“It’s all right,” Jack mumbles, stroking her hair, and Tosh almost wants to laugh because it so blatantly isn’t.
Lost: Ana Lucia/Kate (250)
They’ll never be friends.
And Kate doesn’t want them to be.
[Ana always maintains eye contact during sex, smirking and urging Kate on with the calm certainty that Kate won’t walk away, even if she wants to. Ana draws you in and traps you, and Kate hates her for that, because she seems to be good at nothing except pushing people away.]
Jack and Sawyer spend so much time obsessed with themselves that they barely see her.
[Ana never kisses her on the mouth, preferring instead to leave bruises on her shoulders, teeth marking her, fingers moving inside her until Kate is screaming and Ana is laughing like she’s won something Kate didn’t mean to give away.]
There’s no point to any of this. Kate knows that she should stop.
[Ana doesn’t ask questions or offer answers, in fact doesn’t invite conversation, except when she’s whispering “you like this, don’t you Katie?” and “on your knees, Katie”. And no one’s called her Katie in years so she ought to resent it; but somehow she doesn’t.]
But she has nothing and no one else, so turning to someone she resents and hates is better than being alone.
[Ana is mostly just shadows, dark hair blowing in the wind; they don’t touch in the sunlight.]
Kate shivers and tells herself that there’s nothing wrong with getting relief from someone she barely knows.
[“I hate you” Kate mumbles into Ana’s damp skin. “I know,” Ana replies, like it doesn’t matter and never will.]
House MD: Cameron/Stacy (100)
Chase, with hindsight, realises that House knew what was going on and was quite happy to drop Chase right in it. At the time, though, he has no idea, so follows House’s order to take a pile of paperwork to Stacy’s office. He reckons it’s probably House’s latest method of torturing him, so really isn’t expecting the shock when he opens the door to find Stacy leaning back in her office chair with Cameron knelt between her thighs.
“I… I thought you hated each other,” he stammers, horror and amazement rushing through him.
“Oh.” Stacy glances down at Cameron. “Oops.”
House MD: Cameron/Stacy (240)
She has tried so hard to hate him that today she’s broken three fingernails, spilt coffee all over her labcoat, and her hair has fallen out of its ponytail to curl around her shoulders in an unprofessional and faintly lank way. And it’s only midday.
When he sends her off to do his clinic duty for him, she grits her teeth because she knows that she should, but she doesn’t actually mind. She makes him coffee without complaint, rolling her eyes at Chase and Foreman like it’s a chore. And when he breezes past her to have another three-hour lunch with Wilson in the middle of their case, she tells herself that this is why she can’t stand him.
She knows that hate shouldn’t be something you have to work at, but she has to keep trying to dislike him or she’ll just shatter to pieces.
But she doesn’t have to work at hating his ex. It’s as simple as breathing to look at Stacy and want to hurt her. It’s second nature to leave bruises on her hips, nailmarks down her back. Stacy seems to revel in it (and in some ways she’s too like him for comfort, those cold smiles and I own you glare).
It’s mad, that the woman she hates is the woman she’s fucking, and yet the man she can’t hate, no matter how hard she tries, is the one she’ll never get close to.
Navy NCIS: Abby/Ziva (125)
“Think this is gonna make me like you?” Abby asks softly, fingernails digging too hard into Ziva’s shoulder, hard enough that there’ll be marks tomorrow.
“Believe me, Abby, I don’t want you to like me,” Ziva murmurs into her hair. The pigtails got dragged out at least half an hour ago, and Abby can barely see through the curtain of black in her eyes.
“There’s something wrong about that,” Abby informs her tightly, trying not to sound breathless, but Ziva’s got three unrepentant fingers inside her and it’s making coherent thought problematic.
Ziva laughs, teeth grazing Abby’s ear, and she’s so different to Kate that it almost physically hurts, but Kate is dead and Ziva is not and, right now, maybe that’s all that counts.
House/Chase/Wilson for drabbles100
(Now I’ve written these I’ve got something awesome like 13 left before I’m done!)
007. Days (114)
On Monday, it’s Chase, vile shirt unbuttoned and something similar to penance in his eyes.
On Tuesday, it’s Wilson, smile twitching his lips until he comes and it’s replaced by something feral.
On Wednesday, it’s Chase again, complaining about how he hates being tied up until House has to give him something to do with his mouth just to shut him up.
On Thursday, it’s Wilson again, complaining about his divorce proceedings until House threatens to leave him naked and hogtied in exam room one for Cuddy.
On Friday, it’s Chase and Wilson (because a little variety never did anyone any harm), and there’s candlelight, and House decides he could do a lot worse.
009. Months (100)
About an hour after Chase first arrives, House tells Wilson that he’ll be fucking him in less than three months.
“No way,” Wilson replies, leaning back in his chair. “It’ll take longer than that.”
“I doubt it,” House shrugs. “Boy’s got so many daddy issues he’ll be begging for it long before I’ve finished unravelling them.”
“You have far too much confidence in your abilities,” Wilson tells him.
“Care to put money on it?” House enquires.
Two months later, he collects $200 from Wilson and takes Chase out to lunch with it (couldn’t have done it without him, after all).
013. White (100)
Wilson, from time to time, makes incredibly concerned noises about what they’re doing to Chase. House doesn’t give a damn either way (Chase asked for this; even if he didn’t know what he was getting into, he wanted it to begin with) but lets Wilson get it off his chest anyway.
Wilson starts going on about how they’ve ruined Chase’s innocence and completely fucked him over (to be fair to the man, he is very drunk).
House resists the urge to snort with laughter.
“You know, Wilson, Chase has been a lot of things, but innocent isn’t one of them.”
023. Lovers (100)
(Wouldn’t if have been brilliant if this happened in canon? *grins*)
They don’t part amicably.
“If you don’t have me,” Stacy snarls, office covered in boxes, “What the fuck do you have?”
House considers this.
“I have… a Vicodin addiction. And a cane. And far too many sneakers.”
Stacy glares at him. House rolls his eyes.
“I have Cuddy, who is always willing to flash her tits at me, and Wilson, who is far more supportive than you ever were, and I also have Chase, who, for all his faults, is still far better in the sack than you.”
She’s speechless. Good.
“Bon voyage,” House mutters, and leaves her to it.
024. Family (100)
(This is literally a filler drabble because I couldn’t think of anything for this prompt that didn’t squick me. Although I did manage to write 100 words straight without having to do any editing…)
Wilson spends his life inevitably dutiful to his family, because with his older brother missing and his younger brother around but not living up to expectations, he’s sort of the Good Son. It’s irritating but in some tiny smug way it’s gratifying.
House’s family love him, despite his best efforts to push them away, but he’ll never turn to them for support (or anything else for that matter), because he prefers to think that he doesn’t need anyone.
Chase has no family left, and he wonders if he is supposed to feel free and unburdened now, because he really doesn’t.
028. Children (112)
The afternoon they get news that Andie’s died, Chase and Wilson sob onto each other’s shoulders. Cameron breaks down all over Foreman and House wonders if this means that he should go check on Cuddy, but he doesn’t. It’s strange that one little girl can hit them all so hard, and however hard he may pretend he’s untouchable, House goes out on the bike she made buy him all afternoon (until he runs out of gas).
When he gets back, Chase and Wilson have ordered Chinese and are kissing in a way that implies they’re attempting to feel alive; House rolls his eyes and gets started on the sweet and sour chicken.
029. Birth (115)
Cuddy’s baby is born with the world’s brightest blue eyes, and most bets place House as the father.
“I don’t think it was me,” House tells Wilson while they’re playing chess one afternoon. “You’d think I’d remember doing something like that.”
“Maybe she date-raped you,” Wilson suggests helpfully, taking advantage of House’s distraction to capture his bishop. “Invited you into her office with promises of no clinic duty and drugged you up with rohypnol.”
It sounds unsettlingly plausible, but House doesn’t want that to be the case, so he goes and has another good look at the baby. There’s something familiar about it, and suddenly it all becomes clear.
“Chase, you dirty bastard,” he grins.
041. Shapes (100)
There is nothing sane about Princeton/Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. People die on a daily basis, of disease and pain and from not minding their distances.
House has his Vicodin addiction and Cameron has her addiction to trying to make everyone care about everything, and Foreman has his addiction to always wanting to be right and Cuddy has her addiction to futilely trying to hold the hospital together and Wilson has his addiction to – what else? – sex.
Chase, for his part, has his addiction to deliberately not noticing the shapes House and Wilson make behind glass when they think no one’s watching.
043. Square (100)
On the night House takes Cameron out on a date, all ironed shirt and barely shaking hands, Wilson turns up at Chase’s apartment with most of a bottle of red wine and the last of the drug rep’s condoms.
Chase can’t figure out why it’s a good thing that the contraception has antibiotics in it, but he’s not one to turn down free alcohol or even freer sex, especially when fuck knows what House and Cameron are doing to each other. He has the sense to know that he is a substitute for House; but then again, so does Wilson.
046. King (110)
Every day, things make less and less sense, and it’s ridiculous and possibly even inconvenient, but there’s no way out of this without being fired.
Something about that is slightly sick; he pretends he doesn’t notice because it’s not like acknowledging how trapped he is will help at all.
What House says goes, and what he wants, he gets, no questions asked, and there’s nothing anyone can do about it.
He grinds his teeth and pretends that he doesn’t mind that what House seems to want this month is to use him as a toy for him and Wilson.
It’s not as though he can actually make it stop.
047. Heart (117)
Chase, contrary to popular opinion, is not stupid, and neither is he apathetic to a fault. After the whole Oh, Whoops, Crystal Meth And Cameron Obviously Don’t Mix incident, his colleagues give him icy glances, consigning him to being a borderline rapist asshole, and he doesn’t bother to correct them.
It’s not always as simple as it first appears, although House looks amused when Chase reveals he has enough backbone to say I’m not going to let you fuck me again. Wilson just smirks, surprised, when Chase turns down his offer of an after-work drink (he knows where it will lead).
It’s not that Chase doesn’t want; it’s just that he doesn’t give his heart away lightly.
054. Air (100)
(With implied!Cameron/Foreman because, in case you’ve forgotten, that just makes me so very happy.)
The air conditioning is fucked and Chase decides he’s definitely gone to hell. Cameron and Foreman are bickering with so much energy that he just wants to tell them to get a room and burn out the tension in there, away from him. House has made so many comments about Cuddy’s tiny top that she’s barricaded herself in her office. And Chase pretends he can’t see House and Wilson and what they’re doing to ‘cool off’ with a kidney dish full of ice on the latter’s balcony, because he’s not sure it would be conducive to him retaining his sanity.
078. Disease (100)
It’s more than a little disheartening to watch House tramping through life attempting to eradicate all feelings of affection that come near him, but Wilson does it anyway, hoping that one day he’ll be able to slip his own adoration under House’s defences before the other man can do anything about it (it’s a risky strategy, but Wilson has confidence).
They’re drinking shots and watching Chase through the office glass; his latest girlfriend has just broken up with him and he’s looking mopier than ever.
“Love isn’t a disease, you know,” Wilson mutters.
House looks unimpressed.
“Tell that to Chase.”
It’s frustrating whenever Wilson thinks that he ought to get married (more for the look of the thing than anything else, or maybe he’s just addicted; House wouldn’t put it past him to be that stupid), and it hurts a little more every time (not that House would ever admit to it).
Wedding number four is as boring and typical as the last three were, but the reception drastically improves because Chase gets drunk on white wine and gives him a halfway decent blowjob in the men’s room.
House smirks, and muses that maybe all is not lost after all.
097. Writer’s Choice [Morning] (113)
Wilson wakes up on the morning of his fourth wedding to find House popping Vicodin and brewing himself coffee, still in his pyjamas, and Chase whistling in the shower. He can’t remember exactly what happened last night, except that it must have been quite a send-off, because he’s going to have difficulty explaining these bruises to Elizabeth.
(House doesn’t approve of Elizabeth because she’s a redhead and Chase hasn’t ever mentioned that he’s aware Wilson’s getting married again.)
“Better get into your tux, you’re going to be late,” House tells him, greeting him with a kiss and caffeine.
There’s something wrong about this situation, but Wilson’s damned if he knows what it is.
Simon/Jayne for drabbles100
004. First (100)
The first time, before it can get too far, Jayne tells Simon in no uncertain terms that “I don’t do no kissin’ on the mouth”; as though he hasn’t said it far too many times already.
Simon’s shirt is all torn at the collar and he has stubble burn on his neck, but he meets Jayne’s gaze unflinchingly, and there’s something in those blue eyes Jayne don’t like too well, although he ain’t entirely sure what it is.
“Why do you think I’d want to?” Simon enquires, and Jayne frowns at him, suddenly unsure who’s got the upper hand here.
037. Sound (107)
Simon’s never been able to speak to women; he’s always been tongue-tied and incapable of making words come out in the right order. River used to tease him about it, when she was so much younger and oh, such a brat.
Even now, with everything he has left from his old life fitting into a suitcase and rapidly leaking out of his broken shell of a mei mei, Simon can’t make eye contact with Inara, is borderline terrified of Zoe, and can never seem to find the right things to say to Kaylee.
It is so much easier with Jayne, when words are neither needed nor welcomed.
Owen/Ianto for alphabetdrabble
002. Bloviate (100)
(Owen/Ianto fluff! Well, almost.)
“You are so unbelievably annoying,” Owen tells him, voice indicating that he’s gearing himself up for a rant. “You never talk about anything but coffee and cleaning products, you actually iron your underwear - I mean, who fucking does that? – and you spend twenty hours a day underground with our potentially homicidal boss and a pterodactyl, so you’re clearly clinically insane. And your flat looks unsettlingly like it’s never been lived in.” There’s a pause. “But… you do have a great arse.”
Ianto rolls his eyes and pulls the duvet over them both.
“I love you too, Owen,” he mutters.
004. Dystopia (100)
(Am currently trying to work out if I can be arsed to finish my full-length version of this one.)
They’re trapped in the Hub. Tosh is supposedly working to get them out, but the temperature’s dropping and Ianto is shivering. They have a fistfight over Jack’s coat; Owen wins. Ianto has a black eye and clutches a mug of hot tea in cold hands. The security systems are still leaching the heat from the air and there’s no contact with the rest of the team.
“I don’t know what to do,” Ianto says, and his teeth are chattering. Owen sighs.
“Come here,” he mutters.
They huddle together in Jack’s coat and hope for rescue before they freeze to death.
006. Fealty (100)
“What are you still doing here?” Owen demands. Ianto doesn’t look up from his paperwork.
“I have to finish this,” he replies, “Since certain people don’t feel the need to actually do their reports…”
“Ha ha,” Owen mumbles. “C’mon, I thought you were coming for a drink.”
Owen forcibly rips files from Ianto’s hands.
“Right now, you’re coming out with the rest of us.”
Ianto wants to keep arguing, but he also knows that he needs to start rebuilding bridges with the team, besides, if Owen’s making this much effort, maybe he should make some effort in return.
010. Jejune (100)
(Contains major character death)
Jack should never have fucking left, but he did and they’re so far out of their depth that it’s hilarious they haven’t drowned sooner.
Well, right now, it isn’t hilarious, but Owen hopes it might be with hindsight.
“It’s going to be alright,” he promises.
Ianto, even with half his chest missing and blood trickling out of his mouth, still manages a withering look.
(Tosh informs him through her comm that she and Gwen have got the creature, but it’s far too late.)
Owen sits on the wet pavement and holds Ianto’s hand until it goes limp in his grasp.