Niki (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
niki_chidon) wrote2009-08-31 10:15 pm
niki_chidon) wrote2009-08-31 10:15 pm
Entry tags:
Cliche Bingo post 3: More Shorter Stories
Title: After Virmire
Cliche: Missing Scene/Episode Tag
Fandom: Mass Effect (game)
Pairing: female Shepard/Kaidan (implied)
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: After Virmire, Shepard deals with her loss in private.
Warning: Canonical character death
Words: 547
Shepard let the door close behind her, and palmed the lock. The moment she was hidden from the eyes of her crew she relaxed her posture.
She couldn't deal with it all now. Not with Ashley trying to make her survival personal, not with the reports, the official condolences that should be sent, the unofficial wake that had been forming in the mess after the debrief.
Had her escape looked like an escape? She had just needed to get out, to be alone, to grieve on her own.
Behind the door of her cabin she could stop being the leader, the commander, the Spectre, the authority.
Here she could be a human being, a woman, someone fallible, someone weak.
In here she could cry.
She had made her decision and now he was dead.
What hurt most was the knowledge that even had she known the result, she would have been forced to make the same decisions.
Liaising with the allied troops was a job for an officer. Faced with the choice between a lieutenant and a gunnery chief, it wasn't a choice.
And Kaidan would have been within his rights to feel slighted had she chosen Ashley.
So she sent him away, on a suicide mission with strangers. To die, alone, on a strange planet.
There had been another moment of choice. But in the end, that hadn't been a choice either. Follow the mission brief and protect the charge or risk the entire operation to go save one man?
A commander couldn't take that responsibility. She had to be able to sacrifice everything for the mission, for the bigger picture, for the fate of humanity and all sentient races.
Even if the cost she was asked to pay was the life of a man she... A man she had learnt to... A friend she...
Kaidan. Handsome, capable, sexy, funny, bashful, flirty, conflicted, smart, sexy, cute, sincere, sexy, brave, sexy... lovable man.
And he had been interested in her, trying to hide it, and flustered when failing. Had he known how much she enjoyed it?
Had he known she was just waiting for the end of the mission to approach him? Had he known she had been *that close* to breaking the regs for him, with him?
She fell to her knees, next to the door, resting her cheek against its cool surface. Had he known how much she depended on him and his opinions and support to get her through this mission?
Their last exchange had been over a comm, when they had both known he was as good as dead. But with so many ears around they hadn't been able to say anything that needed saying.
And it would have just been cruel to... to acknowledge those feelings when they had no future, wouldn't it?
The Salarians spoke about him with words like respect and honour. And she would make sure he got all the posthumous honours he deserved.
Tomorrow.
When she opened that door again and had to become the commanding officer again. Someone in charge. Someone capable.
Someone not quite human.
Tonight she would weep for the man he had been, and the future he had missed. And she'd cry for herself, too, for her future would never be shared with him.
Title: Train of Thoughts
Cliche: Journeys & Quests
Fandom: Gabriel Knight
Pairing: Gabriel/Grace
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Jane Jensen I am not, nor do I own Sierra
Summary: Why Grace left.
Words: 693
I wonder if Gabriel will miss me. You know, beyond the “Grace used to take care of this” level. I wonder if he'll even notice I'm gone.
I look out of the train window, not seeing much in the dark. I know I'm being unfair. I know Gabriel cares about me. Maybe not in the way I'd have wanted but he does. I feel bad for having left without talking to him but I know I would have let him talk me into staying. He could have done that with one smile.
I know he likes me, depends on me, and sometimes I even thought... He's very protective of me. Maybe even possessive.
That night... That night he had one of those Schattenjäger dreams he woke up my safety the only thing on his mind. But that led to something different.
That night was a revelation to me. Not that I expected him to be a bad lover, oh no, all those women wouldn't be coming back for seconds if he was, but I admit I thought he would be more selfish. But the way he touched me... I felt precious. Cared for. Special.
He made me feel special. There were no words but the tenderness of his kisses spoke volumes.
The morning after was awkward, though.
But I misjudged even that. I thought it was his usual modus operandi, love 'em and leave 'em. I don't feel guilty over eavesdropping his conversation with Detective Mosely. Gabriel would never in a million years have said those things to me.
He does care, but to be with me he'd have to change his whole life, and he's not ready to do that. He's maybe even afraid of doing that.
So I have to give him time to get ready.
I'm not going away only because of that, though. I meant what I said in that note. I am tired of being a side character in his adventures. I want to find out what I can do, I need to see if I can use my skills to become someone on my own right. I need to be the heroine for once.
Maybe I can't be a Schattenjäger. But I can be something. I don't have to stand in his shadow for the rest of my life. I need to be... equal to him in an investigation, if I can ever hope to be his equal in a relationship. No, that sounds wrong. I mean, if we two can ever have a chance we need to respect each other as equals. And if I am “just” his assistant in fighting the shadows it would be all too easy to slip into those roles in other aspects as well.
I sound very confident. I'm not. Gabriel could forget me in a week, I'm not doing this expecting anything, really. I am doing this for me. I know I can grow in ways I never thought possible.
And if that gives room for Gabriel to do some growing up when I'm not around... that's just an added bonus.
I'm going on a quest of self discovery, I'm going to sit as a student at the feet of a teacher, I'm going to find out what all I can be and do in this life.
And Gabriel will just have to do without me when I'm gone. I hope he will miss me, I hope he will use that time to make those changes in his life he spoke of. I hope he doesn't touch that French bitch with a finger.
Madeline just made me so mad. Gabriel didn't even like her but he pursued her because she was a pretty woman. At least I know he likes me.
I would like to think he'd be waiting when – if – I come back. I would like to think we could work together, again, at some point.
And, as the trains stops at Nice, where I get off, I whisper the last, secret wish.
Maybe he will follow me.
Title: Would You Care to Join Me for a Romantic Dinner?
Cliché: Rare pairing
Fandom: The Pretender
Pairing: Jarod/Broots, pre-slash
Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit, yadda-yadda.
Rating: PG
Warnings: Canonical bad guy death
Notes: Episode tag for 3.5: Betrayal. I think there might be a sequel.
Words: 609
"He has a daughter who needs him!"
"It doesn't make a difference."
"I does to me."
Broots had hardly had enough time to realise what was happening – Damon was holding him as a human shield and Jarod was trying to save him by talking Damon out of it. It wasn't working.
The look in his eyes warned Broots the second before it happened. It was there, the cold look of a killer. And then he shot.
Damon fell, half his face covered in blood and Jarod was frozen in position, the hand holding the gun still aiming at where Broots stood.
Broots could only stare at him. He was alive! Jarod had saved him. Jarod, Jarod had killed a man to save his life.
Then all the strength seemed to go out from the Pretender and he fell in a crouching position, gun falling from his suddenly powerless hand and clinking unheeded on the floor.
The look of a killer was gone, and his eyes were empty now. He seemed to be in shock. He looked so young, so lost, that Broots found himself moving, almost without a conscious thought.
He knelt down next to the other man and placed a soothing hand on his shoulder. Jarod was shaking, and Broots was moving on instinct now, the instinct of a father. He gathered the trembling man in his arms and whispered soothing words in his hair while rocking him gently.
"It's okay. You had to do it. You saved me. You saved all those people. It's over now." On and on until he felt the Pretender calm down.
It could have been an embarrassing moment but it wasn't, Jarod just pulled away slightly, met his eyes and whispered his thanks.
"No, thank you," Broots countered. "But you have to go now, the place will be crawling with sweepers and cops in a minute. I'll... explain things."
They got up, and Jarod turned to leave. He looked so lonely Broots found it impossible to leave like that. He spoke before he could change his mind.
"You know, you should really get away for a while. Like a vacation. Do you good."
"Really?" Jarod asked, almost smiling.
"I hear Paris is really nice this time of the year," he said casually, knowing Jarod would remember the travelling plans he had mentioned earlier, like he remembered everything else. He'd know that what he was really offering was... what, company? Friendship? He didn't really know himself. He just knew he had to make the offer.
Jarod's smile said he understood.
"I'll keep that in mind."
- - -
Well, he had known Jarod couldn't risk it, really. That hadn't stopped him from looking around for a sign of the black-clad figure in the airport, in the plane, in their hotel...
Three days in Paris and he had given up.
They had had fun with Debbie, doing everything she wanted. His French wasn't even passable but he'd soon learnt that as long as he made the effort, no one really minded when he had to lapse into English.
Of course, that didn't help much if they didn't speak a word of the language themselves.
Broots was staring at the waiter who tried very hard to explain something in French when he heard a voice from behind him.
"The gentleman is trying to explain that the dish you ordered cannot be prepared at this time and is trying to offer you something to replace it."
"Jarod," he exclaimed, turning to face him.
His smile was so bright the Pretender would have had to be blind and stupid not to read everything he felt from it.
And, as Jarod was neither, he took the answering smile as a good sign.
--
Title: Honeymoon Suite
Cliché: Sleeping arrangements
Fandom: Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic
Pairing: Carth / female Revan
Rating: PG-13 (implied sex)
Disclaimer: Not mine
Summary: There is no privacy aboard the ship. Somewhere between a parody and a serious story.
Notes: A sort of sequel to an as-yet unfinished fic that works on its own if you're familiar with the game.
Words: 674
Ebon Hawk had never felt this small. Five humans (now four), a cathar, a twi'lek, a wookiee, and two droids should have had plenty of space, and indeed, they had had no problems with assigning sleeping quarters in the beginning. After all, the droids didn't need any.
But now that Nevara and Carth had... discovered each other, the ship seemed all too small. Soundproofing had not been a priority when constructing the ship.
After the first time when Canderous walked in on them kissing in the mess someone seemed to be stumbling on them every time they turned.
It's not like they were at it like gizkas all the time but... they didn't seem able to stay apart. And it was a long flight to Korriban. Even with Carth flying most of the time, they had no trouble finding time alone together.
The problem was the other people on the ship.
They couldn't very well demand to have the crew quarters for themselves, forcing the others to cramp into the other one. The only other bed was in the infirmary, and after the first time they'd tried it, they really didn't want to repeat the experience.
Canderous had taken to camping on the cargo bay floor, but that offered little relief.
Nev had never really paid attention to how open the layout of the ship was. They could have all the privacy they needed in the cockpit but it wasn't very comfortable for spending a lot of time.
Besides, someone really needed to be there to keep an eye on the instruments, even on auto pilot. And if Carth was... distracted, someone else needed to do that, and that defeated the purpose.
They tried having one of the droids there but HK was way too distracting, and even T3 made them feel a little... exposed.
Sure, they could have just waited until they landed but... after just declaring their love they seemed to need to touch all the time. Maybe to convince themselves that the other was still there. And that touching seemed to always lead to more touching, and embarrassing the people around them.
But the knowledge that they could lose each other any day was a heady aphrodisiac. Who know what would happen at Korriban, whom Malak would send after them next, or whether Revan would decide to resurface from Nevara's mind.
They didn't have the luxury of waiting. But they didn't have the luxury of privacy, either.
It was Mission who solved their problem.
“Guys, what we need is a schedule.”
“What?”
“We set aside certain times when the rest of us will be... elsewhere. Playing pazaak in the cargo bay, or in the mess, or something. Then the pair of gizkas here can have the rest of the ship all for themselves, and not embarrass the rest of us for the rest of the time. Okay?”
“You can't put... that... on a timetable!” Carth spluttered.
“Oh no? You seem to only need to look at each other to want to go at it. So what if we schedule the times you... look at each other,” Canderous demanded.
Nev didn't know who was redder, she or Carth. Didn't these people remember who she was? They were telling Revan to clock her desires!
She shot a look at flustered Carth and couldn't help but laugh. So what? It could work.
“We'll take it,” she declared, grinning. “Starting now. Come on, Flyboy.”
“But everyone will know we're...”
“They know anyway, handsome. And I'll make you forget.”
“I have no doubt about that,” Canderous muttered, watching them go.
He met Juhani's eyes fleetingly. She also seemed a little jealous over the new-found bliss of the pair. Too bad he wasn't into cathars or she'd be an easy lay at the moment.
Oh well. “So, pazaak?” he asked, digging up his last bottle of Tarisian ale. “Here, old man, I think this is as good an occasion as any to enjoy this.”
Title: The Attack of the Body Snatchers
Cliché: Mutation & Physical transformation
Fandom: The Pretender
Pairing: Jarod / Miss Parker
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Not mine
Summary: Miss Parker and a mirror
Words: 543
Some days she hated what she saw in the mirror. Hated the changes to the body that was not hers anymore. Something had taken over her body and was transforming it to its own will, making in grow, mutate, change into something that was not quite her. Made her into something that was vulnerable, breakable. It felt weird feeling the unfamiliar shape, knowing the changes went deeper than skin, further than the mere physical being.
Some days she was just sad, crying in front of the mirror, certain Jarod would not find her beautiful anymore, would not like to touch her, could not love her anymore now that she was trapped in this whale-like shape. She didn't fit in her stylish clothes, couldn't move as gracefully, couldn't be as athletic in bed. What could Jarod possibly see in her anymore?
Some days she smiled when she saw her image in the mirror. The transformation wasn't all bad. She looked softer now, happier. Her breasts were growing alongside her stomach, with the new life forming inside her, growing into a human being in the protective confines of her body. It felt almost sacred, like her body had found its purpose.
Some days she was scared, because the way her body changed heralded the new phase in her life, the new responsibility. How could she be responsible for someone else when she couldn't even fix her own life? Especially a little helpless creature a baby was. How could they bring a new life into this world of danger.
Some days she was impatient, looking at her growing belly, waiting for it to reach its full size, for time to pass so that she could finally get rid of the bladder-pressing, mood-twisting, crazy cravings-inducing visitor, when her body would look like her again, and she could shape it to her will.
Some days she wished the time would stop because she was so not ready for the responsibility, and besides, not ready to share Jarod's attention with anyone, even their child. These thoughts always led her to a conclusion that she was a bad mother, and was going to be a horrible parent. Jarod just laughed, and read another book, and convinced her it was normal before kissing her and making her believe she was still beautiful.
Some days she was jealous of the child. The baby could just float away in its safe cocoon while its parents had to keep moving to be safe, to not risk discovery by her family and ex-colleagues. Jarod was never impatient with the baby, whispering secrets softly to it through her skin. He never argued with the child about anything, didn't make it cry.
Some days she marvelled at Jarod's patience. He took everything she could dish out on a bad day, her anger, frustration, impatience and aggression, as well as the mood swings, the crying lags, the self pity. He never fought her without a cause, he never made her cry on purpose, and when he did he did his best to make her feel better. Even if it meant hunting for Ben & Jerry's in the middle of the night to get her Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough. With pickles. Even if it meant calming her fears time and time again.
Most days, joys of motherhood aside, she was just so ready to get her own body back.
Title: Vanguard of Our Destruction
Cliché: We're all going to die!
Fandom: Mass Effect
Characters: Kaidan, female Shepard
Rating: PG (for boozing)
Disclaimer: I don't own BioWare either
Summary: After Virmire, Kaidan loses hope
Warning: Canonical character death
Words: 658
Kaidan looked up from the machine he had been tinkering with. His mind was not in the job, anyway. He kept playing the giant prawn's message over and over in his head. What it was saying couldn't be real. Giant, sentient ship, shaped like a prawn, was telling them about a race of machines that was going to kill them all? For 'all', read, 'all sentient life in the galaxy'.
Starting with Ashley, and dozens of Salarians.
He tried mourning for her but it felt so futile, knowing they would all be dead soon enough. He, his parents, everyone on the ship, everyone on Citadel, on Noveria, on all the planets and cities he had visited. Shepard.
Before Virmire, he had been sure that they had a change, that if anyone could stop Saren and discover what he was planning, it would be Commander Shepard. He hadn't put much strength in the whole talk about visions and Reapers, confused why an experienced soldier like Captain Anderson did.
Guess they knew something he didn't.
He abandoned his busywork, and drifted towards the mess. He knew where Joker's stash of alcohol was, and right now he felt like getting drunk, regs or no regs. You don't learn you're going to die every day, after all.
He had just poured himself a glass when he heard a voice from behind him.
“Come on, if you're courting court martial, at least do it somewhere a little more private,” Shepard said, nodding for him to follow.
“And bring the bottle,” she reminded, before disappearing towards her quarters.
Okay. That was new, Kaidan though, finished the drink and followed his commanding officer.
She locked the door behind him, and led him towards the table. While he sat down, she dug up two glasses and poured them both drinks.
“To Ash,” she said quietly, raising his glass.
“To Ash,” he repeated, and downed his in one, decorum be damned.
“Soldiers die, Kaidan,” she reminded him softly, and he met her eyes for the first time.
“So we do,” he replied, reaching for the bottle to pour himself another glass. “And now we're all going to die. Cheers.”
“You believed the Sovereign, then,” she checked, also filling her glass.
“Well, it is a flying prawn, but it sure sounded convincing to me.”
“Prawn?” She was obviously amused. “I thought it looked like a squid.”
There was enough alcohol in his blood now to relax him slightly, and he laughed out loud at that.
“We should be able to take down a squid, Lieutenant,” Shepard said, smiling.
“When you say it like that...” he let his voice die down.
He paused to consider his actions.
“I'm sorry for my... lack of... damn.” He'd spilled his drink. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have let it get to me like that.”
“It's okay. We're all shaken up by what's happened. Besides, it's just me.”
'Just me'. His commanding officer. But here she was, breaking regs alongside with him. Maybe he'd avoid that court martial after all.
They drank quietly for the next hour, both lost in their own thoughts. Kaidan dreaded the moment he'd have to get up, because he was pretty sure he was quite drunk.
“Come on, Kaidan,” she finally said, emptying her last glass. “We can take a prawn, sentient or not.”
He got up on unsteady legs.
“Aye, aye, ma'am,” he slurred and grinned.
When she smiled like that, he was invincible. The prawns better worry, because Normandy was going to kick their ass.
He didn't realise he had spoken aloud until he heard her response. “That's the spirit, Lieutenant. Now you better remove yourself into your sleeping pod before I break another regulation for you.”
It said something about his level of intoxication that he didn't realise the implication in her words until much later.
Title: Bets
Cliché: Aliens made them do it!
Fandom: Mass Effect
Characters: female Shepard, Kaidan
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: Shepard and Kaidan are in trouble
Notes: Yes, it's silly. But I fell asleep thinking about the prompt and this came to me in a dream. I could *not* not use it!
Words: 557
Commander Shepard stared at the wall in her cabin on the SSV Normandy, studiously ignoring Lieutenant Alenko who was sitting next to her.
She wondered how well “the aliens made us do it!” would go down in their inevitable court-martial. No doubt it would just give more arsenal to the isolationists. Maybe she could fake an injury to get out of it. Would Doctor Chakwas buy anything less than a missing limb?
Finally she broke the silence. “Captain's log. Remind me to never play poker with Turians or Krogan again.”
Her voice was filled with frustration but still laced with amusement and this seemed enough of a sign for Kaidan to finally laugh out loud.
“Who knew Wrex would be familiar with such a peaceful game?” he offered.
“Or that he'd team up with Garrus against us!”
While gambling was technically not allowed in the Fleet the bored marines often bent the rules by not playing for money but dares and favours; everything from “buy me a pint next time we're on leave” to, well, this.
“It seemed safe enough,” she said defensively. “I mean, I did have a full house.”
“My trips should have held well enough,” Kaidan muttered.
“I should have known the Krogan had something up his sleeve when he made such an open-ended bet.” Her voice was filled with 'stupid, stupid'.
“And when Garrus folded to be left out from the fallout. He had two pairs showing!”
“Someone cheated,” Shepard said slowly.
“What?”
“There's no way we all had such big hands at the same time. Even on seven card stud. Two pair, trips, full house, and that damn flush. What are the odds?”
“If you really want to know, I can ask Joker to calculate them for you,” Kaidan offered.
“Joker! He can check the security tapes and find out how they managed it!”
“You think that is appropriate use of the resources?” he asked.
“You want to be court-martialed?” she countered.
“You're a Spectre, you're technically not under their jurisdiction.”
“You are, this is an Alliance ship, and I'm also an Alliance officer.”
“You think they'd actually bother to accuse us for breaking regs during a crisis like this?”
“Wilful destruction of Alliance property?”
“Well, it's not destruction per se, and we can change it back asap.”
“Someone will still find out, and my reputation will be ruined.”
“Big bad Spectre like you? No one will dare to say anything to your face.”
“Only if we manage to keep your name out of it.”
They sat in silence for a while.
“You're just procrastinating, you know,” Kaidan said conversationally.
Shepard sighed. “Yes.”
“Well?”
“Let's get to it.” And, to set a good example like a CO should, she took a brush, and her can of paint and left the safety of her cabin.
And so, because of a stupid bet that was born out of a discussion about how the shade that was known as the girliest of all among the humans was a respected colour of warriors among the Turians, they proceeded to paint the Normandy pink.
Title: The Trap
Cliché: Darkfic
Fandom: The Pretender
Characters: Jarod, Miss Parker, Broots, Sydney
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Not mine
Summary: The final trap the rat couldn't escape. And he wasn't alone.
Notes: Bottle show, where I just threw in all the dark and twisted ideas I'd ever gotten from the series.
Warnings: Implied rape, implied character death(s), dark'n'depressed Jarod
Notes:
Words: 1313
Miss Parker pushed the heavy door open, and peered inside with her gun drawn. Sydney and Broots were right behind her. She stepped in, noticing a form of a human body in the middle of the room.
“No!” Jarod yelled, but she paid no heed, walking closer.
“No! Get back, don't let the door... close,” the Pretender finished when they metal door slid close again.
He hung his head, slumped down on the chair as much as the hands tied on the pillar behind him allowed.
“Jarod! Are you okay?” Sydney was asking, rushing to free his protege.
“No,” he replied with a tired voice. “And neither are you. In fact, we are all dead.”
Miss Parker had tried the door, then looked for another way out. Sydney released Jarod, helping him up. The Pretender moved his arms gingerly, trying to get the feeling back in his hands. When he had some control over them, he reached down and buttoned his jeans.
He what? Sydney took a closer look at the younger man and watched worriedly when he made his way to a dirty mattress by one of the walls, lying down very carefully. Just what had Lyle done to him?
“Give it a rest, Parker, there's no way out. Unless, of course, you have backup on its way.”
Her dark look spoke volumes.
“Didn't think so. And thanks to your brother, there will be none. That door had one more opening in it, and now it's done and we are trapped.” Jarod's voice was dead, defeated.
Naturally, the others didn't take his word for it. For half an hour they searched every inch of their metal and concrete prison before giving up and settling down.
“Told you,” Jarod said in that dead tone. “The joy of being a genius – I get to lose hope way before you guys.”
“But Lyle will be back, right?” Broots was asking.
“He'll want to gloat,” Parker chipped in.
“Not to mention, he'll want to deliver your head to the Centre,” Sydney reminded.
Jarod let out a laugh that had no humour in it.
“Turns out that was not the part of my anatomy he wanted,” he said, adjusting his tall frame on the narrow mattress.
Everyone's eyes were drawn to the blood on his jeans.
“He... assaulted you?” Sydney asked.
“It's called rape, doc, I'm sure you've heard the term.”
Who was this detached creature lying in the semi-darkness? He didn't sound like the Pretender they knew.
“And no, he's not coming back. He just wants us dead.”
Their surprised or scared cries didn't even make him flinch.
“I'm not quite sure which will happen first, suffocation or dehydration. Either will kill us even before we die of starvation.”
“But there has to be a way out!”
“Genius here,” Jarod muttered, “I think I'd know. I've run through every scenario in my head, and all end in death. Some sooner, we do have Miss Parker's gun, some later. But we will die.”
There was still no emotion in his voice.
“Jarod, what happened to you?” Sydney asked, worried about him.
“Me? I grew up, realised the world isn't fair and that I can't save everyone. Or maybe I just got bored. I ran out of humanity, take your pick. I'm going to die, should I be cheerful about it?”
“But it's not like you to give up like this!”
A strange smile twisted his lips. “No? Maybe I just uncovered one secret too many. They do say that every man should plant a tree, build a house, and get a son while they live. Well, I helped build a church once, maybe that counts. And I've planted many trees. And what do you know, I have a son, too, so I suppose I'm ready to die now.”
It was Broots, of all people, who managed to open his mouth.
“You have a son?”
Jarod was looking into the distance. “You know, it always sounded wrong somehow, how Raines made Ethan happen,” he said, seemingly changing subjects. “Why would he need my father for it when he already had a confirmed Pretender in the house. Young, perhaps, but fertile.”
Miss Parker's next inhale was loud and fast.
“Yep,” Jarod replied, looking at her. “I think they wanted to use you, too, but your mother found out and made a deal with Raines. Maybe he made my father believe he was doing the same but the test results don't lie. Ethan is not my brother, he's my son.”
No one could find anything to say after his calm declaration.
“Maybe he's better off not knowing. Him and my father. He can take care of Ethan and my clone very well without my help.”
“How is he?” Miss Parker asked quietly.
“Who?”
“Your clone.”
“Enjoying freedom and ice cream. Fun fact though, he's not as smart as me. In technical stuff, yes, but he lacks my imagination. Interesting look into the whole nature versus nurture discussion, huh, Syd. It looks like my four years of regular childhood gave me an edge. Or then Raines is not as good as you in 'raising' pretenders.”
“Jarod...” Sydney didn't know how to deal with this detached version of the Jarod he knew.
“Fatherhood's a funny thing. Nicholas is your biological son you hadn't even met a year or so ago, and yet he's your son, and it means something to you. Whereas the boy you raised is just a research subject.”
“That's not... Jarod,” Sydney started but was interrupted by Jarod who had turned his dead gaze towards Broots, now.
“Or our Mr Broots, who is a good father, and claims to love his daughter very much – and yet comes to work, day after day, to place that threatens his life, and her security, every damn day. Why doesn't he cut and run, do everything to protect her?”
“The Centre would have never let me leave, I knew too much!”
“Bullshit. You know their systems too well, you could have disappeared, had you wanted. You could have kept her safe, but now she will have to go back to her mother, because you will disappear on the Centre's terms. You three out of the way, there's no one the step on Lyle's boots anymore.”
“That is unfair, Jarod,” Sydney said quietly.
“Is it? I know if I had been chased by sweepers and assassins just because my job took me to a wrong place at the wrong time, I know I'd like to keep those most important to me safe. Even if it meant never seeing them. Even if it meant running. I suppose it's a good think I never had anyone important enough in my life.”
“Shut up!” Miss Parker yelled, standing up. “I'm not going to spend my last hours listening to an embittered lab rat spit venom at us.”
“No? Well, there's an easy solution. Shoot me,” Jarod said matter-of-factly. “I could make you mad enough to do it.”
“I'm sure you could, but we need you to get out of here.”
Jarod laughed at that, the same unemotional laugh.
“You don't get it, Parker. We will not get out of here. Ever. We – will – die.”
Silence, followed by Miss Parker sitting back down, muttering.
“I think the air is starting to get thinner,” Jarod said, conversationally. “If anyone has anything to say, now's the time.”
No one said a word.
“Okay,” Jarod said, turned to lie on his back, hands behind his head, and settled down to wait for the death.
Title: Relazioni Intime
Cliché: Voyeurism
Fandom: Popular
Pairing: Sam/Brooke (fantasy)
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Not mine
Summary: Brooke is 25, almost divorced, and watching porn by accident.
Notes: Inspired by the porn movie (a must see for anyone who likes lesbians in striped socks) and my film studies professor's statement that all porn is voyeurism.
Words: 1163
Brooke Steele – soon to be Brooke McQueen again – sat on an exquisite leather sofa her soon-to-be-ex-husband was going to keep in their soon-to-be-finalised divorce and stared at the blank screen of the 52-inch flat screen TV he was also going to keep, along with the house and almost everything they had bought together.
Brooke didn't mind. The only things she had wanted in the end were the things she had brought into the marriage. Those included her self-worth, independence, and a neat sum of money.
So, here she was, 25 years old, alone, and with a failed career and a failed marriage in her resume.
Her friends would come over the next day to help her pack what she wanted to take with her so that she could start building a life of her own she should have done at 21 instead of marrying the first man who made her feel beautiful and secure.
She had been swept into the modelling world from college, and even though it had seemed to worst possible career for someone as trouble as her she had made it work. She was, in a way, ruthless enough to survive.
Still, when Simon had offered her another option she'd taken it and soon found herself living in a gilded cage her biological mother would probably have viewed as success in life.
Now, after so many years out of the business, she couldn't return to her career, and every time she had mentioned maybe studying something Simon had distracted her with a diamond necklace, vacation in Paris, or other trappings of his wealth.
That had worked for a year or two. Simon had been gone a lot on business trips and Brooke had used that time in taking courses in any school that offered them without commitment, looking for something that would interest her enough.
When Simon had found out he had been more angry than if she'd had a lover. The resulting fight had driven her out of the house and into her parents' home where she had lived until now. It hadn't been easy going back, but her dad, (step)mother and baby sister had all tried to make it easier. Even Sam had flown in to offer her support.
Now Simon was gone on yet another business trip and Brooke could empty the house without his scathing commentary. It was weird being back in the house that had been her home for years but had never felt like a home.
She shrugged off her lethargy and reached for the remote control. Simon never watched movies, so she was pretty confident the DVD inside the player was the Pirates of the Caribbean she had been narcing on before her exile.
She pressed play, and was surprised to not see a handsome pirate but a naked woman. Two naked women. Making out on a bed.
She swallowed. So this was how Simon had used the separation. She almost pressed stop right away when the other woman caught her eye. A slim brunette who almost looked like... Sam.
Not in a “is that her” way but a “damn they could be sisters” way. And... it was hot. Seeing the blonde woman go down on the Sam-lookalike was... panty-wetting, mouth-watering hot.
Seeing the brunette writhe in ecstasy, and oh-my-god she had a piercing on her tongue and Brooke “I-don't-understand-piercings” McQueen found that the hottest thing since Johnny Depp and Orlando Bloom in the same scene.
The thought almost shamed her to stop watching but... she was alone in the house. Simon was in Mexico. No one was there to see her, judge her, or ridicule her. And she was curious.
And it's not like her sex life had been that great for the past year or so. (She suspected at least some of Simon's “business” was conducted with his stunning PA in private.)
So she thought, what the hell, slid back to lie on the sinfully soft sofa, somehow delighting in the thought that she could “steal” this last little thing from Simon.
She let her hand travel slowly over her chest towards the buttons of her designer jeans, pausing to circle her fingers round her nipples through the thin material of her shirt. She kept her gaze on the TV screen, squinting until the woman was Sam, Sam touching her...
...her eyes closed all the way and she let her mind take her back in time. This could be the sofa in “the Palace”, she could be lying there, with this DVD on the TV, thinking herself alone, touching herself just – there, and then she'd open her eyes and see Sam on the door.
Not shocked, not escaping – intrigued. And she'd take a step towards her, and she'd keep moving her fingers around her clit, into the deep moisture, wetting her fingers thoroughly to lubricate the movement round and over and around her throbbing clitoris.
Her breath gained speed, in real life as well as the fantasy but her eyes were still closed and the fantasy-Sam was kneeling next to her, replacing her hand with her own – drier, rougher, the fingertips soon moist, increasing her pace until Brooke was gasping and moaning and then she bent her head and oh god he had had her tongue pierced and the hard metal felt incredible against her sensitized flesh and then she was coming, the tremors starting from her centre and ending in her toes, fingers, scalp, and...
The dream-Sam was gone and she was left there, alone, the fluid drying on her fingers, feeling... empty. Ashamed. Sam was her... well, not a sister, no. She called mom mom now, but MacKenzie was her sister, not Sam. Sam had been an enemy and then her friend but never a sister.
And she would have to face her tomorrow, remembering what she had done.
She got up, fastened her jeans and stopped the film that had advanced to the climax of the scene. Curiously, the director ended it on a close up of the two women kissing, almost tenderly.
That broke Brooke down. The supposed emotion in that action, the tenderness after all the hard core action made her realise what she really wanted: that intimacy with Sam, even more than the sex.
She had somehow managed to fall in love with her step sister, and keep it hidden even from herself for... how long? Years?
Somehow, that took the shame away. She hadn't been using Sam as a random fantasy blow up doll. The warm glow of her realised feelings chased the emptiness away, too.
It would be back soon enough, when she would let herself think about the impossibility of it ever leading anywhere but for now she let the warmth calm her down to sleep on the sofa, not in the bed she had shared with Simon.
Maybe she'd dream about Sam. After all, what else was there for her?
Cliche: Missing Scene/Episode Tag
Fandom: Mass Effect (game)
Pairing: female Shepard/Kaidan (implied)
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: After Virmire, Shepard deals with her loss in private.
Warning: Canonical character death
Words: 547
Shepard let the door close behind her, and palmed the lock. The moment she was hidden from the eyes of her crew she relaxed her posture.
She couldn't deal with it all now. Not with Ashley trying to make her survival personal, not with the reports, the official condolences that should be sent, the unofficial wake that had been forming in the mess after the debrief.
Had her escape looked like an escape? She had just needed to get out, to be alone, to grieve on her own.
Behind the door of her cabin she could stop being the leader, the commander, the Spectre, the authority.
Here she could be a human being, a woman, someone fallible, someone weak.
In here she could cry.
She had made her decision and now he was dead.
What hurt most was the knowledge that even had she known the result, she would have been forced to make the same decisions.
Liaising with the allied troops was a job for an officer. Faced with the choice between a lieutenant and a gunnery chief, it wasn't a choice.
And Kaidan would have been within his rights to feel slighted had she chosen Ashley.
So she sent him away, on a suicide mission with strangers. To die, alone, on a strange planet.
There had been another moment of choice. But in the end, that hadn't been a choice either. Follow the mission brief and protect the charge or risk the entire operation to go save one man?
A commander couldn't take that responsibility. She had to be able to sacrifice everything for the mission, for the bigger picture, for the fate of humanity and all sentient races.
Even if the cost she was asked to pay was the life of a man she... A man she had learnt to... A friend she...
Kaidan. Handsome, capable, sexy, funny, bashful, flirty, conflicted, smart, sexy, cute, sincere, sexy, brave, sexy... lovable man.
And he had been interested in her, trying to hide it, and flustered when failing. Had he known how much she enjoyed it?
Had he known she was just waiting for the end of the mission to approach him? Had he known she had been *that close* to breaking the regs for him, with him?
She fell to her knees, next to the door, resting her cheek against its cool surface. Had he known how much she depended on him and his opinions and support to get her through this mission?
Their last exchange had been over a comm, when they had both known he was as good as dead. But with so many ears around they hadn't been able to say anything that needed saying.
And it would have just been cruel to... to acknowledge those feelings when they had no future, wouldn't it?
The Salarians spoke about him with words like respect and honour. And she would make sure he got all the posthumous honours he deserved.
Tomorrow.
When she opened that door again and had to become the commanding officer again. Someone in charge. Someone capable.
Someone not quite human.
Tonight she would weep for the man he had been, and the future he had missed. And she'd cry for herself, too, for her future would never be shared with him.
Title: Train of Thoughts
Cliche: Journeys & Quests
Fandom: Gabriel Knight
Pairing: Gabriel/Grace
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Jane Jensen I am not, nor do I own Sierra
Summary: Why Grace left.
Words: 693
I wonder if Gabriel will miss me. You know, beyond the “Grace used to take care of this” level. I wonder if he'll even notice I'm gone.
I look out of the train window, not seeing much in the dark. I know I'm being unfair. I know Gabriel cares about me. Maybe not in the way I'd have wanted but he does. I feel bad for having left without talking to him but I know I would have let him talk me into staying. He could have done that with one smile.
I know he likes me, depends on me, and sometimes I even thought... He's very protective of me. Maybe even possessive.
That night... That night he had one of those Schattenjäger dreams he woke up my safety the only thing on his mind. But that led to something different.
That night was a revelation to me. Not that I expected him to be a bad lover, oh no, all those women wouldn't be coming back for seconds if he was, but I admit I thought he would be more selfish. But the way he touched me... I felt precious. Cared for. Special.
He made me feel special. There were no words but the tenderness of his kisses spoke volumes.
The morning after was awkward, though.
But I misjudged even that. I thought it was his usual modus operandi, love 'em and leave 'em. I don't feel guilty over eavesdropping his conversation with Detective Mosely. Gabriel would never in a million years have said those things to me.
He does care, but to be with me he'd have to change his whole life, and he's not ready to do that. He's maybe even afraid of doing that.
So I have to give him time to get ready.
I'm not going away only because of that, though. I meant what I said in that note. I am tired of being a side character in his adventures. I want to find out what I can do, I need to see if I can use my skills to become someone on my own right. I need to be the heroine for once.
Maybe I can't be a Schattenjäger. But I can be something. I don't have to stand in his shadow for the rest of my life. I need to be... equal to him in an investigation, if I can ever hope to be his equal in a relationship. No, that sounds wrong. I mean, if we two can ever have a chance we need to respect each other as equals. And if I am “just” his assistant in fighting the shadows it would be all too easy to slip into those roles in other aspects as well.
I sound very confident. I'm not. Gabriel could forget me in a week, I'm not doing this expecting anything, really. I am doing this for me. I know I can grow in ways I never thought possible.
And if that gives room for Gabriel to do some growing up when I'm not around... that's just an added bonus.
I'm going on a quest of self discovery, I'm going to sit as a student at the feet of a teacher, I'm going to find out what all I can be and do in this life.
And Gabriel will just have to do without me when I'm gone. I hope he will miss me, I hope he will use that time to make those changes in his life he spoke of. I hope he doesn't touch that French bitch with a finger.
Madeline just made me so mad. Gabriel didn't even like her but he pursued her because she was a pretty woman. At least I know he likes me.
I would like to think he'd be waiting when – if – I come back. I would like to think we could work together, again, at some point.
And, as the trains stops at Nice, where I get off, I whisper the last, secret wish.
Maybe he will follow me.
Title: Would You Care to Join Me for a Romantic Dinner?
Cliché: Rare pairing
Fandom: The Pretender
Pairing: Jarod/Broots, pre-slash
Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit, yadda-yadda.
Rating: PG
Warnings: Canonical bad guy death
Notes: Episode tag for 3.5: Betrayal. I think there might be a sequel.
Words: 609
"He has a daughter who needs him!"
"It doesn't make a difference."
"I does to me."
Broots had hardly had enough time to realise what was happening – Damon was holding him as a human shield and Jarod was trying to save him by talking Damon out of it. It wasn't working.
The look in his eyes warned Broots the second before it happened. It was there, the cold look of a killer. And then he shot.
Damon fell, half his face covered in blood and Jarod was frozen in position, the hand holding the gun still aiming at where Broots stood.
Broots could only stare at him. He was alive! Jarod had saved him. Jarod, Jarod had killed a man to save his life.
Then all the strength seemed to go out from the Pretender and he fell in a crouching position, gun falling from his suddenly powerless hand and clinking unheeded on the floor.
The look of a killer was gone, and his eyes were empty now. He seemed to be in shock. He looked so young, so lost, that Broots found himself moving, almost without a conscious thought.
He knelt down next to the other man and placed a soothing hand on his shoulder. Jarod was shaking, and Broots was moving on instinct now, the instinct of a father. He gathered the trembling man in his arms and whispered soothing words in his hair while rocking him gently.
"It's okay. You had to do it. You saved me. You saved all those people. It's over now." On and on until he felt the Pretender calm down.
It could have been an embarrassing moment but it wasn't, Jarod just pulled away slightly, met his eyes and whispered his thanks.
"No, thank you," Broots countered. "But you have to go now, the place will be crawling with sweepers and cops in a minute. I'll... explain things."
They got up, and Jarod turned to leave. He looked so lonely Broots found it impossible to leave like that. He spoke before he could change his mind.
"You know, you should really get away for a while. Like a vacation. Do you good."
"Really?" Jarod asked, almost smiling.
"I hear Paris is really nice this time of the year," he said casually, knowing Jarod would remember the travelling plans he had mentioned earlier, like he remembered everything else. He'd know that what he was really offering was... what, company? Friendship? He didn't really know himself. He just knew he had to make the offer.
Jarod's smile said he understood.
"I'll keep that in mind."
- - -
Well, he had known Jarod couldn't risk it, really. That hadn't stopped him from looking around for a sign of the black-clad figure in the airport, in the plane, in their hotel...
Three days in Paris and he had given up.
They had had fun with Debbie, doing everything she wanted. His French wasn't even passable but he'd soon learnt that as long as he made the effort, no one really minded when he had to lapse into English.
Of course, that didn't help much if they didn't speak a word of the language themselves.
Broots was staring at the waiter who tried very hard to explain something in French when he heard a voice from behind him.
"The gentleman is trying to explain that the dish you ordered cannot be prepared at this time and is trying to offer you something to replace it."
"Jarod," he exclaimed, turning to face him.
His smile was so bright the Pretender would have had to be blind and stupid not to read everything he felt from it.
And, as Jarod was neither, he took the answering smile as a good sign.
--
Title: Honeymoon Suite
Cliché: Sleeping arrangements
Fandom: Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic
Pairing: Carth / female Revan
Rating: PG-13 (implied sex)
Disclaimer: Not mine
Summary: There is no privacy aboard the ship. Somewhere between a parody and a serious story.
Notes: A sort of sequel to an as-yet unfinished fic that works on its own if you're familiar with the game.
Words: 674
Ebon Hawk had never felt this small. Five humans (now four), a cathar, a twi'lek, a wookiee, and two droids should have had plenty of space, and indeed, they had had no problems with assigning sleeping quarters in the beginning. After all, the droids didn't need any.
But now that Nevara and Carth had... discovered each other, the ship seemed all too small. Soundproofing had not been a priority when constructing the ship.
After the first time when Canderous walked in on them kissing in the mess someone seemed to be stumbling on them every time they turned.
It's not like they were at it like gizkas all the time but... they didn't seem able to stay apart. And it was a long flight to Korriban. Even with Carth flying most of the time, they had no trouble finding time alone together.
The problem was the other people on the ship.
They couldn't very well demand to have the crew quarters for themselves, forcing the others to cramp into the other one. The only other bed was in the infirmary, and after the first time they'd tried it, they really didn't want to repeat the experience.
Canderous had taken to camping on the cargo bay floor, but that offered little relief.
Nev had never really paid attention to how open the layout of the ship was. They could have all the privacy they needed in the cockpit but it wasn't very comfortable for spending a lot of time.
Besides, someone really needed to be there to keep an eye on the instruments, even on auto pilot. And if Carth was... distracted, someone else needed to do that, and that defeated the purpose.
They tried having one of the droids there but HK was way too distracting, and even T3 made them feel a little... exposed.
Sure, they could have just waited until they landed but... after just declaring their love they seemed to need to touch all the time. Maybe to convince themselves that the other was still there. And that touching seemed to always lead to more touching, and embarrassing the people around them.
But the knowledge that they could lose each other any day was a heady aphrodisiac. Who know what would happen at Korriban, whom Malak would send after them next, or whether Revan would decide to resurface from Nevara's mind.
They didn't have the luxury of waiting. But they didn't have the luxury of privacy, either.
It was Mission who solved their problem.
“Guys, what we need is a schedule.”
“What?”
“We set aside certain times when the rest of us will be... elsewhere. Playing pazaak in the cargo bay, or in the mess, or something. Then the pair of gizkas here can have the rest of the ship all for themselves, and not embarrass the rest of us for the rest of the time. Okay?”
“You can't put... that... on a timetable!” Carth spluttered.
“Oh no? You seem to only need to look at each other to want to go at it. So what if we schedule the times you... look at each other,” Canderous demanded.
Nev didn't know who was redder, she or Carth. Didn't these people remember who she was? They were telling Revan to clock her desires!
She shot a look at flustered Carth and couldn't help but laugh. So what? It could work.
“We'll take it,” she declared, grinning. “Starting now. Come on, Flyboy.”
“But everyone will know we're...”
“They know anyway, handsome. And I'll make you forget.”
“I have no doubt about that,” Canderous muttered, watching them go.
He met Juhani's eyes fleetingly. She also seemed a little jealous over the new-found bliss of the pair. Too bad he wasn't into cathars or she'd be an easy lay at the moment.
Oh well. “So, pazaak?” he asked, digging up his last bottle of Tarisian ale. “Here, old man, I think this is as good an occasion as any to enjoy this.”
Title: The Attack of the Body Snatchers
Cliché: Mutation & Physical transformation
Fandom: The Pretender
Pairing: Jarod / Miss Parker
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Not mine
Summary: Miss Parker and a mirror
Words: 543
Some days she hated what she saw in the mirror. Hated the changes to the body that was not hers anymore. Something had taken over her body and was transforming it to its own will, making in grow, mutate, change into something that was not quite her. Made her into something that was vulnerable, breakable. It felt weird feeling the unfamiliar shape, knowing the changes went deeper than skin, further than the mere physical being.
Some days she was just sad, crying in front of the mirror, certain Jarod would not find her beautiful anymore, would not like to touch her, could not love her anymore now that she was trapped in this whale-like shape. She didn't fit in her stylish clothes, couldn't move as gracefully, couldn't be as athletic in bed. What could Jarod possibly see in her anymore?
Some days she smiled when she saw her image in the mirror. The transformation wasn't all bad. She looked softer now, happier. Her breasts were growing alongside her stomach, with the new life forming inside her, growing into a human being in the protective confines of her body. It felt almost sacred, like her body had found its purpose.
Some days she was scared, because the way her body changed heralded the new phase in her life, the new responsibility. How could she be responsible for someone else when she couldn't even fix her own life? Especially a little helpless creature a baby was. How could they bring a new life into this world of danger.
Some days she was impatient, looking at her growing belly, waiting for it to reach its full size, for time to pass so that she could finally get rid of the bladder-pressing, mood-twisting, crazy cravings-inducing visitor, when her body would look like her again, and she could shape it to her will.
Some days she wished the time would stop because she was so not ready for the responsibility, and besides, not ready to share Jarod's attention with anyone, even their child. These thoughts always led her to a conclusion that she was a bad mother, and was going to be a horrible parent. Jarod just laughed, and read another book, and convinced her it was normal before kissing her and making her believe she was still beautiful.
Some days she was jealous of the child. The baby could just float away in its safe cocoon while its parents had to keep moving to be safe, to not risk discovery by her family and ex-colleagues. Jarod was never impatient with the baby, whispering secrets softly to it through her skin. He never argued with the child about anything, didn't make it cry.
Some days she marvelled at Jarod's patience. He took everything she could dish out on a bad day, her anger, frustration, impatience and aggression, as well as the mood swings, the crying lags, the self pity. He never fought her without a cause, he never made her cry on purpose, and when he did he did his best to make her feel better. Even if it meant hunting for Ben & Jerry's in the middle of the night to get her Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough. With pickles. Even if it meant calming her fears time and time again.
Most days, joys of motherhood aside, she was just so ready to get her own body back.
Title: Vanguard of Our Destruction
Cliché: We're all going to die!
Fandom: Mass Effect
Characters: Kaidan, female Shepard
Rating: PG (for boozing)
Disclaimer: I don't own BioWare either
Summary: After Virmire, Kaidan loses hope
Warning: Canonical character death
Words: 658
Kaidan looked up from the machine he had been tinkering with. His mind was not in the job, anyway. He kept playing the giant prawn's message over and over in his head. What it was saying couldn't be real. Giant, sentient ship, shaped like a prawn, was telling them about a race of machines that was going to kill them all? For 'all', read, 'all sentient life in the galaxy'.
Starting with Ashley, and dozens of Salarians.
He tried mourning for her but it felt so futile, knowing they would all be dead soon enough. He, his parents, everyone on the ship, everyone on Citadel, on Noveria, on all the planets and cities he had visited. Shepard.
Before Virmire, he had been sure that they had a change, that if anyone could stop Saren and discover what he was planning, it would be Commander Shepard. He hadn't put much strength in the whole talk about visions and Reapers, confused why an experienced soldier like Captain Anderson did.
Guess they knew something he didn't.
He abandoned his busywork, and drifted towards the mess. He knew where Joker's stash of alcohol was, and right now he felt like getting drunk, regs or no regs. You don't learn you're going to die every day, after all.
He had just poured himself a glass when he heard a voice from behind him.
“Come on, if you're courting court martial, at least do it somewhere a little more private,” Shepard said, nodding for him to follow.
“And bring the bottle,” she reminded, before disappearing towards her quarters.
Okay. That was new, Kaidan though, finished the drink and followed his commanding officer.
She locked the door behind him, and led him towards the table. While he sat down, she dug up two glasses and poured them both drinks.
“To Ash,” she said quietly, raising his glass.
“To Ash,” he repeated, and downed his in one, decorum be damned.
“Soldiers die, Kaidan,” she reminded him softly, and he met her eyes for the first time.
“So we do,” he replied, reaching for the bottle to pour himself another glass. “And now we're all going to die. Cheers.”
“You believed the Sovereign, then,” she checked, also filling her glass.
“Well, it is a flying prawn, but it sure sounded convincing to me.”
“Prawn?” She was obviously amused. “I thought it looked like a squid.”
There was enough alcohol in his blood now to relax him slightly, and he laughed out loud at that.
“We should be able to take down a squid, Lieutenant,” Shepard said, smiling.
“When you say it like that...” he let his voice die down.
He paused to consider his actions.
“I'm sorry for my... lack of... damn.” He'd spilled his drink. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have let it get to me like that.”
“It's okay. We're all shaken up by what's happened. Besides, it's just me.”
'Just me'. His commanding officer. But here she was, breaking regs alongside with him. Maybe he'd avoid that court martial after all.
They drank quietly for the next hour, both lost in their own thoughts. Kaidan dreaded the moment he'd have to get up, because he was pretty sure he was quite drunk.
“Come on, Kaidan,” she finally said, emptying her last glass. “We can take a prawn, sentient or not.”
He got up on unsteady legs.
“Aye, aye, ma'am,” he slurred and grinned.
When she smiled like that, he was invincible. The prawns better worry, because Normandy was going to kick their ass.
He didn't realise he had spoken aloud until he heard her response. “That's the spirit, Lieutenant. Now you better remove yourself into your sleeping pod before I break another regulation for you.”
It said something about his level of intoxication that he didn't realise the implication in her words until much later.
Title: Bets
Cliché: Aliens made them do it!
Fandom: Mass Effect
Characters: female Shepard, Kaidan
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: Shepard and Kaidan are in trouble
Notes: Yes, it's silly. But I fell asleep thinking about the prompt and this came to me in a dream. I could *not* not use it!
Words: 557
Commander Shepard stared at the wall in her cabin on the SSV Normandy, studiously ignoring Lieutenant Alenko who was sitting next to her.
She wondered how well “the aliens made us do it!” would go down in their inevitable court-martial. No doubt it would just give more arsenal to the isolationists. Maybe she could fake an injury to get out of it. Would Doctor Chakwas buy anything less than a missing limb?
Finally she broke the silence. “Captain's log. Remind me to never play poker with Turians or Krogan again.”
Her voice was filled with frustration but still laced with amusement and this seemed enough of a sign for Kaidan to finally laugh out loud.
“Who knew Wrex would be familiar with such a peaceful game?” he offered.
“Or that he'd team up with Garrus against us!”
While gambling was technically not allowed in the Fleet the bored marines often bent the rules by not playing for money but dares and favours; everything from “buy me a pint next time we're on leave” to, well, this.
“It seemed safe enough,” she said defensively. “I mean, I did have a full house.”
“My trips should have held well enough,” Kaidan muttered.
“I should have known the Krogan had something up his sleeve when he made such an open-ended bet.” Her voice was filled with 'stupid, stupid'.
“And when Garrus folded to be left out from the fallout. He had two pairs showing!”
“Someone cheated,” Shepard said slowly.
“What?”
“There's no way we all had such big hands at the same time. Even on seven card stud. Two pair, trips, full house, and that damn flush. What are the odds?”
“If you really want to know, I can ask Joker to calculate them for you,” Kaidan offered.
“Joker! He can check the security tapes and find out how they managed it!”
“You think that is appropriate use of the resources?” he asked.
“You want to be court-martialed?” she countered.
“You're a Spectre, you're technically not under their jurisdiction.”
“You are, this is an Alliance ship, and I'm also an Alliance officer.”
“You think they'd actually bother to accuse us for breaking regs during a crisis like this?”
“Wilful destruction of Alliance property?”
“Well, it's not destruction per se, and we can change it back asap.”
“Someone will still find out, and my reputation will be ruined.”
“Big bad Spectre like you? No one will dare to say anything to your face.”
“Only if we manage to keep your name out of it.”
They sat in silence for a while.
“You're just procrastinating, you know,” Kaidan said conversationally.
Shepard sighed. “Yes.”
“Well?”
“Let's get to it.” And, to set a good example like a CO should, she took a brush, and her can of paint and left the safety of her cabin.
And so, because of a stupid bet that was born out of a discussion about how the shade that was known as the girliest of all among the humans was a respected colour of warriors among the Turians, they proceeded to paint the Normandy pink.
Title: The Trap
Cliché: Darkfic
Fandom: The Pretender
Characters: Jarod, Miss Parker, Broots, Sydney
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Not mine
Summary: The final trap the rat couldn't escape. And he wasn't alone.
Notes: Bottle show, where I just threw in all the dark and twisted ideas I'd ever gotten from the series.
Warnings: Implied rape, implied character death(s), dark'n'depressed Jarod
Notes:
Words: 1313
Miss Parker pushed the heavy door open, and peered inside with her gun drawn. Sydney and Broots were right behind her. She stepped in, noticing a form of a human body in the middle of the room.
“No!” Jarod yelled, but she paid no heed, walking closer.
“No! Get back, don't let the door... close,” the Pretender finished when they metal door slid close again.
He hung his head, slumped down on the chair as much as the hands tied on the pillar behind him allowed.
“Jarod! Are you okay?” Sydney was asking, rushing to free his protege.
“No,” he replied with a tired voice. “And neither are you. In fact, we are all dead.”
Miss Parker had tried the door, then looked for another way out. Sydney released Jarod, helping him up. The Pretender moved his arms gingerly, trying to get the feeling back in his hands. When he had some control over them, he reached down and buttoned his jeans.
He what? Sydney took a closer look at the younger man and watched worriedly when he made his way to a dirty mattress by one of the walls, lying down very carefully. Just what had Lyle done to him?
“Give it a rest, Parker, there's no way out. Unless, of course, you have backup on its way.”
Her dark look spoke volumes.
“Didn't think so. And thanks to your brother, there will be none. That door had one more opening in it, and now it's done and we are trapped.” Jarod's voice was dead, defeated.
Naturally, the others didn't take his word for it. For half an hour they searched every inch of their metal and concrete prison before giving up and settling down.
“Told you,” Jarod said in that dead tone. “The joy of being a genius – I get to lose hope way before you guys.”
“But Lyle will be back, right?” Broots was asking.
“He'll want to gloat,” Parker chipped in.
“Not to mention, he'll want to deliver your head to the Centre,” Sydney reminded.
Jarod let out a laugh that had no humour in it.
“Turns out that was not the part of my anatomy he wanted,” he said, adjusting his tall frame on the narrow mattress.
Everyone's eyes were drawn to the blood on his jeans.
“He... assaulted you?” Sydney asked.
“It's called rape, doc, I'm sure you've heard the term.”
Who was this detached creature lying in the semi-darkness? He didn't sound like the Pretender they knew.
“And no, he's not coming back. He just wants us dead.”
Their surprised or scared cries didn't even make him flinch.
“I'm not quite sure which will happen first, suffocation or dehydration. Either will kill us even before we die of starvation.”
“But there has to be a way out!”
“Genius here,” Jarod muttered, “I think I'd know. I've run through every scenario in my head, and all end in death. Some sooner, we do have Miss Parker's gun, some later. But we will die.”
There was still no emotion in his voice.
“Jarod, what happened to you?” Sydney asked, worried about him.
“Me? I grew up, realised the world isn't fair and that I can't save everyone. Or maybe I just got bored. I ran out of humanity, take your pick. I'm going to die, should I be cheerful about it?”
“But it's not like you to give up like this!”
A strange smile twisted his lips. “No? Maybe I just uncovered one secret too many. They do say that every man should plant a tree, build a house, and get a son while they live. Well, I helped build a church once, maybe that counts. And I've planted many trees. And what do you know, I have a son, too, so I suppose I'm ready to die now.”
It was Broots, of all people, who managed to open his mouth.
“You have a son?”
Jarod was looking into the distance. “You know, it always sounded wrong somehow, how Raines made Ethan happen,” he said, seemingly changing subjects. “Why would he need my father for it when he already had a confirmed Pretender in the house. Young, perhaps, but fertile.”
Miss Parker's next inhale was loud and fast.
“Yep,” Jarod replied, looking at her. “I think they wanted to use you, too, but your mother found out and made a deal with Raines. Maybe he made my father believe he was doing the same but the test results don't lie. Ethan is not my brother, he's my son.”
No one could find anything to say after his calm declaration.
“Maybe he's better off not knowing. Him and my father. He can take care of Ethan and my clone very well without my help.”
“How is he?” Miss Parker asked quietly.
“Who?”
“Your clone.”
“Enjoying freedom and ice cream. Fun fact though, he's not as smart as me. In technical stuff, yes, but he lacks my imagination. Interesting look into the whole nature versus nurture discussion, huh, Syd. It looks like my four years of regular childhood gave me an edge. Or then Raines is not as good as you in 'raising' pretenders.”
“Jarod...” Sydney didn't know how to deal with this detached version of the Jarod he knew.
“Fatherhood's a funny thing. Nicholas is your biological son you hadn't even met a year or so ago, and yet he's your son, and it means something to you. Whereas the boy you raised is just a research subject.”
“That's not... Jarod,” Sydney started but was interrupted by Jarod who had turned his dead gaze towards Broots, now.
“Or our Mr Broots, who is a good father, and claims to love his daughter very much – and yet comes to work, day after day, to place that threatens his life, and her security, every damn day. Why doesn't he cut and run, do everything to protect her?”
“The Centre would have never let me leave, I knew too much!”
“Bullshit. You know their systems too well, you could have disappeared, had you wanted. You could have kept her safe, but now she will have to go back to her mother, because you will disappear on the Centre's terms. You three out of the way, there's no one the step on Lyle's boots anymore.”
“That is unfair, Jarod,” Sydney said quietly.
“Is it? I know if I had been chased by sweepers and assassins just because my job took me to a wrong place at the wrong time, I know I'd like to keep those most important to me safe. Even if it meant never seeing them. Even if it meant running. I suppose it's a good think I never had anyone important enough in my life.”
“Shut up!” Miss Parker yelled, standing up. “I'm not going to spend my last hours listening to an embittered lab rat spit venom at us.”
“No? Well, there's an easy solution. Shoot me,” Jarod said matter-of-factly. “I could make you mad enough to do it.”
“I'm sure you could, but we need you to get out of here.”
Jarod laughed at that, the same unemotional laugh.
“You don't get it, Parker. We will not get out of here. Ever. We – will – die.”
Silence, followed by Miss Parker sitting back down, muttering.
“I think the air is starting to get thinner,” Jarod said, conversationally. “If anyone has anything to say, now's the time.”
No one said a word.
“Okay,” Jarod said, turned to lie on his back, hands behind his head, and settled down to wait for the death.
Title: Relazioni Intime
Cliché: Voyeurism
Fandom: Popular
Pairing: Sam/Brooke (fantasy)
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Not mine
Summary: Brooke is 25, almost divorced, and watching porn by accident.
Notes: Inspired by the porn movie (a must see for anyone who likes lesbians in striped socks) and my film studies professor's statement that all porn is voyeurism.
Words: 1163
Brooke Steele – soon to be Brooke McQueen again – sat on an exquisite leather sofa her soon-to-be-ex-husband was going to keep in their soon-to-be-finalised divorce and stared at the blank screen of the 52-inch flat screen TV he was also going to keep, along with the house and almost everything they had bought together.
Brooke didn't mind. The only things she had wanted in the end were the things she had brought into the marriage. Those included her self-worth, independence, and a neat sum of money.
So, here she was, 25 years old, alone, and with a failed career and a failed marriage in her resume.
Her friends would come over the next day to help her pack what she wanted to take with her so that she could start building a life of her own she should have done at 21 instead of marrying the first man who made her feel beautiful and secure.
She had been swept into the modelling world from college, and even though it had seemed to worst possible career for someone as trouble as her she had made it work. She was, in a way, ruthless enough to survive.
Still, when Simon had offered her another option she'd taken it and soon found herself living in a gilded cage her biological mother would probably have viewed as success in life.
Now, after so many years out of the business, she couldn't return to her career, and every time she had mentioned maybe studying something Simon had distracted her with a diamond necklace, vacation in Paris, or other trappings of his wealth.
That had worked for a year or two. Simon had been gone a lot on business trips and Brooke had used that time in taking courses in any school that offered them without commitment, looking for something that would interest her enough.
When Simon had found out he had been more angry than if she'd had a lover. The resulting fight had driven her out of the house and into her parents' home where she had lived until now. It hadn't been easy going back, but her dad, (step)mother and baby sister had all tried to make it easier. Even Sam had flown in to offer her support.
Now Simon was gone on yet another business trip and Brooke could empty the house without his scathing commentary. It was weird being back in the house that had been her home for years but had never felt like a home.
She shrugged off her lethargy and reached for the remote control. Simon never watched movies, so she was pretty confident the DVD inside the player was the Pirates of the Caribbean she had been narcing on before her exile.
She pressed play, and was surprised to not see a handsome pirate but a naked woman. Two naked women. Making out on a bed.
She swallowed. So this was how Simon had used the separation. She almost pressed stop right away when the other woman caught her eye. A slim brunette who almost looked like... Sam.
Not in a “is that her” way but a “damn they could be sisters” way. And... it was hot. Seeing the blonde woman go down on the Sam-lookalike was... panty-wetting, mouth-watering hot.
Seeing the brunette writhe in ecstasy, and oh-my-god she had a piercing on her tongue and Brooke “I-don't-understand-piercings” McQueen found that the hottest thing since Johnny Depp and Orlando Bloom in the same scene.
The thought almost shamed her to stop watching but... she was alone in the house. Simon was in Mexico. No one was there to see her, judge her, or ridicule her. And she was curious.
And it's not like her sex life had been that great for the past year or so. (She suspected at least some of Simon's “business” was conducted with his stunning PA in private.)
So she thought, what the hell, slid back to lie on the sinfully soft sofa, somehow delighting in the thought that she could “steal” this last little thing from Simon.
She let her hand travel slowly over her chest towards the buttons of her designer jeans, pausing to circle her fingers round her nipples through the thin material of her shirt. She kept her gaze on the TV screen, squinting until the woman was Sam, Sam touching her...
...her eyes closed all the way and she let her mind take her back in time. This could be the sofa in “the Palace”, she could be lying there, with this DVD on the TV, thinking herself alone, touching herself just – there, and then she'd open her eyes and see Sam on the door.
Not shocked, not escaping – intrigued. And she'd take a step towards her, and she'd keep moving her fingers around her clit, into the deep moisture, wetting her fingers thoroughly to lubricate the movement round and over and around her throbbing clitoris.
Her breath gained speed, in real life as well as the fantasy but her eyes were still closed and the fantasy-Sam was kneeling next to her, replacing her hand with her own – drier, rougher, the fingertips soon moist, increasing her pace until Brooke was gasping and moaning and then she bent her head and oh god he had had her tongue pierced and the hard metal felt incredible against her sensitized flesh and then she was coming, the tremors starting from her centre and ending in her toes, fingers, scalp, and...
The dream-Sam was gone and she was left there, alone, the fluid drying on her fingers, feeling... empty. Ashamed. Sam was her... well, not a sister, no. She called mom mom now, but MacKenzie was her sister, not Sam. Sam had been an enemy and then her friend but never a sister.
And she would have to face her tomorrow, remembering what she had done.
She got up, fastened her jeans and stopped the film that had advanced to the climax of the scene. Curiously, the director ended it on a close up of the two women kissing, almost tenderly.
That broke Brooke down. The supposed emotion in that action, the tenderness after all the hard core action made her realise what she really wanted: that intimacy with Sam, even more than the sex.
She had somehow managed to fall in love with her step sister, and keep it hidden even from herself for... how long? Years?
Somehow, that took the shame away. She hadn't been using Sam as a random fantasy blow up doll. The warm glow of her realised feelings chased the emptiness away, too.
It would be back soon enough, when she would let herself think about the impossibility of it ever leading anywhere but for now she let the warmth calm her down to sleep on the sofa, not in the bed she had shared with Simon.
Maybe she'd dream about Sam. After all, what else was there for her?