Giving in to the Sneak Peek Meme (which I've renamed "Okay, You Have Five Minutes, Then It's Back to Your Cages").
Romeo in Black Jeans, aka "Winchesters Do the World", SPN/Multi-verse (Buffy, Angel, Firefly, Dark Angel, Heroes, Roswell, Grey's Anatomy)
She paints her lips blood red, drinks Dean under the table, and hisses hunter like it's a dirty word. And considering how many she uses in a single breath, that's saying something. All things considered, Sam shouldn't be able to stand her.
Things are not going his way.
Stir of Echoes (Two of Two), Supernatural/Grey's Anatomy
She was supposed to be at work. As far as her mother was concerned, she was.
She’d gone through the motions – pulled on her faded uniform, clipped the name tag to her collar, followed the overgrown path that would take her to the old roadside diner until she was sure she was out of sight. She’d even lined her pockets with a wad of crumpled singles and a sandwich bag full of change to pass off as the night’s tips. With any luck, Mama wouldn’t notice that money was tighter than usual until the light bill came.
By the time she’d circled back to the small clearing behind his trailer, a stone’s throw from her own, he was waiting.
Walk the Edge (Chapter One), Firefly
“Ours is a forbidden love. But it does not matter that she could make a snack of me at any moment, or that she ate my brother just last week – we will survive and flourish in this land, and produce great new beasts that will hunt steak and broccoli equally.”
Mal supposes he could clear his throat a bit, back down the hall a tick – announce his presence with fair warning, so plastic pets can be tucked away and face can be saved.
Then again, nobody’d ever called him a fair man.
“Suppose that means we’ve got a course all plotted and waiting,” he near bellows, striding onto the bridge and barely snorting when dinosaurs fly every which way, “since you’re playin’ at prehistoric procreation.”
“Course,” Wash exclaims, too loudly. “Plotted, yes. We’re all… plotted.” He coughs into a fist, like it can hide the plain sight of his skin catchin’ up to his hair, and starts fiddling with dials Mal knows damn well ain’t doing a thing.
He slides into the other chair, looking out over the starry spread of his sky as Wash puts on a show. The silence stretches, deep and wide as the black outside, while his turbulence fills the space within, seepin’ out of his ears and into air too still.
“So…” The pilot slides him a sideways look, squirming at the helm like he’s uneasy, and leaves it hanging there. But Mal’s never laid his head in these particular hands, ripe for the pickin’, and much as he needs to now, pride says he’s at least gotta make the man work for it.
“Something on your mind?”
Just like that, Mal’s got the damnedest urge to smile in spite of all that’s weighing him down – had to be Wash’s best attempt at Zoe, minus the sir. That, he suspected, he’d never get without a heaping pile of scorn. Didn’t matter much, anyway, since he’d most likely snarled the word in his head.
He shrugs a bit instead, hitching a brow and pinning his pilot with a glare. “Somethin’ have to be wrong for a man to sit on his own bridge?”
“I only ask because, well… it’s…” He’s stammerin’ now, stopping and starting like a bad signal, so flustered Mal almost checks over his shoulder for Zoe herself. Wash finally throws up his hands and swivels his seat around so they’re facing off across the distance.
“Truth is, you’re only ever up here for three reasons. You’ve already been loud and disapproving, so either something’s eating at you, or we’re moments away from plummeting to a quick but painful death.” Settling back, he spreads his arms wide like he’s half-proud of himself. “You tell me. Should I be fearing for my life?”
Then he’s all out of bold and bluster and would-be-Zoe, back to sagging shoulders and slacking jaw. “You would tell me, right?”
The Fall of Endymion, Battlestar Galactica
Sam Anders isn’t a soldier, but he’d waged war every day.
The courts were battles to be lost and ground to be won, and he’d mustered up nightly – gathered the troops, strapped on his gear, and prayed to the gods that he’d live to see another fight. The squad had been his army, looking to him to lead them to victory or defeat.
First rule of war, he’d since learned: know your enemy. But the battles of his past tell him otherwise. When at war, you’re only as good as the people you’re fighting with. And when you’re leading the charge, you’re no more important than the guy watching your six.
His golden rule – to best the opponent, to overcome the enemy – begins and ends within his own ranks.
He’d learned to read them. Their strengths, their weaknesses, their gifts and their quirks and their tells. Rally's always good for the trick third pass, Gripkey can pull down a full-press rebound in a clutch, Sue-Shuan will always step into a hit when he's driving to the head. The knowledge wrote his bible, his war story, the cornerstone in his plan of attack.
Even now, Kara is a foreign language. No better than a blank page, Braille beneath his fingers. And he can’t understand why he doesn’t just close the damn book.
Grey Sky Morning (Chapter Six), Roswell
“Oh my god, Liz!” Maria’s shrieking was muffled in the small brunette’s shoulder as she threw herself at her friend, and Liz stumbled through the doorway, propelled forward by the arms locked around her neck.
“Easy, Ria,” she half-choked, dropping her bag to the floor and embracing the blond in return. “You did know I was coming, didn’t you?”
I crossed my arms over my chest, leaning into a stool as Maria pulled back slightly, just far enough for me to see the top of Liz’s dark head. “Well I had to make sure you weren’t some figment of my overactive imagination.” Her head shook rapidly, her hands flailing in the air. “I mean, I knew that my mother decided to play house with the law while I was gone, but seeing them in the flesh was still nothing less than horrifying. And I mean that literally. I got in early, and there was flesh.”
“I warned you,” Kyle chimed in. “The whole by-the-book cop meets liberal hippie offender routine…” He shuddered. “There is handcuff play. It’s not pretty.”
Here Without You (Chapter Fifteen), Roswell
I gripped the cool phone, slippery in my now clammy palm.
“Uh, hey Mr. Parker.”
“Michael,” he greeted curtly. “I know we don’t have a lot of time here, so I’m going to be blunt with you. Are you in love with my daughter?”
My windpipe closed swiftly, leaving my lips to move soundlessly as my eyes widened. I spun, getting tangled in the flexible metal cord that anchored the handset to the base, faintly processing Kyle’s sudden laughter in the background. My gaze found Liz’s stricken face, and I watched her mouth the same words repeatedly. I’m so sorry… Her energy was equally apologetic, but she was desperately trying to send soothing waves through our strengthened connection.
Reaching up with my free hand, I clawed at my temple, my eyes still locked on Liz. A smirk eased its way across my face, and the air around me calmed almost immediately as we both took a deep, synchronized breath.
Then my name sounded impatiently in my ear.
“I’m here,” I affirmed.
“Do you love her, Michael?” Mr. Parker prodded.
Liz blushed, the same deep, dusky pink that had shimmered around us after my declaration. She shot me a wobbly, reassuring smile, and I grinned back, giving her father an answer that was steady and sure.
An audible sigh drifted over the line. “Good answer. Because she loves you.”
I ran a hand through my hair, squinting up at the clear sky. “Okay, hit me with the speech.” He chuckled heartily, confusing me with his apparent amusement.
“I’m not going to lecture you, son. Lizzie just told me that she’s happy, something I haven’t heard her say in ages. That’s all I need to know.
“Nancy and I have a lot of respect for you, and the way you’ve handled yourself over the years. You’ve seen things that most people never have to face, and you’ve always managed to keep your head above water. I trust you to do the same with Liz, and I know you won’t let me down. You never have before.” He paused, and the silence crackled ominously.
“You were a good kid, Michael. And now you’re a good man.”
And now, for the lighter side of fandom.
freneticfloetry: suddenly i'm happy in my well-over-age, gen/het/vanilla slash bubble.
freneticfloetry: because seriously
freneticfloetry: how does this affect us?
freneticfloetry: we write about pretty boys in pain.
kalenodonell: you're a hetero woman, and Ive got a dozen people willing to testify that my name is Kate
freneticfloetry: i think, when i post the second half of stir of echoes
freneticfloetry: instead of the dean/izzie abstract smut that's there now, i'll edit that down to "they do it."
freneticfloetry: and then i'll be in the clear.
Whatever works, right?