Infinity's Tale

Final Fantasy VII: Fight On (Tseng, Elena)

2006-02-06T19:37:25Z

Title: Fight On (1,294 words)
Series: Final Fantasy VII
Characters/Pairings: Tseng, Elena
Genre: Drama
Note: Playing fast and loose with the missing scene from "Advent Children" not to mention the original challenge/theme. (We will ignore the fact there's a city between the Northern Crater and the Ancient Forest, kthxbye. =P) Written for aki_omoi's weekly song challenge. (Challenge #1 - Fighter by Bird3.)

Fight On

They stumble up the ragged cliff, hand over hand, trying to find purchase on the loose gravel. The heat of the flames is still behind them. Oil from the second helicopter proved far more explosive than any mako reaction they'd ever encountered. It had been a race to see who could get to the Northern Crater first and victory has never seemed so hollow.

But, Tseng reminds himself, his shoulder bleeding, it was never about winning. It was about duty. They'd do it again if they had to. The bullet wound has torn through the nice suit jacket which is already covered in a layer of dust and grit. The dark material covers the bruises still beginning to form. With JENOVA's head safely headed towards Midgar, they aren't running away. It's a tactical retreat.

"Don't cry Loz," says one of the shinentai.

Tseng doesn't bother to turn around. Instead, he continues to climb upwards with Elena beside him. Their movements make a shuffling sound as shoal and dirt slide beneath their feat. Scampering like rats clawing their way towards freedom. The Northern Crater. The End of the world. The sentiment has never seemed quite literal.

"I'm not," the other says, but his tone doesn't match his words.

"We'll find mother," says Kadaj. His voice is confident and his slitted eyes turn to look in their direction. He smiles mischievously, like a spoiled child used to getting new toys. "We can ask them."

Elena can't help but turn around and her throat goes dry. "Tseng-san," she whispers urgently and for the first time he pauses.

He doesn't turn around. Instead, he reaches down, grabs her hand and pulls her upwards. "Elena. Come." They move faster. The sense of urgency-- of survival-- having overtaken any notion of stealth.

The shinentai haven't moved. Instead, Kadaj merely raises his hand and the smoke from the explosion seems to take form, gaining mass and growing more solid until they can hear the padding of paws. Until they can feel the bounding thumps that shake the ground as they grow closer.

Once polished shoes slip on silt and stone and her scream is swallowed by the roar.

* * * * *

Running through the forest, leaving blood on the shimmering trees. Hearts hammering and breathing so heavy it could wake the dead.

And it does.

High in the trees. Red cloak, dark eyes, his self inflicted of solitude intruded upon once more. His atonement comes from saving the world, and fate seems to enjoy providing him ample opportunity.

Tseng collapses against a tree, dignity and composure having been lost more than a few paces back. She brushes hair from her face-- blonde strands caked with dirt and blood. Her breathing shallow and pulse thready and she ignores the gash on her leg.

"Tseng-san... I'm..." her words trail off as she concentrates on breathing instead. She's grateful for that because she's thinking words she knows she shouldn't say, voicing the fears that show clearly in her expression. Scared. Frightened but not terrified. Her eyes a bit too wide, her gaze slightly unseeing, but there is no sign of tears. She is afraid of death but not of dying.

And he knows what he should say. He should tell her that they're Turks, they're professionals. That they have a job to do and that fear has no place in their minds. He should talk about duty, he should be strict to keep her emotions in check. Now, he knows, is not the time to think. Emotions come after a fight, not during-- but he's not sure if there will be an after. So instead, he grasps her shoulder lightly, squeezes gently to reassure her. "It's okay."

His words are soft but there's resolve in his voice. There was never room in his life for regret. Learned long ago that they only thing one could do is move forward. He's done with running. He's made his peace. Besides, no Turk ever expects to die on his back.

They can see headlights in the distance, the low roar of a motorcycles making their presence known.

In their haste, they left a clear trail.

That doesn't matter now.

She's slipped off her slashed jacket, untucking her shirt and using a clean part to bind his arm. She wants to tell herself they've been in tougher situations. Harrowing experiences but they've managed to make it out but nothing springs to mind. She stifles a cry of pain as she wraps more cloth around her thigh.

They were the best of the best.

She wants to tell him everything, to voice the emotions that have been hanging in the air, far too obvious for years. Yet she's silent when he bandages her head. Lets her eyes drift shut at the gentle touch. Imagines it to be something else-- something more-- and savors the moment for as long as it lasts.

Her words don't come because the moment isn't right, won't ever be right, she realizes. But she can't say it now, not when he's struggling to get his balance, fists clenched, knuckles white. Defensive stance barely able to contain his smoldering anger. She does the only thing she can do. She takes her place at his side.

"Tseng-san," she says as the lights grow brighter. So much she wanted to say but she finally realizes he already knows. She has no regrets, because even knowing how it ends-- dying by his side-- she would do it all over just the same. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"Everything."

He opens his mouth to respond. To tell her it's been an honor working with her. To tell her lies and say it'll be okay. To talk strategy, press the defense, set the pace for the conflict because it's their only advantage. But he doesn't. Instead, he nods in her direction. "You're welcome."

And when she smiles every so faintly, he knows he's said the right thing.

"Careful," she warns, "he's faster than he looks."

Tseng nods as his gaze fixes upon the closest shinentai. Kadaj is hanging back, motorcycle idling. Confident either because he knows there is no contest, or maybe even because he's seen the Shin-Ra logo on the helicopters. There's nothing to be done about that now. Rude and Reno will get their chance. Rufus will organize the end game. The fight will continue.

"His guard's electrocuted," Tseng says, repaying the advice although it's nothing she doesn't always know.

They talk to fill the silence. They say these words instead of the ones they want to say.

She nods determined. She raises her fists and waits for the motorcycles to move. "Tseng-san..." she starts again, to say a final goodbye but she can't find breath behind the words.

"I know," he says, throwing her off balance for a moment.

Her heart is no longer hammering in her ears.

The fear is washed away.

The pain doesn't feel as bad now.

The calm before the storm.

The motorcycles sound distant as if she's hearing it from far away although the roar grows louder and louder still.

The countdown has started during their moment of peace. The conflict is coming with spinning wheels. Her body moves lethargic, responding to her commands like an outsider looking in.

They won't run.

They won't give in without a fight.

They won't survive this.

They won't.

And then before the clash-- a splash of crimson so deep it could rival the color of night-- suddenly overwhelming-- a power so strong it pierces her soul. And her body feels lighter-- so light, that she thinks she's flying. This isn't how she imagined the end would be. She turns to look at Tseng but there is nothing but darkness. She gives herself to it, not even realizing salvation has come.

*fin*

Final Fantasy VII: Pleasure Doing Business With You (Reno)

2006-02-03T16:21:56Z

Title: Pleasure Doing Business With You (500 words)
Series: Final Fantasy VII
Characters/Pairings: Reno, Tseng/Elena, Rude/Elena
Genre: Humor
Note: Written for dialogue_500. (Theme #03 "Gossip") Slight references to "Advent Children"

Pleasure Doing Business With You

"How come you never tapped that, yo?"

"Reno."

"I'm just saying. I mean, it's been three years, yo. That's one hell of a crush. Besides, everyone knows so no one would say anything if you did make a move. You wouldn't even have to try. You could just smile at her because she still walks around making moony eyes at you--"

"Reno."

"-- and blushing when she gets flustered."

"Reno."

"Stutters too, yo."

"I recall giving you an assignment."

"Waiting for transport. Those helicopters just don't run as fast without mako."

"Unfortunately that's one of the sacrifices we've had to make."

"Hey, you know, she's better than she was. Remember that one time when she was so nervous that she dumped coffee on you and gave you second degree burns on your--"

"Reno."

"Heh. You do remember. But come on, she's kind of cute and she's liked you for years. And considering how eager she is, I bet that she would--"

"Reno."

"... make a great wife someday. Yeah. Why not go for it? Unless you're hung up on that dead Ancient chick... who was pretty cute… in that... pink sort of way. But the whole dead thing sort of stands in the way of a meaningful relationship boss. Especially since I don't think you're into doing things that are illegal in four sections of Midgar."

"No. You're quite right."

"So why not Elena?"

"Because."

"Because?"

"Because office romances aren't professional."

"Ah."

"And I'm a professional."

"Always, boss."

"One day she'll figure that out too."

"Tch... if you say so, yo."

"It's actually nice in a way."

"What?"

"Her enthusiasm. It's refreshing."

"Hmm... okay, so what about when you retire, yo? Would you get with her then?"

"Reno."

"Come on, yo. You can give me more than that. The office pool has been going on for years and we haven't adjusted for inflation, yo."

"..."

"... so can I take your silence as a yes?"

"No."

"Then it's a no?"

"Look. Your ride is finally here."

"It's not like Junon won't wait."

"Go."

"On my way boss."

* * * * *

"Sempai! Did... I mean... you talked to him, right? Did you ask him? What he'd say?"

"He wants to keep things professional, yo."

"'Professional.' I... see."

"The way I figure it, the going rate in the slums is 50 gil per half hour and you can throw him an employee discount so-- urk!"

* * * * *

"You deserved that."

"Yeah, you're probably right, yo."

"Can we go to Junon now?"

"Just let me get some ice, yo."

"I told you not to get involved."

"Yeah, yeah. Hey, don't touch it. It hurts."

"..."

"What?"

"..."

"What? I know that look. That's the look that you get when you're impressed with someone-- aw hell no!"

"... I never knew Elena could punch so hard."

"You're joking, right?"

"What do you say, pal? Be a friend?"

"Slip her a note after class, yo."

"Twenty gil."

"Fifty."

"Thirty."

"Thirty-Five."

"Deal."

"Pleasure doing business with you, yo."

*fin*

Final Fantasy VIII: Misery and Company (Seifer, Zell)

2006-01-26T14:52:10Z

Title: Misery and Company (500 words)
Series: Final Fantasy VIII
Characters/Pairings: Seifer, Zell
Genre: Humor
Note: Written for dialogue_500. (Theme #01 "In an Elevator") Set post-game.

Misery and Company

"I can't believe I'm stuck in this crappy elevator with you!"

"Heh. That's my line, Chicken Wuss."

"Man, I could just punch the glass and then--"

"Get bitched out by Leonhart for destroying school property?"

"No way. Squall wouldn't do that. He'd understand the situation I'm in. Especiallysinceit'swithyou."

"Tch. I'm touched. So after you punch out the window, then what? You'd just jump thirty feet to the ground? I know cats landed on their feet but I never heard anything about chickens."

"I don't know! Okay! But anything has got to be better than-- oh man is that Irvine? Irvine! Get me out of here! HEY!"

"He can't hear you from up here and if you don't stop shouting in the next three seconds--"

"IRVINE! HEY! GET ME-- WHAT THE HELL IS YOUR PROBLEM! WHY'D YOU PUSH ME YOU BASTARD?"

"Open your eyes and try not to be as stupid as you look! Take a good look! What does that look like he's got in his hands?"

"Wha? What are you talking about Almasy, I don't seen any-- hey! HE'S GOT A CAMERA! THAT SHITTY COWBOY! STOP TAKING PICTURES AND GET ME OUT OF HERE!"

"Heh."

"Man... this sucks."

"Hehehehe."

"Hey... what the hell's so funny?"

"I just thought of something."

"What? You know a way to get us out of here?"

"If I knew a way to get us out, don't you think I would have done it four hours ago?"

"I dunno. Maybe."

"You think I like being stuck here with you?"

"Who knows? You'd probably do it just to be an asshole."

"Trust me Chicken, I could do better than this."

"Yeah? Prove i-- wait. Forget that. Just tell me what the hell's so damn funny because I know you can't be laughing at me because you're stuck here just like I am."

"That's just it. There's only one elevator to the third floor so who do you think is stuck in his illustrious headmaster's office and has been for four hours?"

"Hey... and this is the only elevator that goes up to the classrooms! No wonder why those bastards are cheering!"

"Live it up Chicken Wuss. This is probably the only time you'll get to be a hero."

"So... uh... do you really think they're gonna bother to get us out?"

"..."

"I mean, they can't just leave us here, right? They'd have to start holding class in the library or the caf or something."

"Please stop. I'm getting dumber just by listening to you."

"I mean, Squall has to notice, so why isn't he doing anything?"

"You mean Mr. I-Worked-Through-My-Honeymoon?"

"Man, this sucks. I swear, the first thing I do when I get out of here is track down whatever shitty mechanic built this thing and introduce him to my fist."

"Because you're so intimidating."

"Shut up. So, uh, what about you?"

"Stairs."

"Huh?"

"I'm going to find that bastard, put Hyperion to his neck, and make him build Garden stairs."

*fin*

Weiss Kreuz: km/h (Ran/Ken)

2005-09-23T20:46:56Z

Title: km/h (1,003 words)
Series: Weiss Kreuz
Characters/Pairings: Ran/Ken
Genre: Slash
Note: Written for 30_kisses. (Theme #20 "The Road Home") Set during Kapitel.

km/h

He's racing down the empty highways, wind whipping through his hair, drying sweat shorn locks. His goggles and helmet, bugnuk too, are in the backseat of Yohji's roadster giving Omi's crossbow some company on the ride home. The white car is speeding alongside him, driving against traffic, pacing him as they travel the empty road only moments before dawn.

Every once in a while he does this. Indulges. Meets them at the mission sites and peels out of parking lots at the end. The wind beats across his skin, leaving hair mused and cheeks burned, and he always beats them home. It's the adrenaline high, taking the turns at a frantic pace, and burning off the excess energy in a way that could never be accomplished from sitting in the backseat of a car.

Yohji always paces him. Top down, driving just fast enough, because he knows what his teammate is doing. When Aya drives he just lets Ken go, watches him speed off in the distance not seeing the motorcycle until he parks alongside it in the garage. Recklessness isn't in Aya's nature and it's not normally in Ken's. But every once in a while it seems to flare, consuming him like a moth to a flame.

"You know what I always wanted to do?" Ken has to shout to make his words carry over the whipping wind and roar of the motors.

"Live fast and dangerous?" Yohji shouts back. His foot presses down on the accelerator more. Ken grins and speeds up.

Aya's eyes flit back and forth, listening as the conversation flies across him. He's relaxed in the passenger seat, long coat wrapped around him, the leather staving off the chill of the night air. The mission was completed without a hitch and the topic of conversation seems far too easy in the light of what they've just done.

"Oi! Aya!" Ken calls out, breaking into this thoughts, "What would it take for you to get out here?"

Aya turns his head, masking his confusion with a stern expression. "What?"

"I want a kiss. What would it take for you to get out here?"

Behind the wheel, Yohji chuckles. "You're insane Kenken."

"Like you've never done it, Kudou."

"Hey, I'm the one driving here."

"Well?" Ken looks back at Aya. There's no expectation in his gaze, just a faint questioning in his eyes and an easy smile upon his face. Aya gets the impression that whether it happens or not is of no consequence. A challenge, he realizes just a few seconds later. Release of their conscience and embracing the vibrancy of life.

Aya stays silent for long moments, then grips the side of the car and starts to rise. Beside him Yohji lets out a cheer, then pointedly ignores the glare Aya shoots his way.

In the backseat, Omi's eyes widen slightly. "Aya-kun!"

Ken smiles, his eyes flickering over the road. They know this route well. Two more turns and then a long straight stretch. He pulls the bike around the corner pitching slightly before leveling off. There's no traffic or lights. Nothing but the night and this moment. Perfect.

Yohji's voice calls out the speed to match and they begin to slow and Ken's eyes flicker to the odometer. "Keep it steady."

"Don't worry about me. I'll be able to see where I'm going."

Aya has hauled himself up on the side of the car, resting on the door frame. He can't help but think this would be easier in his car instead of Kudou's. With a roof to hang onto it would make balance significantly easier. He doesn't think about the tar fast flying underneath or the insanity of what they're doing.

"Aya-kun! Ken-kun!" Omi's voice is pitched with nervousness.

Aya moves slowly, only peripherally aware that his knuckles are white trying to keep his balance, as the distance closes between them. He can hear the roar of Ken's bike growing louder over the rushing wind as it pulls alongside the car. They move tenuously, Aya's hand reaching out to trace the side of Ken's face, until their lips meet, finally. Barely brushing at first but even so the contact is warm and heady.

Aya moves away first, head swinging to check the expanse of the road. Still plenty of straightaway. He supposes that Yohji does know how to use the horn if anything had changed. His gaze flickers back to Ken, the younger man still reeling from the contact. "Hn." It wasn't bad, Aya has to admit.

"Thank you." Ken breathes.

The wind almost rips his words away but Aya hears them anyway. He shakes his head, red hair flying in his face, but there's a lightness in his eyes. "Incorrigible."

He regains his balance and settles back down into the passenger seat, composure in place as if nothing just happened. Aya let's Omi's words of concern drift away on the wind. It's hardly the most dangerous thing they've done tonight.

The city skyline is growing closer and the sun has started to peek through the buildings. Morning is coming to flush out the night's escapades but they still have miles to go.

Ken smiles, giving a little wave to the passengers in the car before accelerating. "See you at the shop," he calls out, but the words are lost to the night, as he races past.

Yohji pressed down on the gas, then stops as he sees Aya shake his head in his periphial. Yohji turns giving Aya a challenging look, but then blinks, as he watches the other man relax almost languidly into the passenger seat. Well, he'll be damned...

"Let him go," Aya says simply, dark eyes watching as the motorcycle takes the turn out of sight.

"Che." Yohji exhales, shrugging off the entire event. Far be it for him to pry even when things were on public display. Besides conversation was never Aya's strong suit. "I guess one time won't hurt."

Aya gives a curt nod.

Surprisingly, it hadn't hurt at all.

*fin*

Richard Dragon: Living on the Edge

2005-04-01T11:54:17Z

Title: Living on the Edge (3,144 words)
Series: Richard Dragon
Characters/Pairings: Richard Dragon/Lady Shiva
Genre: Action, Romance
Note: Written for 100fandomhell

Living on the Edge

The first time was in Burma.

I didn't have business in the city and locals seemed to want to keep it that way. White skin and red hair sets you apart from the crowd. Even in a busy city, it was hard to blend in. Set upon the river, Mandalay had gone the route of most river towns. Wealth mingled with poverty under the same neon glow and palms were greased with the money of a different color. It wasn't the first spot I would have picked for a vacation.

But I didn't come for the scenery, I came for her.

Lady Shiva Wu San had disappeared from Thailand three days ago. Ben said to let it go. He said she's bad news. Ben said a lot of things and he's usually right. I should have listened to him more often, but he should have known better. I always did learn things the hard way. Hitched a ride, scammed a passport and traded one country for another. Maybe even mentors.

Hard to find information when your appearance screams tourist, but it's all about knowing the right people. Ran into Than Trang my first day in. Skinny little punk but fast on his feet. Met him during the tournament in Tokyo but we didn't get to talk much before I kicked his ass. This time was no different. The conversation was short, but it was more than enough. Something had the slum of the earth running scared and all the whispers in the dark pointed to her.

There was an opium shipment going out that night. Some entrepreneur by the name of Jung has been orchestrating the thing for months. It made waves, literally. The fog horn sounded through the night as the boat pulled into the dock. There was a lot of people waiting its arrival and none of them were spectators. Hired muscle, a few brains. Lots of guns and guards and then a select few dressed in dark blue hoods. They looked like they could put up a fight.

Shiva could care less about the cash, or the drugs.

She just loved a challenge.

The deal was high profile, which meant there might actually be enough people around to get her to break a sweat. I had staked out a front row seat early, grabbed some take out, and made myself comfortable on a rooftop eating chow mein until all hell broke loose. The operation was pretty smooth. These guys probably had paid off the local law enforcement, or hell, these guys might have been the locals. Whoever they were, they didn't talk much. Just waited for their friends on the boat to come out and play.

Too bad someone got to them first. It was a hot summer night and steam was rising from the water. It blew onto the dock in tangible waves of humidity and damn if it didn't make for a great entrance. She walked through the mist, down the ramp of the boat, her footfalls silent on the metal as she went. No clue when she had stowed away or how long she had been there. It didn't matter, the crew was making their acquaintances with Davy Jones Locker by now.

I was on my feet, the chopsticks forgotten and the low profile abandoned. I made an obvious target, but it didn't matter. All eyes were on her. The atmosphere had instantly changed. The tension increased by leaps and bounds. Shiva smiled. She still had blood upon her hands.

Gunfire broke across the night and everyone scattered. Shiva moved through the bullets calmly, a hint of a smile upon her face. This was the rush. She punched three men in quick succession. The first fell back and his gun clattered to the ground. The second turned with the motion and stumbled into a friend. The third blocked her punch. It was the last thing he did before he died.

The groupies in hoods spring into action. Three of them surrounded her and began to advance. She flipped backward landing on a row of boxes, then jumped up to a nearby rooftop, then began to run. They scrambled after her. She loped easily across the roof and landed gracefully on the next building. Our eyes met, but she didn't seem all that surprised.

Her dark hair and outfit only caught faint shimmers of the bright light as she raced towards me. The chow mein fell to the alleyway below. She smiled, but didn't slow. "You want to follow me?" she asked, her sweet voice trailing as she ran. "Then you have to fight."

She dove off the building.

I turned just in time to block the first blow.

I recognized the fighting style. Bando. Burmese martial arts. Part Karate, part judo, and part everything in between. These guys were locals. The practice utilized different designs, blending it together in a mish-mosh of structure. The entire theory is based on the concept of hit and away. Wear your opponent down. Look for weaknesses, then strike. Most importantly, stay out of reach.

I made that difficult for them. I gritted my teeth and grabbed the first mook by the shoulders and dispatched him the easiest way I could. A quick flip and he tumbled off the building. He's a professional. He'll go limp and end up with a few broken ribs, some injured pride, and the sweet smell of garbage.

One down.

These boys weren't particular. They didn't know if Shiva and I were working together and they didn't care. All that mattered was that we weren't invited to the party. No one told me it was going to be a formal affair, not that I had a tux to wear. There was no time to see where Shiva had gone. I would have to worry about that later. I had to take things one at a time.

The remaining two moved in tandem. Finally, they worked their numbers to their advantage. It's a rare thing. Usually hired help rushed in trying to prove which of them had the most stones. These guys got some points for having maturity, but it was bad news for me.

Talking wouldn't have done much good, so I didn't bother. I jumped back, eyes scanning for a better venue. Two rooftops later ad a broken awning, and I was back on the ground. They figured out we were playing follow the leader and jumped after me. I lashed out as they jumped, and caught one in the stomach. He hit the ground hard, and it would take him a few seconds to recover.

That's all I would need. I turned, concentrating on his friend.

He pulled a short blade, not surprising at all. Shiva likes clean combat, no weapons, simple rules. It's easy to hide behind a gun, but it's easier to take one apart with your hands. He darted forward and away, close enough to slash if I had been a statue. I pulled down the tatters of the awning and looped it around my wrist. The green strips floated through the air as I moved. A hindrance but a help.

He came again, closer this time, and I grabbed his wrist. I twisted mine, and the cloth flowed over his arm. I grabbed the other end, giving a savage tug and was rewarded when his fingers twitched in pain. Liked that? Have another. I slammed the heel of my palm into his nose and he cried out. He tried to stagger away but a swift backhand sent him to the wall. Unfortunately, he'll live.

The other one was on his feet. His eyes dropped to the fallen blade and he began to move. I was quicker. I reached down and with a smooth motion embedded it into the wall. It wasn't worth the risk for either of us to try and retrieve it. The dagger was out of play and less than a minute later, so was he.

I circled back, sliding my way through the streets and alleys. The dock looked like it was on fire, and in the middle of the inferno: Shiva. She slid through defenses like water upon stone. I moved closer like a moth to a damn flame. She lashed out, a swift kick disarmed a gunner and the crack of his neck tells me he's dead before he hits the ground. A deadly, beautiful flame.

I could practically hear Ben Turner screaming warnings in my head. Bad news. Killer. Don't want to get mixed up in her lot, Dragon. Sorry Ben. Even if I get burned, it's a hell of a way to go.

In no time, I was back in the thick of things. She turned in combat, acknowledging my presence, and for a moment, we stood still. Breathing heavy, easy targets as they decided what to try next.

"Friends of yours?" I asked, mouth curling with wry amusement.

"Dear ones," she replied.

A trigger snapped and we were in motion once again. There was no time for thought or planning. Strategy fell to the wayside as instinct took over. Us against them. Don't get shot, don't get hurt. Watch your back and keep plowing through. The few times I got a chance to look in her direction, I always saw the same thing. Feral elation.

It wasn't the fight, I was sure. These guys were good, but they weren't the best. No reputation internationally. No legend, no cred. She was hanging back and watching what I did. That was where her interest lay. No, it wasn't the fight at all. It was the company.

It was over too soon. It could have been minutes, or hours. You lost track of time when you live from moment to moment. The silence of the night hadn't yet reached my ears. My breathing was heavy and my heart pounding in my ears. Sweat trickled down my face as the sounds slowly trickled back. Waves broke against the dock. The trill of a foreign language in the distant. Night traffic, and the dying moans of the guys in front of us.

"Hmph." Shiva wiped off her hands and then knelt next to Jung. A quick motion and the briefcase opened displaying neatly arranged drugs. She dropped it unceremoniously and looked about the carnage.

"Hard to find good help these days?" I asked. The briefcase open, inviting so I gave it a look. I figured one of us should give a damn about it. Shiva didn't, but then I had never quite figured out what she did for a living. I frowned at the drugs, someone was bound to come looking for it. It was more trouble than it was worth, I decided. So I dumped it in the river.

She was already down the street by the time I caught up.

"I did not ask you to follow me, Dragon."

"I'm like a bad penny," I explained, but the humor was lost on her. I wasn't surprised. "I always turn up."

"That may be." She looked me up and down. Her dark eyes appraising, and considering, and damn me for still being surprised when she threw the first punch. The adrenaline was still running high and tonight's exploits didn't fulfill whatever need this girl had. She was going to change that.

I dodged it easily, then blocked the backhand aimed for my head. She was going all out but there wasn't the same sense of urgency as before. If she wanted me dead, there would be more to this song and dance. Even so, I returned the favor. I kicked out and she jumped back a few steps. "You'll have to do a better job persuading me than that."

"Gladly." She leaped into the air and there was barely enough time to think just how damn graceful she was, before I grabbed her arm and threw her off balance. She turned with the force, letting me drag her down, and landed on her feet. An elbow in my kidneys made me let her go. In moments, she was back on a rooftop and less than a minute later we were jumping between buildings.

I'd been on stranger dates before, but none quite like this.

I lost her outside the red light district. She had cut left and I had followed but she was gone before my eyes. I watched the street, eyes raking over the prostitutes and the businessmen. The crowd was just enough for her to get lost in, and the shadows were as welcoming as night, but she wasn't down there.

She was watching me. I could feel it.

I turned slowly surveying the shadows and listening for movement. Ben would have been spouting off crap about patience right about now. Hell, that's not true he would cuffed me across the head and called me a damn fool for trying to find Shiva. But Ben knew I always was a stubborn s.o.b. You can take the kid out of the street but you can't-- Bingo!

She was smiling at me from a window across the way. It didn't have glass, only wisps of cloth hanging for privacy. She was already in motion as I leapt to the next rooftop, she wouldn't head up. I would have to get down, and quickly. Shoddy housing, no fire escape. A few clotheslines. I could have just waited until she came back into sight and used the vantage point to get the upper hand.

But we both knew I wouldn't do that.

Options were short and time even more so. The alleyway was narrow, big enough for a horse or donkey but nothing wider than that. Shitty housing not meant to do anything more than cram more people into an overcrowded city.

I looked across the way. None of the windows had glass although a few had people. I exhaled once as I jumped across the way. I overshot the sill, but managed to grab the frame. A quick turn and another leap to the other building. It beat falling. Window to window and most punctuated with a yell of surprise.

She was out the door when I was across the street. I launched myself forward, landed on the ground hard, one hand down for balance. She didn't hesitate, leapt over me then spun to face me. The chase was over. The battle was now.

I tried not to disappoint.

I did anyway.

Too short a fight.

Minutes later, I was staring up at the night sky, Shiva atop of me, one of her hands fisted in my hair. Her long hair brushed my face and she didn't bother making a pretense to pull a punch. Her mouth was moving but I was too distracted to care about the words.

"--understand now? How long will it take you to become worthy?"

"Of you?" I asked. I inhaled deeply as if I could breath in her essence like a drug.

"Of your name," she corrected. She smiled. "You will never be worthy of me."

"Give me time."

"I've been indulgent enough for this night."

She let go of my hair, and my head lolled back against the moist earth. I didn't really want to think what I was lying in. Gracefully she rose, then turned without another word. I scrambled up after her.

"Shiva!" I called out, already throwing a punch as she turned. A cheap shot, I know. But it that didn't work. She smirked, blocking it easily with her arm. Her expression told me I was a foolish man and her fist collided with my jaw, but I surged forward, determined, and slammed her into the wall. She looked offended, mouth curling into a snarl.

We held the tableau for a tense seconds.

"I'll prove it to you." My voice was no louder than a whisper and not nearly as gentle. I pressed her against the wall, my mouth covering hers. Her lips parted and that was all the acceptance I needed. If she wasn't willing, I would have been dead by now.

Instead, she met the challenge. Her body pressed into mine. There was no romance and there were no illusions as we fell into the building she had just come from. A long cry from the hotel I had checked into, or any arrangements she may have had, but at least it was away from the battle. The smell of blood was absent replaced by something even more distinguishable, more tangible.

We moved together alternating lead and rhythm. Dance isn't the only movement and exertion isn't the only exercise. There were no words only the sounds of breathing, of harsh moans and sporadically deep breaths. Our clothes were still on for the most part. Skin just touching skin, only two places, bodies and breath mixing.

We moved by instinct and never stopping.

The word passive wasn't in Shiva's vocabulary. At one point, she ended up at top. How, I don't remember, but it didn't matter. We were moving in tandem, her over me, filling in the gaps of each other's form with exuberance. It was like no one I had had before. We could see the clues, could tell the movement and respond in a way that flowed so smoothly.

She took all that she wanted and I would have given her more.

She left first. She settled her clothes gracefully, no shame nor regret. Then she stood, her movements seemed far too composed. There was no kiss to say goodbye, but that didn't surprise. Eyes closed, body relaxed, I pillowed my hands under my head and sated, simply listened to her footsteps fade away. At the door, she spoke, her words lingering upon the air.

"We will meet again," she promised, then disappeared in the night.

Count on that Shiva.

Spent two more days in the city. The authorities were still cleaning up the mess at the harbor. Best not to be around when the investigation went into full swing. Ben was probably on his way back to the States. Probably muttered about the damn ungrateful punk the whole flight back. I didn't feel too bad, if he was smart, he traded in my ticket for an upgrade to first class when I hadn't shown.

There were rumors in the air again. The spice of life. Almost out of traveler's cheques and I needed a place to lay low. Ben had mentioned a monastery in China. Red Lotus Temple or some such. It sounded like a good reprieve. They were known for their Buddhist ways and their formidable skill. Some rest and some schooling. Then back into the game.

Shiva was always on the move, always scouting talent.

I wasn't good enough... yet.

But the time would come, and when it did. I was certain I wouldn't find Shiva.

I knew she would find me.

*fin*

Prince of Tennis: Indulgent (Ryoma, Karupin)

2005-01-10T18:46:11Z

Title: Indulgent (383 words)
Series: Prince of Tennis
Characters/Pairings: Ryoma, Karupin
Genre: WAFFy
Note: Written for caffeinic in response to this meme.

Indulgent

There were, Ryoma reflected as he stared at the ceiling, much better things he could be doing with his time.

Head nestled against his pillow, he continued to study the pattern on the plaster. It wasn't that interesting, just a series of overlapping half circles with furrows between them, but his options were limited at the moment. His history book was beside him, face up with the spine cracking under the book's weight.

It would have been an alternative if he hadn't finished the reading the week's assignments about a half hour ago. There were only so many names and dates that he could read about in one sitting. Now if it had been a sports magazine, his attention would have been sated for a while longer.

Ryoma frowned, lifting his head off the pillow to stare down the length of his bed. Just from the weight upon his stomach, Ryoma knew he would be here for a while. He watched as Karupin rose and fell with each breath he took. The Himalayan had taken up residence while he was reading and now showed no inclination to move just because his human had decided he was bored.

Ryoma sighed but the sound was covered by Karupin's deep contented purring.

The ceiling couldn't be that boring. Ryoma stared upwards, counting how many half circles it took to fill the length between the walls. His finger played idly in Karupin's hair. The purrs were steady and Ryoma's movements seem to match them, petting him in rhythm.

Ryoma had to admit it was relaxing. Besides, if you couldn't beat them... Ryoma let his eyes slide shut. A nap was more productive than examining his ceiling any day. Long minutes passed and Ryoma's hand fell away, landing on his comforter with a thump.

Karupin stirred. He yawned, his pink tongue flickering out as he opened his mouth wide to reveal tiny teeth. He looked towards Ryoma's hand and sniffed once. And to think the brochure had promised pampered treatment. He stood, stretched once, then turned a small cautious circle on Ryoma's stomach before settling back down again.

The cat kneaded his paws into Ryoma's stomach for a moment, before settling down again. His eyes drifted closed. All this and the silly human thought he was the pet.

*fin*

X-men: Just Life (Jubilee, Angelo)

2005-01-10T16:46:56Z

Title: Just Life (896)
Series: X-men
Characters/Pairings: Jubilee, Angelo
Genre: General
Note: Written for reccea in response to this meme. Present tense.

Just Life

West coast, baby.

Downtown L.A. and Angelo is bitching about parking. They've gone up and down the strip a few times and it's past eleven o'clock. Jubilee has her feet up on the dashboard and the music is pumping from their car. No hydraulics although they'd both like it, but they can't knock the car. Not when it's gone cross country and still managed to turn over the next day.

She's wearing a tank top with a sheer shirt over it. The night time chill barely seems to register. But then fifty degrees is nothing compared to the sub-artic temperatures that Dick Clark is fond of. It's a perk, one that seems more than a fair trade off as far as the occasional earthquake is concerned.

Angelo gives up, pulling in front of a club and in line for valet parking. He turns to her, gray fingers turning down the volume of the radio. "You're going to help pay for parking, chica."

Jubilee doesn't care.

This was her idea.

The line doesn't seem to move and Skin has occupied his time hitting on a blonde with a bottle tan. Jubilee's head swings out of synch with the rest of the line, and she bites her bottom lip and flashes the bouncer a smile. It won't work but it's worth a shot. She straightens up; her double pig tails flail as she does so.

It'll be midnight soon and they'll be outside because of a stupid fire code.

She wonders what everyone else is doing.

She imagines Monet sitting in her town, the grand princess of everything. Jubilee can see her sipping champagne with pearls in the bottom of the glass and talking about those quaint days where she deigned to mosey with the little people.

She imagines Paige, at home, the whole family crowded around a television set. It's almost as if she can hear the dialogue and listen to the Guthrie family wonder at just how many light bulbs are used in making the ball. Typical hayseed, she thinks, knowing she couldn't find contentment in such a simple thing.

She imagines Jono, who is off god knows where. He probably wouldn't bother with the celebration or the traditions. He was never big on it before. The kissing thing, it has been well established, is not a good idea. Jubilee thought she read his name in a tabloid, but she doesn't remember. It was right next to the story about the talking bird that predicted the winning lottery numbers.

She thinks about Ev, before she remembers that it's going to be a New Year. No time to think of could have beens and reminiscence about the past. She had to get out, had to do something different. Xavier... and everyone had been her family. Would always be her family but it's not the same anymore.

She thinks about Wolverine. Imagines him with a cigar and a beer bottle and muttering a begrudged, "Happy New Year, bub." and giggles out loud at the thought.

"That's the spirit!" The blond guy standing behind her grabs her shoulder in a friendly gesture. He turns back to his friends, and from his scent and words, Jubilee knows this isn't the first club he's been to this night. "This girl has the spirit, it's a party!"

Angelo turns, his eyes looking over the group of guys standing behind her. Jubilee does as well. It's annoying, she thinks, as she sizes them up. Even if they wanted to be trouble, they wouldn't be a threat. She's spent too long with the X-men. It feels like years but she still needs to use a fake ID. Childhood lost. It was time to move on.

She shakes her head, then looks over the group again and smiles. After all, the blond is a bit cute. "You guys having fun tonight?"

He smiles and nods and they talk as the line slowly crawls. Jubilee is too caught up to notice as Angelo pays her cover and they entered the darkened bar. There are streamers and confetti and silly hats everywhere to be found. The television replays events three hours earlier which seem a lifetime away. A live band plays in a corner, drowning out conversation and thought.

As the minutes tick past until there are but a few minutes left. The televisions are on mute and the lead singer has the mike. Everyone has stopped dancing, their attention riveted to electronic displays or to the band. And this is it, Jubilee realizes. This is normal. For once, there is nothing more than this moment. There is no cause, no dream, no worry, and no hate. Just life.

She shouts with the crowd, counting down the numbers until confetti drapes through the air and horns blow in joyous occasion. The blond raises his beer, toasting her with the New Year. Jubilee has to admit, if life got no more exciting than this moment, she could get used to this.

A new state.

Auld Lang Syne begins to play and the club patrons embrace each other. Jubilee finds Angelo, pulling him away from the blond he was kissing to give him a hug. Whatever comes, they'll find out together. He gives her an annoyed look and she breaks away. She laughs as the blonde glares at her.

Just life.

Nothing more.

She could get used to this.

*fin*

Fruits Basket: Conversation and Tea (Haru, Ayame)

2005-01-10T16:02:31Z

Title: Conversation and Tea (518 words)
Series: Fruits Basket
Characters/Pairings: Hatsuharu(/Yuki), Ayame
Genre: General
Note: Written for gingaktb in response to this meme.

Conversation and Tea

He sat on the pastel couch cradling a cup of tea. His legs were spread and his thick black boots seemed to crush the plush carpet beneath. The leather pants and stark white shirt he wore, were a stark contrast to the delicate nature of the room. The air was filled with the smell of flowers giving it a definitive feminine quality to it all. Still, if Haru was fazed by his surroundings, it wasn't obvious.

Early afternoon and the shop was relatively empty. There was one sales girl tending to new stock and setting up a display and Ayame had gone in the back to find something of the utmost importance. Aside from himself and two customers the store was empty.

Haru watched blandly as one man emerged from a dressing room. He paused in front of a mirror and adjusted a black leather cap. The man turned a slow circle, looking over his reflection in the mirror. Dressed in all leather with an obscene amount of buckles and belts, he frowned. He looked in Haru's direction and the two exchanged an appraisingly look as if to get a second opinion on the costume he was wearing. Finally, the man tugged the hat off and went back to change. "This is stupid."

"Wimp. Is not," his friend contested. The blond was leaning heavily against the wall. His eyes had traveled the length of his companion's body shamelessly. He had obviously appreciated the sight much more. He arched his head as if to look over the door. "Maybe a few more belts."

"Whatever."

Haru took another sip of tea. Today wasn't as bad as the cross dressing twins who had done up their hair in red ribbons. They'd been much more vocal when they had had an objection. After the third visit, it had all seemed common place. Besides, what he saw wasn't nearly as interesting as what Haru had come to hear.

As if on cue, the red velvet curtains flung wide and Ayame entered with a flourish. He paused in the doorway, waiting for Haru to note his grand entrance before striding in the room. He moved to the side, tending to his customers for a moment before snapping his fingers. Immediately the sales girl hustled to the back, with an armload of studded belts she descended on the hapless couple.

"Now," Ayame tossed his hair back, "where were we?"

Haru waited until Ayame was settled. Ayame placed a book on the table, exchanging it for a cup of tea, then settled back into a chair. A few seconds later, he was presentable enough to receive audience.

"Fifth grade," Hatsuharu supplied.

Ayame nodded. He tapped his chin dramatically as he paused to collect his thoughts. Now what would be the most entertaining way to tell this tale. Oh yes. "Ah yes. Yuki-kun's first day. I remember it clearly, as if it were yesterday..."

Haru nodded obligingly and sipped his tea. He took the words with a grain of salt, you simply had to if Ayame was telling the tale.

However, the pictures were another matter entirely.

*fin*

28 Days Later: Hesitation (Hannah, Selena, Jim)

2005-01-03T04:49:53Z

Title: Hesitation (1525 words)
Series: 28 Days Later
Characters/Pairings: Hannah/other, Selena, Jim
Genre: Alternative Ending
Note: Rape and Death. Written for contrariwise for yuletide

Hesitation

Her back scrapes the wooden floor and the hem of the dress nearly obscures her view. Her head lolls back, and she looks from side to side. Her eyes stare at the mirror, and she watches it as if it were a television, watches as Selena's breasts bounce with each movement.

Thoughts don't stay in her head, but the colors seem to. She picks up a bit of her dress and brings the ripped cloth close to her eyes. So soft. She pets the fabric with her other hand, then looks up, as if hearing the heavy breathing for the first time.

He's dressed funny, she thinks. The colors aren't nice. Instead of vibrant colors that are nice to touch, it's a macrame of drab earth tones. She can feel the cloth of his pants brushing along her thighs, pushing away the smoothness of the dress.

There is pain.

She gasps. She jerks more than slides against the floor. Unprepared, her head hits the ground, and one pain gives way to a new one.

"Ow." The word is detached, drawn out as if belatedly realizing she was injured. Lethargically, she pushes against the wood as if to sit up, and brings her other hand up towards her head.

"Just lie there," the man says and pushes her down. Her elbow slips as he forces weight against her shoulder and her head strikes the wood again. "And shut up," he adds and there is a trace of disgust in his voice.

He barks orders like a soldier, and that thought seems to stay in Hannah's head. She looks back towards the mirror, her eyes stare wide at her reflection. For long moments she doesn't blink, then slowly lets them close just to see if her doppelganger will do the same. Open and close, and she stares at herself fascinated.

Her dress slips on the floor, and she breaks eye contact. She blinks and tries to recall what she was doing. She frowns, biting into her lower lip as the thoughts slip away. They've been doing that it seems, but she isn't quite certain. 'It's too loud to think,' she realizes.

And with that idea, sound rushes back into her world.

There's a high pitched keening, almost a wail that fills the small room. It sounds like a stuck pig, not that Hannah has heard one. She turns her head as much as she's able to. She sees the door and the window, then in the corner she sees Selena again.

Wide-eyed, Hannah watches as Selena braces her hands against the wall. Her short hair is tangled in the man's grip, while his other hand holds her wrist. She is pinned against the wall, her head turned towards one side and Hannah can see her mouth move.

She hears the noise, the sounds, but can't distinguish the words.

There is something familiar about all this. Hannah looks back at the ceiling. Selena. The soldier. There's something she's forgotten. She frowns and closes her eyes. It's so hard to think through all the noise.

"Stop," she whispers trying to let the word still the cacophony of sound. She raises one hand, her fingers slightly curled as if to grab a hold of her mind and the fragments of her memory. There were soldiers, she remembers, and tries to recall what came before.

There was gunfire. Loud, sudden gunfire. The soldiers were shooting. It was too much noise, and it's still too much noise. Her hands clench into fists and she presses her palms to her ears.

She blocks out the noise, but not the pain.

She gasps. Her mouth opens wide and her eyes clench shut. The pain continues, digging deep into her in constant motions. It's almost as bad as the weight atop her. She gasps again, and sucks in a harsh breath. Her breathing comes quickly now, shallow pants, as if she's going to hyperventilate.

She tries to move, brings her hands down to push against the wood and move herself backwards, and feels them grabbed and slammed down against the floor instead.

Her eyes open.

She seems him clearly, and watches as his mouth moves. Yet her heartbeat sounds thunderous in her ears and she can't distinguish the words. The wonderment fades, and she glares back at him, all too aware of what's going on.

He leans close to her and forces his mouth upon hers and she tries to turn away. His lips muffle her protest. It is far too late for him to turn back. There will be no stopping, and his tongue slips past her lips. She does the only thing she can and bites down hard.

There is blood in her mouth.

He screams.

Her head cracks into the floorboard, and her cheek stings with the blow. The new pain does not replace the old. He's moving atop her and the pain her abdomen is back again. She can taste the coppery blood atop her mouth, and doesn't want to think of the wetness between her legs.

He leans over her. His face is a smug leer as he continues his motions. She stares back at him, pressing her elbows against the wood trying for leverage once again. The tang is in her mouth and she leans forward, spitting in his face.

Too quickly, her back hits the sofa, knocking the wind from her, and eliciting a groan.

He stands over her, one sleeve rubbing at his face, wiping the blood from around his closed eye. His frame is tensed, seething with indignation and fear.

If she were infected, Hannah realizes, his reaction would be much different.

The memories flood back without any fanfare. There is no realization or flashback of everything that has come. She remembers and what she knows won't help her.

Selena is screaming, and this time Hannah can hear the words.

"Leave her alone!" Selena is bucking against her captor. Her free hand is reaching looking for any skin for her nails to find. "She's just a girl."

Move, Hannah realizes, that's what she should do.

Move.

She gathers her dress, fisting the cloth in one hand. She grabs the sofa with her other hand, dragging herself up. Nearly standing, she feels the hands grab around her waist and she flails.

Her foot kicks into the air, catching the sofa, and pushing her back against her captor. She squirms as her hands fly over her head looking for some vulnerable spot. Her nails scratch over his skin doing anything to break his hold.

There is the sound of lightning and she drops to the floor.

She scrambles away, staying low. Her hair is tangled about her face, and she tries to flee and take in what's going at the same time. She can see boots as they take staggering steps back. The sound of a round being chambered is lost in the small room.

He fires.

Hannah screams and ducks.

She can hear the screams of the solider. The sound of flesh upon flesh. Wood is strong enough to crack bone. She bites her lips and covers her ears. She folds into herself, hoping to become small enough to disappear.

But then there are arms lifting her up. Fingers, digging into her skin and she fights even before she can find her feet under her. The sound of her heartbeat wins over the sound of her breathing as she sees who is holding her.

Jim is naked from the waist up. Despite the rain, he is covered in blood. Hannah screams again, and she notes a sinking feeling in her soul. This place was her father's hope. A secluded mansion and a promise of a cure, but even death cannot stop the disease.

Selena is screaming for her to run, but all Hannah can do is stare. She breaks his hold, not even sure how, and drops to the ground again. Like a spider, she crawls away. Glancing at Selena, Hannah sees she's on her own.

Her friend's rapist is struggling to find his weapon. His pants are far too loose to pass any uniformed inspection, and he panics as Jim turns on him. A snap of his wrist, and the first bullet lodges itself in the ceiling. Hannah screams and closes her eyes.

Selena is moving about the room. Her fingers fly, opening drawers, moving aside pill bottles and papers. Anything blunt will do. The blood on Jim tells the tale, and the solider won't last long.

Hannah continues to crawl, and her hand brushes metal.

She turns, slowly, eyes widening with the realization. Her body moves, shuffling on her hands and knees to reach the gun she's knocked aside. "Selena!" she yells, but it barely carries over the shouts.

The solider slumps to the ground and Jim turns.

Selena steps up quickly, putting herself next. She clutches a paperweight in her hand.

Hannah reaches for the gun. She looks down at the metal and fumbles with the action. It clicks softly, just like on television. Hannah holds her breath and takes aim.

Jim stops, cocking his head.

Selena takes in a hasty breath.

Hannah fires.

*fin*

Teen Titans: Cold (Tim/Conner)

2005-01-03T04:43:01Z

Title: Cold (1342 words)
Series: Teen Titans
Characters/Pairings: Tim/Conner
Genre: Angst
Note: Written for mizzmarvel for jbbs

Cold

He was wearing an old suit.

He had originally planned attending in the darkest clothes he could find. A leather jacket, sans logo, and a long sleeved T-shirt. Black pants that weren't jeans, and it should have been enough.

Ma wouldn't stand for that. She had made Jonathan dig through the attic and all the boxes. Conner had listened to all the stories as he helped. It was an abundance of cardboard boxes each marked with black permanent marker that told of the contents and year.

He heard football stories. Clark had been a wonder on the field, and everything else for that matter. Conner had seen yearbooks, and ribbons, and trophies, until Jonathan had moved enough boxes to get at a wooden wardrobe.

"You might be a bit smaller than Clark was," he commented, holding up a faded plastic bag. He moved it once in the air, and squinted at Conner. "I think it'll do."

* * * * *

He was wearing an old suit.

The familiar red and green, the weight of it, seemed all too oppressive. 'Muscle memory,' he thought. Perched on the rooftop, he frowned and closed his eyes.

He sat in the shadows, letting them drift across him, and hide him in their darkness. He did nothing to fight it, just let the sensation wash over him. Perhaps that was the part that hurt the most.

The gloves barely granted any warmth. He should have been upon another rooftop, but his father should have also been sound asleep beneath this one.

Tim kept his head bowed, staring at the shingles for lack of anything else to do. The quiet sounds washed over him. Traffic was far too light by his house, nothing at all like the loud city sounds.

He could still hear it, the shot over the phone, echoing in his ears.

Tim jerked at the sound.

He could see it now. In his memory, someone else was screaming. It sounded like someone else was dying. He stared at the stars without seeing them. He remembered the hallway. His breathing started to quicken as the scene replayed.

His hands fisted. He sucked in a deep breath, one then another. In and out. Slowly. Tim closed his eyes. He did nothing else, just closed his eyes and concentrated on the moment.

"Hey."

Tim started, nearly loosing his balance on the rooftop. He recognized the voice and crossed his arms to bury his face in avoidance.

* * * * *

He was wearing an old suit.

It still smelled faintly of mothballs.

The sleeves were a bit short. Conner tugged at them during the ceremony. The stale sickly odor was still there. Conner wrinkled his nose, hoping no one else could tell in the open air. He looked about the crowd with trepidation. *He* was bound to be here somewhere.

It didn't matter.

Batman wasn't going to scare him away.

The priest's words carried over the small area. He spoke of loss and family. He spoke of heaven and hell. He spoke of too short a time. He spoke of God's grace and God's mercy. He spoke all the words of every funeral, and it never seemed enough.

The script never seemed to change, only the players.

Everyone was dressed in black. Emotion displayed upon their face, and they looked exactly the same.

* * * * *

He was wearing an old suit.

Since he was little he had always owned a suit.

An elementary school graduation had been the first time he wore one. The bright shining faces of his parents are captured in his memory. They exist now in photographs, little bits of life, preserved forever but unable to continue on.

He remembered his father knotting his tie. He remembered his mother, licking her thumb, and smoothing down his hair. There are albums of pictures and he stared at them constantly.

There are pictures of the circus and they seem to mock him silently from their pages.

Now, his hair was slicked back, with gel to hold it in place. To keep it orderly and in control as his life spiraled beyond recognition. He didn't listen to the words; his attention focused on the dark casket.

Everyone was around to show their support. They come in droves and Tim expected them all. He recognized their faces, but couldn't see their expressions through the tears.

* * * * *

He wasn't wearing a suit. If he had known Gotham was going to be this cold, he would have brought a jacket. He touched down on the roof then waited, staring at his friend who now seemed engrossed in nothing at all.

"Do you... um..." Conner paused, tilted his head once as if to fill in all the missing words. He didn't quite know where to go from here. "Yeah." Conner nodded to himself. Maybe this hadn't been his best idea. "You didn't call and they said you weren't picking up your phone and I thought... I didn't know what I thought."

Tim lifted his head, studying his friend silently. Blue eyes looked him up and down, then deliberately turned back to study a point in the distance.

Conner exhaled and made himself comfortable. It was going to be a long night. He tried to think of what words to say. Tim wasn't the first person to lose someone close. Yet, Conner doubted a story of commiseration would help matters. He didn't have parents to loose.

So he sat, waiting and watching as goose bumps rose on his skin.

"I'm cold."

The sound was strangled and quiet and Conner turned. He paused, hesitating for a moment.

"Do you want to go inside?" Conner offered softly.

* * * * *

He wasn't wearing a suit but he could feel the warmth all around him. He could feel the wall behind him, even with the comforter, and Conner pressed against him.

His fingers clutched at the thin T-shirt as if to get more. He wasn't sure who started it. Didn't care at this moment. Distantly, he remembered walking to the kitchen, and the hesitation. Tim had turned away a bit too quickly, and Conner had been following a mite too close.

They'd paused in the doorway unwilling to venture forward but Tim had taken a step in a different direction. He brought Conner with him and the line of friendship blurred, even if Tim had only wanted a momentary reprieve.

It was too late to turn back, especially when the heat of Conner's skin was the only thing he wanted.

At the moment, it was the only thing that mattered.

The heat had been off in the house. The bone chilling cold had been a reflection of mood and theme, but Tim didn't care now. Now his skin was flush beneath Conner's touch and his body was warm.

Conner's mouth was at his ear, whispering a word of caution. They shouldn't be doing this. They both agreed with the sentiment, but neither of them moved to stop.

Clothes silently fell away as they made their way into another room. The dark didn't seem all that oppressive and the comforter trailed along behind them, but the clothes lay strewn about in their wake, only a memory and an afterthought.

* * * * *

He wasn't wearing a suit, not anything really, and opened his eyes at the first trace of light. He took a moment to acclimate himself, realizing he had slept half the night straight through. The comforter had fallen to the floor, but the warmth was still with him.

Tim drew a shaky breath, looking over his still sleeping friend. He hadn't meant for it to go that far. He turned his head, finding the clock silently keeping time. Conner would probably kill him if he woke him up now.

He knew he should get dressed, but instead Tim settled back against the pillow. He tugged the comforter over both of them, and tried to let his eyes close. His mind was already racing like it had been before.

'It's too cold to get up,' he rationalized to himself. Much too cold, but maybe in a little while, it wouldn't seem as bad.

*fin*

Quest: Dream (Savant, Prodigy)

2004-05-31T07:27:26Z

Title: Dream (1,510 words)
Series: Quest
Characters/Pairings: Savant, Prodigy
Genre: Drama
Notes: Set before Will's introduction.

Dream

When he walked down the narrow hallway and the lights didn't so much as flicker, he knew he was in a dream. Cautiously, he reached out until his fingertips barely brushed the damp stone.

Trailing his fingers against the wall, he continued deeper into Ponderance. The world was quiet, for dramatic effect, no doubt and the light was brightest at the end. He wanted do know what would happen if he simply turned around. Yet, it wasn't something his subconsciousness would allow. All the answers were laid before him, and he knew he would find no truth in the past.

The light grew brighter as he grew closer and inexplicably he knew he would find Col's office. His dream didn't care that that the real room was nestled behind the library and not in the subterranean depths of the castle. Prodigy continued on; there wasn't any other place to go.

He passed through the doorway, the light obscuring all, but the glow faded and Collector's office gradually came into focus. He could have navigated it blind. The room felt different. The furnishing were the same, but the stacks of paper strewn about where uncharacteristic. As if a flurry of activity had been stopped in mid stride. It felt wrong.

How odd, Prodigy reflected, as his eyes cast about the silent room. He had felt this place would bring means to an end, and he had always believed that Col would usher them to the conclusion whatever that may be. For him to be absent was noticeable and uncharacteristic. A fleeting thought swarmed through his head. How could he do it without him?

There must be a reason.

After all, that was the purpose of dreams.

He moved around to the side of the desk, not a place he usually occupied. Prodigy had his own work space, but as he sat, it felt familiar. As if he had been here before but couldn't quite recall when. Automatically, his hand stretched out to pick up a panel of glass, to read the faint blue scrawl upon it. The glass glowed nervously at his first touch, he should know better really. The brightness continued escalating to a hot white, and he winced at the explosion. That shouldn't have happened, couldn't have happened.

Prodigy blinked.

Now the panel was in his hand, intact but dulled as its power was siphoned away. He brought it closer, intent on reading the writing, but it flickered and died. It was not for him to know. Moving on to the sheets of paper, he faired just as well. The ink seemed alive and swam and ran from the page before he could distinguish more than three words.

Whatever Collector knew, he wasn't about to share.

Suddenly, frustrated, he slammed his hands upon the desk. This was an exercise in futility and frustration, intent on driving him mad. The truth, or whatever he was searching for, was right in front of him, and he didn't seem able to grasp it.

Why?

A sharp beeping caught his attention, and he looked about for an alarm clock. It wasn't his, it didn't sound familiar. The sharp beeps were something Savant would use, but it still continued, daring him to ignore the sound. Not that any such device could be found.

Frustrated, Prodigy looked out into the corridor, into the darkness. He had long given up on the papers, the black ink still stained upon his hands and clothes. There was no reason to stay, and only one way out. The alarm clock beeped again, and he slammed his hand down, surprised to feel cool plastic beneath it. In mid beep, the clock shut off.

A metaphor? Was time running out?

But for what, he didn't know.

Then, in the hallway a sound. He froze and listened to the loud steps that echoing off the walls. This would not be good. He didn't know who was coming, but knew that he could not be caught. The consequences were unfathomable, intangible but the abstract fear and the sudden desperation to escape had taken hold.

His heart pounded and he looked about. Perhaps the room would change as well? The rhythmic sounds drew closer, and he sucked in a harsh breath. He couldn't stay here. He needed to move. He need escape, but there was only one way to go. And it wasn’t an option.

The beeping started again, and he slammed his palm down. The numbers grew bright and the casing hot, and it exploded. He could see the time as the display faded. Three a.m.

He rolled over, now that the sound had been dealt with. Eyes heavy with sleep, he let them adjust to the dark room. It looked nothing like his own, but he knew it was his. His dreams tended to redistribute possessions along the way.

The clock beeped again, and he tapped it off. Four a.m. How had that happened? Beside him, a murmur and a stir. Prodigy turned his head, but could only make out long dark hair. He pushed himself up until he was setting against the headboard. Wearily, he rubbed his face. He sighed and took a deep breath, trying to shake off the last remnants of the dream. The frantic need to escape still clung to him, and it was all he could do, from fleeing entirely.

The hunt for information was not as essential as escape. He was where he shouldn't have been, and the consequences of that, paled in comparison to the knowledge he sought. His eyes widened, as he realized the feeling. It was fear.

How frightfully odd.

"I agree."

Prodigy started and squinted into the darkness. His muscles tense he wanted for confrontation, but instead the figure amicably strode forward. Only a vision of himself, Prodigy relaxed for a moment, then the impassibleness of the situation caught up with him.

"You..." he stammered. The word disgusted him; he didn't stammer.

"Yeah, me." His dream self lit a cigarette and turned around.

Shift. A new setting. It looked like France, perhaps, but Prodigy could make out no landmarks. All about them, people chattered, but the words were indistinguishable, he couldn't place the language, let alone the accent. Yet, somehow, he knew what they were saying.

White noise. Your brain makes up the rest.

Prodigy watched as his doppelganger finished the cigarette and dropped it to the ground. He stared after it longingly, which was odd because he didn't smoke. Wait... that wasn't right.

"You hate me," the other pronounced, breaking into Prodigy's confused thoughts.

Prodigy paused, why would he... but he did, and they both knew it. "You left. You betrayed us."

"Hindsight and foreplay. It's a bitch really." He blew smoke into the air, from a cigarette Prodigy didn't even notice him lighting. "You know you're scared."

And his fist was curling at the words. Fear didn't matter, the only thing that mattered was... his thoughts stumbled. Revenge... no, that wasn't it. Retribution, perhaps, but it wasn't the core. He didn't understand any of it, hadn't, doubted he ever would. Perhaps that’s why he was tracking him all over Europe. Col was a necessity, but Prodigy, himself, the enigma.

And, he had once thought him a friend.

His eyes widened, and he knew. He knew that his eyes were blue and his hair was blond. Cigarettes made him ill, and occasionally, panels overheated at his touch. He turned a slow circle, looking at himself to affirm the discovery.

It had been a vicious way to see another person's point of view.

"Congratulations," Prodigy drawled. "I knew you could figure it out. I'd expect nothing less from you."

"Why are you here?" His voice wasn't steel, but it was a demanding sound nonetheless. So the tinge of desperation had no place in it.

Prodigy shrugged, stepping out the newest cigarette. "Because you wanted me here."

"I didn't—" His hand cut through the air, irritated, knocking Prodigy's lighter away. It clattered to the road.

"It's okay." Prodigy fished in his pocket, and pulled out his lighter again. Savant's eyes widened and he looked to the ground. The tiny bit of silver was gone. The top snapped open with a beep, and closed with another one. Prodigy seemed to be good at making things disappear.

"I don't—" Confusion flooded Savant. Nothing was making sense, not that it had in a long while.

"—know what you want." Prodigy nodded. "I know, but you can't run from the truth, not when you're chasing after it."

The beeping again. Three long blasts, ascending in volume. Savant outstretched his palm, beckoning for the lighter, and Prodigy dutifully acquiesced.

He could feel his fingers against the cold surface, and the beeping stopped.

Wearily, he opened his eyes. Sunlight just cracking though the windows. It was Belguim, today, wasn't it? Yes, a hotel on the city's outskirts. He looked towards the window, and sighed deeply closing his eyes. Somewhere.

"Typical," he said slightly amused. "You never even told me," Savant murmured, "when I would find you."

*fin*

Weiss Kreuz: Casual Deconstruction (Schuldig, Crawford)

2004-05-10T02:47:19Z

Title: Casual Deconstruction (768 words)
Series: Weiss Kreuz
Characters/Pairings: Schuldig, Crawford
Genre: Character Study

Casual Deconstruction

"Why?" You look at me with curious eyes. Your eyes scan over the bruises on my face and disgust fills your expression. "Why?" you repeat, scorn filling your tone.

I stare at you. So you have a question and I guess you want an answer. I smirk. Why should I give you one?

You glare at me but I don't say a word. What would you like me to say?

Because I know all their dirty secrets?

Because I know all their personal dreams?

Because I know their biggest fears?

People try to hide from themselves, but they can't hide from me. I look up and you're still staring. So you want answers? Then how about this: Because I can.

Truthfully, there's a lot of reasons why, but why should I bother to tell you?

One thing I learned early on is that people like to delude themselves. It's just part of our social conditioning, even so it's still cowardice. Too many people would crumble if they had to face the truth. There's always a glaring difference between thought and deed. It's extremely amusing.

Sometimes, walking down the street can be a source of amusement. You can drink in dirty little secrets and little white lies. Make a suggestion here, a nudge there, and be gone without them even knowing. It's a rush and a thrill and sometimes you even come across a mind more fucked up than yours.

Look at you sitting patiently in that chair. You're not patient at all and I don't need to read your thoughts to tell. I know you, and right now you're seething. Stupid really, you simply don't care why, you just wanted to know beforehand. I nearly laugh at that irony.

Still waiting for an answer, will you never learn? I could explain it, but I'd have to take the long way around. Without perspective it won't work, and I like to draw out the suspense.

It started a while ago and even if he wasn't related, he would have stood out and not just as a target. I'll probably never forget the littlest Takatori, his mind has a distinct taste. Not easily found, or easily forgotten.

I bet you probably want to know why he's special. You always want to know everything. Controlling bastard.

But, I guess I can tell you, it's too succulent not to tell. The kitten can't distinguish between good and bad. Not like we can, not like normal people, and he's not like his teammates, who are caught up in pathetic self denial.

He's different. His mind is filled with doctrine and propaganda. Bad is simply whatever he is told it is. He can't make connections between separate actions. In his mind, people who kill people are bad, but people who kill the people who kill people are good. He doesn't register that killing people is killing people is killing people. And sometimes it can even be fun. Still, murder is murder no matter what ideals one believes. He simply doesn't get that. Quite pathetic, if you think about it.

Slowly he's starting to. He's beginning to see that the world isn't just Weiss, and that it isn't just Takatori and Schwartz. The world we live in is dulled in grays and bathed in red. Things aren't simple. Resolutions don't come easy. Answers have their price, and you still haven't paid mine yet you still want an answer.

You're staring now. Your patience is thinning. We can do this all day, and we have, countless times before. I suppose I could tell you. It's a simple shallow reason.

Good entertainment value. That's why I gave Beserker the gun. If I had your ability and knew the damn golf club was coming, I might have thought twice. Okay, we both know that would be a lie. It'd be so easy to tell you, too easy in fact.

Now, you're watching me watching you. Why should I share my reasons with you? Why should I tell you my thoughts? Why do you care if I let Takatori's daughter die.

"Mastermind," you say, your voice chilly. "Tell me why."

I'm not the one that needs justification. I smirk, the one that makes your eyes narrow and your blood boil. I'm not the one who controls this team and needs to report. I only report to you, and even that is at my leisure.

"Why?" I echo.

You nod. You smile, pleased because you think you're about to win this round.

I shrug. You'll get no help from me Brad. I smirk as innocently as I can.

"Why not?"

*fin*

Weiss Kreuz: Warmth (Omi, Manx)

2004-05-10T02:47:05Z

Title: Warmth (482 words)
Series: Weiss Kreuz
Characters/Pairings: Omi, Manx
Genre: Drama

Warmth

She watches as he leans against the railing. He stares out at the horizon, watching the subtle movement of the water's surface. She didn't have to guess at where to find him. He always comes here.

He's turned away from the crowd content to be alone with his thoughts. She can see his confusion and frustration from the tension in his shoulders and the flecks of dry salt left upon his face. For one so young, he's seen too much and is just learning the world isn't as simple as it seems. Now, he has far too many questions.

She has the answers.

Now, she's out of the car and headed towards him. Suddenly, she stops reeling in her concern. She has a duty and a mission. She can't be distracted from that. He shares the same goal and their mission cannot waver. Sometimes, she decides, ignorance is best. She steps onto the boardwalk. Her red heels echo on the wood, a sound as empty as her words to come.

"Omi?" she calls out softly. She ignores the guilt that pulls at her. It's not his real name, but for the moment it's all she is willing to share. It's for the best, she reminds herself. The best interests of Kritiker. The best interests of Weiss. And, she desperately hopes, the best thing for Omi.

He looks at her. A week smile is set upon his face. He's done so much good and overcame endless trials but the truth is never a simple thing. Nor is it clean cut. She wants to believe he could handle it but she can't take that chance.

He stares at her. His eyes shine bright with hurt and betrayal. She has just admitting to knowing the answers and she's not eager to share them. She speaks empty words of caution and logic. She tries to tempt him with the allure of ignorance, but it drives him even more. After all, he wants to know what's so bad that it'd be worth forgetting.

They're locked in stalemate. The issue hangs open, threatening to reveal tattered memories. They stand apart staring until the frustration becomes to too much for him and he falls to his knees sobbing. She watches wide-eyed, startled into speechlessness.

Without thought, without realization, she's moving towards him. He warps his arms around her, holding tight enough to bruise. She holds him close in a maternal like embrace. His tears stain her clothes and he clings to her in desperate need. He simply needs someone to be there.

She stays as long as he needs her. Today she can't give him the truth but rather only this small comfort. She only has this moment to give as she tries to shield him from his own life. She looks out towards the setting sun, ignoring his heaving sobs, and hopes her choice is for the best.

*fin*

Quest: Freefall (Savant)

2004-05-10T02:29:44Z

Title: Freefall (370 words)
Series: Quest
Characters/Pairings: Prodigy; Savant
Genre: Drama
Notes: Written for reccea.

Freefall

He was falling.

The rush of wind was the only sound he could hear. The combined force of wind and gravity was too strong. Savant could only stare upwards, unable to turn his head. He watched as the droplets of blood left his body, floating upwards against gravity. The roof seemed so far away.

Slowly, fighting the pull of the earth, he reached out towards the building. It was no use, he was too far away. Pity that he had never learned how to harness the wind, considering it would be quite helpful at the moment.

Savant knew he was on his own. There was no sign of Prodigy. They had been overwhelmed before, and now with his absence, Prodigy was probably fighting tooth and nail to hold his own. Savant knew he wouldn't be able to get a free moment.

Savant closed his eyes and took deep breaths. Time had never seemed slower, but perhaps it was a circumstance granted only to those about to die. Even so, he was in no rush to hit ground. He tried to focus. If he believed he had all the time in the world, then perhaps he did. He could feel the power flaring about him. If he believed he wasn't falling, then perhaps, just maybe, he wouldn't.

Perhaps, if he wished hard enough, desperately enough, it wouldn't hurt when he hit the ground.

It did.

He fell hard upon stone, wind knocked out of him, but the force was far from damaging. Savant gasped, eyes flying open. His blood seemed to float in the air above him, and he if not for the pain he would have thought he was dreaming.

For long moments, he didn't move. Then, surprised himself again by being able to stand. Limbs should have been broken, twisted and shattered instead of the dull ache he felt. He looked up, but couldn't see any movement on the building's room. Prodigy was still there.

He raced, not limped, inside and headed for the stairs.

Later, Prodigy would ask what had happened.

Later, Prodigy would want to know how Savant saved himself.

And later, Savant would realize how disturbing it was that he couldn't answer because he didn't know.

*fin*

Pirates of the Carribean: One Reason (Cpt. Jack Sparrow)

2004-05-10T02:25:09Z

Title: One Reason (235 words)
Series: Pirates of the Carribean
Characters/Pairings: Captain Jack Sparrow
Genre: Humor
Notes: Requested by milkywei

One Reason

"Well you see," Jack looked around wildly, it was just something he did. His breath smelled of rum, which was part of the problem. The guns were still trained on him, an even bigger part of the problem. But there was a boat, a boat was Good.

It was hot, and Jack was hung over. Neither situation bothered him much, however, there were the rum runners to deal with. It was their island, well not their island of course- it was, Jack supposed, a deserted island- but then he wondered, could it technically be a deserted island, if he was marooned on it. Shouldn't it, then, by his appearance, become his island? He shook his head, that was a detail that could be dealt with after the guns.

Because, of course, the rum belonged to them. Except for the case he had drunk, that was where it began to get tricky again. Jack didn't have any money, not with being betrayed and marooned for a bounty of treasure.

But he would have money, he could promise them that. Then again, the word of a pirate, eh, they wouldn't like that much. But they were thieves... Jack turned, who were well armed with guns.

Before his eyes, a gun cocked.

Jack looked down the barrel cross-eyed.

"Give us one reason why we shouldn't kill you."

"Because mates," he bowed low, and grinned. "I'm Captain Jack Sparrow."

*fin*

Naruto: Picture (Sasuke/Naruto; Naruto/Sakura)

2004-05-07T01:53:27Z

Title: Picture (797 words)
Series: Naruto
Characters/Pairings: SasuNaru, with a hint of Naruto/Sakura
Genre: Drama
Note: Requested by neko4

Picture

"Why the hell do we have to wait around here?" Naruto complained, loudly and to anyone that would listen.

It was the day after passing Kakashi's devious exam, and they, along with the other Genin groups, were gathered outside. Naruto and Sakura had been waiting for Kakashi to show up for almost twenty minutes. Sasuke was missing as well, but Naruto didn't expect him to do anything social. It wasn't as if he wanted to be in a picture with that jerk anyway. Sakura sat on the grass, watching as the other groups had their pictures taken. Naruto, on the other hand, was watching the trail looking for the first sign of Kakashi so he could yell at him for making them wait.

"Bye!" Ino called to Sakura, waving a photograph in her hand. "Give Sasuke-kun my best!" With a smug smile, she led her group out. Sakura fumed silently.

Naruto fumed loudly when Yuuhi Kurenai's group was called next. "Why do you get to go?" he shouted at Kiba.

Akamaru barked, and Kiba grunted. "Because our team is actually here."

"Damn that Kakashi-sensei, he-"

"Yes?" Kakashi asked, placing his hands on Naruto's shoulders, having come out of nowhere. Naruto gulped, thought for an instant about being embarrassed, but whirled instead.

"Where were you? We've been in the hot sun waiting for you to show up. What kind of teacher are you?"

"Oh?" Kakashi said, interested. His gaze flickered past Naruto to Kurenai's group now leaving. He listened to the announcement, always saving the best for last. "Look, Sasuke-kun, perfect timing."

"Eh?" Naruto leaned to the left, looking around Kakashi. So, Sasuke had decided to show up after all. There was no way Naruto was going to stand next to him in the picture, and from the look on Sasuke's face the feeling was mutual.

As it was, Sakura was more than pleased, blushing happily to occupy the center. Naruto and Sasuke shared an equal loathing as Kakashi ruffled their hair in what could only be classified as condescending and annoying, respectively. Stupid pictures. Naruto looked over the picture, the entire afternoon wasted for this.

Sasuke headed off after the photograph was done, hands stuffed in his pockets. Kakashi had interrupted his training for this?

"Hey!" the photographer called after the young boy. He looked to Sakura, who was busy staring at her photo. Kakashi had disappeared, which Naruto. The photographer shoved a copy of the picture towards Naruto. "He forgot his. See that he gets it." With that, he started to pack up his equipment.

Annoyance spread on Naruto's face, like Sasuke would even want it. Still, obligatory, he ran after him. It didn't take much. "Hey, you forgot this."

"Keep it."

"I don't want it," Naruto insisted. He had his own, and one was more than enough.

"I don't either."

"You're too good to be photographed with us, is that it?"

"I don't want it." Sasuke's pace quickened a little.

"Why are you being such an ass?" Naruto insisted, keeping even with Sasuke's steps.

"You're lucky I even showed up."

"Oh, like that did me any favors," Naruto snorted. "You were only there because Kakashi-sensei made you come."

"Go away." A bit faster and Sasuke would be in a run.

"No," Naruto insisted. He couldn't say some part of him wasn't enjoying harassing Sasuke.

"Just leave me alone."

"Not until you take the picture."

"I don't want the damn picture," Sasuke ground out.

"Fine! Then I'll just follow you all the way home."

The reaction was immediate, and Naruto almost faltered in mid-step. Sasuke whirled, snatching the picture out of Naruto's hand, the edges crumpling at the harsh handling. Naruto blinked under the hard stare Uchiha was giving him. Apparently, home was a sore subject.

"Happy now?" Sasuke asked, the picture crumpling a bit more.

Naruto looked at the picture. What did it matter if Sasuke threw it away? Naruto wasn't sure if he cared what happened to Sasuke's picture. Why should he? That jerk would probably throw it away first chance he got.

"Yeah," Naruto responded back hard. He centered himself, and his grin was back in the next instant. After all, he'd gotten Sasuke to do something he didn't want. "I told you I'd make you take it!" he gloated.

"Go away."

Naruto waved the command off, but fell behind anyway. He didn't want to follow Sasuke home anyway, didn't want to see the picture tossed aside as if it was meaningless. He wondered if Sakura was still at the clearing.

The door to Sasuke's house shut loudly. He set the picture down, smoothing it on reflex. It was a stupid tradition. Meaningless. It served not purpose. There was no reason to keep it, and he never figured out why he did.

*fin*

Fruits Basket: Impressions (Haru, Kyou)

2004-05-04T22:33:48Z

Title: Impressions (408 words)
Series: Fruits Basket
Characters/Pairings: Haru, Kyou
Genre: Drama
Notes: Requested by trixie_chick

Impressions

He was short. That was Kyou's first impression when he showed up at the dojo. His second impression of his cousin was that the kid was a brat.

It wasn't very often that Kyou got to interact with members of the Sohma family, and he preferred it that way. He'd fallen into a rather comfortable routine with Kazuma. Life was content, and probably as happy as Kyou could ever expect. Now, however, there was this irritating kid. Hatsuharu, who also happed to carry the curse, which meant Kyou was back to being the cat instead of just Kyou.

As bad as that was, they'd be sharing the same school, for what looked like a while. Kazuma expected Kyou to help Haru fit in... a statement that hadn't gone over well. Even so, Kyou had begrudgingly had walked beside Haru as Kazuma lead them to school. Kyou'd given Haru a little shove to get the mild boy into the principal's office where Kazuma was filling out the paperwork. This was annoying.

"Do you think you can stop shoving me?" Haru snapped, leveling a glare that Kyou though might have looked intimidating had it not come from someone almost a foot shorter than him.

"You could try walking."

"How am I 'pose to walk if you're going to shove me?"

The kid was a complete brat. "Tch, aren't you suppose to respect your elders?"

But Haru wasn't to be put off. "You're only a year older than me and besides I know what you are."

"Are you trying to pick a fight?" Kyou ground out. He wasn't going to fight. He wasn't going to start a fight inside the principal's office with Kazuma just down the hallway. He wasn't, he wasn't, he wasn't.

"Yes."

He was. Kyou leaned over Haru, pulling his shirt. "You little!"

"Kyou! Hatsuharu!"

At Kazuma's voice, Kyou's head instantly hung, apology on his lips. Haru, however, looked at Kazuma with slight confusion and a calm expression as Kazuma crossed his arms.

"Oh," Haru said. "I'm sorry Kyou. You're right. Apologizes Kazuma-san."

Kyou stared. He'd been... someone had actually apologized to him... it... why... finally, he managed to stammer out, "Don't worry about it."

Haru nodded happily.

Kyou looked at the kid. He was still short, and he was still a brat. But now, there was something more. Something interesting, Kyou decided. Something different. With just a few words, Haru had managed to make a lasting impression.

*fin*

Fruits Basket: Solace (Kyou/Tohru)

2004-05-04T22:30:15Z

Title: Solace (408 words)
Series: Fruits Basket
Characters/Pairings: Kyou/Tohru
Genre: Drama
Notes: Requested by milkywei

Solace

He likes the roof. They think it's because of the cat, and they're right, but not in the way they'd expect. He likes the open space; the sky is limitless. Nothing like the cell that he's been promised with.

He doesn't know why she comes up. She doesn't have a schedule, so Kyou can't figure it out. Then again, she's a girl, there's a lot he doesn't understand. He assumes it happens because she worries too much. If he misses a meal, he's sure to see her. The second time, it was cold and she didn't stay long. The third time, she brought a blanket.

But lately, there's been no reason, at least none that he can find. They've been talking and laughing. Conversation is easier now, sometimes about school, but it branches from there. There are times, when they talk about normal teenage things. It's not like their lives are so different, just a bit unique.

He looks forward to the conversations, even if he won't admit it, not even to himself. Like, tonight, he's looking at the stars, but he's really watching the ladder. The dishes should be done by now, and there shouldn't have been much homework. Then again, maybe she's downstairs with the rat. Maybe they're busy laughing over television or concentrating on books.

He looks at the stars and pretends that it doesn't matter. Just like him. It's stupid anyway, to get all preoccupied about a girl.

He hears her before he sees her, the ladder scrapes and sways. Automatically, he moves to steady it. She makes her way slowly up, tea cups balanced in one hand. When she is close enough, Kyou reaches out to grab the cups, then her hand to help her up.

"What do you think you're doing," he scolds, "trying to climb a ladder like that?"

As usual, she stammers out an apology and looks berated. "I just thought... it was cold." Tohru turns to leave.

"Don't."

She stops, shocked, and listens for more.

"Don't leave. I'm sorry I yelled."

"I should have been more careful." Tohru shakes her head.

"No, you were trying to do something nice. Just... be more careful next time."

Tohru nods and sits down gingerly next to Kyou. They sip tea and talk. It is comfortable and content. Kyou watches her, every smile, and suddenly the stars don't look as bright and the ground doesn't look quite as confining as it usually does.

*fin*

Final Fantasy VIII: Point of View (Laguna, Squall)

2004-05-04T22:27:18Z

Title: Point of View (516 words)
Series: Final Fantasy 8
Characters/Pairings: Laguna/Raine; Squall/Rinoa
Genre: Angst
Notes: Requested by kirakins.

Point of View

He thinks Squall might understand. It's a possibility after all. Ellone agreed, begrudgingly, but seemed rather uncomfortable during the conversation. It's complicated, she admits, but Laguna is not to be dissuaded. It's been two months since Ultimecia. Two months since he should have told Squall.

He looks at the elevator, then over to Ellone and offers a weak smile. The leg cramps are starting again. If there were ever a thing to be nervous of, it is this moment. His palms are sweaty. With a crisp ding, the doors open. There is no waiting now.

Laguna moves slowly, haltingly inside and Ellone follows. The Garden is such a fascinating place, and he can't help but gaze out the glass elevator at all the activity. He wants to do it here, a place where Squall could feel secure. He owes him that much.

The ride is short, and Laguna hesitates at the door. Unconsciously, he turns his wedding band. Raine would know what to say, he thinks, she always did. Squall will understand, he has to. Laguna takes a deep breath as he tries to hold onto that thought. Squall helped them fight Adel. Squall even knew the entire story about Kiros, Ward, and Esthar. Squall knows.

The air is heavy upon entering Squall's office, and Laguna takes a deep breath. There is no backing out now.

"I h-h-- ave something to talk to you about." Laguna swallows once, and manages to find his voice. "Something personal."

Squall looks at him, expression guarded, and gestures for him to sit.

"I'm not quite sure why I never told you, geeze, this is difficult. Squall." Another deep breath. He can do this, he can. "I'm your father."

Silence.

Silence is not good. Squall is staring back, evenly back, his expression unchanged. Did he know, Laguna wonders. Was all this fear and tension for nothing?

"You were my father," Squall corrects.

"No, I am-" The words are spoken in response before he can even register what Squall has said.

"No, Laguna. You were." The tone, the firmness, is unmistakable.

"I'm sorry." It's all Laguna can say, in confusion and in atonement.

"Don't worry about it. Was that all?" The disinterest wounds Laguna deeper than any insults could.

"I-I'm sorry," he repeats, confused. The desperation is growing. He gets to his feet. "But you were there," he stammers, "you knew what-"

"I know." The words are even, not scathing. Squall understands.

Perhaps, Laguna thinks, there is hope.

"I knew what you were feeling, Laguna," Squall stands. He's pacing now. His fingers touch his forehead in an all too familiar gesture. "I knew what you were thinking but-"

"It's not enough," Laguna finishes for him.

"I waited. Most of my childhood. Mostly for Ellone, but all of us at the orphanage... of course, we were waiting for... I just can't forget that, and you don't what it was like."

"I'm sorry." The tone is quiet, defeatist.

"I'd never leave Rinoa."

"I loved your mother and--"

"I know--

"--I love you."

"--but sometimes that's not enough."

*fin*