Cacoethes scribendi

Of Robin Rice, the green goo, and an intimate moment in a doorway...

Tue, 31 Mar 2009 01:10:30 GMT

Title: Of Robin Rice, the green goo, and an intimate moment in a doorway... [TITLE FAIL]
Rating: PG
Word Count: 624
Summary: Green goo brings people together. Or something. Written for kawaiispinel for her prompt, Absolutely on the Alphabet Meme.
Characters: Robin Rice, the Rift Room furniture, Vincent Sterling. With narration from the...narrator from a Bard's Tale apparently. It might be out of character for Vincent, cause uh, he's NOT MINE.
Disclaimer: I do not own Vincent Sterling. Vincent is kawaiispinel. I, also, do not own the narrator from A Bard's Tale, but apparently I have a head voice for him.

It is absolutely not funny at all that Robin Rice stands in front of the Rift in the Conrad Hotel basement covered in green, gooey liquid. To call it a liquid, however, is actually doing a disservice to just what this angel is enduring. It is as warm as freshly drawn bath water... or other liquids of a more personal nature. It has the consistency of caramel used on top of bowls of ice cream, giving the impression that if it were to cool it would harden into a protective cover of green...stuff.

Robin is not, in fact, the only one in the room to be hit with the goo. The couch took a heavy slam to its side. The television has been fatally wounded. And the walls have seen better days, and would like to state that they in fact would prefer to have suffered through the blast of another one of the Doctor's failed attempts to fix the Rift than this mess.

The vengeance angel has come to only one possible explanation for the green goop in the thirty seconds that he has been standing covered in it. Something sneezed, peed, or otherwise expelled some bodily liquid or another at the exact moment and location that a rift opened in their world. He is currently stuck questioning why now? He had only come into the room to kill time for an hour. There are 24 hours in a day. Why this one?

The rest of the room resents this line of questioning. They would have had to suffer through this at any hour of the day and are simply asking themselves, WHY?

The vengeance angel begins to suspect that the rift hates him as much as he hates it. He wipes the goo from his eyes and turns away from the Rift as green goop slips slowly down his legs and collects under his feet.

Enter Vincent Sterling, archangel, leader, and one of the very last people Robin Rice would want to step through that door. Vincent came running at the sound of the goop's entry through the rift, concerned that Chicago was spontaneously imploding, again. However, upon throwing open the door, he quickly assesses the situation and concludes that there is no implosion.

The Rift had just pissed on Robin.

"Say one word, and I'll kill you," Robin says, and then hisses in pain. He has to wonder why an exaggerated threat counts as a lie.

The archangel chuckles and does a miraculous job of not laughing out right at the sight. "You sure about that?"

"Absolutely," Robin says between gritted teeth as he walks forward, nearly slipping in the goop on the floor several times on his way out.

He is overcome with the desperate urge to make Vincent know what it's like to be covered in goo. As he passes the archangel through the door way, he flicks a gooey hand back toward Vincent. Somehow the goo misses him and hits the poor, defenseless wall instead. The intention, however, does not go missed. Vincent grabs a goo-less portion of Robin's arm and pulls him back into the doorway.

"You are gonna find someone to clean this up, right?"

Robin forces a wide, angry smile, white surrounded by green, which gathers and drips from his chin. "I'll do it myself. Sir."

"Good." Vincent arches an eyebrow, and then snorts. "You know you got somethin' on your face, right?"

He stares, but doesn't bother to clean off the goop still dripping from his face. "...I hate you."

And Robin Rice, having endured the geren goo as just one of his many struggles on this Thursday, turns from the doorway and makes his grand exit down the hallway, leaving a trail of gooey foot prints in his wake.

SEYS BIRFDAY PRESENT

Fri, 20 Mar 2009 04:51:32 GMT

Title: Glimpses
Rating: PG-13 for fun
Summary: I wrote scenes set between a bunch of Sey's and my's characters over the years. Not always the couply ones, but mostly the couple ones with a sibling set and a maternal set thrown in. This is my other birthday present to her. :) Italics are actual quotes from the RPG. Which is why the first one tends to not...fit. I may have missed some of them.

Roger/Mark (the original)

Roger showered... and it was hot.

-------------
Roger leans against the hospital room wall with his eyes closed. He focuses on how his back feels pressed against it. Otherwise it's the throbbing of his veins like a hungry ache for heroinmorphine- anything that keeps his attention and nearly drives him out.

"Rodge?"

Mark. Roger opens his eyes. Mark's awake. He's lying in the hospital bed looking like hell, but he's awake. And alive.

"You look like hell," he says, and then smirks. His arms are folded up, loosely against his chest.

"Thanks." Mark's voice cracks, strained. The sarcasm in his tone is apparent, but he's smiling.

Dying and smiling.

Roger clears his throat and runs his fingers through his hair. "Yeah, well."

He kicks his heel back against the wall behind him. It's hard enough that it hurts, and he can barely contain the wince. Never was any good at suppressing his emotions. No matter what they were about. If it were anyone else, he might be running right about now. But he's here in this room.

"What're you... doing... all the way over there?"

"Nothin." Roger shrugs, but pushes away from the wall and climbs into the bed next to Mark.

He doesn't dare hold him as much as he wants to. Mark looks like he might break if Roger touched him so Roger just lies back, arms behind his head, eyes closed, listening to the hospital sounds, ignoring, ignoring the hunger. After a moment, Roger feels Mark's head against his chest.

It wasn't supposed to be this way. Everything is wrong. They're all playing the wrong roles. Cancer's playing the part of AIDs. Roger's playing the part of Mark (horribly, he might add). And Mark is him. Although Roger doesn't think he'd be handling it nearly as well, if things would have been as they should be.
---------------------

Fire and ice.

They were made to destroy each other.

Ben/Chase

It wasn't some burning love that lay so dramatically hidden beneath his rough exterior. There was a connection. Something real in the place that felt so unrealistic altogether.

-----------------------------
In a room in an Inn between time and space, Ben Sullivan lies sideways on a bed staring at his hot, Australian boyfriend. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, this sexy, hunk of man named Robert Chase belongs to him.

"Stop starin' at me," Chase says, without looking away from the TV.

"I've been dead for months." Ben smiles and sticks his chin on Chase's shoulder, giving him puppy dog eyes. "I need to make up for lost time."

He looks sideways and raises his eyebrows. "You thought you'd been gone for a week or two. You can't have felt like you missed much."

"It's the principle. Anyway, I know now." Ben waggles his eyebrows a bit, innocent, really, and impossible to resist.

Chase snorts, rolling his eyes and focusing back on the screen. "Just try to keep it down, yeah? I'm tryin' to watch a movie."

It's amazing how death. Months of Chase having to accept that Ben was gone hasn't changed their relationship in the least. It's maybe made them more connected, more grateful for every moment, every little quirk, but here they are. And Ben hasn't gotten tired of staring yet.

He leans forward and kisses the side of Chase's mouth. Chase turns toward it with a half smile that Ben has become so familiar with.

"I said I was trying to watch a movie," Chase says, again.

"I've got a lot to make up for and movie's aren't exactly my top priority," he says and kisses him, again, on the lips so Chase can't talk.

Chase makes a soft, pleased noise and kisses back, leaning his head and slipping his hand behind Ben's neck.

"C'mon, guys!" JD sits up on the right side of the bed and throws a pillow that lands on the floor, nowhere near anyone. "Get a room!"

Ben pulls away from the kiss long enough to lean up, look over Chase's head, and smirk. "We have one."

"Yes, we do. And it's got a lovely bed, doesn't it?"

"Mmhmm," Ben agrees, still smirking, as he pulls Chase back against his mouth.

Chase shifts sideways so they're facing each other and slips his arm around Ben's waist, pulling back.

"Guys. I'm not leaving. So you better just stop."

Ben makes a happy noise and slips his hand down, and then back up Chase's leg, playing with the waistband of his pants ad slipping his fingers to the middle.

"Seriously. I c- can be stubborn. I just find this hot anyway. I can videotape it and put it on-line for lots of money."

Chase's fingers slip into Ben's hair, and Ben makes another happy noise that sounds too much like a moan. His fingers slip around the button of Chase's pants. He moves on top of Chase and nuzzles him.

"That's it I'm going!" JD cries, flying up from the bed and running to the DVD player. "But I'm taking my copy of Mamma Mia with me!" He pushes the eject button on the DVD player, but it doesn't listen to him. It makes an odd sound instead. JD squeals and hits it. Again and again. "Damn it!! Fine. I'm going without it, but I'm taking my shoes."

He picks up his sneakers from the floor and runs out.

Ben smiles down at Chase. "It's so fun to play with him."

"Yeah, it is. We are going to finish the rest of this, yeah?"

"Yep! Wouldn't miss it for the world. Right after we finish this that is." Ben asks the Inn to pause the movie and leans in to kiss him, again. "I love you."
---------------------------

Chase leans in and steals a quick, chaste kiss from those lips. "Sorry, must've slipped." He smirks.

Ben smiles, eyes sparkling as he leans in close again. "Slip away."

Martha Jones/The TARDIS (Plot With Rocks In from teh Inn w/ the music)

Don't mind if there is the brush of lips against the other's cheek. And when she does, sultry sounds form a song, "Hey love..." She begins, the words falling in whispers against the woman's skin before she rests her chin on Martha's shoulder to sing.

---------------------------
Nothing matters in the TARDIS' arms. For so long, she had been broken up over what had been missing, what could have been, what she should have done different, what she could do different to make him see. The Doctor. He must know, but it doesn't make a difference.

The Doctor doesn't matter. The Doctor doesn't exist in her realm of thought when there is music, when the TARDIS sings to her, to her. Who is she to be sung to by such a goddess? She isn't worthy.

Her heart nearly swells and explodes, because she isn't worthy of the gentle kisses, of the gentle lead to bed, and to be sung to sleep by someone so wonderful. The TARDIS. The TARDIS... It's all she thinks. Over and over, until sleep finally takes her.
-------------------------------

Tears roll down her cheeks as the beauty of the song leaves her speechless, nearly breathless. Martha can't say in words how amazing it is so she presses her lips to the TARDIS' neck, soft and hard at once, in thanks, in the only form of expression she can manage at this point.

She's seeing colors and shapes, and she feels more than a little faint, but she never wants it to stop.

Harry Potter/Kitty Pryde (almost sketchy, MOSTLY ANGSTY)

She's trying to hide her blush. "I like you a lot, Harry Potter." Kitty's voice is sheepish, a little uncertain, but when she reveals her face again, she's smiling a little to him.

"I like you, too." Harry smiles and swallows, throat catching on nerves. "I, uh, I'd like to kiss you again right now. If that's all right with you."

------------------------------
Harry steps into the Inn. His face is blank, but it looks as though he's been hit in the stomach and hasn't quite recovered. That would be putting it lightly.

He has to die. He has to turn around, leave, and then go to die.

"Harry?" Kitty pokes her head through the nearest wall at the perfect moment. As always.

She's much younger than him now. It never fails. He always spends so much more time between Inn visits than anyone else he knows. Kitty smiles at him in the way that she always has like time hasn't changed anything... for either of them. She walks over to him, and when she has to jump up to wrap her arms around his neck now, it nearly breaks his heart. He will miss her so much, and he's not sure that he can bring himself to tell her what he has to do.

Sometimes it's better to not know the truth. It's easier.

But he takes her by the waist and kisses her, anyway.

Because when it comes to his feelings for her, time hasn't changed a thing.
-------------------------------

Something about Kitty's presence calms him. It's really a miracle. The anger and bitterness that have become practically normal for him this year so that she could make it go away so quickly, shows something about her... or at least how he feels for her.

Martha Jones and Remus Lupin

"Remus..."

Her voice is soft, tired, balancing delicately on so many things. She isn't afraid of him. Even if he were to lunge at her now with all his teeth out... she wouldn't be afraid.

--------------------------------
Martha Jones still thinks about a lot of people, a lot of things that have long since passed. She can't help, but think of Remus often. She's not sure that she ever felt so motherly over someone as she did towards him until the Nephilim children came along.

Did something go wrong?

Did he get killed or mauled by something that escaped the Rift?

Did he kill himself unable to escape the memory of what he'd done to that child? To the child that she promised to save, and then she was too wrapped up in her own problems to save Remus, too?

Did he become the wolf, again?

He was just a kid. He needed someone to look after him, and she meant to be the one to do that, but then everything got so complicated. People got lost. The family split into bits and pieces, and it was all she could do to hang on to what was right in front of her.

It sometimes keeps her up at night. There are so many things that keep her up at night, staring at the ceiling as though it will hold the answers.
-------------------------------

Her heart aches most when she thinks he might have died alone.

Martha doesn't say that yes, she does have to.

She needs to protect him, to watch over him.

There just isn't any other option.

Rain and Robin

"Robin?" She's taking a leap of faith and she even closes her eyes a moment. Just in case. Because if this isn't real, she doesn't want to know what she's talking to.

"Yeah, sis," Robin finally manages, voice strained. He smiles, weakly, and it looks pained. "It's me."

-------------------------------
Robin lies curled up in the corner of the room. The bangs and ruckus from the kitchen echo in his tiny skull. He presses his forehead against his legs. Make it stop. Make it stop. Tears slip down his face, and he whimpers. It's his fault. It's his fault Mom's mad and slamming the pots and pans.

He dropped the spaghetti sauce. She was going to make them food. They were going to have dinner together, and then he dropped it and she almost slapped him and didn't stop screaming at him.

"It's okay. Mom's just sad. She's not mad at you. She's just sad." Rain says, and suddenly she's there pulling his tiny body into her lap and holding him.

Robin sobs a little. He presses his face against her and looks up at her face. "When she be happy, 'gain? Can't w- w- we make her happy?"

"She'll be happy someday. For now, we have each other, right?" She squeezes him and puts her chin on his blond, tousled hair. "You always make me happy. You and Mel both. And that won't change. Don't ever forget that, okay?"

"Okay," he says and tries to suppress another whimper.

"I love you, buddy."

He sniffles and rubs at his face. "Wub you, too, Rain."
----------------------------------

"It's not your fault, Rain. It's hers." Robin turns toward her finally. "It's her fucking fault. All of it is hers. Don't blame yourself for what she did to me."

The anger in his voice scares her again, images from earlier in the week still fresh in her mind. She stands through it, though, biting back her own anger.

"Look at you! You're becoming the same angry person she was! Maybe you don't drink, but... honestly! Do you want that? I'm trying, Robin. I tried, even then. I'm sorry I couldn't stop her and I couldn't help you. I've never been more sorry in my entire life. And seeing you like this..."

It's when she compares him to their mother that hurts, that boils and seethes within him like nothing else has since this conversation started. They're too tightly entwined for him to let her in like she wants. He turns away from her, again, to force the violent urges back that flare up at the mere mention of that woman.

"You're right." For the first time in this conversation, his voice is shaking, with a more broken kind of anger. "Not becoming her. I am just like her. And you have got to realize, one more time, that some people just can't be saved."

--------------------------------

Mark/Roger (new)

"Mark?"

"Yeah."

"The can opener's in the toilet, again!"

"..."

"Mark?"

"What?"

"Wanna see? It's odd. You could be filming it."

"No, I think I'm-"

"You know you want to!"

"No, I'm really-"

"C'mooon"

"Okay."

-end-

Tue, 01 Apr 2008 01:17:00 GMT

Title: You Were Mine
Fandom: beyondtherift
Pairing/Characters:: Calisto, Brando, Dinah, and Celeste (sort of).
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Memory of the event. Brando had a very painful history when it came to Calisto. When he dies, it's all she can think about.

For as evil as she is, Calisto does not anger easily. Her life is just a big, fun game. Why get angry?

Currently, she is seething.

The boy had the good sense to hide in the closet. Everyone else has vacated the second floor of the dilapated building.

Calisto had felt Brando's thoughts just before he died. She'd been close, but not nearly close enough to make it before it happened and see just who dared to take her prey from her. Ever since what had taken place between them over a hundred years ago, his thoughts had always been easier to feel and thoughts before death are always the loudest.

At first, it was a stream of worry and concern. So many names and each of those names was like an iron fist to the gut, more painful than any of the bullets pounding into him.

And Romana. Even Romana recieved an apologetic thought as the bullets streamed in (Calisto hadn't even realized that the oldest First was here).

Martha and Becky and Casey and Toast and Luke and and Lavendar and Dinah.

Even... Celeste. She died nearly a hundred years ago now, and her apology seems to be the loudest, most painful.

And then that thought, clearer than all the rest, just before he's dead.

You
were
wrong.

She knows, immediately, that he's talking to her.

And just what about.

A hundred years ago, she'd had him on his knees, broken, with a sword against his throat. He'd be fighting her, but he was nearly dead and overcome with grief, almost to the point of insanity.

The angel of death, Dinah, sat on the ground next to them, holding as much of the pieces of Brando's final ward, Celeste, in her hands. She couldn't hang on to much, but the most important part, the unbeating heart, remained in her fist. Her mind, thankfully, was elsewhere.

"Just kill me!" Brando had shrieked, an angry, distorted, inhuman sound that sent happy chills up her spine.

"No."

He'd lunged forward, throat bare for the blade, but she was prepared, pulling the sword away before it could do more than cut his skin and he fell to the bloody ground beneath her feet, clinging to the grass, tearing it from the Earth with a mangled sound. "Why?"

Calisto shoved the sword into the ground, lying down beside him, and looking into his eyes with a grin. "Because you still think that loving her was worth it."

He doesn't answer her and she yanks his head up with a scream, "Don't you?"

He doesn't have to say it. She knows. It's written all over his face.

"Five wards, right? Each time it's more painful than the last and you're still here. Still guarding. You've been dying for hundreds of years and you're still here."

Dinah makes a soft noise and starts to rock in Celeste's intestines, eyes closed, breathing labored.

Calisto smiles down at him, standing and pulling her sword from the ground. "Some day, Brando, you'll have everything and I'll take it all away from you, again. And then, when you finally realize that I was right all along, that love is a fatal, painful weakness... I will kill you." She smirks. "Just don't beg next time."

She'd walked away. Just like that. With no reason to think that it wouldn't go as planned.

You were wrong.

Calisto screams, punching her fist through the wall.

You were mine.

And I don't want to be this way...

Fri, 04 Jan 2008 02:40:46 GMT

Title: In the Snow
Fandom: outsideinn ! Inn!FIC! :o
Rating: PG.
Characters: Xander and JD.
Summary: In the snow, the boys connect. Not dirty or anything. Sorry. I know I got you all EXCITED. >> Character!death SPOILERS for Scrubs, BTVS, and the... Inn? I guess? Also, it is my decree that this actually happens. Probably some time after April leaves with the Doctor, but before the actual funeral cause JD isn't going to leave as soon as he keeps saying... he's going to.
Disclaimer: I don't own 'em.

Xander drags his blue sleeping bag across the snow outside of the Inn, only to find that someone's beaten him to the idea. He stops right next to the body.

"Post it note guy?"

JD turns and looks up at him, blinking through the snow. "Messenger from God?"

Of all people.

"Well, this is..."

"Like wearing the same dress to a school dance?"

Xander raises an eyebrow. "Was gonna say... weird, but you go ahead and prance with that dress story of yours."

JD places a pillow over his face with a sigh and mutters something about everyone referring to him as a girl.

Xander rolls the sleeping bag out beside him.

What the hell?

Why not?

"This might be the Inn, but I think we can still catch the flu out here."

"I don't care." Is the muffled response. JD slides the pillow away from his face. "It's warm in the bag anyway."

Xander unzips his and climbs in with a satisfied sigh. "You're right."

"Course I am."

The pillow's over his face again.

"You trying to suffocate yourself or something?"

"Wouldn't be a bad idea."

"Guess not. There are worst ways to go." Xander sits up on his elbow, turning toward JD. "So what're you doing out here?"

There's an odd, unexpected silence before JD slides the pillow away from his face again, hugging it tightly against his chest as he stares up at the snow falling down.

"Remembering my best friend."

And an even more unexpected response.

"...oh."

There isn't much he can say to that.

Thankfully, JD keeps the conversation going. "What about you?"

Xander smirks and shrugs, settling back down. "Celebrating Christmas the only way I know how."

Not that it usually snows when he does this at home. California tends to seriously lack in the white, fluffy cold... suff.

"Y'know, you missed it." JD keeps his face upward, pillow close. "Christmas was like a week ago."

"It's late summer for me in my world"

JD smiles, a little. "Christmas in July?"

"Hell yeah."

For a while there's only cold, making their faces numb... a swift wind blowing past them, until their cheeks turn a light pink. Neither of them move. Just staring into the snow.

Xander takes in a sharp breath. "My best friend died, too." He swallows. "If it makes you feel any bettter, it was... kind of my fault."

A snow flake lands directly on Xander's nose. Post-It note guy doesn't say anything for so long that Xander starts to think he won't get a response. Or maybe the guy has fallen asleep.

"Same here."

Xander gulps in a lungful of frozen air and sits back up against his elbow. "You killed your best friend?"

JD opens his mouth and then closes it. And then opens it again. The words come slowly. "It was... more like I couldn't save him."

"Yeah." Xander lies back down and closes his eyes. "Cause you weren't strong enough."

"Yeah."

Xander nods and when the silence has nearly swallowed them again, he says, "Me too."

Thu, 27 Dec 2007 00:53:01 GMT

Title: About Yesteryear
Fandom: Doctor Who
Pairing: Ten/Martha/Jack
Genre: Angst times 100?
Spoilers: Set one year after "The Last Timelord" and because so much of the year that wasn't was left out, much of this is speculation and yes. Who knows how canon what happened during that year is...in this.
Note: Aubrey gave me a prompt on the Alphabet Meme (which I'm almost finished with thanks to that lovely woman!), and it... kind of ran away with me at work.

About Yesteryear

"You forget what you want to remember and you remember what you want to forget."
-The Road by Cormac McCarthy

It sarts with the woosh of the water as it shoots out of the showerhead and smacks across her back and the terracotta tile surrounding her.

The sound brings her back to New York burning. How she had to crawl past firey buildings and crispy flesh. The smell of cooking humans overwhelmed her and she was so desparately hungry that it could have smelled like food, but thank God it didn't. It made her vomit water and bile, choking on the rain and the smoke... crawling for miles.

It brings her back to how the smell never left her clothes and she lost her mind the day after, stripping down to her underwear. How she had to focus in on the sound of the light rain and the woosh and the crackle of the inferno to drown out the screams.

Nearly a year has passed and she's, once again, trying to drown out screams by focusing on water. This time she fails and it brings her to her knees in the wet tub. The water rolls down her too thin body. She presses herself down to the ~~gound~~ floor of the tub, closes her eyes, and lets the ~~rain~~ water fall ~~and the fire burn~~ around her.

The world crushes down on her shoulders. The world needs Martha Jones to save it, but Martha Jones needs to stand and she can't.

An hour passes, mabe more, Martha isn't aware of it, but Jack is. Shirtless and ready for bed, he presses his ear to the door and knocks.

"Martha?"

Jack hears nothing, but the woosh of the shower. His brows furrow together creating lines on his face he isn't proud of. He twists the handle and presses the door open.

"Sweetheart?"

His heart jumps and thuds against his chest hard at the sight of Martha sprawled on the bathtub floor.

She's dead.

It's the only reasonable explanation for how still she is, lying there. Jack approaches and pulls the shower curtain away, he breathes a long sigh of relief at the sight of her ribs rising and falling how ever slowly. Jack kneels next to the tub and places a hand on her slender back.

"Martha, sweetie..."

She turns toward him, but only at the touch. The darkness in her eyes makes his heart break and brings him climbing into the tub next to her, wincing at the freezing water. The feel of the water brings him back to the tubs the Master used to drown him in for fun.

Kill Jack.

It had been the game of the year that wasn't.

Jack shudders and closes his eyes tight in an attempt to fight back waves of nausea and pain. The icy water feels more like knies. He can hear ~~the Master's laugh~~ Martha's shaky breathing through the woosh.

After a moment, he opens his eyes and pulls Martha's wet, naked body against his chest, pressing her close. She's shivering, hard, and she hardly reacts to him touching her... like a corpse that breathes and he hates himself for thinking that.

Jack presses his hand against his hair and kisses her forehead, but when he still receives very little reaction, he looks to the still open door.

"Doctor!"

The Time Lord apears there, moments later, spurred to a hurry by the tone of Jack's voice. He takes in the scene before him. His gaze is drawn to his companions immediately. His. Concern darkens the light in his eyes. He doesn't even think to be jealous of the way Jack is holding on to her.

Well, there is a small flash of jealousy, but it doesn't last long. His chest heaves painfully, as he watches their expressions.

"Martha." The way he says it could quiet a room filled with people. "What happened?"

Jack shakes his head in the onslaught of water. "I found her like this."

"Oh, yes, I'm sure you found her just like that. Naked in your lap." The Doctor mutters, a flash, really.

There's no telling who he's more jealous of.

He pushes the feelings aside and strides into the bathroom to the tub. The Doctor grabs two towels and turns the water off, handing one to Jack who looks rather distant himelf. It isn't hard to figure out where they've both gone. The year that wasn't. The Master's year.

The Doctor sets his jaw hard, suppressing the urge to find something that he can destroy for what they've gone through, because it's not time for that and everyone's already paid their price for the year that wasn't.

No, it's not time for revenge.

It's time to take care of them.

He climbs into the tub on the other side of Martha and wraps her in the other towel, pressing his body against her to help her get warm.

The Doctor runs a finger along her jawline and then takes gentle hold of her chin, forcing her to look him in the eyes. It's hard to keep that gaze. There's such pain and fear within, emotions she hides from him at any other time.

"Doctor?" Her voice sounds strained and distant.

It hurts to hear it in her voice, to know how alone and how much she must have went through, because of him. And he wasn't there for her. Not like he should have been.

Jack holds her tighter and presses his face against her neck.

"Martha Jones, you're safe. It's over." The Doctor leans forward and kisses her, sweetly, lingering on her wet lips, and then, as though he's taking the Doctor's lead, Jack kisses the back of her neck. "Come back."

Martha gasps as though actually returning to life, the light reappears in her eyes and with it the stone that shades her emotions. She blinks, confused, and almost starts to struggle, unsure of where she is. Her mind still wrapped up in fires and the smell of burning bodies in her mouth. But the embrace is warm and she slowly recognizes that the Doctor's face in front of him is real and the lips now on her shoulder are real and they're Jack's.

Upon the realization, Martha makes a rather loud sound of relief as she wraps her arm around the Doctor's neck and reaches back to grab hold of one of Jack's hands. Tears slip from her eyes and down her cheeks. Jack realizes, suddenly, that he's never really seen her cry. And neither has the Doctor. Not like this.

She presses her face into the crook of the Doctor's neck, too exhausted to be ashamed, and cries, ribs heaving with heavy sobs, despite her best efforts to remain in control.

The Doctor and Jack push in, as close as they can against her, grabing hold of each others' arms across her front. Somehow her breaking gives them permission to do the same.

Jack's pained face, struggling with teas and memories of his own, appears over Martha's shoulder and the Doctor presses forward and kisses him, too, hard, passionate, not thinking for once. And when thy pul back, the Doctor looks away, rubbing the towel that covers Martha.

She turns from the Doctor's neck once the sobs have slowed and takes one look at Jack's face, placing her hand on either side of his face, kissing him just as hard and passionately as the Doctor did to her.

Jack touches her chin softly, and looks up at the Doctor. "We shouldn't have left each other so soon. We weren't ready. Not after... not after that year."

Martha nods just barely and the Doctor falls into that heavy kind of silence, that says more than words could that he agrees and feels guilty for having let them go to begin with. They both sense his guilt and press a kiss to him... to let him know it isn't his fault.

They stay like that, holding onto each other in the quiet , hotel bathroom. The woosh is gone and so is the screaming and the sound of the Master's laughter.

"Y'know," Jack raises his eyebrows at the Doctor with a little smirke. "It's a good thing you listened to me and opted for the room with the big tub."

Martha laughs and the Doctor's sure he hasn't heard a sound so beautiful in years.

Dec 5 - Sleeping Beauty

Tue, 04 Dec 2007 22:36:41 GMT

Title: Sleeping Beauty
Fandom: outsideinn, BTVS
Characters: Xander/Buffy (one sided), Willow, Angua, Regulus, and JD
Notes: Requested by Aubrey upon Xander asking her (:p). Dec. 5th fic. Season 6 Inn Fic after Buffy dies... the second time.
Disclaimer: I don't own 'em. Surprising, I know.

You spend hours, sometimes days at her bedside, but nothing ever changes.

It's always you holding her hand, sitting on the edge of the bed, sleeping on a chair next to it, or pressing your lips against the cold, lifeless forehead of a corpse.

And it ends in Willow crying and insisting that Buffy will always be dead, until you stand, muscles aching, put an arm around her, and lead her out.

Or it ends with Angua, staring for at least an hour before she takes you by your shirt, forces you out of the room, and shoves food and a change of clothes in front of your face.

Most of the time while you're sitting beside her, you're not there, but thinking, remembering, imagining. It's too hard to just sit and watch her chest stay still, her beautiful face remain silent, and it's much easier to pretend like she's only sleeping, like she just needs someone to watch over her until she's better.

Her White Knight.

That's what you are, right?

Buffy's White Knight.

Obviously, you didn't do a very good job.

Sometimes when Willow gets you downstairs, you'll pretend like you're sleeping and you'll hear her tell Regulus that it's like she's lost both of her best friends and you feel guilty so you force yourself to walk back out the Inn door and back to your hopelessly empty life... for a little while at least.

In the end, you're always back here in this silent, still room.

What you find yourself doing most often when you sit by Buffy (because you refuse to think of her as what she is... a corpse, a dead body, a-), you find yourself imagining.

You see her open her eyes, sit up, and smile at you, tilting her head to the side in a way that you haven't seen her do since high school.

"Xander?"

And just before you start to cry, she leans over and kisses you, soft and then harder, until you get so lost in the daydream that the only thing that takes you out of it again is the sound of JD slamming the door behind him as he leaves... again.

Reality hits you like a bat.

Buffy remains silent as always.

You reach over to take her hand again.

Of all the men in her life, you have never left her side, and you fool yourself into believing that that means something in the end.

Dec 4 - To Die For

Tue, 04 Dec 2007 21:46:19 GMT

Title: To Die For
Fandom: outsideinn. Bare and Romeo & Juliet.
Rating: G
Characters: Juliet and Peter Friendship!
Summary: Discussions lead to realizations. Requested by Quin. Dec 4 fic.
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em.

Peter and Juliet spend many evenings under the stars or by the fireplace discussing life and loss and love. The three L's.

For being so young, they both have had far too much experience with the three L's.

In reality, Peter and Juliet are countries, languages, one Shakespearean play, and hundreds of years apart.

In the Inn, they are friends. They take turns talking about their lives, share a warm cup of cocoa, smile at each other, and share the same grass for stargazing.

In the middle of their conversations, sometimes Peter will brighten and bubble, rambling on about the way Jason laughs or how his body seems to be made for Jason's, because they fit together and for once it's like belonging somewhere.

And Juliet will only raise her eyebrows just a little and smile.

"What?" Peter will ask with that bright grin stuck to his lips.

It's like he can't shake it away.

She'll laugh and for a fleeting moment, her eyes will look almost sad. "I know that smile."

And Peter will realize then, that they had a love worth dying for, and somehow that makes it easier to get through the day.

And you know just what I need

Mon, 03 Dec 2007 00:26:18 GMT

Title: Worthy
Characters" JD/Vida.
Fandom: AU ! outsideinn
Rating: Pg-13
Notes: December 2nd fic. Takes place after Vida and JD kissed, but before he thought he even had a chance of getting back with April. Specifically it happens in this thread after they've woken up in bed. It's AU... obviously, because this doesn't actually happen.

Vida slides on to the floor next to him, and JD looks up at her from the tops of his knees. He has the oddest urge to kiss her. Even if he'd enjoyed the one kiss they had, JD had never thought to do it on his own. They never would have kissed if Vida hadn't done so.

She starts to speak, and JD knows it's going to be something he doesn't want to hear so he pushes forward on to his knees and leans over, kissing Vida before she can finish the sentence, giving into the unfamiliar urge.

His fingers slip around the back of her head and into her hair, and he can feel her gasp against his lips before she reacts.

The kiss feels so soft, sweet, and undemanding. He'll never forget how much love she manages to put into the way she kisses him, simply by tilting her head back and placing her hand on his face.

It's the feeling that he hasn't had for months, the feeling that he is actually enough as he is, that he doesn't have to change and become better, that he is worth something.

She pulls away. "JD."

"God..."

He can be someone's first choice. He can be loved entirely by one person, and he can really deserve it without becoming more attractive or more giving. He wouldn't have to fight for it, not for this love. There didn't have to be games and questions or the knowledge that he couldn't give the person he loves what they want and need. His heart swells so much that it hurts and he sets his jaw just so he can keep his body steady.

"JD, you were confused. I understand."

"No, It's not that. It's just..." And for once he doesn't care that he's choking on tears. "I'm worth... I'm..."

She reaches out and pulls his wet face against her chest as his whole body shakes and he clings to her, to hope, to possibility, to love.

"Yes, darling, you are."

December 1st - What You Want (Angua/Logan one-sided)

Sun, 02 Dec 2007 22:05:07 GMT

Title: What You Want
Fandom: outsideinn
Characters: Angua/Logan one-sided; Rose/Logan one-sided.
Rated: PG-13
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters! I know, surprising that I don't actually own Wolverine.
Notes: December 1st Inn Fic. Posting this before I have to go home so I'm sure it's going to need some SERIOUS editing, but ah well, here it is anyway. Unedited and raw, rough draft.

Logan stands with his back pressed against his corner of the Inn. Yes, his corner.

The shadows cover him.

He hears the werewolf before he sees her, recognizing the steady, soft sound of her footsteps as she approaches.

"Is it your plan to scare as many children as you can while you're here?"

Angua. Dressed in red. Hair curling down across her shoulders. The outfit she's wearing outlines her subtle curves in a way that creates dangerous shadows across her body.

Logan smirks.

"Don't much plan on anything."

She studies him, brows furrowing.

"No," she says, softly, "You wouldn't."

Angua slides the red coat down her shoulder, revealing collar bone, elbow, and then soft, pale hands.

He raises an eyebrow at her.

She smiles like temptation. "What are you looking at?"

She knows what she's doing to him.

"Nothin'." Logan says, gruffly, and folds his arms across his chest, pressing his back further into the corner.

Angua smirks and takes a step toward him, into the shadows. "I'll tell you what you're looking at."

"You ain't-"

"What you want."

Logan stares and swallows. "What?"

"You're looking at what you want." Her voice is soft, deeper than usual, and she takes another step toward him so close that when she breathes her ribs brush against him. "And you never seemed the type of man who'd just look at what they want."

"I ain't much of a man." He can't move without touching her. He doesn't move.

She smiles. "You're an animal. An animal takes."

And then she lifts her eyebrows toward him.

Another challenge. Logan takes it.

He grabs hold of her waist, turns her around, and presses her against the wall, hard. Angua leans forward and kisses him as he turns her, hands sliding up into his hair. His muscles tense with hunger and her fingers slide down his neck and grab hold of his shoulders.

A low growl escapes him first, and then her.

His heart rocks against his chest, blocking out all sound. He can feel the blood rushing through him... and her. Every move, every breath, every tilt of her head makes him come alive.

His rough fingers slide down her middle, desire shoots from his shoulders through his fingers as he holds on. Angua moans. Logan kisses her neck till his teeth come into play. She moans again, but doesn't move. His hands feel warm.

Sticky.

He can't move his hands and his heart drops straight down the middle of his empty, tin chest. Logan pulls his mouth away, but keeps his face close to her neck.

"Angua?" His voice is soft, pleading.

She moans and coughs in response, blood flicks across his face.

And then he pulls away completely, his arms are shaking, but his hands are fists, claws through her stomach and into the wall behind her.

"God. Jesus. I'm sorry." Logan's shaking, voice cracking. The light begins to fade from her eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"It's... okay." Breathe. Cough. Smile.

A flash to eighty years earlier in a quarry in Canada surrounded by a group of onlookers as he holds the only person in the world who loves him in his arms, claws dripping with blood, again.

"Rose. I'm sor- sorry. I didn't mean to. I'm so sorry. You got in the- if you'd just... Rose, please. Please, don't."

"It's okay, Ja- James."

Rose called him by his real name just before she died.

"I love you."

"Angua?"

Her eyes have closed. He can't hear her breathing, feel her heart beat. A mangled sound escapes him, as he retracts his claws and presses her bleeding body against his chest. His hands are covered, washed in her blood.

His vision blurs, filled with tears, and the howl that echoes against the lobby walls sounds like a dying wolf. It's Logan... wishing he was dead.

But time has taught that wishes don't come true for Wolverine.

Logan wakes in a heavy sweat, claws ripped through his sheets.

He sits up, wiping his forehead. He's supposed to meet Angua in the library today.

Just like everything else in his life, he doesn't remember his dreams... and he has a feeling he's lucky for that, too.

Thu, 25 Oct 2007 19:20:22 GMT

Title: Selecting a Ghost
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Rating: PG
Summary: Buffy/Angel, prompt: great and terrible, as requested by allfireburns
Notes: Yay for quotes. This was greatly inspired by the prompt and the quotes that I found as a result of the prompt. First time EVER writing Buffy/Angel so... fun!
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters. Yeah, I know. Ca-razy thought!

It said: "I am the invisible nonentity. I have affinities and am subtle. I am electric, magnetic, and spiritualistic. I am the great ethereal sigh-heaver. I kill dogs. Mortal, wilt thou choose me?"
-Selecting a Ghost, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

Buffy terrifies Angel.

Her smile. The graceful twist of her hips when she turns. Her powerful legs set up by heals. The thrust of her stake into the vampires he hates. Her laugh and the light in her eyes that dances as it follows.

It excites him. It excites the demon. Angel and Angelus fight for her attention. A look. A word. A smile.

He cannot get close. He wants to get close. He needs to-

The slayer is a powerful addiction.

Angel wants to be a part of her, to connect with her. Angelus wants to destroy and consume her.

The slayer is dangerous.

He never feels more human-- more demon. More human and demon. More alive and dead, than when he's with her.

Without her, the world exists in blues and grays. For eighty years, the world was blues and grays. For centuries, before, the world was red.

Standing in her room, Angel thinks of how beautiful she looks embarrassed and hesitant in the moonlight. Angelus thinks of how she must taste.

The demon wins and Angel is kissing her. She tastes like sweet strawberry-like power, like potential, her blood must be alive. Angelus pulls away. Buffy's face reveals her breaking heart, her shock. Buffy's face reveals too much.

Angel jumps out of the window. The image of her frightened face in his mind.

The need for her lips, her body, her essence is the only aspect Angel and Angelus have in common.

Buffy terrifies Angel.

Our deeds carry their terrible consequences, quite apart from any fluctuations that went before--consequences that are hardly ever confined to ourselves.
-Adam Bede, George Eliot

Thu, 25 Oct 2007 01:11:05 GMT

Title: How It Must Be
Fandom: The Inn. Shakespeare/Dead Like Me
Rating: PG
Summary: Juliet/George... one sided. *cough*
Notes: (*whispers* don't kill me Shakespeare!!!)
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters. Yeah, I know. Ca-razy thought!

Juliet gazes shyly above the top of the large book leaning against her legs. She's looking at George, but trying not to be obvious about it.

The blond girl smiles back at her, those odd... things she calls headphones over her head. They're blasting some loud tune that Juliet has a difficult time keeping up with.

She ducks her head again and tries to focus on the words.

But they blur and swerve, in and out of focus.

Her heart flutters. The twists and turns of her stomach confuse her as she peeks another, more subtle gaze at the other girl.

It is strange.

The way that she feels.

Juliet does not dare put a name to the feeling, to the twisting and the fluttering, but she knows it happens especially strongly when George smiles or touches her or slides the head phones off of her head and looks over at Juliet as Juliet and not a girl too young or too sad or too... something.

Now it's that their bare feet brush up against each other. Juliet pulls her feet back, but eventually they slide forward on the couch and brush against the bottom of George's right foot. It tingles both of her feet, and that tingling turns to a shiver and chases up her calf and thigh and abdomen, right up to her shoulders, which give an appropriate shake.

It's silly.

If she'd just keep her feet from sliding, put them under a blanket, or set them on the floor below, she would no longer have reason to shake. But she keeps her feet where they are and lets them slide every now and again.

She can't focus on the book so it's all she has to do. And she couldn't bare to leave, because she likes to glance over at George when she's not aware and sometimes catch her eyes for another smile.

It's a strange, fluttering, tingling feeling that seems a frightening amount like falling and when she's away from George and let's herself think, her fingers tremble and there's this sense that she's betraying the world.

Girls don't have crushes on girls.

And Juliet doesn't have feelings for anyone other than Romeo.

It's the way the world is.

The way it must be.

But sometimes George's toes curl around Juliet's and suddenly, she's not so sure.

Wed, 24 Oct 2007 23:11:06 GMT

Title: Rain
Fandom: The Inn. Scrubs/Rent.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Ben/Steve. Steve/Gordon. Ben/Cox.
Notes: HELLO, weird style experimentation! Yes, all of the fragments and weird capitalizations and lack of commas are stylistic choices. hush. Written for starletfallen as per her request. Inspired by the song "Rain" by Patty Griffin, lyrics are here.
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters or this song. No, really.

Its hard to know when to give up the fight.

You're in love with a hardened heart. With a wall.

You're in love with distance, but you need proximity.

You're in love...

You're in love with loving a wall.

Let go. God, let go.

Who said it was easy? Who said it was possible? The only break is in escaping.

Sometimes he looks at you and you think you see a light you recognize, a sweet, familiar spark only you would know. One that only you have seen in those dark, hard eyes.

Two things you want will just never be right.

Time runs out. Runs through shaky, weak fingers, until someone new grabs hold of your hand and squeezes so tight you think you might pass out.

His smile is not the one you love, but it's easier. And this smile understands, this smile needs this moment as much as you.

His warm eyes sparkle with the joy of seeing you, of pressing his lips against yours, and the simple way you taste. Like fresh lilac. Like the linens under your head, covering your frail bodies.

Its never rained like it has tonight before.

You've reached the point of giving up. It's too hard to do alone, but with that joyful smile and the sweet kiss you might have one last moment to forget before it's all over.

And he understands.

And he presses you against the sheets and doesn't care, for once, that death is so near.

The tears run down your face, because it's not him, it's not your wall. He kisses them away and laughs as his tears drip from his chin and mix with yours, because he's crying for the very same reason.

Now I don't wanna beg you, baby, for something maybe you could never give

"Please." You whisper, and then try to take it back. "I didn't mean that-"

He places a fingertip to your cool lips. He's gentle and careful and he understands.

His kisses mean nothing.

His kisses mean everything.

Please.

The warm fingers slip to your shirt and pull it up. He buries his face next to your neck and for a moment, that's all there is, silence and silence and shallow, uneven breathing.

And then he reaches his fingers down to your pants and Fuck and his fingers slide down your legs and up again and you want to protest, but don't- your shaky fingers work at the button attached to denim. His breath hitches and the zipper scratches against your fingers as you slide it down.

"Just you and me now."

Gasp. You can't breathe, but you don't need to. He works his hand around you and over you and he's in you and out of you and you're in him and you're in each other only you're not, but you are one and that's what it's supposed to be about, isn't it?

So you don't regret when the end comes. not The End, but the end of the pulling the grabbing the wrapping around and into each other and sliding sweaty body against sweaty body till no breath remains in either of you.

Tangled in sheets,
tangled in each other,
tangled in death.

I'm not looking for the rest of your life,

"I don't love you." You say when the moonbeams shine in through the blinds, casting shadows.

He smiles and his laugh echoes against empty walls. "You don't have to."

I just want another chance to live

Barely Breathing - Chatper 2

Fri, 17 Aug 2007 00:04:29 GMT

Barely Breathing

Title: Chapter 2 : A Beginning and An End
Fandom: Scrubs
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Angst, drama, comedy
Summary: Kim has the baby, but nothing is ever that easy for JD. Lot’s of heavy JD/Cox undertones in later chapters.
Notes: Chapter 2 brings in the angst. While I've done research on Merconium Aspiration, I have no idea what it would be like to watch it so... this is more than a bit dramatized I'm sure. I apologize ina dvance for that Warning: Death, Angst like woah. Written for fanfic50 table 3, prompt #15 Choke
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters or Scrubs. This is just for fun!

It was the strangled gasp from the too still baby that kicked time back into gear for JD. Only then did he remember that the light blue color of his son’s skin was not normal, and certainly not healthy.

“Why isn’t he crying? Why- What’s wrong with my baby?” Kim struggled to see from the hospital bed, still weak from delivery. “What’s happening?”

JD released her hand, and followed his heart. Standing outside the circle of nurses, he could just see his baby lying on that unforgiving table. The doctor had a tube down his throat in an attempt to suction the tiny passageway to his lungs to help the struggling baby to breathe. The squish, squish sounds of the suction and Sam’s tiny gags flooded his ears and brain till he could not process anything else.

The baby’s arms flailed slowly. There was not enough oxygen. Not nearly enough. His airway was blocked. As a doctor, JD knew this. As a father, he was on the verge of screaming, of pulling everything and everyone away from his baby.

His baby…

It felt like an icy punch in his stomach… the realization that his son was dying.

JD snuck into the circle of nurses, reached out and slid his long, shaking finger into that tiny, blue fist. He rubbed the skin softly, unnoticed by anyone else. In that moment, it was just the two of them. Just JD and his son, and he got so lost in the idea of it… he almost forgot that it wouldn’t last much longer.

There was only that little hand holding his, and then the grip slackened. JD’s chest felt like exploding. Shouts echoed around him, desperate attempts at opening an airway, but they all knew that this little baby had been deprived of oxygen for far too long.

The hand stopped holding on at all.

JD didn’t let go.

The room was silent. The doctor slid her gloves off, throwing them to the ground. “I’m… sorry.”

The silence came in waves. It felt like the entire room was breathing together... except for Sam.

“No.”

JD broke into a wave.

The doctor stared and stuttered, starting again. “I’m sorry… there’s nothing else we can-”

“No, let me try. Let me do it. I can do it.” JD took up the suction tool that she had used, his hands shook to hard to keep it steady as he aimed it towards Sam’s throat. “I can save him. I’m his father, y’see, and a doctor so- so- so I can save him. Okay? Okay just let me try, please… I need to do it… I need-”

“JD…” The doctor’s voice grew soft.

“Please, just please, you don’t understand. You don’t… I’ve just… just got to aim this right and… and… I can save him! I’m his dad. I'm his... his dad. He needs his dad. He needs… me right now... I can't just stop! I can't give up, okay? I can't. You can't ask me to do that-”

She put her hand on top of his. It was only then that he saw the tiny airway they had attempted to cut into the baby's chest. It was difficult to find tubes that tiny, that would work, and provide oxygen for a newborn. It was only used as a last resort.

“A last…” JD swallowed tightly. His mouth had never felt so dry.

“I’m sorry.” The doctor said again. “Merconium Aspiration… we caught it too late. It’s so rare now a days, and it was just so severe. There was nothing anyone could… do. I’m sorry. We… I did all I could. I really…”

It must be the first time she’d lost a baby.

It doesn’t happen too often at Sacred Heart.

“I, uh, I understand… really. I mean, I’m… a, um, a doctor myself after all.” He gave a weak chuckle, and an even weaker smile in a desperate, failing attempt to pull it all together.

Kim was crying out from the bed. “Please, someone! I… I just want to hold him once. Just… what’s going on? JD? JD? “

He turned to look at her, and his mind was assaulted with brilliant, painful flashes… images of what could’ve been. She was rocking in a chair, singing in that soft, soprano voice of hers to the breathing, healthy baby in her arms. He stood with her over the crib, watching that tiny chest rise and fall with glorious air. They were together, smiling and laughing, and Sam… Sam was…

JD turned away again to the doctor. His fingers had not stopped shaking yet. He wished they would stop shaking. He wished he could get some control, but he felt sick and dizzy and God, he couldn’t stop shaking.

“Doctor… you should tell … her, uh, Kim. Tell her what you… what you told me, okay? Just let her know… and stuff. I’ve uhm… I’ve got to go… I can’t-“ He glanced at the baby lying too close and too far away. “I’m sorry.”

JD left with Kim’s wild sobs still ringing in his ears, and the distinct feeling that someone held tightly to his shaking fingers even though, every time he looked down at his hand there was never anything more there than cold, empty air.

Thu, 16 Aug 2007 01:08:07 GMT

Barely Breathing

Title: Chapter 1 : A Wet Awakening
Fandom: Scrubs
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Angst, drama, comedy
Summary: Kim has the baby, but nothing is ever that easy for JD. Lot’s of heavy JD/Cox undertones in later chapters.
Notes: I’ve had this story idea in my head for a long time, particular one scene that comes in a later chapter I would often go over in my head, but I’ve been avoiding writing it, because it’s one of the saddest stories that I’ve ever attempted to write (and I’m an angst whore so that says something). Written for fanfic50 table 3, prompt #7 Stained.
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters or Scrubs. This is just for fun!

Every morning starts the same, except when you’re sleeping with a pregnant woman in your bed. In that case, some mornings you wake up with arms across your chest, others with a tight belly pressed into your groin. Still other mornings you wake up to the sounds of echoed vomiting off the bathroom walls and cries of ‘Help!’ that sound like the wicked witch of the west screaming, ‘Fly! Fly!’

And one morning in particular is different than all the rest, because when you wake up the pregnant woman standing at the end of your bed is covered in a wet sticky mess and looking frantic and excited all at once.

“Oh, God!” JD sat up, eyes wide. “You’re- I… I don’t… You’re wet!”

Kim nodded, a nervous, pained smile playing at the corners of her lips. “JD… it’s time.”

“Oh, God!” He flailed in the bed, waving his arms wide and tumbling off the mattress in a mess of sheets and blankets.

“JD?”

He was standing up rushing to grab the already prepared bag, coat, and anything else his hyperactive rush of thoughts insists that they will need in the hospital. “We’ve got to- I don’t… Where is season five of Brady Bunch?!”

His chest could’ve exploded from the pressure his heart was putting on it by beating like a crack addict with drums.

“JD!”

He stopped in front of her. His arms were filled with so much that he could barely keep hold of it all.

“Now I- … I have your coat, your… your uh, God… what is this thing called? Bag! I have the.. the bag, and- and- Unngh!”

And with that, JD passed out, landing in a heap of the things he’d grabbed in his arms, sprawled across the floor, looking much like the outlined men in the ‘Caution Wet Floor’ signs do.

Kim sighed, pulling out her cell phone from the heap beneath her.

“Hi, Carla? It’s time. …Yes, he fainted. Can you come? Thank you.”

------

The first thing he was aware of was Chocolate Bear’s voice coming from somewhere in the darkness.

“JD? Hey, buddy, you need to get up.”

White! Blinding, white surrounded him…

“Is… is this heaven?” His mouth was dry.

“No, Bambi.”

He blinked quickly, vision white and blurred, focusing slowly on the world around him. It looked a lot like the waiting room at Sacred Heart. JD frowned.

“But I thought heaven was a diner… Oh, shit! I’m in hell!” He scowled. “I could never resist those evil, flappity flap jacks.”

“JD, you’re not dead. You’re just having a baby!”

“I’m what?!” His vision cleared quickly at this news. “Men can get pregnant in heaven? …is God a girl?”

“JD!” Ah, Carla’s motherly voice.

Whack!

…And Carla’s motherly smack across the face.

“Oww!” Pain. Lot’s of pain. His vision cleared just in time to see Carla’s angry face hovering over him.

“I’ll twist your testicles off and show you some real pain if you don’t get in there with the woman who’s having your baby!”

Turk squealed and grabbed her shoulder. “Carla!”

“What? I’m serious.”

“I know, baby, but you can’t just threaten another man’s cahones in front of mine.” Carla raised her eyebrow at him like she always did when he used one of the five Spanish words he knew. “Since they’ve had such intimate relations with you ‘n such… it kinda makes ‘em scared… They clench right up.”

Carla put her hands on her hips in a motion that made Turk back away.

“I’ll be a real threat to all the… ‘cahones’ in this room if you don’t shut up right now, and make JD go!”

“Vanilla Bear! Quick!” Turk turned from his wife, eyes wide. “For the sake of testicles everywhere!”

Carla smacked him, which evoked another squeal. “And for the sake of Kim!”

“Kim? Kim’s having little Sam Perry Gilligan Dorian?!” JD got to his feet at last. Carla looked like she just might twist his testicles off anyway. “I’ve got to go!”

She groaned and pressed her forehead to the wall.

“Wait, where is she?”

“In the master suite, dude, remember!” Turk smiled. “Best maternity room in the hospital!”

“Oh, yeah. I had to wipe a lot of ass to get in that room.”

“Don’t you mean kiss?”

“No, wipe.”

“Babies?”

“And senior citizens.”

“Ew!”

“Tell me about it.”

Carla growled. “JD!”

“Go-o-o-oing!”

---

And just like that, everything ran in slow motion for me. I entered that master suite with its big bed, spacious interior, and pink walls, but I didn’t see them or the doctor. Kim said something to me. Maybe it was, ‘you’re here’ or ‘you slimey bastard’, but I don’t know. I didn’t hear her. I saw her hand, and I took hold.

It didn’t take long to lose all the feeling in my hand. In the hours of her labour, I learned that Kim could totally win an arm wrestling tournament. She is, also, a soprano.

I may have permanent hearing loss.

Hours felt like days.

The slow progression led to the moment it happened. Kim pushed and pushed for the final time. Her slow motion screams made her sound more like a bass. I couldn’t feel my fingers.

And then the doctor held my son in her hands.

It’s cliché, but for me, it was true. In that moment, gazing at my son, time stopped. I have never fallen for someone so hard, and so fast before.

I don’t think I ever will again.

I saw myself teaching him to walk, playing catch with him, holding his hand on the way to his first day of school, sending him off to his first week of theater camp, hugging him, wiping away his tears, holding his sleeping form in my arms.

I didn’t know it then, but it turns out that that was the only time I’d hold my son alive…in my mind.

Fanfic50 Table 3

Wed, 11 Jul 2007 06:34:26 GMT

001.	Temptation	002.	Addiction	003.	Greed	004.	Faith	005.	Delusional
006.	Innocence	007.	Stained	008.	Procrastinate	009.	Dirty	010.	Lie
011.	Forgive	012.	Lose	013.	Want	014.	Bury	015.	Choke
016.	Burn	017.	Change	018.	Regret	019.	Slip	020.	Smirk
021.	Fragile	022.	Secret	023.	Past	024.	Fantasy	025.	Enough
026.	Dream	027.	Waste	028.	Hope	029.	Note	030.	Hug
031.	Passion	032.	Hold	033.	Right	034.	Wrong	035.	Strong
036.	Wind	037.	Paranoid	038.	Moment	039.	Song	040.	Touch
041.	Shake	042.	Psychic	043.	Spirit	044.	Magick	045.	God
046.	Ghost	047.	Belong	048.	Tear(s)	049.	Drown	050.	Writers' Choice

Yeah, let's see how this one goes... >> I claimed JD!

11 Reasons Final Installment

Tue, 03 Jul 2007 04:41:47 GMT

I've had these written for over a month so I'm not sure why it's taken me so long to post.

11 Reasons why Dr. Cox calls JD girls names

Title: Reason 9 : The Hug
Fandom: Scrubs
Rating: PG
Genre: General
Summary: Dr. Cox examines Newbie’s need to get ‘that hug’, and the reasons he won’t give it to him. For prompt #53. Hug / glomp / embrace.
Notes: This definitely borders on light JD/Cox… I do realize that I’m going to write a slash-version of all of these reasons eventually, but… I couldn’t help the slash in this. And it’s incredibly short too, so I apologize for that.
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters or Scrubs. This is just for fun!

Newbie is like one of those children, y’know, the little girls with curly blond hair who are obsessed with attaching themselves to whoever they can. Occasionally, they have favorites, and they’ll abandon their attachment of one person for another, but they’re always trying to attach themselves to someone, to hold on to a leg or a hand.

The kid’s just that affectionate. He loves touching and being touched, and it seems to worsen as the years go by. And he has an unnatural obsession with getting a hug from Dr. Cox.

But Newbie reminds him too much of those little girls who will wrap their little arms around someone’s leg, clinging so tightly that they can’t be removed no matter how hard you try to shake them off or pry their little arms away. There’s an addiction to someone holding on that tightly, with so much need.

It’s like an intoxicating kind of power.

And Dr. Cox is afraid if he hugs JD… he’s afraid that he’ll never let go.

11 Reasons why Dr. Cox calls JD girls names

Title: Reason 10 : Sleepless
Fandom: Scrubs
Rating: PG
Genre: General
Summary: JD’s suffering from insomnia. Dr. Cox gets oddly protective. For prompt #58 sleep / in a stupor
Notes: Again with the very light JD/Cox slash in this. I can’t help it.
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters or Scrubs. This is just for fun!

Newbie hasn’t been getting any sleep.

It’s easy to tell by the dark circles under his blue eyes, his droopy appearance, and the slow way he walks through the halls of the hospital. Even the Janitor has noticed and cut him a little slack.

Or at least, jumpsuit’s decided that watching the kid in action right now is more entertaining than anything he could do to him.

However, as amusing as it is to watch Newbie do a face plant into his soup, mistake the girls bathroom for the boy’s, bump constantly into walls and patients and nurses and doors, and stand in the hallway, head tilted, eyes closed, snoring softly… he’s clearly becoming a threat to his patients. And since Satan can’t take the time to pay any attention to his employees unless they re-heally screw up, it’s of course, up to Dr. Cox to rip the kid a new one and then force him to go home with a bottle of sleeping pills.

That is… if he can just get a hold of him.

Dr. Cox’s fury grows every passing minute that his pages have gone unanswered.

He whips out the pager and sends another, but to no avail. Newbie’s not responding and while this is infuriating, although he won’t admit it, it’s worrying. His heart is racing at an uneven pace as he storms into patient room after patient room, the lounge, both bathrooms (much to the annoyance of Barbie who’d been washing a stain out of her scrubs), and finally, the on-call room.

He flips the light on and there newbie is, passed out on the bottom bed with his long arms stretched to the floor below. JD doesn’t even move when the light flicks on, or when Dr. Cox hovers mere inches above his face.

Dr. Cox has to be this close simply to check if the kid’s actually breathing. His chest is rising and falling so slow that it’s hard to tell that he’s even alive from a distance.

After a moment of hesitation, Dr. Cox places the palm of his hand on top of Newbie’s chest. He can feel his own heartbeat slow and the fury in him fade at the slow rise and fall of his hand along with the kid's breathing.

Newbie looks more girly in his sleep than he does when he's prancing down the hallways with a pout. His lips are parted just so and his hair is mussed. He looks so innocent, weak, and tired even in his sleep. Dr. Cox frowns at the thought and hardly realizes his hand is still on Newbie’s chest.

He slides his hand away, stands, and stares down at the kid for a little longer before flipping the light off and heading out.

Dr. Cox leans on the wall next to the doorway, folding his arms over his thick chest and glaring at anyone who dares to make noise as they pass.

11 Reasons why Dr. Cox calls JD girls names

Title: Reason 11 :
Fandom: Scrubs
Rating: G
Genre: General
Summary: Dr. Cox thinks too much. For prompt #64, rain/storm/tempest from the July Wild Card Table.
Notes: Incredibly light JD/Cox and incredibly short. I apologize in advance if it doesn’t make much sense… I’m really unsure about this one. -_-
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters or Scrubs. This is just for fun!

Newbie and Gandhi are dancing in the puddles and that rain that’s falling outside. They’re like a couple of schoolgirls just released from class for spring break. Newbie’s grinning, and sliding into a puddle. His blue scrubs are a mess and he’s shouting or singing, if Dr. Cox had to guess what, he’d say, ‘Singin In the Rain’. Gandhi joins in with him and Dr. Cox changes his opinion about them to schoolgirls just returned from theater camp where they had the time of their lives…and if that song from Dirty Dancing, gets stuck in his head, he swears to God, he will go down there and wring both their necks.

Newbie, especially, proves how much of a little girl he is, prancing around like that, scrubs all wet.

There’s a familiar, annoying pang within him that forces Dr. Cox to turn away from the window, annoyed.

That goofy grin he always has on, his obsession with wearing the ‘right’ clothes, and the way he twirls and dances and bounces around everywhere, his love for whiney musicians playing acoustic versions of sad love songs…

There are an innumerous amount of reasons that Dr. Cox calls JD girls names, but there’s only one that he refuses to admit.

11 Reasons Installment numbah 3

Mon, 04 Jun 2007 18:25:31 GMT

11 Reasons why Dr. Cox calls JD girls names

Title: Reason 6 : Candy bracelets!
Fandom: Scrubs
Rating: PG
Genre: General
Summary: Takes place during “My Butterfly”, season 3, right after JD impersonates Dr. Cox. Written for prompt #29 Sweets/Candy
Notes: I love this moment, I think everyone loves this moment. It’s amazing and it provided inspiration for this short little… ficlet…thing.
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters or Scrubs. This is just for fun!

“Oh, I’m sorry, here I was in my own little world talking to myself and dreaming about candy bracelets.”

Newbie looks indignant. “I don’t like candy bracelets!”

And then he stares off to the side, obviously having a moment inside his head, as always. Perry sighs and waits for him to finish.

“Good day.” Newbie nods at him like the kid’s some kind of man and walks past, shoving his shoulder against Perry’s roughly or… as roughly as his girly shoulders can shove. Perry holds his ground, and Newbie flies to the floor underneath him.

These muscles are like rock. Perry would give a cocky grin about that very fact if he wasn’t so annoyed.

“How you like me now?” The kid mutters from below.

Perry throws the file on top of Newbie and walks away. He knows for a fact that Newbie does, in fact. love candy bracelets. One day back when Newbie was still an intern, he’d had about five of them on his wrist.

Perry can still remember the goofy grin the kid gave before sloppily chomping at half of a bracelet. Perry had given him a disgusted look and the kid had just shrugged and said, “I love them! Lookie, see, its candy and an accessory in one!”

Then Perry had grabbed Newbie’s wrist, sliding his thumb under the bracelets and ripping them off (again with the rock-like muscles, he’s really just unstoppable). The tiny string had snapped, the candy tumbled and bounced to the ground. Newbie’s eyes were wide, his mouth hung open, as he stared at all the candy.

“What? Are you going to cry? …Grow up!” He’d said and frowned, rolling his eyes. “You’re like a little girl I’ve got to spend all my damned time taking care of!”

Perry turned and started walking away, but he hadn’t missed the sound of Newbie’s voice seconds later saying joyfully, “You take care of me?” And then the shrill and whispered, “Yes!” that was undoubtedly followed by a fist pumping into the air.

He’d growled to himself at the time and pretended like he hadn’t heard.

It was the first time he’d really thought of Newbie as being his intern.

All because of a damned candy bracelet.

11 Reasons why Dr. Cox calls JD girls names

Title: Reason 7 : Too Damned Nice
Fandom: Scrubs
Rating: PG
Genre: Angstish
Summary: JD invests himself too much in patients and sometimes that comes back to bite him in the ass. Written for prompt #40 kindness.
Notes: This probably shouldn’t even qualify as angst because it’s not very angsty, but it’s there.
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters or Scrubs. This is just for fun!

Newbie is quite possibly the kindest person Dr. Cox has ever met, certainly kinder than any man, which simply provides further proof of how much of a girl he is. He’s too kind, especially with patients.

Outside of Newbie’s patient’s rooms he can say the stupidest things. Hell, sometimes in a patient’s room, he’ll blurt out something dumb, but it’s usually not as outright rude as he can occasionally be with friends or when he has the balls to stand up to Dr. Cox, himself.

However with his patients, Newbie’s so kind, so open to people that he literally becomes friends with them, he involves himself in their personal lives, and tries too hard to fix everything, even beyond the medical issues that may be present.

Dr. Cox has told him time and time again, “Newbie, back off. You can’t save everyone and you won’t be able to handle all of these deaths if its all your friends who are doing the dying. It’s not possible. Not for girls like you, Krista, or for men like me. So back off.”

For as much as Newbie claims to want him for a mentor, he has a screwed up way of not listening to most of what Dr. Cox says. Or maybe he listens, he just decides to goes and does the exact opposite.

It’s ridiculous, because Dr. Cox is always right. You’d think, Shirley, would’ve learned that by now.

But no. She’s sitting in the lounge with her head in her hands now. It’s been a rough week, Dr Cox knows. Newbie’s lost a couple of 'friends' this week.

Dr. Cox is standing in the doorway of the lounge, his mouth set firm, and his arms are at his side. Newbie looks up slowly, as though he can just feel Dr. Cox staring at him. He turns around on the couch and sighs when he sees that yes, indeed, it is his mentor staring at him, and not the janitor or a friend or Kelso or even a completely random stranger.

Somehow he has this look like Dr. Cox is the worst possibility.

“Go ahead.” Newbie places his head in his hands again; his voice is strained and quiet, but devoid of emotion. “Say you told me so. That this isn’t worth it. That I’m the.. the most idiotic girl you’ve ever met, and gosh, Sally can’t you be a doctor for once instead of making friends, it’s a hospital for God’s sake.”

Yes, Dr. Cox has told him many times before. Newbie’s memorized the speeches.

He has to stop his legs from moving, his arm from stretching out towards the figure on the couch. There’s an urge to touch him, which is not unfamiliar, but certainly freezes Dr. Cox completely in his spot, scares him and angers him...

From a distance.

Dr. Cox watches him from a distance.

It’s safe that way.

Newbie hasn’t moved from his position on the couch, his head still buried in his hands.

“Don’t ever change, Newbie.” Dr. Cox says finally, and then turns and walks away.

He can almost imagine Newbie’s reaction, his head lifting slowly from his hands as he turns to stare at the open door, his eyes shining with renewed hope.

It’s almost poetic enough to make him sick.... or smile. He's not quite sure which.

11 Reasons why Dr. Cox calls JD girls names

Title: Reason 8 : Silly bunny, Trix are for little girls!
Fandom: Scrubs
Rating: PG
Genre: General
Summary: Dr. Cox calls it annoying optimism; JD calls it hope. Written for prompt #41 hope.
Notes: warning! Dr. Cox thinks in a bit of detail about killing poor innocent animals.
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters or Scrubs. This is just for fun!

Newbie has the kind of cheerfully annoying and misplaced optimism that you’d expect to find in little girls with pigtails and large suckers in their hand, licking the sugary candy, grinning a toothy grin, and saying, “Everything will be al-l-l-l-l right.”

The very image gives Dr. Cox the urge to kill a bunny.

Literally, kill a bunny. Take the rabbit in his hands, grab hold of it’s head and bottom side, and just twist until there's a brilliant crack and that little girl with the lollipop cries, and starts hating the world and all the people that inhabit it (as any respectable human being should).

Today, Newbie has annoyed him long enough that he caved in and divulged too much information to the kid about his relationship trouble with Jordan, and by too much, he'd merely admitted to having trouble.

The kid’s response? A cheery smile (undoubtedly brought on by Dr. Cox sharing with him) and a wistful pat on the shoulder (which made Dr. Cox’s arm and eye twitch simultaneously).

And then those annoyingly, cheerful, optimistic words, “I'm sure everything will be all right, Dr. Cox, just talk to her."

Where's a bunny when you need one?

Dr. Cox's jaw clenches tightly as he runs his hand angrily down his face. “Contrary to your pretty little belief about life, everything is not always going to be all right.”

“I didn’t say always…and I didn’t mean literally everything, I just-”

“Can it, Tallulah, I’m not in the mood. The truth is that life sucks, okay? All the time. There are moments that are bearable, but they're just that moments. The world is a hateful place. If there were rabbits running around the halls of this hospital, I’d demonstrate but-”

“Incoming!”

Dr. Cox whirls around to see a literal stampede of bunnies behind him, the Janitor further down the hallway, chasing madly after them with a large bag and a fishing net.

What the hell are the chances of that?

Newbie was just staring with those same damned wide deer-like eyes he’s had since his first day here as the stampede approached.

“Shania!” Newbie’s eyes shoot from the stampede to Dr. Cox, mouth falling open dumbly, still frozen in the middle of the hallway.

Dr. Cox sighs, grabs hold of Newbie’s arm, pulls him down the hallway and inside a patient’s room, shutting the door behind them.

The room is empty.

“That was…nearly… death by bunny.” Newbie mutters, tilting his head to the side and staring up at the ceiling for a moment. “They’d have to have really sharp teeth and the ability to jump fifty feet into the air…. but I’d watch it.”

Dr. Cox sighs again and releases Newbie’s arm, shoving him a little roughly against the wall.

“What was that for?” Newbie whines, pushing away from the wall.

He opens the door and peers out with a growl.

“I hate bunnies.”

Thu, 10 May 2007 13:28:04 GMT

11 Reasons why Dr. Cox calls JD girls names

Title: Reason 4 : Never Make a Woman Mad
Fandom: Scrubs
Rating: PG
Genre: General
Summary: Takes place in the aftermath of JD’s rant in “My TCW” in season 2. Written for prompt #21 rage/anger
Notes: “My TCW” is one of my favorite episodes ever, I love angry!JD even if he isn’t very threatening. Inspired roughly by a Dane Cook skit too (And yes, Dr. Cox, I think he’s funny). I apologize for any stereotypes about women or men, Dr. Cox thinks about. : p
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters or Scrubs. This is just for fun!

Fifteen minutes after Newbie had stormed out of the cafeteria, the shock began to fade. The shock that came with the idea that Newbie had actually had the balls to call him, ‘Big Dog’ in that snide tone. Although, it rang true, namely because he’d called himself that earlier in the day, the manner in which it was said cemented the fact that it would never come out of Newbie’s pouty lips again.

Of course, if it weren’t for the balls-shock, Dr. Cox would’ve said this, but he couldn’t... The sudden testicle growth was just too startling… that was all, really.

The other three had left, looking rightfully guilty. They were Newbie’s friends after all, and should feel bad. Dr. Cox, however, could complain as much as he wanted and not give a damn, what it did to Newbie.

After the shock had passed, a small smile crossed his lips, because even in his anger Newbie acted like a girl. He waved his hands around ridiculously, shifted his weight to one leg, and left in an absolute feminine huff. Real men left you feeling threatened, like you wanted to either punch them in the jaw or cower in fear.

But women left you feeling guilty, in shock, and a little like you’d just made the biggest mistake of your life by pissing them off. Women were, in a way, more frightening. It seemed like they had the power to do anything to you, not that Newbie had managed that much. He’d certainly accomplished the guilty feelings (with his friends anyway) and the shock.

Most importantly, the only people who ever seemed to really infuriate him to new and improved levels were women. And Newbie had managed to anger him that much on several occasions. According to Carla, it was because he cared about the kid. Only the people who really mattered to you could create that level of anger in you. He sneered at the thought and sipped down his coffee, ignoring the way it burned his throat. A sort of punishment, not that he felt guilty.

Right, like I care about Newbie. He’s like a puppy, a female puppy, but nothing more. Honestly, of course, I care about him. I care about him as much as I care about any defenseless animal who is capable of being squashed. So basically, not much.

It wasn’t till the next day that it happened, the explosion in his head.

Women had a way of saying something that in the heat of the moment seemed innocent enough, but would later, when you least expected it, completely mind-fuck you.

Dr. Cox had just left his patient’s room when Newbie’s rant, that mind-fucking phrase came back and ruptured something in his brain that froze him to the spot. His arms tensed considerably, his jaw locked.

I’m not afraid of you.

“When the hell did that happen?” He muttered and ran his hand through his hair.

Sure, Newbie had talked back to him before, but he had always been able to sense fear in his eyes to at least some extent. This no fear thing just would not be allowed.

Dr. Cox stormed through the hallway. Nurses, patients, and interns all yelled and tried to avoid him, but most failed miserably, tripping over themselves or his strong, infuriated body as it passed.

He came upon Newbie in a patient’s room, snuck up behind him so quiet in his internal explosion that Newbie didn’t notice his presence till he’d placed his strong hands on those thin shoulders. The younger man jumped off the floor at the touch, dropping the clipboard to the ground with a clatter. His body tensed and he turned his head to look behind.

“Dr. Cox…?” He squeaked, eyes wide, as though he’d expected it to be someone else.

“I’m still damned scary, Tiffany.” There was a low growl as he increased the pressure on Newbie’s shoulders.

“Oh… okay, yeah, yeah… you are… sure. Right.”

He ran his finger across his nose quickly, backed up, crossing his muscular arms over his chest, and pointing at the kid with one finger. “You don’t even know.”

“Yeah… okay. I don’t.”

Dr. Cox made a noise of disapproval and headed out the door.

That phrase would haunt him for a long time, he was sure.

And it did, until a few weeks later, when another phrase from that same damned rant hit him again.

While I’m sitting at home, staring at the ceiling, just wishing I had someone talk to…

There it was.

Dr. Cox wouldn’t have recognized it at any other time, but he was lying in his bed, just staring silently at the ceiling, and it hit him.

Guilt.

There were only a few people to ever really make him feel guilty, his mom, his sister, Jordan, Carla, and now…

“God, Newbie’s such a girl.”

Well, there had been Ben too, but he’d needed the Leukemia to pull that one off. He'd had extenuating circumstances.

Newbie didn’t have shit.

Damn.

He ran his hand over his face and sighed.

When the hell had he let the kid in that close…and without even realizing it?

“Fucking women.”

Jordan kicked him in her sleep.

Dr. Cox grumbled, rolled over on his side, and folded his arms over his chest trying to think of beer and sports and anything other than Newbie.

11 Reasons why Dr. Cox calls JD girls names

Title: Reason 5 : John Cusack was the Best Part of the 80s
Fandom: Scrubs
Rating: PG
Genre: Humor
Summary: JD bumps into Dr. Cox on his way out of the hospital, but nobody simply bumps into Dr. Cox and gets away with it.
Notes: A thank you is needed for Evie starletfallen, I role play JD over at outsideinn and a conversation he had with her April there is pretty much the entire inspiration for this story. Written for prompt #26 movie/play.
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters or Scrubs. This is just for fun!

Dr. Cox was not having a very good day. He was simply looking forward to going home and drinking himself into a stupor so he could possibly forget about having to return to this hellhole in the morning.

He’d almost made it to the door when he was hit roughly from behind by Newbie, who managed to hit him and then trip over and around his leg, landing on the ground next to Dr. Cox. And then Newbie had the nerve to just shout out a, “Sorry, Dr. Cox!”, stumble to a stand, and try to continue to run for the door.

“Woah, there Nelly.” Dr. Cox grabbed his wrist, flinging Newbie backwards unintentionally, and to a sitting position again. “Now wait just one moment, Priscilla, where’s the fire? I know how de-hesperately you want to get home to have that little chick flick night with your girlfriends so that you can vent, and just let yourselves go, while you paint each others nails red and eat a gallon of Ben and Jerry’s, but I will not be run into and then left in your perfumy dust, mmkay?”

Newbie stared off for a moment and he could almost read the, How did he know… expression on the kid’s face.

“Not chick flicks, Dr. Cox.” He said, standing slowly. “80’s movie night! Besides… some chick flicks actually have good, solid story lines... too...”

“Oh and that just makes them so less girly. All they do is set women like you up to expect far too much phony romance from a relationship. Well, I'm sorry, Darlene, that's just not how it works in the real world. You'll have to stick to your movies and live vicariously through that main female character as she has the kiss of a lifetime with the man you've always wanted.” Dr. Cox rolled his eyes and looked Newbie up and down. “Now just how many of those 80s movies don’t star... John Cusack?”

“Hey, he was the best part of the 80s!” Newbie squeaked, putting his hands on his hips, and rocking forward on his toes.

“I don't even have to try to show how much of a girl you are anymore, I really don't. Now why don’t you quote one of those movies that you’re going to watch tonight and we'll just see how girly this movie really is."

“Dr. Cox!” He laughed, loud and nervously, looking almost offended. “I don’t actually-”

“Christine.”

Newbie sighed, hung his head and then muttered, “She's gone. She gave me a pen. I gave her my heart, she gave me a pen.”

Dr. Cox nodded. “That’s what I thought. Don’t try to tell me that’s not a chick flick.”

“It’s a good…one?” He shrugged helplessly, looking defeated.

Oh, God. Dr. Cox rolled his eyes. “Y’know, if you’re going to act this much like a woman you might as well go ahead and buy yourself a box of tampons.”

Newbie kept his head down and shrugged again. “Well, I dunno, I don’t think it’s that girly…it’s a good movie and there’s a storyline and it’s funny too, I watch it for the comedy and-”

Dr. Cox whistled. “Diane, go. Wouldn’t want you to miss the big night.”

“It’s not… that… big…” And then a wide smile came over his face. “Hey, did you call me Diane, because…”

”Don’t you even suggest it, Newbie, don't, unless you're interested in severe punishment for the rest of your life. Now go before I find something demeaning for you to do for the rest of the evening.”

“But-“

“Get the hell out of here, woman!”

Newbie squeaked, turned the wrong way, then the right way, then the wrong way, before finally turning towards the exit and running out the door.

Dr. Cox folded his arms, watched him leave, and couldn't help, but smile.

Wed, 09 May 2007 00:23:35 GMT

11 Reasons why Dr. Cox calls JD girls names

Title: Reason 2 : Jolie Lips
Fandom: Scrubs
Rating: PG
Genre: Humor
Summary: Dr. Cox has finally decided on just one girl’s name to call JD, really. Written for Prompt #3 of Table 1 - Lips
Notes: It’s fun to write me some Scrubs. ^^
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters or Scrubs. This is just for fun!

“Hey, Angelina Jolie!”

“What?” Newbie turns and frowns, chart forgotten for now, hanging limply in his left hand. And then he grins. “Oooh, is today tough film actress day? That's almost manly. I'm movin on up! ...to the East side!"

He's singing now. Dr. Cox shuts him up with a glare.

“No, Angelina. I’ve just decided I’m going to call you that from now on seeing as I’ve just realized how much money you must’ve paid to get lips that big in order to emulate the queen of enormous lips, Angelina Jolie. So I'm going to honor your action by calling you as such.”

“You’ve just realized that?” Carla smirks from behind the counter, setting a chart up.

"I don't spend all day staring at Angelina's lips, Carla, I just don't." Dr. Cox folds his arms over his chest. "In fact, I try to avoid anything to do with her mouth, because it usually results in me being very annoyed."

Carla smiles and gestures at Newbie's mouth. “A lot of the nurses are jealous, Bambi.”

"Well, if they want to shell out as much money as Angelina, here, did, they can get some Jolie lips of their very own!"

Newbie leans back on one foot and pouts, which really just makes those womanly lips of his look even bigger. “Hey, these are all natural!”

“Oh, because that makes it s-hooo much better that you’ve simply come out of the womb being just the ultimate woman there, Angelina. Really.” Dr. Cox rolls his eyes, gives Carla a look that seems to say God, this kid, and then turns back to Angelina, looking him up and down quickly. “Now what exactly did you need there, Newbie?”

“I was wondering if you could check out this patient with me...”

Dr. Cox whistles, sticks out his hand. Newbie places the chart in his grasp with a grin and that same annoying look of admiration in his eyes that’s a tiny bit too addicting. Angelina trails behind him as they head towards the patient’s room.

As they head over, Dr. Cox glances back at Newbie, who seems to be trying to adjust his lips so that they appear smaller. Dr. Cox tries not to laugh, he really does.

But he fails.

...

Now, wait one God damned second, Dr. Cox does not in fact ever fail. He just hadn’t been trying all that hard in the first place, because where’s the fun in hiding a laugh at Newbie from Newbie?

So as Dr. Cox bursts into a hardy laugh, Angelina ducks her little head and rushes into the patient’s room ahead of him, pressing her lips tightly together.

And Dr. Cox can’t stop grinning.

11 Reasons why Dr. Cox calls JD girls names

Title: Reason 3 : Richard Simmons is a man?!
Fandom: Scrubs
Rating: PG
Genre: Humor
Summary: Dr. Cox runs into JD downing an energy drink and quickly saves the day. Written for Table #2 – Prompt #18
Notes: The Dr. Cox “saving the day” thing may be slightly out of character, but it amused me so I hope that it works.
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters or Scrubs. This is just for fun!

Where the hell is that kid?

Dr. Cox strides through the hallways, waiting impatiently for his pager to buzz with Newbie’s reply, but no such luck. He walks into the lounge and stumbles on the missing intern. He’s downing the liquid in a green can.

It’s an energy drink.

Dr. Cox’s mouth falls open. Shi-i-i-i-t!

The scene seems to slow down dramatically as he runs, legs pumping heavily, white sneakers pressing against the floor. Dr. Cox reaches out his muscular arm and swings his hand back. Ready… Aim… He reaches Newbie in record time (Dr. Cox doesn’t work out for nothing) and thwaps the can out of his hand, the liquid sprays down on top of him and over the old ratty couch beside him.

Newbie’s eyes grow wide and he bites half of his bottom lip looking a lot like a little girl who’s scoop of ice cream just took a dive from her cone to the floor. His hands are jittery as he stares up at Perry and squeaks out a, “Hey! Whaddya do that for?”

”Dear…” He takes in a deep breath. “God, Ginger, you’re already like Richard Simmons with all of that far too bubbly, squeaky, overflowing energy that I just cannot stand on its own, without the help of that crap. What the hell are you downing this shit for? Y’don’t need it. I’m 95% positive that caffeine runs through those little veins of yours. You might just go and OD on us.”

Newbie grins. “Hey! Richard Simmons! I’m compared to a guy for once! Yes!” He pumps his twitchy hands into the air and dances on the spot.

Dr. Cox rolls his eyes. Oh, this is just so no-hot going to be his victory here. If anyone’s going to have a victory dance, it’ll be… Wait.

“Now hold on just a second here, Chrissy… Richard Simmons… is a… man? Because I honestly thought that he was a she. No pain, no gain, right? All of that unnecessary energy poured into losing weight by dancing around to bad music in short shorts and a tank?” He happily provides an imitation as he mock punches the air and lifts his legs in an almost aerobic manner. “You can do it, come on! Ooh, just lift those legs high into the air …You cannot tell me that that is a man.”

“But he… what about the fro? And the- the flat chest?”

“Mmhmm…” Perry points to Newbie’s chest and then his hair. “I know you thought you were all special with just how high you’d gotten that mess you call your hair, but you’re not the only one who can manage volume there, Tina.”

Newbie looks like a fish out of water, open, close, ope-e-en… close.

Perry grins. “We’ve got a patient, Newbie. So if you’re done energizing yourself for that little sleepover you want to have later…”

“How…” Newbie gasps and stares at him with wide eyes. “How did you know about the Brady Bunch marathon Turk and I are having tonight….?”

“Oh, I just know the ways of women, Marsha.” He smirks and hits, almost ruffles the hair on the back of Newbies’s head.

His fingers don’t stick as much this time, which makes Perry’s smirk widen.

You really are my little bitch, aren’t ya there, Newbie?

As they head out into the hallway, Newbie mutters something that sounds suspiciously like ‘Ohmygod he’s watched The Brady Bunch, he knows about my Marsha!'

The Ides - The Smudged Paper

Thu, 26 Apr 2007 21:48:38 GMT

Title: The Ides - Chapter 3: The Smudged Paper
Rating: PG-13, but by movie standards R for all the cursing.
Genre: General/Angst/Humor
Summary: Maureen and Benny discuss sex again. Mark tries desperately to get to the hospital. Roger says his goodbyes. Maureen/Benny, past Roger/Collins
Notes: Chapter 3 of the story I'm writingfor lionessvalenti for an old rentficathon. Also, I realize that I've suddenly changed to present tense, but that's the tense that this story definetly needs. I'll have change the other chapters. I lied there will be more than 3 chapters. These are different versions of these characters than I'm used to writing. In fact, Roger may be a little out of character. >.> Not sure if this works for him, but yes, we'll see.
Warnings: Lot's of cursing. Talk of sex. Character death.
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters or Rent in any way shape or form.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

“I can’t believe it…”

“Yeah.”

“Collins.”

“…yeah.”

“Hey, you want to go have sex in the supply closet?”

Benny turns to stare at her, she's holding back tears, but he wouldn’t have noticed them if he didn’t know her eyes so well. “…Maureen, what the hell?”

”Okay… the girls’ bathroom?”

“Maureen.”

“The boys’ bathroom?”

“Maureen, stop.”

”Come on, we can go in the handicap stall so there’s extra space and a big, clean toilet and it’s the hospital so it’ll be completely sterile and-”

He grabs hold of her arms and pulls her close. “I thought you were giving it up.”

“I’m weak.” Her voice cracks as she tries to pull away.

“That’s what April said. And Roger.”

“I know, okay, I know, but I… Collins just looks so… so much like a stranger. I don’t even know who that is in there, but I was supposed to what? Say goodbye? This wasn't supposed to happen when I said I'd stopped. I'd just stop and not need- I just.. And where’s Mark? God damnit, he should be here or he’s going to regret it for the-“

Benny presses his lips to the top of hers and puts his hand in her hair. She quiets and leans her head against his broad chest.

“He’ll be here. I'm sure he's on his-”

“-way! You're going the wrong fucking way! Look, hey, hey driver! I just… get me to the hospital fast, okay? As fast as you can, all right! I don’t care how or anything. I need to get there right now. It’s, honest to God, a matter of li…" Mark gulps and cranes his neck to look out the window. "A matter of life or death here.”

“Look, there’s traffic and lot’s of it. It’s fuckin New York City. I’ll go as fast as I can, but that’s not going to be much faster than I’m already goin.”

Mark sighs and runs his hand over his mouth. He sits back in the chair, moves to one window and then the next and back to the original window and then to the middle of the seat, tapping his fingers on his knee cap. The motion makes a hollow thwapping sound each time the two collide.

“Could ya sit still? It’s like drivin with a five year old in the backseat! You can pay for this right?”

“Yes.” He hisses as the cab comes to another stop and he considers throwing off his cap and pulling his curly hair out from his scalp, but he doesn't think his fingers would be strong enough to provide the proper ripping force.

It’s been a long time since he’s had to deal with New York City traffic from this point of view. And it sucks. He’s decided it sucks giant, infested monkey-

The cab comes to another, sudden stop and Mark stumbles forward straight into the seat in front of him.

“Hey!”

“He-e-ey," The cab driver whirls around and glares at him. "Shuddap already! Jesus!”

“Matter of life or death!” He squeaks indignantly and stares through the cab window at the stalled traffic. Even if it did pick up, it would stall soon enough and he'd be stuck in this Hey! Matter of life or death match with the cab driver for hours.

“Fuck this.” Mark mutters and pulls out a wad of cash that’s somewhere close to the cost listed on the dial thing and throws it into the cab driver’s lap.

“The hell you doin?”

“I’m running there.” Mark pulls open the door and stumbles out as the cab lurches forward, smacking his other ankle against the door as it tries to swing shut again. Mark whirls around, sticking his head into the window. “What the fuck, man! You knew I was getting out!”

“I thought you were joking, that’s a long way to-”

He doesn’t stick around to have a conversation with the random cab driver. On any other day, he might like to discuss, but not right now. Matter of fucking life or death, right. After all, Mark’s got a conversation to have with himself to prepare as he runs down the street en route to the hospital, ducking out of the way of pedestrians. He’s been there enough times to know the way from nearly any location.

“Goddamn, Roger’s going to kill me. He’s not-”

“-going to like this, but Mark’s still not here… Uh, but I'm sure he’ll… he’ll be here soon.” And I will fucking kill him.

Roger leans against the eggshell colored wall, the small of his back presses against a bump in the molding that circles the entire room. He clutches the notebook in his shaking hands. The smudged paper is easy to look at.

The smudged Collins? Not so easy.

He can’t look at him now. Not while Roger tries to say his Goddamn goodbyes to him like this is all some stupid blockbuster movie where everyone get's to say their goodbyes just before it's too late and they get accepted apologies and confirmations and affirmations and whatever other -tion they need.

There’s that annoying, hopeful beeping sound that Roger hates and loves and stares at as it thrusts into black and back, black and back, each passing moment.

The beep is easy to look at.

The black Collins surrounded by white who's too damn still? Not so easy.

“Mark always says… that I’m so good… with words. I c- can’t be that good if I have to write it all… down before I can say it… out loud.”

Roger smiles weakly and clears his throat. Maureen had given him five dollars for food; he’d spent it on a notebook from the hospital gift shop. They sold everything in that damn store. It was almost sickening.

Or maybe it’s just the anxiety that’s making his stomach twist so intensely. It’s clearly intent on making him sick here and now. God, his hands are shaking.

Just read the damn paper. It’s not like he’s awake anyway so it doesn’t matter.

“C- Collins, I…”

It’s right there. Plain fucking lettering. Stop stuttering. Get it out. Breathe, breathe, you're in control.

“Collins, I can still remember the way you looked the first time I’d ever seen you at camp too many summers ago. Back then, everything still reeked of innocence, but we thought we were so damned experienced. The sun shined down on you and you looked like a savior to me, but it turns out you were just a counselor... not the Messiah. You took me under your wing as though you could sense how much I hated being at that camp, how much I wanted to be anywhere, but there. Everyone else struck such… fear within me, but I felt comfortable with you.”

He flips the page, takes a deep breath. There’s that annoying beep to ignore and to pay too much attention to so that maybe it drowns out the sound of his own voice. Roger doesn't sound as hopeful as the beep.

“I remember the first time we kissed. My pulse pounded heavy in my ears and my brain froze, but you were sweet and warm and safe. I think we would’ve been thrown out if we were caught, but it felt so fucking safe. Just a brush at first. And then you pulled away and you smiled and hell, I think I smiled too. I told you, ‘I’m a poet.’ And I didn’t stumble on the words not for a second. Then I think you said, ‘Well, poet, write me some poetry.’ And so I leaned forward and kissed you again.”

Roger turns the page and pauses, glancing at Collins in that damned white bed.

Mistake. Big fucking mistake.

Tears prick his eyes and he closes them tightly, turns his head toward the notebook in his hand again. His throat is tight; he tries, unsuccessfully, to swallow past it. So now he’s coughing on tears or grief or whatever the hell is closing up the back of his throat. Fuck.

He sinks to the floor, knees to his chest, notebook on his legs, and head pressed against the flat, white paper.

“It was just one summer, but I remember it more vividly than I remember my mother’s smile or… or the sound of April’s laughter. The whole damn summer, all of it, better than those small moments. I remember every second with you and we never talked about it after, but I’ve always wanted to tell you what it had meant to me, how much it helped… me… in high school. I never could bring it up. Not till now, of course, when you can’t respond and tell me that you don't remember it. Yeah, I know... ridiculous."

Roger swallows, runs his fingers through his brown, spiky hair, and stands. He paces, as though building the courage to stop in front of Collins’ bed and just stare down at him for once, but he can’t stop. Just keeps pacing back and forth across the room. His fingers go through his hair over and over.

”C-collins you c-can’t! You c-can't do this! I’m f- falling apart here. I don’t want to say goodbye. This is stupid." His voice is so high and stretched out that he doesn't even recognize it. "This isn’t you here. This isn’t- Fuck. F-f-fuck. I’m scared and you’re not lookin like the sun’s s-shinin down… on you now. I...’m-” He clutches his stomach and groans, curling his hand into a fist and pressing it deep into the empty space in the bed.

Roger’s head is spinning to add to the nausea. It’s not a feeling that’s unfamiliar to him, but it’s been awhile.

“Please j-j-just… I…” God, where is that fucking notebook? Isn’t there more there for him to say there instead of stumbling around like a complete fucking idiot out here in the white, empty…

“Roger…?”

Collins lets out his breath in an odd, gasping way. Roger’s by his side, gripping his hand so tightly that he may have heard or felt or heardfelt knuckles crack against his palm. He sighs and presses close.

“Collins? It’s me. I’m here. I’m right here.”

Collins struggles with the air around him.

Roger wants to call for help, but his voice catches in his throat along with those tears and the grief and that Goddamn stuttering, stumbling yell he hasn’t let forth yet.

Each breath is a battle for the thin, sweaty man on the bed.

Collins is losing the war.

Someone should help him.

He’s DNR.

That’s how they say it. Roger wishes they wouldn’t say it. He wishes they would see him now, hand tight around one of his best friend’s, tears dripping down his face; see how much he needs just what a DR on his best friend could give him.

Fuck.

Roger kisses Collins’ sweaty hand. If Mark were here he wouldn’t be allowed this close, not lips touching germy hands. Mark’s not here. Roger’s shaking, tear dripped lips linger on Collins’ hand for too long. It's not long enough.

Collins almost smiles, faded teeth peek through, white on dark on white.

And then the annoying, hopeful beeps stop thrusting into darkness over and over. The beeping, thrusting line falls flat and so does Collins, limp on the bed, eyes closed. His teeth visible still.

White on dark on white.

The door opens. They’re surrounded by an ocean of white coats and scrubs. Maybe it’s more of a stream. How many doctors does it take to pronounce a time of death? One. And a nurse who pulls a sheet over Collins.

White on white on white.

Roger’s hand has slipped away from Collins'. It feels cold and empty. He wipes his face, but the tears haven't stopped. He doesn't notice them anymore. He doesn't notice the dull thud of the flip being switched and the beeping diminishing to silence. He doesn't notice that the only sound in the room is the clip clop of the doctor's shoes against the concrete floor. Roger can't even feel the hand on his shoulder or he might have shaken it off.

“We’ll give you some time.” The coat says before it leaves, followed quickly by pink scrubs.

How much time?

They can’t give him time. Not enough time to make a difference. Not enough to say goodbye. Not like he’d meant to and not like Collins deserved. And Oh, God... Mark.

Roger’s battling fury and an internal breakdown. It’s not the kind of battle that can be won. A cracked, poor excuse for a wail breaks away from his lungs, his throat, his mouth and then reverberates against the eggshell walls.

He falls to his knees, head bent low, forehead pressed against the metal on the white on white on white bed.

Roger tries to tear out his hair,

but his fingers are too weak.

Thu, 26 Apr 2007 18:55:53 GMT

I dunno what verse this is! YAY, but they just sort of appeared in the chapter fic that I'm writing for lionessvalenti...the one that I've been writing for Rent Ficathon for a while... *cough* Sadly, they did not actually appear as WEEEE we are new versions of these characters until the third chapter that I'm in the middle of writing now. WOOH.

Image references and stuff for them, cause it's necessary.

Mark is based off of Gavin DeGraw.

I think he may be able to play the piano... I haven't decided yet, but wouldn't it be neat? I could imagine his mom making him take lessons. Hee!

And Maureen is the girl in that video.

I think I shall name this the youngverse.... >.> They both look a lot younger than I'm used to writing Mark and Roger, but I don't think they're actually that young. They just look very young to me.

Thu, 26 Apr 2007 18:21:13 GMT

Just keeping track of the images and some notes for each character in different versions of them and the Rent world. >.> Yeah, I'm cool. Feel free to ignore, it's more for my own benefit. ^^"

my April world: So named, because it all started with a version of April.

Based off of Chantal Kreviazuk

April first moved to NYC:

April when she meets Roger:

Roger is based off of Keith Urban. No really, Keith.

Mark is based off of Adam Rickitt

Blasted product!

Sun, 15 Apr 2007 23:51:29 GMT

I just joined 11_reasons and though they haven't accepted my claim yet, I wrote my first fic. I claimed Cox and JD.

11 Reasons why Dr. Cox calls JD girls names

Title: Reason 1 : Smothering Insects
Fandom: Scrubs
Rating: PG
Genre: Humor
Summary: Dr. Cox rants a lot about the copious amounts of product in JD's hair. Written for Prompt #10 of Table 1 - Hair.
Notes: My first ever Scrubs fic! Ee! After I finish these 11 reasons, I'm planning on writing a slash version of them. :D Yay slash...though some of these will undoubtedly border on slash.
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters or Scrubs. This is just for fun!

Table 1 - Prompt 10 – Hair

Marissa’s hair feels like oil.

There’s so much product in it that it could smother a small colony of insects.

And Newbie doesn’t understand the reason for all the girls names, but re-heally is it that hard to figure out?

The very fact that the product in her hair could so effectively smother insects makes Newbie a girl. A real man kills bugs quickly or hell, takes the damned thing outside. Little girls scream and prance around, extending the poor, winged bastard's death for as long as possible by swatting with a blunt object like a shoe, and continuously missing its head or vital organs, but instead smashing a wing or a leg or some other limb that causes the bug a whole hell of a lot of pain, but no release.

Jordan makes Perry Cox feel like a bug sometimes… most of the time.

Sometimes, like today, Perry forgets about the insect-smothering amount of product in Newbie’s hair, and smacks him in the back of his head to get his attention only to find his fingers sticking in the dark mess with Gu-hawd only knows how many different kinds of product in it.

In this instance, Newbie yelps and jumps forward, away from the hand that delivered the painful head smack.

Perry cringes at the sticky substance that slides on to his hand and wipes his fingers on the kid’s scrubs. “Trying to kill insects with your hair, Priscilla?”

“What? I-”

Perry whistles and points forward. Not in the mood to explain himself.

Newbie follows like the good, little Newbie he is. A bitch to train, but damn, isn’t it worth it in the end to see that little, fluffy head cocked high, the just oh, s-ho adorable legs pumping forward. A bright shiny ribbon in those damned sticky locks.

He stops so abruptly that Newbie walks right into his back. Perry whirls around and growls.

“What?” Newbie yelps... again, eyes wide as he limply folds his arms over his chest as though that could actually provide some defense. “Don’t stop so fast if you don’t want me touching you!”

Perry rolls his eyes. “Shut it. Look, Danielle, I know how important it is for you to look just your absolute best for all those guys out there in the desperate, but fleeting hope that one of them just might take a gander at you and snatch you right up into his arms and carry you to the nearest chapel.”

Newbie sighs and has that look on his face, the 'Oh God, why me' look that makes Perry grin.

“But puh-lease, Cheyenne, and when I say puh-lease, don't think it's because I’m asking, because I’m not. I just know how you’ll go ahead and say 'Yes!' to any man that says pretty please even after you’ve protested, ‘No, no, I’m a good, decent little girl, I am’, but I am tu-helling you, for the love of God, the ozone layer, tiny insects all around the world, and most importantly,” He points two thumbs at his chest. “me put one less bottle of hair gel on in the morning, K?”

“As much as I’m enjoying this right now, uh, Dr. Cox and I am... y'know I always love hearing you go on and on about how much of a girl I am.” Oh, Newbie's showing something that vaguely resembles attitude this morning! How fun for me. Perry cracks his knuckles as Newbie continues. “But if you’re done with the whole rant… thing, can we just go ahead and see the patient or whatever you needed-”

Perry's grin widens. “Oh, that’s all I needed, Newbie.”

The kid lets out a large sigh and waves his hands up in the air helplessly. “So all of that, the whole whistle-I-follow thing and the you're so feminine with your gel and your hair grooming was just to tell me that... I’m a girl?”

“No. Well…” Perry bites his bottom lip, tilts his head to the side, and pretends to debate that something that he said to Newbie did not in some way go back to reiterating the fact that Newbie is a girl. “Well, yes. But I also re-heally want you to cut out a bottle of hair product every day"

Newbie's eyebrow raises as he stares. “Why is it such a big deal to you anyway?”

“It’s not.” He folds his arms, high and tense, across his oh so manly chest. “It’s just I don’t want to hit you in the back of the head in the future, as I so often have the urge to do, and suddenly find my fingers are stuck right in that sticky mess of yours that you call hair. Because th-en we'd have to spend hours trying to pry my fingers from your head. So really, to avoid all of that extra trouble, couldja use just one less bottle in the morning… is that too much to ask, Shirley?”

“Yes.” Newbie mumbles, putting his hands on his hips in an attempt to look indignant. “And don’t call me Shirley.”

“What?”

He grins nervously. “Y’know it’s the… thing that people say all the time… when you say the word surely, they’re all, ‘Don’t be callin me Shirley.’ And-”

“Go. Just go.”

“Okay, wha-a-atever.” Newbie twirls, yes, twirls around and practically prances off down the hallway.

Perry rubs his hand over his face and resists the urge to find a blow torch and light all that product on Marissa's head on fire. Just go ahead and see who's prancing away then!

I need to kill something.

The Ides - The Eclipse

Sun, 15 Apr 2007 18:34:17 GMT

Lookie here, I'm actually posting writing for once on my writing journal! It's a miracle!

If you haven't read Chapter 1, it's Here.

Title: The Ides - Chapter 2: The Eclipse
Rating: PG-13, but by movie standards R for all the cursing.
Genre: General/Angst/Humor
Summary: Maureen and Benny drive to the hospital. Mark finds himself in a bar, rambles on to someone who doesn't care, and runs into an old 'friend'. past and maybe future Mark/The Man. sort of present Maureen/Benny. Flashing neon hints at Mark/Roger.
Notes: Chapter 2 of the story I wrote for lionessvalenti for rentficathon. These are different versions of these characters than I'm used to writing.
Warnings: Past character deaths are mentioned. Lot's of cursing. Eventual character death.
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters or Rent in any way shape or form.

When they got in the car, Maureen leaned her head against the window.

Benny glanced at her, but as always, he found his head too far up his ass to formulate any kind of real comfort. Sorry your friend is dying. That sucks. was the best his brain could come up with.

And there was the added complication that Collins had been his friend too. Hell, he still considered him a distant friend or at least someone that he cared about.

Sucks…wasn’t there a better word?

Time to try again…

Sorry our friend is dying. This blows…. Let’s fuck?

Not working. His brain froze when it came to death. In a hospital, waiting for the doctor to walk out with that vaguely compassionate frown, Benny could only think about four very basic desires: food, water, sex, and shelter from the storm of emotions that poured from every other, actual human being around.

If he could just keep his mouth shut, his dick in his pants, and make it seem like he was actually interested in the newspaper that hid his face from view… he might survive tonight without someone thinking he was a gigantic asshole again. Not that he cared, but an asshole on top of a dying friend would certainly be the cherry on a sundae of hell that Benny didn’t want to be the one to serve tonight.

Maureen turned from the window to look at him. “Are you all right?”

Ask her if she wants to have a quickie before we head insi- Fuck! Benny bit his tongue, turned the yelp of pain into a cough, and nodded, staring at the road.

“And where the hell is Mark?” Maureen said as they pulled into the hospital parking lot. “I can’t believe he’d just leave! He should be with-”

“Roger right now… and Collins.” Mark said, staring into the mug in his hand. “I should be with them, but… ‘m not. I’m here. I don’t even know why. I keep thinking about who’s next after this and what that means." He took a big swig, winced, and swallowed. "I hate death… and AIDs… you can’t make jokes about them. Alcohol’s not my thing. It’s what Roger did after Mimi died… he’s at the hospital now, but I’m not-. He should be there at least." Mark paused, finished the mug in his hand. "See, I sent him with cab fare and made sure he got in the cab, got in myself, and told the cab driver to go to the hospital, told Roger not to follow me, then… just jumped out… at the last second… I hit my ankle on the door as it drove away. It was all very dramatic. Cinematically worthy material really.”

“Look, I don’t care. As long as you can pay for all of this, I don’t give a damn about your problems." The bartender said. He was tall. He looked like he should be some kind of bouncer instead, but there he stood behind the counter, cleaning a glass with a scowl. "Everyone’s got problems and they think I want to listen to them. I don’t.”

“Asshole.” He muttered. “See if I ever come… to drink here ag- again.”

“Yeah, well, see if you remember a damn thing I said tomorrow.” The bartender cleared off some of the empty bottles. “You’ve got the money for this right?”

”Yep. Just took out every last cent of my paycheck for this." Mark slammed it all down on the bar. “It’s right here. And I’ll… remember. I will.”

“Yeah, sure. Hey… I think this is too much.”

“I don’t care." He waved a lazy hand. "Keep it.”

Mark left his seat and made it two steps outside. Damn, I must be really drunk if I- His eyes widened and he whirled around, heading back inside. The bartender had his change gathered up already. Mark grabbed the money, and proclaimed once again: “I won’t forget!”

The bartender grunted in response. Mark left, money in hand, proud that he did not stumble out the door, but managed a line that was near perfectly horizontal.

As he continued, the line squiggled, became horizontal again, squiggle, horizontal, squiggle and then the line careened into a wall. Its not that Mark can’t handle his alcohol, his stomach has become almost immune to its effects at this point. However, the tight clenching, rolling of his stomach began the moment he’d answered the phone to hear Collins' weak voice on the other line and it seemed to climax now.

Heh, climax. If only. Oh, fuck, I need to get laid. And I need to go to the hospital. Shit. What if Roger bolted? Collins could be completely alone. Damnit. Need to call… Maureen and Joanne and hell, even, Benny, and-

“Hey, kid.”

Mark looked up, the very sound of that voice made him feel surprisingly sober. His jaw clenched. “Jason.”

He was leaning on the brick wall next to him, smirking, and rolling a cigarette between his dark fingers. His hair fell in front of his eyes just like Roger’s always did and he was staring in that dark, far off way that, again, reminded Mark of who he should really be with right now.

“For God’s sake, Jason, what?” Mark had his back against the wall. “What do you want?”

Jason smiled, put the cigarette to his lips and breathed in, then out. The trail of smoke hit Mark in the face. He coughed and sputtered; his jaw clenched so tightly it felt like it’d break right off.

“You okay, kid?”

“No.” He said, and then, “Don’t you have shit to sell to someone.”

Jason shook his head, smashed the cigarette into the wall.

“I thought you said you’d quit.” Mark muttered.

“I thought you said you loved me.” He smirked as though the distant pained look in his eyes wasn’t actually there. “And fuck, you gotta know I been doin worse shit since then.”

“…I did love you.”

“Nah. You wanted to. Maybe. Who knows, y’know? But ya didn’t. It was him." Jason laughed and shook his head. "Always fuckin him.”

Mark’s jaw screamed as he forced the words, the emotions inside. If he believed in God, he might ask Him, why the fuck today? All this time and it was today that Jason decided to run into him. On any other day, they’d ignore each other. “This is not the time. We went through this before. It’s been… years. So it’s… it’s over. Fuck, it’s been over, Jason. What the hell are you doing here?”

He moved closer, pressed his body to Mark’s side. “I missed you.”

“Jason.” His lips closed, body tensed.

Jason grabbed his shoulder, pulling him around and kissing him. Gentle and needy and all too familiar. Mark could taste the cigarettes. It reminded him of weekends spent at his Uncle’s as a teenager, scrubbing his clothes and body for hours afterwards to get the dirty, fucking smell off.

More than that, more than the dirty fucking taste of cigarettes, he hated the intoxication those lips brought.

Mark grabbed Jason’s shoulders, fingers clenched around the fabric of his shirt like claws digging in. He pushed him uagainst the wall, feasted on his neck with a few quick bites, hard kisses that left angry red in their wake. And then back to the lips, shoving top and bottom, and bottom and top together. It forced them both to struggle to breathe, suffocating, and pressing so hard there may have been blood in the clash of teeth and tongue and sweet and need.

Jason’s hair fell against Mark’s face, clinging to the sweat that rolled down his forehead. It was a hot July afternoon after all. Mark had almost forgotten in the commotion of… everything. He could feel the rays of the sun burning his skin, but he pressed on. His eyes opened. Jason didn’t have that far-off stare any longer, but a different familiar expression… Mark broke away, wiped his forehead with the back of his hand.

Shit. Roger. Hospital. Collins. Gotta get the hell out of here before I add fucking someone to got drunk in a bar and made out in the alley with your ole’ drug dealer, Rodge. They’ll be able to smell the sex on me and that’ll go over just real peachy I’m sure.

“I have to go… to the hospital.” He said, panting.

“Yeah.” Jason breathed, pulled away from the wall, and ran his fingers through his hair just like- “You taste like beer.”

“You taste like smoke.”

He smiled. “Think it’s the cigarettes?”

“Maybe…” Mark almost smiled, but shook his head instead and didn’t look in case another expression would remind him of where he should be. “Why did… you-”

“Never stopped.”

“What?”

“You know what.” Jason said, and Mark did, of course, but it’d been awhile since he’d heard anyone tell him that they loved him. “What're ya gonna do?”

“What do you mean?”

“All your friends are sick, right? I should know, cause you blame me for him… and her, too, it’s kinda part of what pulled the axe down on… us-”

“Jason.”

“Right… to the fuckin point.” He sighed, and then smirked, pulling another damn cigarette out of his jean pocket. “Your friends are dyin or dead. Who you gonna turn to when that final one bites the dust, huh?”

“Shut up.” Mark knew he should leave. It would be a good idea to just walk away, but his feet were planted firmly on the bright concrete sidewalk, his legs felt like stone.

“You’re gonna be lonely.” Jason lit the cigarette, pressing it between his fingers. “You’re already lonely. Where you gonna go? Who you gonna go to when there ain’t no one around, cept me and you?”

“Jason, I don’t-”

He took Mark’s arm, pulled him close, and placed his other hand at the back of Mark’s neck. His fingers ran through the sweaty, blond hair as he leaned forward. Mark could feel his lips curl into a smirk against his face. Jason’s heated breath hit his ear roughly as it left Jason’s parted, smirking lips.

“Me. You can come to me.”

The sun burned, but he felt cold.

“You can even pretend like I’m him…” Jason whispered, smirking still. He pulled away and looked Mark in the eyes. “Again.”

Mark wanted to tell him never, but his jaw clenched so tight his whole head might crack open if he tried to move it.

Jason waved as he backed away, cigarette between his teeth, he pulled it out with two fingers. “Have fun at the hospital.”

Mark hissed out a breath finally and shook his head. “Our relationship wasn’t this fucked up when we actually had one, was it?”

“Nah.” Jason shook his head and smiled, genuine and oh so familiar, but for the first time it was a reminder of a relationship, once loved and had and lost and not of where he should be. “When you block out the sun, Mark, everything get’s a little fucked.”

Jason left. Mark leaned against the brick wall, head tilted back as he stared at the sky. What in the holy fuck was that supposed to mean?

His head split, screamed, pounded like a heavy fist. It was funny that he didn’t notice it till then.

You can even pretend like I’m him…

Mark had finally relaxed enough to apparently give his vomit reflex the go-ahead. He puked on the wall he leaned against, back and chest heaving.

An olive splatter against red brick.

He wiped his mouth, and then the sweat off his forehead.

Hospital. Now.

Mon, 26 Feb 2007 07:23:19 GMT

So I keep getting all of these different versions of these characters in my head and I'm never going to be able to write them all, but I wish I could.

Tonight I've totally started to think up a WoodyAllen!Mark in my head.

I mean, imagine this...

This one is amazing when I think of it in terms of Mark.

as a version of Mark... obviously, much younger and he wouldn't look like Woody Allen, but a Mark with Woody Allen's personality... holy shit that just amuses me. :-) I'm not even sure how well this would work, because... pessimistic Mark? But Woody Allen can be hopeful sometimes. Of course the rare moment he feels the hope, his dreams are crushed. He's just extremely neurotic, which I would love to see to this degree in a Mark.

Now I have to come up with a Roger and company to go with him, but y'know.... ^_^"

April!verse will have some real competition, because WA!Mark is sitting right next to her... not asking, but just sitting there, being his little neurotic self.