Comment Fics: 4 TSCC and 1 Burn Notice
Jan. 15th, 2009 11:21 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ficwizeSo, I wrote these. And figured I'd share. :)
Title: Dancing King
Prompt: Derek Reese, dancing, window
Derek's first high school dance was a disaster. He spent the almost the entire night hiding in the bathroom after his date spilled punch down his shirt and then left him in a huff after he yelled at her. If he thought he could stand the humiliation, he would have called his mom and asked her to come and get him.
Still, he'd stuck it out and by the end of the night, thanks to his friends sneaking him some of the more "festive" punch, he didn't care any longer what he looked like. It was a good thing, too. He was a terrible dancer.
When the world ended, Derek forgot about the horror of high school dances. Humiliation faded into meaningless compared to starvation and radiation and deprivation. Besides, he was pretty sure that the girl who'd made his life hell hadn't survived to see what real hell was like.
When he went back to the past, on days when he was left home alone, sometimes he would throw open the curtains to the windows, turn up the radio to hear the same favorite songs that he used to know still on the radio, and he would dance.
He was still a terrible dancer. But he no longer cared.
Title: Mother of All Destiny
Prompt: Sarah Connor, childbirth
The labor pains hit when they were still too far away from their destination. For a while, Sarah struggled on in silence. She pushed away the fear that maybe it wouldn't be a machine to take her precious son away from her, but her own stupidity for deciding to hike through the South American jungle when she was nine months pregnant.
When she couldn't stay silent anymore, she gasped and bent forward, hands moving protectively around her belly. The guerrillas paused, looking at her with expressions that were hard to read.
"Crazy woman," she heard some of them muttering. But one man came to her side, his hand pressing gently on her stomach as he helped her move to a small clearing off the path. "You will not make it, Madre. We must stop here."
"I'm not a mother yet," Sarah protested, wanting to keep pushing forward until they reached the village.
"Si, but soon. You will learn, it is not always what you want, senora, but what the bebé wants."
Sarah bit back the urge to burst into hysterical laughter. "You have no idea," she managed to gasp out between contraction pains.
"I will help you, Madre. It will be okay."
The next half a day was the most terrifying of Sarah's life, worse than the Terminator, worse than the day she buried Kyle and was convinced that she'd be caught by another machine even as she grieved.
When the baby's wail broke through the darkness of the jungle, held back by the fires that the guerrillas had lit to keep the animals away from the smell of blood, Sarah wept. The man who had helped her, carefully wrapped the infant and pressed him into her arms. "A fine boy, Madre. I told you it would be all right."
Sarah gazed at her son, her perfect wonderful beautiful son who had Kyle's nose and mouth, and she didn't know how to tell the man who had risked everything to just help her that nothing would ever be all right again.
Title: The Fairest One of All
Prompt: John Connor, mirror
John spent ten minutes every morning staring at himself in the mirror. He would turn from side to side, studying the changes on his body, the growth of muscles (and hair), the latest scars or bruises. He shaved carefully, even before he technically needed to, and got close enough to the mirror that he could see individual pores. He studied his expressions, the lines that would appear on his forehead when he frowned, and the way that his eyes tightened when he was angry.
He studied all of it and wondered which of those characteristics would mean that he had finally turned into the Great and Wonderful John Connor.
After Derek arrived, he quit doing that as often. Instead, he studied his uncle with the same careful reserve. When Derek talked about The John Connor (there was always a capital The), his mouth would tighten into a scowl. He never said, but John could tell that Derek though that The John Connor was a prick. When Derek spoke directly to him, though, his face wasn't so structured - there were fewer lines, less annoyance around the lips, more amusement in the eyes.
As long as Derek looked at him like that, John felt like he was still himself. He never told anyone, not his mother, not Cameron, and certainly not Derek, but John hated everything about The John Connor.
Sometimes, he wondered if he were given a choice, what he would choose. Save the world? Or save himself?
It was a good thing he was never given a choice.
Title: Pack Mentality
Prompt: Cameron Phillips, puppy
It was small, probably not yet an adult. It couldn't have weighed more than fifteen pounds, and yet the tiny dog threw itself between Cameron and the little girl holding its leash and barked and growled as if it were the size of a Great Dane. It barked so hard that it lifted itself off its own feet.
"Baron, hush!" The little girl scolded the puppy, but it didn't listen to her. Instead, it continued to snarl at Cameron, clearly warning her to stay away - keep her distance.
"I'm so sorry!" An adult woman scurried over to help her daughter, taking the leash and physically pulling the puppy away from John and Cameron, where they walked through the park. "I have no idea what got into him. He's normally so sweet."
"Dogs have good instincts." Cameron replied, without realizing how it would sound. The woman stepped between her and the little girl now, too.
"That's what I've heard."
"Sorry, ma'am." John grabbed Cameron's arm and pushed her away, following quickly. "My sister has that affect on dogs." Cameron wasn't watching, but she suspected John was trying to give the woman that look that meant that something unspeakable was wrong with Cameron.
"Ohh," the woman sounded more relaxed. Obviously, she'd gotten John's unspoken message. "It's quite all right. I'm still sorry we bothered you. Have a nice afternoon."
"You too!" John called back over his shoulder. He let go of Cameron and the two of them continued to walk through the park.
"I wouldn't have hurt the dog." Cameron finally broke the silence.
"I know."
"I could have, though." Cameron continued, thoughtfully. "It had to know that I would have killed it if we had engaged in a fight."
"I don't know if it did or not." John sounded uncomfortable.
"Why would it still try to protect the girl? At the expense of its own life?"
"Because," John finally answered as they turned down a side street towards home. "It thinks she's part of his pack."
"I don't understand." Cameron frowned. "It would not be in danger if my target was the girl. It would survive if it sacrificed the girl."
"It's a dog." John said, as if that explained it. "It will protect her if he can. That's what dogs do."
"Why?"
"Because it loves her."
"Why?"
John hesitated. "I don't know. But that's just the way it works. Some animals protect the ones they love, no matter what the cost to themselves."
"Oh." Cameron caught sight of Sarah through the window as she and John went up the stairs. "I understand now. Thank you for explaining."
Burn Notice
Title: Bullet Casings
Prompt: Fiona, is an empty gun her worst fear
Fiona pressed her back against the brick wall, sweat dripping down her face, empty gun held uselessly in her hands. She berated herself for not carrying more back up firepower, but of course, three clips had seemed reasonable for a bank heist.
Too bad it had been a set up. Holding her breath, she glanced around the corner, jerking back as she saw weapons turn towards her. The echoing retorts told her that she'd barely missed being shot.
Glancing in the other direction, she saw no escape. Her heartbeat slowed to a steady thud. She wouldn't go to jail, not now, not ever. Standing, she took a steadying breath. She would stand proudly when they shot her - no begging, no pleading.
Spine straight, Fiona stepped around the edge of the wall. She didn't raise her hands, instead she lifted the empty gun into a threatening posture. She was expecting to be shot a dozen times over before she made it three steps. She was not expecting the rear of the room to explode into fire and chaos.
The concussion threw her ten feet across the room and she lay in dazed stupor until strong hands lifted her bodily from the rubble. "You can be lazy later if you'd like," Michael's voice whispered past the ringing in her ears. "Right now, we need to run."
Fiona nodded, her lips curving in a smile. Glancing down, she realized that she still held the empty gun. Of course, she'd never tell Michael that she'd run out of bullets. There were some things she just couldn't face.
Title: Dancing King
Prompt: Derek Reese, dancing, window
Derek's first high school dance was a disaster. He spent the almost the entire night hiding in the bathroom after his date spilled punch down his shirt and then left him in a huff after he yelled at her. If he thought he could stand the humiliation, he would have called his mom and asked her to come and get him.
Still, he'd stuck it out and by the end of the night, thanks to his friends sneaking him some of the more "festive" punch, he didn't care any longer what he looked like. It was a good thing, too. He was a terrible dancer.
When the world ended, Derek forgot about the horror of high school dances. Humiliation faded into meaningless compared to starvation and radiation and deprivation. Besides, he was pretty sure that the girl who'd made his life hell hadn't survived to see what real hell was like.
When he went back to the past, on days when he was left home alone, sometimes he would throw open the curtains to the windows, turn up the radio to hear the same favorite songs that he used to know still on the radio, and he would dance.
He was still a terrible dancer. But he no longer cared.
Title: Mother of All Destiny
Prompt: Sarah Connor, childbirth
The labor pains hit when they were still too far away from their destination. For a while, Sarah struggled on in silence. She pushed away the fear that maybe it wouldn't be a machine to take her precious son away from her, but her own stupidity for deciding to hike through the South American jungle when she was nine months pregnant.
When she couldn't stay silent anymore, she gasped and bent forward, hands moving protectively around her belly. The guerrillas paused, looking at her with expressions that were hard to read.
"Crazy woman," she heard some of them muttering. But one man came to her side, his hand pressing gently on her stomach as he helped her move to a small clearing off the path. "You will not make it, Madre. We must stop here."
"I'm not a mother yet," Sarah protested, wanting to keep pushing forward until they reached the village.
"Si, but soon. You will learn, it is not always what you want, senora, but what the bebé wants."
Sarah bit back the urge to burst into hysterical laughter. "You have no idea," she managed to gasp out between contraction pains.
"I will help you, Madre. It will be okay."
The next half a day was the most terrifying of Sarah's life, worse than the Terminator, worse than the day she buried Kyle and was convinced that she'd be caught by another machine even as she grieved.
When the baby's wail broke through the darkness of the jungle, held back by the fires that the guerrillas had lit to keep the animals away from the smell of blood, Sarah wept. The man who had helped her, carefully wrapped the infant and pressed him into her arms. "A fine boy, Madre. I told you it would be all right."
Sarah gazed at her son, her perfect wonderful beautiful son who had Kyle's nose and mouth, and she didn't know how to tell the man who had risked everything to just help her that nothing would ever be all right again.
Title: The Fairest One of All
Prompt: John Connor, mirror
John spent ten minutes every morning staring at himself in the mirror. He would turn from side to side, studying the changes on his body, the growth of muscles (and hair), the latest scars or bruises. He shaved carefully, even before he technically needed to, and got close enough to the mirror that he could see individual pores. He studied his expressions, the lines that would appear on his forehead when he frowned, and the way that his eyes tightened when he was angry.
He studied all of it and wondered which of those characteristics would mean that he had finally turned into the Great and Wonderful John Connor.
After Derek arrived, he quit doing that as often. Instead, he studied his uncle with the same careful reserve. When Derek talked about The John Connor (there was always a capital The), his mouth would tighten into a scowl. He never said, but John could tell that Derek though that The John Connor was a prick. When Derek spoke directly to him, though, his face wasn't so structured - there were fewer lines, less annoyance around the lips, more amusement in the eyes.
As long as Derek looked at him like that, John felt like he was still himself. He never told anyone, not his mother, not Cameron, and certainly not Derek, but John hated everything about The John Connor.
Sometimes, he wondered if he were given a choice, what he would choose. Save the world? Or save himself?
It was a good thing he was never given a choice.
Title: Pack Mentality
Prompt: Cameron Phillips, puppy
It was small, probably not yet an adult. It couldn't have weighed more than fifteen pounds, and yet the tiny dog threw itself between Cameron and the little girl holding its leash and barked and growled as if it were the size of a Great Dane. It barked so hard that it lifted itself off its own feet.
"Baron, hush!" The little girl scolded the puppy, but it didn't listen to her. Instead, it continued to snarl at Cameron, clearly warning her to stay away - keep her distance.
"I'm so sorry!" An adult woman scurried over to help her daughter, taking the leash and physically pulling the puppy away from John and Cameron, where they walked through the park. "I have no idea what got into him. He's normally so sweet."
"Dogs have good instincts." Cameron replied, without realizing how it would sound. The woman stepped between her and the little girl now, too.
"That's what I've heard."
"Sorry, ma'am." John grabbed Cameron's arm and pushed her away, following quickly. "My sister has that affect on dogs." Cameron wasn't watching, but she suspected John was trying to give the woman that look that meant that something unspeakable was wrong with Cameron.
"Ohh," the woman sounded more relaxed. Obviously, she'd gotten John's unspoken message. "It's quite all right. I'm still sorry we bothered you. Have a nice afternoon."
"You too!" John called back over his shoulder. He let go of Cameron and the two of them continued to walk through the park.
"I wouldn't have hurt the dog." Cameron finally broke the silence.
"I know."
"I could have, though." Cameron continued, thoughtfully. "It had to know that I would have killed it if we had engaged in a fight."
"I don't know if it did or not." John sounded uncomfortable.
"Why would it still try to protect the girl? At the expense of its own life?"
"Because," John finally answered as they turned down a side street towards home. "It thinks she's part of his pack."
"I don't understand." Cameron frowned. "It would not be in danger if my target was the girl. It would survive if it sacrificed the girl."
"It's a dog." John said, as if that explained it. "It will protect her if he can. That's what dogs do."
"Why?"
"Because it loves her."
"Why?"
John hesitated. "I don't know. But that's just the way it works. Some animals protect the ones they love, no matter what the cost to themselves."
"Oh." Cameron caught sight of Sarah through the window as she and John went up the stairs. "I understand now. Thank you for explaining."
Burn Notice
Title: Bullet Casings
Prompt: Fiona, is an empty gun her worst fear
Fiona pressed her back against the brick wall, sweat dripping down her face, empty gun held uselessly in her hands. She berated herself for not carrying more back up firepower, but of course, three clips had seemed reasonable for a bank heist.
Too bad it had been a set up. Holding her breath, she glanced around the corner, jerking back as she saw weapons turn towards her. The echoing retorts told her that she'd barely missed being shot.
Glancing in the other direction, she saw no escape. Her heartbeat slowed to a steady thud. She wouldn't go to jail, not now, not ever. Standing, she took a steadying breath. She would stand proudly when they shot her - no begging, no pleading.
Spine straight, Fiona stepped around the edge of the wall. She didn't raise her hands, instead she lifted the empty gun into a threatening posture. She was expecting to be shot a dozen times over before she made it three steps. She was not expecting the rear of the room to explode into fire and chaos.
The concussion threw her ten feet across the room and she lay in dazed stupor until strong hands lifted her bodily from the rubble. "You can be lazy later if you'd like," Michael's voice whispered past the ringing in her ears. "Right now, we need to run."
Fiona nodded, her lips curving in a smile. Glancing down, she realized that she still held the empty gun. Of course, she'd never tell Michael that she'd run out of bullets. There were some things she just couldn't face.
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no subject
Date: 2009-02-18 04:48 pm (UTC)