comment_fic 832-836: Bones, HL, TW, WC
Oct. 29th, 2013 12:36 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tigriswolfTitle: Gorgomon
Fandom: Bones
Disclaimer: not my characters
Warnings: AU (that could secretly be canon, you never know); mentions of violence/death
Pairings: none
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 430
Point of view: third
Prompt: Any, any + any, one of them is pretending to be a monster and the other is pretending not to be.
"So, Zack," Lance asks cheerfully, sitting down across the table, "how was this week?"
"It was quiet, Dr. Sweets," Zack answers solemnly.
Lance smiles at him, pulling out a notepad and a pen. "Have you thought about what I told you, about the master and logic?"
"Yes," Zack says, nodding. "The Master's logic was flawed. I have realized several points wherein his logic failed."
"The master," Lance tells him. "Don't capitalize it in your mind, Zack. He wasn't your master; he was just a man, as fallible as every other man."
Zack nods again, tilting his head as he thinks about that. Lance waits, gently tapping the pen against the paper. After a moment, Lance says, "Tell me about these points of failed logic."
He takes no notes; he simply listens.
After their session is done, just before Lance unlocks the door, Lance asks, "You still don't want Dr. Brennan to know?"
Zack shakes his head.
"Okay," Lance says, "if you're sure. I'll see you in two weeks, Zack."
That night, Lance flips through the Gorgomon file again, putting a few jotted lines in at the back, for this week's session.
Just before he closes the file, he glances at the picture of Gorgomon sprawled on the ground, Booth's bullets in his chest. He taps his finger against Gorgomon's head, smiling.
(The apprentice is expendable.
Gorgomon's name was Will Daniels, he lived off his master's funds, he had no job, had no friends, had no life.
Gorgomon was a nobody, an invisible man, angry at history for not seeing him.
Gorgomon is both senile and dead; the apprentice is locked away.)
Lance Sweets sleeps easily, and in the morning, he goes to work, profiles on demand for Booth and Brennan, eats a quick lunch, interrogates a suspected killer for Booth, jots down a few ideas for his next book, counsels an agent, has dinner with Daisy, takes a shower, reads a couple case files for tomorrow, and heads to bed.
Life's pretty good and he already knows who's next.
Title: those who wander
Fandom: Highlander
Disclaimer: not my characters; title from Tolkien
Warnings: future!fic. ish. AUish? Look, it's really frickin' weird, okay?
Pairings: none
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 550
Point of view: third
Prompt: Highlander, Methos, Renewed shall be the blade that was broken / the crownless again shall be king
once, a very long time ago, when the sky was young and the ground stretched out forever below it, there was a throne. all things living bowed to it and the one who sat thereon.
once.
but it was a very long time ago.
.
Since the invention of the sword, Methos has never used another's. He forges his own, tempered to his will and his might, and nobody else can wield it - just as once, long ago, nobody else could ride the horse that raced beneath him.
For a few centuries, Methos made a fortune as a bladesmith. He's also been world-renowned as a horse trainer. His swords were the strongest, his horses the surest, and everyone who was anyone wanted the ones from his own hands.
.
legend tells of the children of gods, who walked the earth and shook the mountains.
legend tells of a king so beloved the sky itself wept when he died, the ground trembled when they laid him down.
legend tells of a woman who created a crown of stardust and sunlight and allowed a man to sit on the throne of the ancients.
legend tells of how the woman smiled, as the man kissed her hand and swore to follow her will in all things.
legend tells…
well, that's the trick, isn't it. legend tells so many things.
.
Methos' sword sings, when he listens closely enough. Horses shout his name, when he listens closely enough.
There is a mountain, so worn down now that none could imagine how high it once soared, that calls for him, endlessly. Whenever he tires of the children and their small problems, their young plights, he travels to a fissure in the earth and lets himself fall.
.
oh, how she laughs to see what has become of the world.
he smiles at her joy and holds out the sword while a mare dances behind him, and she places the crown of stardust and sunlight on her own head.
i have held it in waiting, he says. are you ready to return?
mountains shake open and the throne again glitters in the dawn.
follow me, child, she says as horses gallop into the light. we ride again.
.
Methos wields swords like they're a part of his arm, and he rides horses like he was born for it.
They are and he was.
.
once, long ago, a realm was given into the keeping of guardians. the guardians foundered and the realm fell to decay and despair.
all but one forgot, and how could one do what needed to be done?
legend tells that the mother will return and reward the one for how he tried.
there can be only one, and he rides a pale horse, following closely behind she who sat on the throne, and soon, the realm shall be healed, at last, again, for always and forever.
her will be done.
.
"C'mon, tell me," Joe cajoles, handing Adam a cold beer. "What's the first thing you remember?"
Adam smiles at him, the wide, brilliant smile of a little boy with a secret. "What every man remembers," he says. "There was a woman, and she was… oh, Joe, she was something else."
Joe laughs, "Of course there was," and goes to serve another customer.
Title: fire in the blood
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Disclaimer: not my characters; idea and a line from 'The True Story Here' by Seanan McGuire.
Warnings: future!fic; magic!Stiles; mentions of violence
Pairings: implied Derek/Stiles
Rating: PGish
Wordcount: 290
Point of view: third
Prompt: Teen Wolf, Stiles, Roar
Blood burns like fire, he tells the wolf, and it always burns through.
.
He's on his knees, hands buried in the dirt, breathing slowly, waiting. Always waiting.
His pack howls in the distance, and hunters shout, and it starts to rain. Of course it does. It starts to rain and he holds his breath, feeling for the heartbeat thrumming beneath in the earth.
The hunters begin to scream and his pack's howls turn triumphant.
.
Are you ready? his daughter asks, eyes lit up by the moon, fuller than life and twice as wide.
Always, he says, rising to his feet and following her into the woods.
.
The alpha lowers his gaze for just a moment, only for them to notice. The rest of the pack has the hunters spread on the ground, waiting for the alpha's word.
He touches each hunter's head and listens to the earth. He either nods or he doesn't before moving to the next.
His daughter stands beside the alpha and the pack rings them, and when he glances back, the alpha bares his teeth. "Take the marked ones," he orders, and the wolves descend.
Three hunters are left, after, and those, he takes with him back into the trees.
.
Do you ever regret it? the wolf asks him, once, decades too late.
Of course I do, he says. But not enough to take it back.
Their daughter tears off her hoodie, nearly as red as her hair, and howls as she shifts skins, and the wolf leaves him sitting on the stoop of a burned out house to chase her into the woods.
He watches and guards and waits.
There are always more hunters, but there's plenty of earth to drink them down.
Title: give us a kiss
Fandom: Highlander
Disclaimer: not my characters
Warnings: AUish, maybe? Let's say Methos never put Kronos in the well
Pairings: Kronos/Methos
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 145
Point of view: third
Prompt: Highlander, Methos/Kronos, flirting
"Come now, brother, tell me," Kronos says, sliding around the chair and standing in between Methos' knees. "You must have a thousand ideas."
Methos glances up at him through his eyelashes, tilting his head to the side. "And what of it?" he asks. "You know that tonight is my night to do as I like, without question. And tonight I like to read."
Kronos reaches down to brush Methos' lips with the tip of his finger. "Then I'll find my own game, and I'll slaughter it however I like. And tomorrow, tomorrow you'll read about in the paper, and you'll know that you could have been with me."
He turns on his heel and stalks out. Methos watches him go, shakes his head, rolls his eyes, and looks back down at his book.
When he finishes the chapter, he stands and follows his brother.
Title: A morning breaks without bread or fresh-poured milk
Fandom: White Collar
Disclaimer: not my characters; title from Adrienne Rich
Warnings: AU; implied violence/bad things
Pairings: Peter/Elizabeth
Rating: PG13ish
Wordcount: 630
Point of view: third
Prompt: White Collar, Neal, he waits for the day he's free again. Peter thinks he has figured Neal out, but predators can be very patient.
Neal turns the page in Entertainment Weekly (four years out of date) and laughs at the article about the blockbuster-that-wasn't while waiting for Peter to grant him leave to enter the meeting. (It's a forgery case, of course, and Peter is throwing his weight around because NCIS is trying to take the case because of a possibly-related murder.)
When Peter finally signals him, Neal carefully closes the magazine and sets it aside, flips his hat on, and saunters up the stairs.
.
Most of Neal's dreams involve chains. And cages.
While he was in prison, he was left alone by the other prisoners and the guards both. A few newcomers tried picking fights, and he had to establish himself in his first week, of course, but Neal was the most dangerous thing locked in there, and none of them were suicidal.
(Well. Not after the first, anyway. And there wasn't a shred of evidence that linked Neal to that fool's messy death, but everyone knew.)
.
June mostly leaves Neal alone, and she never leaves any of her younger grandchildren with him. The fact that he is there, though, means certain parts of the criminal element don't go near her house.
Neal Caffrey is a thief. He is a forger. He is a con-artist.
He spent four years in prison for something very small because it was the only thing they could prove he did.
Peter Burke's pet CI is a nice feather in the cap of a very by-the-book and straight-laced agent, and he's begun to trust Neal. He trusts Neal in his house, with his dog, with delicate operations, and even – and this is the one it takes Neal the longest to believe – with his wife.
When it finally sank in that Peter trusted Neal with Elizabeth's welfare and life, he had to excuse himself to the bathroom and pinch himself to stop from laughing.
Oh, Peter.
.
"How much longer do we have to play nice?" Mozzie asked, half a year into the most dangerous con Neal has ever attempted.
Neal smiled, slow and dark, and Mozzie looked away. "My time in their system is still monitored," Neal said, "but I've also just left a backdoor in."
"Understood," Mozzie said, and turned the bug back on so they could talk about art and alleged crimes they were actually nowhere near.
.
When Neal leaves, he will leave nothing behind. Everything will burn. They caught and caged him on a technicality, and when he was finally too bored to stand it, he escaped to 'chase Kate,' and playing with the FBI has been almost as much fun as what he did before prison.
It's not anymore. The politics had been refreshing, but now they are only annoying, and Mozzie has finished eradicating the actual evidence and putting Neal's enemies in its place.
Peter (mostly) trusts him. June (mostly) likes him. The FBI (mostly) believes him to be reformed. Elizabeth laughs with and smiles with him and even hugs him, sometimes. Satchmo can spend hours curled up beside him.
He's mind-numbingly bored.
.
Neal Caffrey is a thief, and a forger, and a con-artist. He has stolen trust, forged a good man, and conned an entire agency.
.
Neal Caffrey never existed except on paper, and even that was faked.
.
"Finally!" Mozzie says and hits 'enter' with a flourish and a smile.
.
Neal Caffrey vanishes on a bright spring morning, turning the world on its head.
Most of his dreams involve chains and cages, and he thinks it might be time to get back into that. White collar crime is no longer interesting, and there are so many people... who would notice if a few go missing?
"Here's the new play," he tells Mozzie, who doesn't take a single note.
Mustn't leave behind anything incriminating.
Fandom: Bones
Disclaimer: not my characters
Warnings: AU (that could secretly be canon, you never know); mentions of violence/death
Pairings: none
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 430
Point of view: third
Prompt: Any, any + any, one of them is pretending to be a monster and the other is pretending not to be.
"So, Zack," Lance asks cheerfully, sitting down across the table, "how was this week?"
"It was quiet, Dr. Sweets," Zack answers solemnly.
Lance smiles at him, pulling out a notepad and a pen. "Have you thought about what I told you, about the master and logic?"
"Yes," Zack says, nodding. "The Master's logic was flawed. I have realized several points wherein his logic failed."
"The master," Lance tells him. "Don't capitalize it in your mind, Zack. He wasn't your master; he was just a man, as fallible as every other man."
Zack nods again, tilting his head as he thinks about that. Lance waits, gently tapping the pen against the paper. After a moment, Lance says, "Tell me about these points of failed logic."
He takes no notes; he simply listens.
After their session is done, just before Lance unlocks the door, Lance asks, "You still don't want Dr. Brennan to know?"
Zack shakes his head.
"Okay," Lance says, "if you're sure. I'll see you in two weeks, Zack."
That night, Lance flips through the Gorgomon file again, putting a few jotted lines in at the back, for this week's session.
Just before he closes the file, he glances at the picture of Gorgomon sprawled on the ground, Booth's bullets in his chest. He taps his finger against Gorgomon's head, smiling.
(The apprentice is expendable.
Gorgomon's name was Will Daniels, he lived off his master's funds, he had no job, had no friends, had no life.
Gorgomon was a nobody, an invisible man, angry at history for not seeing him.
Gorgomon is both senile and dead; the apprentice is locked away.)
Lance Sweets sleeps easily, and in the morning, he goes to work, profiles on demand for Booth and Brennan, eats a quick lunch, interrogates a suspected killer for Booth, jots down a few ideas for his next book, counsels an agent, has dinner with Daisy, takes a shower, reads a couple case files for tomorrow, and heads to bed.
Life's pretty good and he already knows who's next.
Title: those who wander
Fandom: Highlander
Disclaimer: not my characters; title from Tolkien
Warnings: future!fic. ish. AUish? Look, it's really frickin' weird, okay?
Pairings: none
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 550
Point of view: third
Prompt: Highlander, Methos, Renewed shall be the blade that was broken / the crownless again shall be king
once, a very long time ago, when the sky was young and the ground stretched out forever below it, there was a throne. all things living bowed to it and the one who sat thereon.
once.
but it was a very long time ago.
.
Since the invention of the sword, Methos has never used another's. He forges his own, tempered to his will and his might, and nobody else can wield it - just as once, long ago, nobody else could ride the horse that raced beneath him.
For a few centuries, Methos made a fortune as a bladesmith. He's also been world-renowned as a horse trainer. His swords were the strongest, his horses the surest, and everyone who was anyone wanted the ones from his own hands.
.
legend tells of the children of gods, who walked the earth and shook the mountains.
legend tells of a king so beloved the sky itself wept when he died, the ground trembled when they laid him down.
legend tells of a woman who created a crown of stardust and sunlight and allowed a man to sit on the throne of the ancients.
legend tells of how the woman smiled, as the man kissed her hand and swore to follow her will in all things.
legend tells…
well, that's the trick, isn't it. legend tells so many things.
.
Methos' sword sings, when he listens closely enough. Horses shout his name, when he listens closely enough.
There is a mountain, so worn down now that none could imagine how high it once soared, that calls for him, endlessly. Whenever he tires of the children and their small problems, their young plights, he travels to a fissure in the earth and lets himself fall.
.
oh, how she laughs to see what has become of the world.
he smiles at her joy and holds out the sword while a mare dances behind him, and she places the crown of stardust and sunlight on her own head.
i have held it in waiting, he says. are you ready to return?
mountains shake open and the throne again glitters in the dawn.
follow me, child, she says as horses gallop into the light. we ride again.
.
Methos wields swords like they're a part of his arm, and he rides horses like he was born for it.
They are and he was.
.
once, long ago, a realm was given into the keeping of guardians. the guardians foundered and the realm fell to decay and despair.
all but one forgot, and how could one do what needed to be done?
legend tells that the mother will return and reward the one for how he tried.
there can be only one, and he rides a pale horse, following closely behind she who sat on the throne, and soon, the realm shall be healed, at last, again, for always and forever.
her will be done.
.
"C'mon, tell me," Joe cajoles, handing Adam a cold beer. "What's the first thing you remember?"
Adam smiles at him, the wide, brilliant smile of a little boy with a secret. "What every man remembers," he says. "There was a woman, and she was… oh, Joe, she was something else."
Joe laughs, "Of course there was," and goes to serve another customer.
Title: fire in the blood
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Disclaimer: not my characters; idea and a line from 'The True Story Here' by Seanan McGuire.
Warnings: future!fic; magic!Stiles; mentions of violence
Pairings: implied Derek/Stiles
Rating: PGish
Wordcount: 290
Point of view: third
Prompt: Teen Wolf, Stiles, Roar
Blood burns like fire, he tells the wolf, and it always burns through.
.
He's on his knees, hands buried in the dirt, breathing slowly, waiting. Always waiting.
His pack howls in the distance, and hunters shout, and it starts to rain. Of course it does. It starts to rain and he holds his breath, feeling for the heartbeat thrumming beneath in the earth.
The hunters begin to scream and his pack's howls turn triumphant.
.
Are you ready? his daughter asks, eyes lit up by the moon, fuller than life and twice as wide.
Always, he says, rising to his feet and following her into the woods.
.
The alpha lowers his gaze for just a moment, only for them to notice. The rest of the pack has the hunters spread on the ground, waiting for the alpha's word.
He touches each hunter's head and listens to the earth. He either nods or he doesn't before moving to the next.
His daughter stands beside the alpha and the pack rings them, and when he glances back, the alpha bares his teeth. "Take the marked ones," he orders, and the wolves descend.
Three hunters are left, after, and those, he takes with him back into the trees.
.
Do you ever regret it? the wolf asks him, once, decades too late.
Of course I do, he says. But not enough to take it back.
Their daughter tears off her hoodie, nearly as red as her hair, and howls as she shifts skins, and the wolf leaves him sitting on the stoop of a burned out house to chase her into the woods.
He watches and guards and waits.
There are always more hunters, but there's plenty of earth to drink them down.
Title: give us a kiss
Fandom: Highlander
Disclaimer: not my characters
Warnings: AUish, maybe? Let's say Methos never put Kronos in the well
Pairings: Kronos/Methos
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 145
Point of view: third
Prompt: Highlander, Methos/Kronos, flirting
"Come now, brother, tell me," Kronos says, sliding around the chair and standing in between Methos' knees. "You must have a thousand ideas."
Methos glances up at him through his eyelashes, tilting his head to the side. "And what of it?" he asks. "You know that tonight is my night to do as I like, without question. And tonight I like to read."
Kronos reaches down to brush Methos' lips with the tip of his finger. "Then I'll find my own game, and I'll slaughter it however I like. And tomorrow, tomorrow you'll read about in the paper, and you'll know that you could have been with me."
He turns on his heel and stalks out. Methos watches him go, shakes his head, rolls his eyes, and looks back down at his book.
When he finishes the chapter, he stands and follows his brother.
Title: A morning breaks without bread or fresh-poured milk
Fandom: White Collar
Disclaimer: not my characters; title from Adrienne Rich
Warnings: AU; implied violence/bad things
Pairings: Peter/Elizabeth
Rating: PG13ish
Wordcount: 630
Point of view: third
Prompt: White Collar, Neal, he waits for the day he's free again. Peter thinks he has figured Neal out, but predators can be very patient.
Neal turns the page in Entertainment Weekly (four years out of date) and laughs at the article about the blockbuster-that-wasn't while waiting for Peter to grant him leave to enter the meeting. (It's a forgery case, of course, and Peter is throwing his weight around because NCIS is trying to take the case because of a possibly-related murder.)
When Peter finally signals him, Neal carefully closes the magazine and sets it aside, flips his hat on, and saunters up the stairs.
.
Most of Neal's dreams involve chains. And cages.
While he was in prison, he was left alone by the other prisoners and the guards both. A few newcomers tried picking fights, and he had to establish himself in his first week, of course, but Neal was the most dangerous thing locked in there, and none of them were suicidal.
(Well. Not after the first, anyway. And there wasn't a shred of evidence that linked Neal to that fool's messy death, but everyone knew.)
.
June mostly leaves Neal alone, and she never leaves any of her younger grandchildren with him. The fact that he is there, though, means certain parts of the criminal element don't go near her house.
Neal Caffrey is a thief. He is a forger. He is a con-artist.
He spent four years in prison for something very small because it was the only thing they could prove he did.
Peter Burke's pet CI is a nice feather in the cap of a very by-the-book and straight-laced agent, and he's begun to trust Neal. He trusts Neal in his house, with his dog, with delicate operations, and even – and this is the one it takes Neal the longest to believe – with his wife.
When it finally sank in that Peter trusted Neal with Elizabeth's welfare and life, he had to excuse himself to the bathroom and pinch himself to stop from laughing.
Oh, Peter.
.
"How much longer do we have to play nice?" Mozzie asked, half a year into the most dangerous con Neal has ever attempted.
Neal smiled, slow and dark, and Mozzie looked away. "My time in their system is still monitored," Neal said, "but I've also just left a backdoor in."
"Understood," Mozzie said, and turned the bug back on so they could talk about art and alleged crimes they were actually nowhere near.
.
When Neal leaves, he will leave nothing behind. Everything will burn. They caught and caged him on a technicality, and when he was finally too bored to stand it, he escaped to 'chase Kate,' and playing with the FBI has been almost as much fun as what he did before prison.
It's not anymore. The politics had been refreshing, but now they are only annoying, and Mozzie has finished eradicating the actual evidence and putting Neal's enemies in its place.
Peter (mostly) trusts him. June (mostly) likes him. The FBI (mostly) believes him to be reformed. Elizabeth laughs with and smiles with him and even hugs him, sometimes. Satchmo can spend hours curled up beside him.
He's mind-numbingly bored.
.
Neal Caffrey is a thief, and a forger, and a con-artist. He has stolen trust, forged a good man, and conned an entire agency.
.
Neal Caffrey never existed except on paper, and even that was faked.
.
"Finally!" Mozzie says and hits 'enter' with a flourish and a smile.
.
Neal Caffrey vanishes on a bright spring morning, turning the world on its head.
Most of his dreams involve chains and cages, and he thinks it might be time to get back into that. White collar crime is no longer interesting, and there are so many people... who would notice if a few go missing?
"Here's the new play," he tells Mozzie, who doesn't take a single note.
Mustn't leave behind anything incriminating.