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May. 3rd, 2004 08:51 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
helsinkibabyHave just finished watching the snooker. < grumble >
Thank God for Smallville.
Which I shall watch as soon as I post two W/S fics. For the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
multifandom1000's darkness challenge, we have the Forever post-ep that is
Chasing the Darkness Away
Grissom’s fond of saying that every day, they meet people on the worst days of their lives. Sara’s outlook is less optimistic, that every day, they encounter the worst aspects of the human condition, see first hand the darkness that lives in people’s souls.
This case for example.
Bad enough that they were investigating the Romeo and Juliet suicide of two teenagers in the desert, bad enough that two kids with their whole lives ahead of them had wanted to die in the first place.
Even worse that the girl’s mother had driven them to their deaths, literally and figuratively, encouraging them, giving them the drugs, buying them their last meal, driving them to the spot they’d chosen.
Worse still, that when the girl, her own daughter, had changed her mind, had tried to crawl after her, that woman had walked away without looking back.
The thought of it makes Sara shudder, even now, standing in the warmth of her shower, scalding hot water hitting her chest, trying to wash the case away. Mrs Frommer had been right, she knows that. They’ll try to charge her with murder, but it will never stick, and she’ll have the baby back in a matter of days.
How, Sara wonders, had that family let things get so far? How had they let the darkness in, let it consume them so?
Her thoughts are interrupted by a draught of cold air, and she turns her head, smiling despite her dark mood. “Am I taking too long?” she asks, and gets a mock-glare in response.
“Damn straight,” Warrick pretends to grumble. “Using up all the hot water…” He stands behind her, his hands resting on her hips, and he winces when some of the water hits his skin. “You’re going to burn yourself,” he tells her, reaching out past her to turn down the heat a notch. “You ok?” he asks, his hand falling on her shoulder, rubbing there gently, and she’s not sure if it’s the question or the touch that makes her sigh.
“One of those days,” she tells him simply, and she’s grateful that he was there with her, went through the whole thing as well. She’s not sure that she could explain everything that she’s seen in the last few days to anyone, is damn sure she doesn’t want to. She wants to forget about it, let it sluice down the drain with the hot water, never to be thought of again.
“I know.” He places a kiss on her shoulder before reaching past her again, this time going for the bottle of shampoo on the rack, pouring a generous handful that he begins rubbing through her hair. She closes her eyes, loses herself in the pounding water and his touch, and when he speaks, she’s almost annoyed. “You heard Social Services,” he reminds her. “They’re going to do all they can to keep the baby away from her.”
“And she’s going to get a good lawyer, and threaten to sue, and they’ll back down to protect themselves.” He doesn’t offer any counter-argument to it, and she sighs again. “I just… I don’t understand.”
His voice is heavy when he says, “It takes all kinds of people…”
“I know that.” Frustration rings in her voice. “I also know… I haven’t exactly got the best of relationships with my parents,” she admits, and while she’s sure that she hears a mirthless chuckle from behind her, she chooses to ignore it. “We don’t understand one another, we barely speak… but even still…”
“They’d never do what Mrs Frommer did.”
She nods. “How did things get so bad with them?” she wonders, and Warrick’s hands move down from her hair to her shoulders.
“I don’t know,” he replies. “And honestly? I hope we never find out.” She can’t argue with that, not that he gives her a chance. “Rinse,” he says instead, and she turns obediently, tilting her head back to let it catch the spray. His hands continue to thread through her hair, making sure all the shampoo washes out, and this new position means that she’s looking up at him, right into his eyes.
What she sees burning there makes all her thoughts of darkness take flight, makes her bring her hands up to rest them on his chest, shift slightly so that their bodies are pressing together. His lips quirk upwards, though he doesn’t speak, and she smiles, remembering a sight from earlier on in the day. “That baby seemed to like you.”
His smile grows wider. “Good taste,” he says promptly, and she laughs, rolls her eyes.
“You know what they say about self-praise,” she reminds him, and he inclines his head, conceding the point. “You ever think about having kids?” she asks, enjoying the way his eyes flare wide with surprise. “I’m not talking about now,” she tells him, fighting back her amusement. “I was just wondering… that’s all.”
He shrugs one shoulder. “Sometimes,” he admits. “Not too often.”
“You’re good with them.” Because she’s seen him, with kids at the Rec Centre, with Lindsey Willows, talking to the Frommer child until Social Services got there. He’s going to make an amazing father one day.
“Do you think about them?” he asks. “Kids, I mean.”
She shrugs, because in the darkest part of her mind, she’s always believed she’s not good with kids, that she could never be a mother. So when she tells him, “Sometimes,” she means it. Just like she means it when she adds, “Lately… a little bit more.”
His hands slide down to the small of her back, bringing her closer to him. “Sounds interesting,” he says, touching his lips with hers, admitting without words that he likes the sound of that. Sara’s surprised to find that she does too, and, winding her arms around his neck, she lets his kiss chase the rest of the darkness away.
And for the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
csreports scent challenge, there is
Home
When Sara thinks about home, she thinks of the smells of the family B&B on Tomales Bay. The scent of salt water that floats in through the bay windows, the smell of the wet sand at high tide. The smell of fresh-cut grass, of the flower beds and hanging baskets, Dad’s pride and joy. The aroma of Mom’s cooking wafting from basement to attic, the aroma alone enough to fill you up before you even ate a mouthful.
No matter the problems she might have had with her parents, no matter that they might not always have understood her. That place was always a haven for her, a place where nothing could touch her, and when she left home, was living in a Harvard dorm, those were the smells she would conjure up when she needed to relax.
They always did the trick.
She’s not sure when she stopped equating those smells with home, when the anodyne smell of the lab, of the chemicals she used most frequently, became the most familiar smells to her.
She knows when she stopped though.
Those were the days when she literally used to live in the lab, when she had no friends, no social life to speak of. When her world revolved around work, around waiting for Gil Grissom to notice her, to look at her the way she looked at him.
Those days are in the past now, and when she looks back, she hardly knows who that woman was.
Nowadays, when she thinks of home, she thinks of the house she walks into after a long shift, a place that doesn’t smell of flowers, or cooking, or of the sea, of antiseptic and chemicals. She thinks of throwing her keys on the hall table, of walking down the hall into the bedroom. Of crawling into bed, inhaling first the scent of the laundry detergent they use on the sheets, then the scent of him as she presses her body against him. His arms wrap around her, pulling her close, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, and she closes her eyes, letting his scent envelope her. Part soap, part cologne, part toothpaste and a whole lot of Warrick, she buries her head in his chest, breathes in deeply, lets herself get lost in him.
She does that now after every shift, and she doesn’t know how she existed without it. This is everything that was ever missing in her life, and lying there with him like that, she smiles, because she knows she’s home.
Thank God for Smallville.
Which I shall watch as soon as I post two W/S fics. For the
multifandom1000's darkness challenge, we have the Forever post-ep that is Chasing the Darkness Away
Grissom’s fond of saying that every day, they meet people on the worst days of their lives. Sara’s outlook is less optimistic, that every day, they encounter the worst aspects of the human condition, see first hand the darkness that lives in people’s souls.
This case for example.
Bad enough that they were investigating the Romeo and Juliet suicide of two teenagers in the desert, bad enough that two kids with their whole lives ahead of them had wanted to die in the first place.
Even worse that the girl’s mother had driven them to their deaths, literally and figuratively, encouraging them, giving them the drugs, buying them their last meal, driving them to the spot they’d chosen.
Worse still, that when the girl, her own daughter, had changed her mind, had tried to crawl after her, that woman had walked away without looking back.
The thought of it makes Sara shudder, even now, standing in the warmth of her shower, scalding hot water hitting her chest, trying to wash the case away. Mrs Frommer had been right, she knows that. They’ll try to charge her with murder, but it will never stick, and she’ll have the baby back in a matter of days.
How, Sara wonders, had that family let things get so far? How had they let the darkness in, let it consume them so?
Her thoughts are interrupted by a draught of cold air, and she turns her head, smiling despite her dark mood. “Am I taking too long?” she asks, and gets a mock-glare in response.
“Damn straight,” Warrick pretends to grumble. “Using up all the hot water…” He stands behind her, his hands resting on her hips, and he winces when some of the water hits his skin. “You’re going to burn yourself,” he tells her, reaching out past her to turn down the heat a notch. “You ok?” he asks, his hand falling on her shoulder, rubbing there gently, and she’s not sure if it’s the question or the touch that makes her sigh.
“One of those days,” she tells him simply, and she’s grateful that he was there with her, went through the whole thing as well. She’s not sure that she could explain everything that she’s seen in the last few days to anyone, is damn sure she doesn’t want to. She wants to forget about it, let it sluice down the drain with the hot water, never to be thought of again.
“I know.” He places a kiss on her shoulder before reaching past her again, this time going for the bottle of shampoo on the rack, pouring a generous handful that he begins rubbing through her hair. She closes her eyes, loses herself in the pounding water and his touch, and when he speaks, she’s almost annoyed. “You heard Social Services,” he reminds her. “They’re going to do all they can to keep the baby away from her.”
“And she’s going to get a good lawyer, and threaten to sue, and they’ll back down to protect themselves.” He doesn’t offer any counter-argument to it, and she sighs again. “I just… I don’t understand.”
His voice is heavy when he says, “It takes all kinds of people…”
“I know that.” Frustration rings in her voice. “I also know… I haven’t exactly got the best of relationships with my parents,” she admits, and while she’s sure that she hears a mirthless chuckle from behind her, she chooses to ignore it. “We don’t understand one another, we barely speak… but even still…”
“They’d never do what Mrs Frommer did.”
She nods. “How did things get so bad with them?” she wonders, and Warrick’s hands move down from her hair to her shoulders.
“I don’t know,” he replies. “And honestly? I hope we never find out.” She can’t argue with that, not that he gives her a chance. “Rinse,” he says instead, and she turns obediently, tilting her head back to let it catch the spray. His hands continue to thread through her hair, making sure all the shampoo washes out, and this new position means that she’s looking up at him, right into his eyes.
What she sees burning there makes all her thoughts of darkness take flight, makes her bring her hands up to rest them on his chest, shift slightly so that their bodies are pressing together. His lips quirk upwards, though he doesn’t speak, and she smiles, remembering a sight from earlier on in the day. “That baby seemed to like you.”
His smile grows wider. “Good taste,” he says promptly, and she laughs, rolls her eyes.
“You know what they say about self-praise,” she reminds him, and he inclines his head, conceding the point. “You ever think about having kids?” she asks, enjoying the way his eyes flare wide with surprise. “I’m not talking about now,” she tells him, fighting back her amusement. “I was just wondering… that’s all.”
He shrugs one shoulder. “Sometimes,” he admits. “Not too often.”
“You’re good with them.” Because she’s seen him, with kids at the Rec Centre, with Lindsey Willows, talking to the Frommer child until Social Services got there. He’s going to make an amazing father one day.
“Do you think about them?” he asks. “Kids, I mean.”
She shrugs, because in the darkest part of her mind, she’s always believed she’s not good with kids, that she could never be a mother. So when she tells him, “Sometimes,” she means it. Just like she means it when she adds, “Lately… a little bit more.”
His hands slide down to the small of her back, bringing her closer to him. “Sounds interesting,” he says, touching his lips with hers, admitting without words that he likes the sound of that. Sara’s surprised to find that she does too, and, winding her arms around his neck, she lets his kiss chase the rest of the darkness away.
And for the
csreports scent challenge, there is Home
When Sara thinks about home, she thinks of the smells of the family B&B on Tomales Bay. The scent of salt water that floats in through the bay windows, the smell of the wet sand at high tide. The smell of fresh-cut grass, of the flower beds and hanging baskets, Dad’s pride and joy. The aroma of Mom’s cooking wafting from basement to attic, the aroma alone enough to fill you up before you even ate a mouthful.
No matter the problems she might have had with her parents, no matter that they might not always have understood her. That place was always a haven for her, a place where nothing could touch her, and when she left home, was living in a Harvard dorm, those were the smells she would conjure up when she needed to relax.
They always did the trick.
She’s not sure when she stopped equating those smells with home, when the anodyne smell of the lab, of the chemicals she used most frequently, became the most familiar smells to her.
She knows when she stopped though.
Those were the days when she literally used to live in the lab, when she had no friends, no social life to speak of. When her world revolved around work, around waiting for Gil Grissom to notice her, to look at her the way she looked at him.
Those days are in the past now, and when she looks back, she hardly knows who that woman was.
Nowadays, when she thinks of home, she thinks of the house she walks into after a long shift, a place that doesn’t smell of flowers, or cooking, or of the sea, of antiseptic and chemicals. She thinks of throwing her keys on the hall table, of walking down the hall into the bedroom. Of crawling into bed, inhaling first the scent of the laundry detergent they use on the sheets, then the scent of him as she presses her body against him. His arms wrap around her, pulling her close, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, and she closes her eyes, letting his scent envelope her. Part soap, part cologne, part toothpaste and a whole lot of Warrick, she buries her head in his chest, breathes in deeply, lets herself get lost in him.
She does that now after every shift, and she doesn’t know how she existed without it. This is everything that was ever missing in her life, and lying there with him like that, she smiles, because she knows she’s home.
