24/48 Challenge, part one.
The Twenty Four in Forty Eight Drabble challenge
Drabbles One to Four
Character: Nick Stokes, Warrick Brown.
Fandom: CSI
Word: "Ow"
"You're kidding, man." Nick's voice sounded distressingly shrill as he looked at the reconstruction Warrick had painstakingly constructed. "Nuh-uh. Nooo way!"
Soulful brown eyes regarded him pleadingly. "But Sara's too skinny, Catherine's too female and Gris' too busy. It's gotta be you."
Nick edged away from the piles of chains, latex and ...fiddly things that had been found in the hotel room with the jowly corpse. There were suspious stains on most of them and he was loosing colour. "No. No way. Read my lips. You are not getting me into that."
Ten minutes and a scuffle later, Nick was handcuffed to the counter and Warrick was picking himself up off the floor. It was going to be a beaut of a black eye and Warrick looked at his co-worker's flushed, angry face. He blinked and winced in the same movement. "Ow!"
Character:Eric Delko
Fandom: CSI Miami
Word: "Kid"
He fumbles for the camera - damn but he hates these cases. He'd long ago resigned himself to the darker side of human nature as a CSI. This scene is testing every scrap of hard-won distance and control he's earnt over the years in CSI. The room is covered in blood - Possibly more than one vic - spattered along the walls - Velocity and angle is consistent with arterial spurt - fragments of ivory bone scattered around - Humourus, femur...possible incisor tooth..
He swallows convulsively each time the shutter clicks and the thick taste of bile almost makes him choke. Even H. looks a little pale and has gone to stand outside for a minute. Eric nearly looses it at the sound of the twelfth cop loosing his breakfast...and every other meal for the last six weeks.
Focus. Don't see people...see parts. The thin veneer of science is only as tough as his own stubborness. But for the kid - kids - who died here, he will.
Character: Martin Fitzgerald
Fandom: Without A Trace
Word:"Shadows"
Martin sinks into his chair and sighs heavily. He can see the shadows under his own eyes in the reflection on his computer's black screen. He's feeling the pressure keenly now. Of all the times for three cases to roll in. Jack's sick, Danny's on the verge of hospitalisation and Sam's on medical leave. He and Vivian have been running themselves ragged for the last week.
To be fair, their insane hours have paid off - two of the three cases are solved. One alive, one dead. vivian's nerves were shot so Martin took on the task of telling the kid's parents solo. He hates that part of the job and hates his clumsy grip on words. What can you tell a parent when their child is found in a dirty alley with their throat hacked open by some lunatic? What words can you possibly offer to make that better?
He'd kept the charging of the perp as simple and as quick as possible - yet another task he'd kept Viv away from. With the added pressure of her son's sprained ankle, she'd been on the verge of violence. They'd argued - a hot nasty verbal brawl. Martin sighs again. He knows that it was a release of pressure but it still stung. She'd pulled no punches before storming off.
Martin rubs at his eyes - how long's he been awake? Twelve? Eighteen hours? He doesn't remember any more. The job waits so he pushes back the exhaustion as he stumbles to his feet and over to the whiteboard. Two down, he chants mentally as he rubs away the two solved cases. Martin blinks as the world goes hazy and sways under his feet.
"Martin?" Jack's voice and a strong arm catches and supports him. He shakes his head and the world comes back into focus.
"J'ck?" He winces at his cracking voice. "Back?"
"Yeah, and you're going home."
"Can't." Martin pulls away. "Got to find the kid. Everyone's sick and Viv's mad so I've got to do it."
Jack's exasperated but understanding sigh then the arm is back and Martin is guided into Jack's office. The office with a soft couch, which Martin is sat on. Jack stands over him and pushes at his shoulder. "I should order you home but you're right. We're too short-staffed. But you need at least a couple of hours sleep."
Martin would - should - argue, but he's tired and Jack's couch is so soft...
Character: Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce
Fandom: M*A*S*H
Word: "Chicken"
"Ah, the mess tent." Hawkeye is waxing lyrical once more. Twelve hours in surgery, two in pre-op, putting together the tatters of flesh and blood to rebuild the kids who were choppered in by their thousands every week. "So tell me, Sergeant, what culinary repast can we expect today?"
The cook - yawning and wondering where his relief was - looked down at the pale and not-so-pale blobs and shrugged. "Chicken?"
"Green chicken?" Hawkeye pokes at it and shakes his head. "Probably tasted itself."
He yawns as he settles into his chair. How long has the war lasted now? He doesn't remember. He barely remembers Crabtree Cove - it's faded to a sort of halycon paradise that serves as his charm against the horrors that plague his dreams. He will go back there. One day. When his work here is done and he can rest.
He wishes for that rest more, each and every day.
deannawol's reply to the same challenges can be found here
Drabbles One to Four
Character: Nick Stokes, Warrick Brown.
Fandom: CSI
Word: "Ow"
"You're kidding, man." Nick's voice sounded distressingly shrill as he looked at the reconstruction Warrick had painstakingly constructed. "Nuh-uh. Nooo way!"
Soulful brown eyes regarded him pleadingly. "But Sara's too skinny, Catherine's too female and Gris' too busy. It's gotta be you."
Nick edged away from the piles of chains, latex and ...fiddly things that had been found in the hotel room with the jowly corpse. There were suspious stains on most of them and he was loosing colour. "No. No way. Read my lips. You are not getting me into that."
Ten minutes and a scuffle later, Nick was handcuffed to the counter and Warrick was picking himself up off the floor. It was going to be a beaut of a black eye and Warrick looked at his co-worker's flushed, angry face. He blinked and winced in the same movement. "Ow!"
Character:Eric Delko
Fandom: CSI Miami
Word: "Kid"
He fumbles for the camera - damn but he hates these cases. He'd long ago resigned himself to the darker side of human nature as a CSI. This scene is testing every scrap of hard-won distance and control he's earnt over the years in CSI. The room is covered in blood - Possibly more than one vic - spattered along the walls - Velocity and angle is consistent with arterial spurt - fragments of ivory bone scattered around - Humourus, femur...possible incisor tooth..
He swallows convulsively each time the shutter clicks and the thick taste of bile almost makes him choke. Even H. looks a little pale and has gone to stand outside for a minute. Eric nearly looses it at the sound of the twelfth cop loosing his breakfast...and every other meal for the last six weeks.
Focus. Don't see people...see parts. The thin veneer of science is only as tough as his own stubborness. But for the kid - kids - who died here, he will.
Character: Martin Fitzgerald
Fandom: Without A Trace
Word:"Shadows"
Martin sinks into his chair and sighs heavily. He can see the shadows under his own eyes in the reflection on his computer's black screen. He's feeling the pressure keenly now. Of all the times for three cases to roll in. Jack's sick, Danny's on the verge of hospitalisation and Sam's on medical leave. He and Vivian have been running themselves ragged for the last week.
To be fair, their insane hours have paid off - two of the three cases are solved. One alive, one dead. vivian's nerves were shot so Martin took on the task of telling the kid's parents solo. He hates that part of the job and hates his clumsy grip on words. What can you tell a parent when their child is found in a dirty alley with their throat hacked open by some lunatic? What words can you possibly offer to make that better?
He'd kept the charging of the perp as simple and as quick as possible - yet another task he'd kept Viv away from. With the added pressure of her son's sprained ankle, she'd been on the verge of violence. They'd argued - a hot nasty verbal brawl. Martin sighs again. He knows that it was a release of pressure but it still stung. She'd pulled no punches before storming off.
Martin rubs at his eyes - how long's he been awake? Twelve? Eighteen hours? He doesn't remember any more. The job waits so he pushes back the exhaustion as he stumbles to his feet and over to the whiteboard. Two down, he chants mentally as he rubs away the two solved cases. Martin blinks as the world goes hazy and sways under his feet.
"Martin?" Jack's voice and a strong arm catches and supports him. He shakes his head and the world comes back into focus.
"J'ck?" He winces at his cracking voice. "Back?"
"Yeah, and you're going home."
"Can't." Martin pulls away. "Got to find the kid. Everyone's sick and Viv's mad so I've got to do it."
Jack's exasperated but understanding sigh then the arm is back and Martin is guided into Jack's office. The office with a soft couch, which Martin is sat on. Jack stands over him and pushes at his shoulder. "I should order you home but you're right. We're too short-staffed. But you need at least a couple of hours sleep."
Martin would - should - argue, but he's tired and Jack's couch is so soft...
Character: Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce
Fandom: M*A*S*H
Word: "Chicken"
"Ah, the mess tent." Hawkeye is waxing lyrical once more. Twelve hours in surgery, two in pre-op, putting together the tatters of flesh and blood to rebuild the kids who were choppered in by their thousands every week. "So tell me, Sergeant, what culinary repast can we expect today?"
The cook - yawning and wondering where his relief was - looked down at the pale and not-so-pale blobs and shrugged. "Chicken?"
"Green chicken?" Hawkeye pokes at it and shakes his head. "Probably tasted itself."
He yawns as he settles into his chair. How long has the war lasted now? He doesn't remember. He barely remembers Crabtree Cove - it's faded to a sort of halycon paradise that serves as his charm against the horrors that plague his dreams. He will go back there. One day. When his work here is done and he can rest.
He wishes for that rest more, each and every day.
deannawol's reply to the same challenges can be found here