Numb3rs fic: Simply A Wow (Colby/OFC, PG-15)
Title: Simply A Wow
Pairing: Colby/OFC
Rating: PG-15
Summary: "If that little compass you keep pulling out fails us, I think I can still construct a tent from tree bark and squirrel hide and we can make a weekend of it."
Word Count: 577
Spoilers: none
Warnings: none
Notes: Unbetaed. Follows You've Got What Gets Me and (Every Time), but can also stand alone. Title from "You've Got What Gets Me" by Ella Fitzgerald. Written for the numb3rs_het Summer Challenge.
Prompts: 35. Photographer/40. Hotel/Motel/13. Compass
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters you recognize, nor do I profit from their use here. This is only for fun.
"The good thing is that I was a Boy Scout and a soldier and now I'm an FBI Agent, so if that little compass you keep pulling out fails us, I think I can still construct a tent from tree bark and squirrel hide and we can make a weekend of it."
"Shut up," she laughed, gamely studying the map spread across her lap and half the dashboard. "I know exactly where we are. You just have to, uh... It's up ahead. You have to turn right."
He drove another half mile before she instructed him to stop, pointing at an opening in the trees off to the right. He stared out through the space cut there.
"There's no way that counts as a road," he protested.
"It's exactly how the lady described it when I made the reservation!"
"And you're sure this 'lady' isn't a serial killer drawing prey to her lair out here in the middle of nowhere?"
"The remoteness is part of the charm," she insisted. "Besides, it's statistically unlikely for a serial killer to be a woman."
"Right, that's... comforting." He made the turn carefully, squeezing onto the path and driving slowly until they hit a clearing with a cabin sitting in the middle.
"Oh," she breathed. "It's pretty. I feel like I should be wearing a handmade calico dress to properly fit in."
He laughed. "I think your jeans are fine, Laura Ingalls Wilder."
Inside, the cabin was furnished comfortably with overstuffed chairs and a king-sized bed, covered by a large, colorful quilt. She ran her hand over it.
"Somebody made this," she said. "I should take up quilting."
"You just took up photography."
"Hmm. Maybe I'll take pictures of quilts."
He slung an arm around her shoulders. "Or we could make dinner and you can take pictures of that."
"Or that," she agreed.
In the morning he woke to her calling his name softly. He squinted at her, perched at the end of the bed, looking down at him.
"Stay right there," she whispered, and lifted her camera to take his picture. He groaned out a laugh, letting his head drop back onto the pillow, eyes lazing half-shut. She laughed too, reaching out to draw the sheet down his chest a few more inches.
"What time is it?"
"8:30," she said. "I let you sleep in. But the light is perfect right now, and you look so handsome, Agent, I couldn't resist."
"Mm. You could've waited, I'm always handsome." He stretched an arm out to the side and flexed for her, smirking. "Did you make coffee?"
"In the kitchen."
She didn't go to fetch him a cup, so after a few minutes he gathered enough energy to head into the kitchen himself. Halfway there he realized she was snapping pictures of his naked trek through the cabin.
"Enjoy the view while you can," he called back. "I'm burning that roll of film when you're done."
"I'm sure we can make a deal," she told him. "Maybe I can give you a photography lesson."
He turned around and leaned against the kitchen counter, taking a slow sip of coffee.
"Oops," she said, lacing her voice with faux concern. "I seem to have lost my shirt."
"And your pants," he pointed out.
"How strange!"
He stood there for another minute, watching her.
"Well," he said finally, "I suppose it's never too early to start taking pictures for the Christmas cards."
Pairing: Colby/OFC
Rating: PG-15
Summary: "If that little compass you keep pulling out fails us, I think I can still construct a tent from tree bark and squirrel hide and we can make a weekend of it."
Word Count: 577
Spoilers: none
Warnings: none
Notes: Unbetaed. Follows You've Got What Gets Me and (Every Time), but can also stand alone. Title from "You've Got What Gets Me" by Ella Fitzgerald. Written for the numb3rs_het Summer Challenge.
Prompts: 35. Photographer/40. Hotel/Motel/13. Compass
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters you recognize, nor do I profit from their use here. This is only for fun.
"The good thing is that I was a Boy Scout and a soldier and now I'm an FBI Agent, so if that little compass you keep pulling out fails us, I think I can still construct a tent from tree bark and squirrel hide and we can make a weekend of it."
"Shut up," she laughed, gamely studying the map spread across her lap and half the dashboard. "I know exactly where we are. You just have to, uh... It's up ahead. You have to turn right."
He drove another half mile before she instructed him to stop, pointing at an opening in the trees off to the right. He stared out through the space cut there.
"There's no way that counts as a road," he protested.
"It's exactly how the lady described it when I made the reservation!"
"And you're sure this 'lady' isn't a serial killer drawing prey to her lair out here in the middle of nowhere?"
"The remoteness is part of the charm," she insisted. "Besides, it's statistically unlikely for a serial killer to be a woman."
"Right, that's... comforting." He made the turn carefully, squeezing onto the path and driving slowly until they hit a clearing with a cabin sitting in the middle.
"Oh," she breathed. "It's pretty. I feel like I should be wearing a handmade calico dress to properly fit in."
He laughed. "I think your jeans are fine, Laura Ingalls Wilder."
Inside, the cabin was furnished comfortably with overstuffed chairs and a king-sized bed, covered by a large, colorful quilt. She ran her hand over it.
"Somebody made this," she said. "I should take up quilting."
"You just took up photography."
"Hmm. Maybe I'll take pictures of quilts."
He slung an arm around her shoulders. "Or we could make dinner and you can take pictures of that."
"Or that," she agreed.
In the morning he woke to her calling his name softly. He squinted at her, perched at the end of the bed, looking down at him.
"Stay right there," she whispered, and lifted her camera to take his picture. He groaned out a laugh, letting his head drop back onto the pillow, eyes lazing half-shut. She laughed too, reaching out to draw the sheet down his chest a few more inches.
"What time is it?"
"8:30," she said. "I let you sleep in. But the light is perfect right now, and you look so handsome, Agent, I couldn't resist."
"Mm. You could've waited, I'm always handsome." He stretched an arm out to the side and flexed for her, smirking. "Did you make coffee?"
"In the kitchen."
She didn't go to fetch him a cup, so after a few minutes he gathered enough energy to head into the kitchen himself. Halfway there he realized she was snapping pictures of his naked trek through the cabin.
"Enjoy the view while you can," he called back. "I'm burning that roll of film when you're done."
"I'm sure we can make a deal," she told him. "Maybe I can give you a photography lesson."
He turned around and leaned against the kitchen counter, taking a slow sip of coffee.
"Oops," she said, lacing her voice with faux concern. "I seem to have lost my shirt."
"And your pants," he pointed out.
"How strange!"
He stood there for another minute, watching her.
"Well," he said finally, "I suppose it's never too early to start taking pictures for the Christmas cards."