Fic: Love = 42, drabbles, (Firefly, NCIS)
One of last week's themes at comment_fic was 'Love=42,' meaning the resulting fics should either be 42 words long or contain exactly 42 words of dialogue within a larger story. It was loads of fun and caused me to write some very unusual (for me, at least) pairings.
Everything
In the engine room Mal kisses her hair, though it's got grease in it and she's sweaty, with oil and metal shavings where they oughtn't be.
He kisses her anyway, cause she's got his ship going again, and for him, that's everything.
Dizzy
River whirls about, dancing; too focused on Kaylee's grin and her throat when she throws back her head laughing to remember to spot, they spin until the world spins without them.
River doesn't mind when she falls, because Kaylee falls with her.
Love Less Ordinary
She's Mal's pilot, his albatross, his delicate flower of hope in the desert of his belief. Let this be enough, she thinks. Though his love doesn't carry the strain of passion in hers, the important thing is that love exists, at all.
Two Out of Three
Back when he worked in Baltimore, Tony used to worry that he'd die alone and unloved.
Now, mostly he's just worried that he's going to die.
“Boss...”
“Hold on, DiNozzo.” Gibbs' voice is as rough as the grip of his hands on Tony's.
“Not sure if I'm gonna make it this time, boss.”
“Ducky will fix this, Tony. You will not die,” Ziva says fiercely, and he knows vaguely that his head is in her lap, regrets not having the breath to make a joke about that.
“Mr. Palmer, if you would hold this...” Ducky's voice fades in and out along with the pain, and Tony's thinking he probably doesn't have a lot of time left now.
“Probie?”
“I'm here, Tony,” says McGee's voice, and if Tony had more time he'd tell him that just cause a guy was dying didn't mean you had to shout right in his ear.
“Tell Abby...tell her I'm sorry.”
“Tell her yourself,” someone says, and he thinks it's Gibbs, but everything's gone dark at the edges and all he can think, as he drifts, is that he might be dying, but at least he's not the other two.
Everything
In the engine room Mal kisses her hair, though it's got grease in it and she's sweaty, with oil and metal shavings where they oughtn't be.
He kisses her anyway, cause she's got his ship going again, and for him, that's everything.
Dizzy
River whirls about, dancing; too focused on Kaylee's grin and her throat when she throws back her head laughing to remember to spot, they spin until the world spins without them.
River doesn't mind when she falls, because Kaylee falls with her.
Love Less Ordinary
She's Mal's pilot, his albatross, his delicate flower of hope in the desert of his belief. Let this be enough, she thinks. Though his love doesn't carry the strain of passion in hers, the important thing is that love exists, at all.
Two Out of Three
Back when he worked in Baltimore, Tony used to worry that he'd die alone and unloved.
Now, mostly he's just worried that he's going to die.
“Boss...”
“Hold on, DiNozzo.” Gibbs' voice is as rough as the grip of his hands on Tony's.
“Not sure if I'm gonna make it this time, boss.”
“Ducky will fix this, Tony. You will not die,” Ziva says fiercely, and he knows vaguely that his head is in her lap, regrets not having the breath to make a joke about that.
“Mr. Palmer, if you would hold this...” Ducky's voice fades in and out along with the pain, and Tony's thinking he probably doesn't have a lot of time left now.
“Probie?”
“I'm here, Tony,” says McGee's voice, and if Tony had more time he'd tell him that just cause a guy was dying didn't mean you had to shout right in his ear.
“Tell Abby...tell her I'm sorry.”
“Tell her yourself,” someone says, and he thinks it's Gibbs, but everything's gone dark at the edges and all he can think, as he drifts, is that he might be dying, but at least he's not the other two.