Oh, for fuck's sake.
Jul. 24th, 2006 12:57 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
apocalypsosI'd better have enough for Dean Jr. on Thursday, because this is really just getting fucking ridiculous. The computer doesn't want to work, so hopefully my brother won't be home too much for the next few days, because if I can't get it to work any better, that's going to be where I'll be writing all of my fic for the next few days. Seriously, I have five thousand ideas and I haven't finished anything in something like two weeks. I have withdrawal like crazy. (Hence the ficlet at the end of this post. Dude, I had to write something.)
I have my uncle's book, so I plan on sitting down and reading it either tomorrow or the next day. Whoo! (Heh. The funny thing was when we were talking about writing, because he said he can't just come up with a fictional story and I said I couldn't do non-fiction to save my life.)
I did not watch the Miss Universe pageant to root for a dress. You can't prove it.
And lastly, I have to finish my![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
spn_50states fic in the next few days or else I'm going to go crazy. At the very least, I have to make a decision on a local ghost story. Seriously, brain, pick ONE.
*****
Okay, the ficlet. It's only a few hundred words, and it's a 4400/Grey's Anatomy crossover. General 4400 spoilers for this season, although if you've never watched you can get by, and spoilers for the last episode of this season of GA.
I just needed to write a scenario that made me happybefore I fucking punch something like my goddamn computer, so ... this.
**
Just Pretend
**
The 4400 Center always empties at night like floodwaters unrestrained, people crowding the building one minute and the hallways deadly silent the next. Alana savors it when it comes, the faint sounds of the few people living there distant and comforting. She doesn't stay in her office past five that often, but when she does the quiet does wonders for her peace of mind. Too many years in the gentle tranquility of an art gallery, she figures.
It's why Alana knows the person heading towards her office is coming -- and stopping, and turning back, and stopping again, and turning back again, and repeating the same back and forth a couple more times for good measure -- long before she thinks said person even wants her presence known.
When the young woman reaches Alana's open door, she flinches as soon as she sees Alana, leaning back in her desk chair with a soft smile on her face.
"Miss Mareva?"
"One and the same," Alana says. The woman stares at her strangely, and Alana gets the wild impression she thought she'd find a fortune teller dripping with scarves and silver bangles. "Not what you expected?"
"No, I just ..." Her voice cracks a little like she'd been crying on the way over, and she stiffens as she takes a cautious step into Alana's office. "Okay, maybe a little. I heard about your abilities from a friend of a friend, and I thought maybe ... I don't know what I thought, I guess."
Alana gets up from the desk chair with a smile and gestures for the young woman to take one of the comfortable chairs on the other side of the desk. "You're lucky," Alana says, sinking into the chair opposite her. "I was just about to leave for the day when you got here."
"Oh, God, I'm sorry. I would have called first, but I thought if I did, I'd chicken out before I could -- I mean, I can go if --"
"No, no, don't worry about it." Alana reaches out, places a hand on the young woman's denim-covered knee before she can bolt. That light touch seems to be enough to hold the woman in place, and her next breath comes out ragged with nervousness. "You said you heard about my abilties, Miss --"
"Stevens. I lost someone, and I heard that you could help me."
Alana nods, leaning forward. "It's not going to be real, you understand. What I create is a fantasy world, nothing more. But whatever it is you're hoping to see -- whoever it is -- I can use my abilities to make that happen."
"I get it," the young woman says. The corners of her lips tug upwards, but it's a weak smile. "I just want to see him again."
There's a quiet moment and then Alana's hands rest behind the curve of her jaw, fingertips dipping into long blond hair.
"Just close your eyes and try to relax," Alana says. "I'll do the rest."
Izzie sighs and lets her eyelids slide shut, and the real world slips away in an instant.
**
The doorknob feels warm under her fingertips, warm and solid and so real she almost refuses to let go. But she does, closes the front door of the strange house behind her and takes a deep steadying breath as her gaze lands on the pictures on the wall.
Dozens of them. Jesus, there's so damn many of them, of the two of them doing things they'd never gotten the chance to do. A beach somewhere, drinking at some nightclub, decked out in wedding finery.
Wedding.
Izzie chokes back on a sob.
"Hey, baby."
A large hand slides around her waist from behind, a familiar manly scent clouding her senses that she only remembers in her mind hidden behind the sterile medicinal taint of the hospital. Warm lips press against the curve of her neck, and she shudders.
"Denny?" she whispers.
He chuckles behind her, the vibrations of the laughter rumbling in his chest tickling along the length of her body. "Who else would it be?" he asks. "'Cause if someone else is groping my wife, I'm going to have to put a stop to that."
She grins then, unable to stop herself even through her tears, and she slides her hand over his.
"Nope, no one else," she says, and leans back into his embrace.
I have my uncle's book, so I plan on sitting down and reading it either tomorrow or the next day. Whoo! (Heh. The funny thing was when we were talking about writing, because he said he can't just come up with a fictional story and I said I couldn't do non-fiction to save my life.)
I did not watch the Miss Universe pageant to root for a dress. You can't prove it.
And lastly, I have to finish my
spn_50states fic in the next few days or else I'm going to go crazy. At the very least, I have to make a decision on a local ghost story. Seriously, brain, pick ONE.Okay, the ficlet. It's only a few hundred words, and it's a 4400/Grey's Anatomy crossover. General 4400 spoilers for this season, although if you've never watched you can get by, and spoilers for the last episode of this season of GA.
I just needed to write a scenario that made me happy
**
**
The 4400 Center always empties at night like floodwaters unrestrained, people crowding the building one minute and the hallways deadly silent the next. Alana savors it when it comes, the faint sounds of the few people living there distant and comforting. She doesn't stay in her office past five that often, but when she does the quiet does wonders for her peace of mind. Too many years in the gentle tranquility of an art gallery, she figures.
It's why Alana knows the person heading towards her office is coming -- and stopping, and turning back, and stopping again, and turning back again, and repeating the same back and forth a couple more times for good measure -- long before she thinks said person even wants her presence known.
When the young woman reaches Alana's open door, she flinches as soon as she sees Alana, leaning back in her desk chair with a soft smile on her face.
"Miss Mareva?"
"One and the same," Alana says. The woman stares at her strangely, and Alana gets the wild impression she thought she'd find a fortune teller dripping with scarves and silver bangles. "Not what you expected?"
"No, I just ..." Her voice cracks a little like she'd been crying on the way over, and she stiffens as she takes a cautious step into Alana's office. "Okay, maybe a little. I heard about your abilities from a friend of a friend, and I thought maybe ... I don't know what I thought, I guess."
Alana gets up from the desk chair with a smile and gestures for the young woman to take one of the comfortable chairs on the other side of the desk. "You're lucky," Alana says, sinking into the chair opposite her. "I was just about to leave for the day when you got here."
"Oh, God, I'm sorry. I would have called first, but I thought if I did, I'd chicken out before I could -- I mean, I can go if --"
"No, no, don't worry about it." Alana reaches out, places a hand on the young woman's denim-covered knee before she can bolt. That light touch seems to be enough to hold the woman in place, and her next breath comes out ragged with nervousness. "You said you heard about my abilties, Miss --"
"Stevens. I lost someone, and I heard that you could help me."
Alana nods, leaning forward. "It's not going to be real, you understand. What I create is a fantasy world, nothing more. But whatever it is you're hoping to see -- whoever it is -- I can use my abilities to make that happen."
"I get it," the young woman says. The corners of her lips tug upwards, but it's a weak smile. "I just want to see him again."
There's a quiet moment and then Alana's hands rest behind the curve of her jaw, fingertips dipping into long blond hair.
"Just close your eyes and try to relax," Alana says. "I'll do the rest."
Izzie sighs and lets her eyelids slide shut, and the real world slips away in an instant.
**
The doorknob feels warm under her fingertips, warm and solid and so real she almost refuses to let go. But she does, closes the front door of the strange house behind her and takes a deep steadying breath as her gaze lands on the pictures on the wall.
Dozens of them. Jesus, there's so damn many of them, of the two of them doing things they'd never gotten the chance to do. A beach somewhere, drinking at some nightclub, decked out in wedding finery.
Wedding.
Izzie chokes back on a sob.
"Hey, baby."
A large hand slides around her waist from behind, a familiar manly scent clouding her senses that she only remembers in her mind hidden behind the sterile medicinal taint of the hospital. Warm lips press against the curve of her neck, and she shudders.
"Denny?" she whispers.
He chuckles behind her, the vibrations of the laughter rumbling in his chest tickling along the length of her body. "Who else would it be?" he asks. "'Cause if someone else is groping my wife, I'm going to have to put a stop to that."
She grins then, unable to stop herself even through her tears, and she slides her hand over his.
"Nope, no one else," she says, and leans back into his embrace.
