Quarterly Commentfic Challenge, Monday Roundup

[wellownedbkup]

"i thought angel mojo could heal all the little things, cas," dean laughs a little as he puts a new ice pack on castiel's shoulder. it'd been touch and go there, a demon almost too powerful for cas to send back to where he came from. more than once, each of them had been thrown from the ring into the most convenient and hard wall.

"it seems i am more cut off from heaven's glory than i suspected," castiel murmurs, rolling his arm uncomfortably. the last time he'd been thrown, there was a particularly hard piece of tractor he'd been thrown against before being shifted into the wall. he wasn't one to complain, but dean had insisted on hearing about the bruise so as not to be 'one man down,' as he'd put it.

dean just shakes his head. "if you'd take off your shirt and the trenchcoat, the ice would work a lot better. you'd still be in pain tomorrow, sure, but at least there'd be a difference in the amount." castiel blinks owlishly at dean before following his advice. dean has the grace to turn his head and blush before disappearing out of the room, muttering something about more ice.



he clatters down an alley, disoriented and cold in just the bare minimum of clothes that he'd had escaping from manticore. he doesn't know how long he's been out and wandering, days or weeks of dark corners and scrounging for some kind of nutrients in the garbage cans that gather about.

he tries to tell himself stories as the hours roll by, but he can't keep the thread of them in his head long enough to make sense. he almost wishes he had another refugee here with him, someone to draw him back into reality. even if having more than one means they're more easily caught.

he collapses just on the ledge of a stoop when his legs can't take it anymore, and he shivers at the cool light that shines over him. an old woman comes out, waving a broomstick ahead of her and crowing something about 'wild kids' and 'teach'em a lesson' that makes absolutely no sense to ben at all. but she sees him only a moment later when it's clear that he's the one who set off the motion sensor.

"why look at you, child. just skin and bones. have you eaten at all this month? come on in, honey, let grams fix you up right. why the wind'll blow you away if it so much as looks at you." she pokes him gently with her broomstick. "come on, honey. come inside."

he doesn't know if it's been days or weeks since he's eaten anything at all in the light, let alone a meal. maybe the blue lady sent him here after all.



they fall into his bunk with matching groans, a yelp interspersed as elizabeth's shoulder accidentally connects with the edge of the bunk. it's been far too narrow for a long time, especially since jack has the captain's quarters and thus the only bunk large enough to support a full grown man in comfort, and two people in only minor discomfort. will tries to soothe her shoulder as best he can, but there's very little he can do.

they sit up, after a time, and sigh. at least they'd been granted a cabin, which is more than they can say for the rest of the crew belowdecks, swinging in hammocks and curled in shelf-like bunks. will's never understood the appeal. he looks down at their hands, full of blisters and scabs and burns from where the ropes have slipped from his grasp despite how tight he's held on. he can see, too, where her hands are darker and shaped for holding a sword more than a quill, a pistol than an embroidery needle.

will hurts, and he's sure elizabeth feels the same. they slump together tiredly a moment before the ship jerks and shudders, and an alarm is sounded.

"invaders?" elizabeth murmurs, eyelids still at half mast. will nods, despite himself, and they stand wearily. she checks her arms and shakes herself awake. "a pirate's job is never done."



he's been team leader for all of three hours before they head off to one of the worst cases they've seen. it's more personal than it's ever been, and no one feels up to par when they get back. with everything that's going on, everyone just sort of... disappears home and promises to write their reports in the morning once they've seen all their loved ones again in their proper places.

all except morgan, apparently, who's still poring over documents and images, trying to tie together any loose ends they may have left behind. it isn't until reid sees him massaging his lower back for the 3rd time that he says anything.

"i can help with that."

morgan jumps, the paper in his hand fluttering to the table as he reaches for his service pistol. "reid," he starts, easing down.

"back in grad school, i had a lot of free time on my hands and i learned a little bit of massage therapy. i can help you with your back." he gestures to where morgan's still rubbing at a sore spot. "from the explosion?" morgan nods and moves closer to reid, where he's cleaning off a guest desk. "just lay down and let me help."

reid's efficient, gentle and firm, working out tension all the way down morgan's spine and out around the tense pucker of scar tissue where he guesses some shrapnel had damaged some nerves during the explosion of that ambulance that no one's really forgiven him for. heroic, yes, but also very stupid. reid would lecture him too, if he wasn't sure that garcia had done it enough for the whole team. before long, he's finished and helping morgan to sit up.

morgan holds his hand a second longer than he ought to, causing reid to blush. "thanks, reid."

"don't mention it." reid keeps his eyes downcast, mumbling something about seeing morgan bright and early tomorrow, and not staying up too late on reports that can wait, even as he rushes to the elevator. just because he understands people, reid knows it doesn't mean he "gets" people.



"i need everyone to continue performing admirably," he tells uhura, just as the turbolift doors open and he calmly walks to his quarters. they all know he's hurting, can only imagine what it's like to suddenly lose everything that makes you who you are. it only serves to make them tread quietly around their new captain, and makes them even more determined that, should nero attempt to reach earth, they have to prevent it happening again.

and yet.

kirk swans into spock's quarters with a bottle of something golden and liquid in one hand and two tumblers in another. "i told bones he'd have to give up the good stuff this time around. you needed it more." the words are said offhandedly, suave and nonchalant like kirk's known to be. but the gentle way everything's set on the table belies it.

spock opens his eyes to gaze steadily on kirk as he stands parade rest beside the table. "you have interrupted my meditation."

"i beg to disagree, spock." he leans forward confidentially. "i think you could use a drink." he turns quickly and splashes out a generous portion in one glass and less than a shot's worth in the other. "of all days, today's a day your vulcan side can take a back seat to a very human way of coping." he hands over the tumbler that has the most alcohol in it, and spock is surprised to find himself accepting it.

"i'm an endangered species," he breathes, just before tossing back the drink.

another full glass is returned to him before he really has time to hand the empty one back. "and in a few hours, you can get back to performing admirably. until then, you mourn."



kirk's not sure how word makes it around, but it does. he'd been trying to hide it. not because he thinks it's shameful or anything. no. nothing like that. it's just... well, how do you explain to someone that you can't meet them at X time because you have a regular appointment with a headshrinker?

besides, it ruins his cool.

so he'd been disguising it. there's a rec room on board and it's not that hard to camouflage chats with the doc about how he's coping with life on board and how that relates to his dad's death and if there are any lingering doubts about his capability in command... all of that, disguised as a game of racquetball.

besides, the harder they play, the less the doc talks. kirk's always been more fond of couches as a portal to more interesting activities.

so when spock waylays him on the way to eating in the mess hall, kirk's more than a little perturbed.

"sir, i do not mean to breech any personal boundaries, but i have become aware of your appointments with Dr Huff on board and i thought it best to confirm your health in regards to our current mission." spock seems genuine, though kirk can't really tell through the inscrutability of his countenance.

kirk pats him gently on the shoulder, pleased to see a frown mar the vulcan's face. "i'm fine, spock. good to know that when i need a mother on-board, i'll have one in you."



somehow, the tardis, sick though she is, homes in on one of the few persons who would not make the situation worse. as it is, having the Doctor, who doesn't actually know he's the Doctor, well... Ten would be furious with himself if he only knew who he was.

so when a big blue police box that is bigger on the inside pops up in cardiff, jack is only slightly elated. he misses traveling with the Doctor, it's true. though the last time was definitely not something he'd like to repeat. he's got stability with Torchwood, with Ianto Jones. and the rift is as predictable as a space-time rift can be. which is, not at all.

having Ten fall into his lap is nothing short of unextraordinary. Owen and Tosh run medical simulations that tell them very little about when the Doctor's memory will return. and Ianto barely restrains Gwen long enough to get Ten out of her interrogating questions. Jack finally takes him down into the heart of the Hub by hand, winding down long passageways and stairs until he feels he's nearly there.

there, down near where the heart of another TARDIS lives and keeps the Hub running, Jack sits Ten beside a wall and tells him all the stories he can recall about Rose and Martha and Mickey and the Daleks. he tells Ten all about the good things he knows the Doctor has done, and the bad things too. he talks about the man who can't die and the girl who lives with a copy of the Doctor in another universe. he talks and talks and talks until his voice begins to give out. just as it does, the Doctor leans over and nudges his shoulder against Jack's.

"Ah, but we had some fun, didn't we?"

Comments

[thefragyle.livejournal.com]

damn you, i wasn't going to read this until later, but then i saw kirk and spock and just HAD to, because there is no self-control when it comes to K/S fanfiction.

anyhow. lovely, of course. as are you. come on aim eventually sometime maybe? i have plot bunnies biting at my ankles, and need to reason through them with someone who knows my characters.

<3

[shadows-of.livejournal.com]

i'll be on aim this afternoon. also, yay!! did i know you were into k/s?? hmmm....