Crime Crossover Ficathon

next ficathon?

2008-02-02T19:40:53Z

if I may ask, when is the next ficathon here?
*is eager to sign up*

thank you.

community promo - semi OT

2008-01-11T04:31:36Z

Just a quick hook for cross_my_heart, a femslash crossover community. We have Bones, NCIS, Without A Trace, Law & Order: SVU and The X-Files... along with many other fandoms, crime and otherwise.
Come and enjoy our ladies in law enforcement!

(Sorry if this isn't acceptable, mods. Just delete, no hard feelings)

An Ethnographic Study.... (Temperance Brennan (Bones)/Sara Sidle (CSI))

2007-11-15T06:09:51Z

Title: An Ethnographic Study of Female Homosexuality in Las Vegas Drinking Establishments; Brennan, Dr. Temperance
Fandoms: Bones, CSI
Pairing: Temperance Brennan/Sara Sidle.
Rating: PG-13
Content Warnings: Femslash
Author's Notes: First, I have so many apologies for just how late this is! Second, thanks to both meeshy and havocthecat for reading and betaing - and the latter says that I can also blame her for the lateness! :) Any mistakes left are my own.

An actual fic note, don't try and place this in the timeline of either show! Also, this is apparently what happens when the ex-anthropology student writes an anthropologist ;)

What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.

Not even Brennan could have spent her entire life unaware of that particular phrase and even if she's not sure how the logistics work, ("Actually a marriage certificate issued in Las Vegas is a legally binding document representing the repression of women anywhere else."), there's something about the idea that excites her.

Maybe Las Vegas is a place where she can leave the straitlaced Doctor Temperance Brennan at home and simply be Tempe and do what Tempe wants to do.

(The fact that what Tempe wants to do is quietly read a good book, or continue working on chapter seven of her next Kathy Reichs novel, is neither here nor there.)

Her first night in Vegas, Brennan slowly walks the length of the strip. Her trained anthropologist's eyes dart from gaudy casino to gaudy wedding chapel and she wonders just what part of human evolution could have led to this. It is a far cry from Uruk and Ur and the earliest examples of cities she had looked at; yet at its heart, the city still followed the ten criteria Childe specified in his checklist from the Urban Revolution.

She listens to the exited chatter of tourists in a dozen languages, and picks out exotic dancers out of the crowd from the way they hold themselves and walk.

Returning to her hotel room, her head is spinning slightly as she tries to process the lights and noises that makes up the unique culture that is Las Vegas.

The fluid nature of the city fascinates her; there always seems to be a constant stream of people coming and going. But there is still a city when all those people go to their homes in the suburbans, leaving behind the monumental buildings and a population which boasts the largest growth out of any US city founded in the twentieth century. (Brennan had read the guide book cover to cover on her flight in.)

She knows that to understand the culture of Las Vegas, just like to understand any culture in the world, she cannot just observe; she has to participate. To do that, she has to look past the lights and the crowds, and see the dust and dirt that city officials don't want the tourists to see.

The next night, she goes looking for a bar, desperately trying not to look out of place as she rejects the country and western theme of the first, and the wailing of the karaoke machine in the second.

On first appearances, the third time appears to be the charm.

* * *

Sara keeps swearing that she's never coming back here, but there was just something about the place that keeps drawing her in again and again.

Maybe it isn't the place itself, but the knowledge that for a few hours she can lose herself. If she wants to, she can leave with a warm body who doesn't care about her name or what she does for a living and who, after the night is over, she'll never have to see again.

She changes at work, ignoring Greg's whistles and suggestion that he comes out on the town with her and bites back the remark that he isn't likely to get lucky where she's going.

Sara only hopes that she will.

* * *

It takes Brennan shockingly long to realize that all the patrons in the bar are women, and even longer to realize that these women are all sexually interested in other women.

She has two options available. She can go back out into the night and look for a fourth bar, or she can stay and observe a culture which she has little previous interaction with.

She decides to stay for at least one drink, already distancing herself from the population in the bar as she falls back into the familiar persona of Doctor Brennan, the anthropologist.

If nothing else, maybe this will help next time she finds inspiration lacking in her writing.

"You are so beautiful," murmurs one woman, sprawled out across the bar as Brennan orders a small glass of white wine.

"Thank you," replies Brennan in surprise, handing over her money and taking the drink, before moving to a small empty table in the corner. Thankfully, the woman doesn't follow her.

Sipping at her wine, her eyes scan the room analytically, watching as woman approached woman and noting how the whole thing echoes how all the cultures she has encountered choose a mate.

But these women aren't looking for a mate, so how do they determine the desirable characteristics after throwing out the normal gender for a mate? They're not looking for broad shoulders and strength to protect their offspring; nor are they looking from a male point of view to see which female was best suited to carrying and raising a child, with full figures and wide hips.

Brennan notices a couple as they come in, and follows their movement towards the bar as she mentally catalogs their appearances and behavior. She notes the differences; one is older; tall, blond and slightly plumper than the diminutive and delicately built brunette she arrives with. The blond wraps an arm around her companion, pulling her close and Brennan, still with gender roles in mind, assigns the role of protector to her.

She can see the comfort they have with one another, if not this place, and feels a sudden rush of jealousy that she has never experienced a bond like the one these two women were displaying; nor, she believes, is she ever likely to.

The younger woman disentangles herself, heading confidently towards the bar. Brennan watches her, realizing that she doesn't need the protection that the other woman was seemingly offering.

She shifts her attention back to the blond, who is moving towards a table. She's stopped by another woman; a woman who is confident, assured and looks very much at home in this place.

* * *

Sara has a thing for blonds. She keeps telling herself that it had absolutely nothing to do with a certain (completely unavailable) co-worker of hers, and that it just really was that blonds had more fun. (It had certainly been true of the lawyer from New York, and the California cop, and the young Marine lieutenant.)

Glancing around the bar, she notices a number of blonds, but only one stands out. She's tall and conservatively dressed, looking around the place almost in wonder. Sara guesses that she was an East Coast wife who has left her husband at some poker table further along the strip and who will try and tell Sara that the one time with her roommate in college hadn't really counted.

"You're looking a bit lost," she remarks, a bright smile on her face, as she strides up to the woman, first noting the lack of a wedding band, and then the bright blue eyes that locked directly on her.

"This isn't exactly my sort of place," the woman admits, surprising Sara with a crisp English accent. Despite the number of tourists that made their way here, she has never met anyone from outside the U.S. or Canada, and the English accent is definitely sexy.

"I can tell," she says, wryly. "I'm Sara, by the way. This your first time in Vegas?"

"Nancy. It's my first time in the States. We've been spending the summer out here, just trying to see as much as we can really."

"We?" echoes Sara, her smile dimming slightly.

Nancy nods, looking around in the direction of the bar. "She's just getting drinks – Oh! Here she comes."

A short brunette weaves effortlessly through the crowd, and hands Nancy a glass, before slipping one arm possessively around her waist. "Making friends already I see?" she asks, her own accented voice light, even as dark brown eyes glare daggers at Sara.

Nancy smiles down at her partner, and Sara feels a stab of jealousy that she's never had anyone look that way at her before.

"I'm surprised that you haven't already, my love," laughs Nancy.

"Look, can I give you some advice?" asks Sara bluntly, not caring that she is interrupting.

"You can. Whether you may is another question," murmurs the younger woman under her breath, and Nancy nudges at her.

"What?" exclaims Sara, momentarily thrown.

"Don't mind her," says Nancy. "Please, you were about to say something."

"You don't want to be here," continues Sara. "Not in this place. This place is for lonely single people who are just looking for some fun, and maybe a warm body for the night. This is where the married women who don't want their husbands to know that they like other women go; this is where people come and pretend to be someone other than themselves. This isn't really a place for couples; unless, you're looking to add a third for some fun..." Seeing both women's eyes widen almost comically, she chuckled, any tension between them immediately disappearing. "And clearly you're not. There's a nice little place downtown. Gypsy Jocelyn's on Jackson Street. There's a few tourists on the prowl there, but mostly it's locals. Tell Amelia behind the bar that Sara sent you."

"Thanks," says Nancy. "We appreciate it."

Sara shrugs. "Figured you'd have a better time if you weren't hit on every five minutes by another woman," she says. "Glad to help. Enjoy the rest of your time in Vegas."

Moving past the couple, she is suddenly acutely aware of someone watching her. Glancing around, she locks eyes with a woman sitting in the corner and nursing a full glass. Blue eyes meet Sara's unblinkingly and Sara is drawn in.

"That was nice of you," says the woman bluntly.

Sara blinks, confused. "What was nice of me?" she demands.

The woman waves her hand to where Nancy and her partner are extracting themselves from the bar. "Pointing out that they didn't belong here, and giving them someplace else to go. Most people would have just let them struggle."

Sara shrugs. "I try to be nice," she says. "Honestly, I'm surprised that anyone even noticed." She slowly sits down in the spare chair next to the woman.

"I was watching," says the woman.

"Watching me?" asks Sara, amused to see that the woman ducks her head and blushes slightly at that.

"Watching you. Watching the women you were talking to. Watching, well... everything. That's really what I'm here for."

Sara leans forward. "Just watching can be very boring," she drawls and is rewarded by another blush.

"I'm not a lesbian," says the woman frankly.

"Honey, you're in the wrong place then," says Sara, sighing as she relaxes back in her chair. (This woman is apparently what Greg would emphatically call a cock-tease and Sara has yet to find an equivalent word from the female point of view)

"I'm an anthropologist," says the woman, as though that makes all the difference. "This is just another culture to me, and I'm observing it."

"Don't anthropologists participate in different cultures as well?" asks Sara, her curiosity piqued.

The woman nods. "It can either take the form of 'participant observation', which is the acquisition of a new role or of 'observant participation', which is the utilization of an existing role to observe aspects of a familiar or unfamiliar setting," she explains and Sara feels as though she is was suddenly plunged back into her college days. Either that or she has just met the female equivalent to Gil Grissom.

"So is this an observation night, or a participant night?" she asks playfully, half wondering if the chances of getting anywhere with this woman will be worth it.

"Well, it can't really be separated into the two. Although it has been a long time since I've done any ethnographic research. This is more for my own interest rather than a paper or anything..." Her voice trails off as Sara moves to rest a finger on her lips. Sara is slightly distracted as she watches the blue eyes widen and immediately decided that she is worth it.

"What's your name?" Sara asks suddenly, pulling her finger away.

The woman hesitates.

"It doesn't have to be your real one," continues Sara, noticing the hesitation. She reaches forward to place her hand on the woman's and is encouraged when she doesn't pull away.

"Angela," she says, after another moment.

Sara smiles.

* * *

She doesn't dance; never has. Sara doesn't seem to care about that as she pulls Brennan out of her chair and toward the dance floor. Brennan is laughing slightly, letting Sara lead her and doesn't say anything when Sara's hands drop to rest on her waist, pulling their bodies closer together.

Brennan's heart is racing, and her cheeks are red. She is feeling slightly giddy and intoxicated, although she knows that it's not from the half of a glass of wine she's drunk.

Both she and Sara are in heels, matching each other's height inch for inch and Brennan's mouth is suddenly dry as her eyes meet Sara's. She realizes that what she sees in them is desire.

* * *

Laughing breathlessly, Sara moves her mouth towards Brennan's ear and murmurs, "Voulez-vous coucher avec moi, ce soir?"

Brennan just looks at her blankly. "I don't know what that means," she says. "I'm afraid my French is definitely sub-standard, although it's not really been a problem as I mostly go to Spanish-speaking countries."

Sara grins. "You don't know what it means?" she asks incredulously. "You mean you've never heard Lady Marmalade? Watched Moulin Rouge.

Brennan shakes her head. "No," she says.

"I'm propositioning you," says Sara frankly, watching Brennan's eyes widen and her cheeks flush red.

They stop dancing in the middle of the floor, and Sara tries to read the other woman's face; her blue eyes widen and her cheeks are flushed red.

"Let's go," says Brennan after a moment, her voice strong and sure.

Sara smiled, her hands catching at Brennan's and tugging her off the dance floor.

* * *

They pause for a moment outside the bar, enjoying the relative silence and the cool night air.

"I don't do this," says Brennan suddenly. Sara looks at her, her eyes asking for further clarification. "Leave with a woman I've just met. In fact, I've never done this before. With a woman. Well, done anything with a woman in fact."

She is babbling and she knows it, and Sara knows it, and Sara stops it by lying a finger across Brennan's mouth.

"If you don't want this, I can just walk you back to your hotel," says Sara, her finger gently tracing the outline of Brennan's lips.

"No, I want this," replies Brennan, surprising herself at just how sure her reply is. She proves it by leaning forward to clumsily kiss Sara again.

* * *

Sara's never taken a woman home with her and 'Angela' is certainly not going to be the first. Instead, she checks them in to a small hotel not far from the bar, and if the receptionist recognizes her (as she does him), he's careful not to mention it. It's not anything fancy, but it's clean (as clean as hotel rooms get anyway), and doesn't charge by the hour (Sara's done that once and never will again).

Brennan's nerves had obviously increased on the short walk, and while Sara is trying to make small talk, it all seemed so very forced as the door closes behind them with a resounding thud.

"I don't want to force you to do anything you don't want to," Sara begins, her voice unsure and unlike her own.

"No one's forced me to do anything I don't want to do yet," replies Brennan, her own voice strong and in complete contrast. "And no offense, but I hardly think you'd be the first."

It is Brennan who kisses Sara and it is Brennan who leads them to the bed.

Sara regains control five minutes later and keeps it for the rest of the night.

* * *

Brennan traces her fingers down the cervical, the thoracic and the lumbar vertebrate; the familiarity under the smooth skin is reassuring and Sara shivers slightly under her touch.

"What are you doing?" she asks through a yawn.

"Looking at your bones," replies Brennan honestly and is rewarded with a chuckle.

"That's a new one," says Sara, turning to face Brennan in the half-light of the room.

Brennan catches Sara's left wrist; her fingers probing. "Distal radius fracture," she says. "Didn't quite heal properly."

Sara nodded, her eyes starting to close. "Broke my wrist when I was a kid," she says. "I was pretty stupid and didn't follow all the instructions the doctor gave me. It's fine though. Surprised you could even realize it."

"I know bones," replies Brennan quietly. "I don't know people."

"Seemed to do okay with me," murmurs Sara.

She doesn't hear Brennan's whispered reply, "I'm just playing a role as an ethnographer in participant observation."

* * *

'Angela' is gone before Sara wakes up the the next morning.

Sara isn't surprised.

She slowly moves from the bed and into the shower, tracing the red marks left against her pale skin before her hand slips between her legs.

On her way out of the room, she finds a note left on the desk. A single scrawled, "Thanks" and it brings a smile to her lips, even as she crumples it up and drops it in the wastepaper basket, knowing that whoever 'Angela' had been, she is never going to see her again.

* * *

Brennan is packing when she gets the phone call. She's not really tempted by the offer, but Goodman is 'strongly suggesting' that it's in her best interest to do this one little favor for the Las Vegas police department. (And, if she understands correctly, it means that he now owes one less favor to someone himself.)

Sighing, she pulls back her hair, books her room for another night before moving downstairs to wait for her very own police escort, which is to be in the form of one Detective Jim Brass.

* * *

Sand and dust half-cover the skeletal remains and Sara stares at the exposed bones, her mind a million miles away.

"We're in luck," says Grissom behind her, and she jumps. "We've managed to get hold of a forensic anthropologist who's been in town for a couple of days. She's an expert in bones and should be able to tell us everything we need to know from this skeleton. She should be here any minute now."

Apparently Grissom is developing his psychic powers, as mere seconds after he tells her that fact, a car pulls up on the road behind them and there is the sound of car doors slamming.

"Gil, Sara," says Brass, moving towards them. Sara is momentarily distracted by the glistening of silver near the skeleton, and leans in to take a closer look. "I'd like to introduce you to Doctor Temperance Brennan, who has very kindly agreed to provide her expertise in this case."

"Doctor Brennan," says Grissom and Sara rises from her crouched stance to make her introductions.

"Nice to meet you," she begins, her voice trailing off and all the facts fall into place and of course it has to be her.

This isn't supposed to happen.

CSI:NY RP Community!

2007-11-13T19:57:32Z

Hey mods, if this isn't allowed, go ahead and delete it. My apologies in advance.

That being said, hey! Fans of CSI New York! Feel like you're missing out? Feel like there are times where YOU could play people like Mac Taylor or Stella Bonasera and control what they do? Well, here's your chance! I'm letting ya'll know about this totally sweet RP Community, called </a></b></a>csi_ny_rp. So, if you want, you should come and check it out! We've got tons of spaces available. All you have to do is read the rules, and sign up! You'll get an e-mail ASAP (a few hours usually) letting you know if you're in or not! All you have to do, is post a comment, or e-mail me at nikkilachance@ns.sympatico.ca with this imformation:

Character Name:
Character Age:
Character Mini-Bio:
Character Journal/Your journal:

And any other information you think is needed!

So, why don't you give it a go? What do you have to lose? See you there!

This is a strictly CSI:NY rp community, and I won't be accepting any OCs until after we have every main character covered. So, here's a list of the people, and whther or not they're available:

MAIN CHARACTERS:
Mac Taylor - Available
Stella Bonasera - Put on Hold
Danny Messer - Available
Don Flack - <lj user="becca_nezumi">
Lindsay Munroe - Available
Sheldon Hawkes - Available
Aiden Burn - Available

MINOR, BUT JUST AS IMPORTANT CHARACTERS:
Reed Garrett - <lj user="reed_garrett_x"> (Me)
Peyton Driscoll - Available
Adam Ross - Available
Det. Angell - <lj user="angels_boys">

IF I'm missing anyone, please let me know, or if there is a character not mentioned that you want to play, let me know. Thanks!!!

Here are the requirements:

1) You must post something to this community, or be a part of something ongoing at least once every two weeks. If there's something going on with you, in RL (Real life) let me know, okay?

2) Character journals are not neccessary, but seeing as there will be no OOC community, it might be a good idea for you to have them, so you can discuss what's going on between your character, and a character of another memeber. ALSO!!! If you have a character journal, it must have an update at least once every two weeks. Special circumstances same for above.

3) No character bashing! I mean, obviously you're not going to get along with everyone all the time, but don't bash someone, or block them every single time they're trying to be part of this. Treat everyone with respect.

4) If you are uncomfortable with rape, non-con, slash and the like, then leave now. I will not be held accountable if you get all grossed out.

5) This has to be done in third person, okay? No, "I went to the store and did this" or that type of stuff okay? Thanks.

6) One character to one person each. IF and only IF we can't find enough people to fill the other roles will they be open to members. Applications will have to be sent, but contact me for further info about that. This being said! You can only control your character. You can't, for example, be Mac and being talking to Stella, and mention that, say, Danny gave you head the other day. UNLESS IT ACTUALLY HAPPENED!!! Use your common sense, people, okay? Great!

7) Stay true to your character. So, don't have Danny turn from a macho man into a weasel that's afraid of his own shadow, unless there is a good reason to do so. Again, use your common sense.

Check these rules lists continually, they might be subject to change, especially once we actually get off the ground. Besides that, this is here for your guys to have major fun, and meet other people who are just as obsessed as you and I. haha. Go to it!

Haven't Changed a Bit (Numb3rs/CSI: Miami) for amatia

2007-11-03T15:06:10Z

Title: Haven't Changed a Bit (Numb3rs/CSI: Miami
Author: iluvroadrunner6
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Spoilers for the beginning of this season for Miami (very vague though).
Summary: Don and Megan head down to Miami to check out some information on a cold case.
Author's Note: This is more past Don/Calleigh, with current Don/Liz and Calleigh/Jake. It also kind of exploded and is twice the length of what's required, but you're getting it late anyway, so--I think you've earned it.

“Hey, Don?” Colby said as he rounded a corner in the FBI bullpen. “Gotta minute?”

“Yeah, Colby, what’s up?” Don was leaning back in his desk chair, taking a break from the paperwork he was currently working on.

“You know that shooting we had a couple months back—never found the murder weapon and the case ran cold?”

“Yeah,” Don sat up a bit more in his chair. “What about it?”

“The gun resurfaced,” Colby replied, handing him a file. “In a double homicide. MO looks like it might be the same guy.”

“Where is it?” Don asked, taking the file from him.

“Miami,” he replied, “The lieutenant on the case gave us a call, said we might wanted to get in on the arrest if it was the same guy.”

“Miami, huh?”

“Yeah—want me and David to fly in and check it out?”

“Actually, you know what—me and Megan’ll take this one.”

“You want to go to Miami?” Colby asked skeptically.

“Yeah—what’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” Colby said, shaking his head. “Nothing at all. You going to ask Megan before you decide she’s going?”

“I’m pretty sure she’ll want to tag along,” he said with a smirk, before getting up and picking up his suit jacket, and heading off to find Megan. “It’s gonna be a pretty interesting trip.”

Megan was found a few minutes later, sitting at her desk stirring a cup of coffee. When she heard that Don was heading to Miami personally himself, she frowned slightly. “You want to go to Miami.”

“Yeah.”

“For a gun in a cold case from months ago.”

“Yeah—that a problem?”

“And you don’t want to send David and Colby instead.”

“Nope—figured I’d handle this one myself for once.”

Megan sat back, studying him for a minute, “Alright, I’m intrigued—what’s in Miami?”

“Our gun,” Don replied with a smirk. “So you comin’ or what?”

She sighed heavily before shaking her head slowly. “I’m coming.”

***

“You wanted to see me, Horatio?” Calleigh asked as she walked over to the tall, red-haired lieutenant, crossing her arms in front of her chest as she did. Horatio looked up at her and gave her a small smile as he took off his sunglasses.

“Yes—I did. Do you know an FBI Agent Eppes?”

Calleigh smirked slightly at the name before nodding. “A long time ago. Why do you ask?”

“His team in LA has taken an interest in our case—the murder weapon, to be more specific,” he sighed. “And I want you—to make sure all the lines of communication are clear.”

Calleigh frowned, “Isn’t that Detective Berkley’s job?”

“Normally, it would be, but Agent Eppes—” Horatio looked up at her, an amused smile on his face. “—requested you.”

The frown softened into a small smile. “He did?”

“He did,” Horatio nodded.

“Well—do I have a choice?”

He smirked. “You always have a choice, Calleigh.”

“Uh-huh,” Calleigh sighed, apparently highly amused at this turn of events. “I’ll go talk to them now, then?”

“Please do, and Calleigh?” Calleigh turned back to face him as he put his sunglasses back on, hand on his hips. “Keep me in the loop.”

***

Don was sitting up on the edge of the breakroom table, staring down Berkley with an amused smirk. The younger detective was not happy they were here but there really wasn’t anything he could do about it at this point. So Berkely was pissed, Don was amused, and Megan just looked annoyed. Don turned to her with a confused grin, tilting his head to the side slightly.

“Something wrong?”

“Too much testosterone in the room,” Megan said with a smirk. “Way too much testosterone.”

Don gave her a grin, before the door opened, and Calleigh walked in with a bright smile. Don returned it, and Berkley perked up slightly, at this, now more confused than pissed. Calleigh turned to him with a nod. “Don’t worry about them, Jake—I’ll take it from here.”

“Why?” he frowned, giving her a look.

“Agent Eppes requested that I be their liaison for this case.”

Berkley was now looking at him with something akin to suspicion—possibly possession, but Don couldn’t be sure. Jake just shook his head, before walking out of the breakroom, and Calleigh turned back to the two agents with a smile. “Agent Eppes.”

“Officer Duquesne.”

“Been a long time.”

“That it has,” he nodded, before turning back to Megan. “This is my partner, Megan Reeves.”

“Nice to meet you,” Calleigh replied, extending her hand to Megan and the other woman shook it, a look of curiosity crossing her face.

“And you,” Megan said with a nod. “How do you two know each other?”

“We’ve worked together before,” Calleigh sighed softly. “A long time ago.”

“Back when I was still in fugitive recovery,” Don added, and Megan nodded.

“Well then—guess this should go a lot smoother.”

“Guess so,” Calleigh said with a sigh, as she moved to sit at the breakroom table. “Now, should I get you two up to speed?”

“Please do,” Megan nodded, giving her partner a curious look as she settled into the seat.

***

Calleigh was leaving the breakroom when she felt Jake catch her arm, pulling her closer to him. She gave him a strange look, and he ignored it. “Who is he?”

Jake had been watching the two of them talk through the window of the breakroom, and there was something incredibly off about this guy. He had requested her for more than the interest of the case going smoothly. They knew each other. Well. He could see it in the way they looked at each other, and he wasn’t stopping until he got some answers.

“Who is who?”

“Agent Eppes.”

“I think you just answered your own question.”

Jake groaned, pinching his eyes closed and shaking his head. “I mean who is he to you?”

“He’s an old friend,” she replied, wrenching her arm out of his grip.

“Old friend or old boyfriend?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“Considering what we’re doing now, I think it is.”

“Let it go, Jake,” she replied, before starting to walk away from him again. “It was a long time ago.”

“Just because it was a long time ago, doesn’t mean it’s going to stop him from trying again.”

Calleigh turned back to him before shaking her head slowly, “Let. It. Go.”

Jake just remained silent, and Calleigh sighed before turning to walk away again. Once she was out of earshot Jake shook his head and muttered. “So not letting this go.”

***

“What was that about?” Megan asked as she went to pour herself another cup of coffee.

“What was what about?” Don asked, looking up at her in confusion.

“You requested her?”

“Well, I figured that since jurisdiction always makes things uncomfortable, I’d request someone I’ve worked with before and make sure things go a little—smoother.”

“So you two have worked together before?”

“Yes, briefly we did.”

“Was it more than just work?”

“What?” Don turned to her, giving her a look.

“Don—let’s not pretend I don’t know about your preferences for women with a badge,” Megan replied, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “We’re partners, remember?”

“It was just work, Megan.”

“Uh-huh.”

“It was.”

“Just work like we’re just work, or just work like you and Liz are just work.”

Don turned to her with a look, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “Drop it, Reeves.”

Megan just grinned, enjoying watching him squirm. “You know, I could probably go to her and get the whole story myself.”

“There’s nothing to tell,” he replied firmly.

Megan nodded slowly, before picking up a cookie from the box on the table, and taking a bite. “We’ll just see about that.”

***

Calleigh looked up at the sound of someone knocking lightly on the doorframe of the trace lab. She gave the agent a smile, before turning back to the samples she was setting up in the GCMS.

“Agent Reeves—what can I do for you?”

“I heard you were running trace from the murder weapon,” Megan replied.

“Just setting it up to run now,” Calleigh nodded as the woman walked over to stand next to her. “It’ll take some time before we get any results though.”

“It’s a shame you already ran the ballistics on the murder weapon,” Megan sighed, pushing herself up on the stool next to her. “I was hoping to see the ‘Bullet Girl’ in action.”

Calleigh gave her a small smile. “And who told you I go by that?”

“Don,” Megan replied simply. “You know, he really speaks very highly of the time you worked together. Leaves a person to wonder just how—closely—that was.”

Calleigh’s smile turned into a smirk. “Are you fishing, Agent Reeves?”

“Is my bait good enough, Officer Duquesne?” Megan replied with a grin, and Calleigh looked over at her, amused.

“Well, that depends on what you want to know.”

“Look, I can tell from the way he looks at you that there was something more than just a professional relationship going on. That much I know. All he seems to do is deny, deny, deny, so—I have to admit. I’m a bit curious.”

“You’re asking for pretty personal information,” Calleigh replied. “I think I’m going to need some kind of—exchange.”

“Are you asking me to bribe you, Officer Duquesne?” Megan smirked.

“Not a bribe, exactly, just a—mutual sharing of information.”

Megan frowned for a minute, before her eyes widened. “You want to know what he’s been up to lately.”

“Not so much what as who, but yes,” Calleigh said with an embarrassed smile. Megan only grinned with a nod.

“I think we can work something out.”

***

“Hey, Don!”

Don turned at the voice and gave her a smile. “We got something?”

“DNA gave us a hit off the slide—we think it’s the guy we’re looking for,” she replied. “Wanna take a ride and check it out?”

“Definitely,” he nodded, starting to follow her as she led the way toward the parking garage.

“ Great,” she said with a grin before holding up the keys. “I’ll drive.”

Don grinned. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

“And neither have you, from what I’ve heard,” she replied as she climbed into the Hummer. Don did the same before turning to her with an interested look.

“And what have you heard?”

“Oh, nothing much, really,” she said with a small smirk. “Just a little something about you and an—Agent Warner?”

“Ahh,” he grinned with a laugh. “You’ve been talking to Megan.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that you’re still a badge bunny.”

“I thought that term was reserved for lawyers who dated cops.”

“I think for you it still applies,” she grinned, pushing the car into gear and backing out of the parking space.

“Oh yeah?” he grinned. “Well, you’ve been doing a bit of that yourself.”

“Have I?” she smirked.

“Oh, don’t give me that,” he said with a laugh. “I know how you flirt, Calleigh. And I saw the way Detective Berkley looked at you.”

“And I think you’ve been talking to someone yourself.”

“Talking to someone?” he said, giving her a look. “Who would I be talking to? You’ve had me holed up in the breakroom all day.”

“I’m sure with your charm you would have managed to get the information out of someone somehow.”

“Charm?” he said, giving her a look of fake confusion. “What charm?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Seriously, Calleigh, I am the least charming person I know,” he grinned. “Where on earth would you get that idea about me?”

“Let’s just say I’m speaking from personal experience,” she grinned, looking over at him briefly before turning her eyes back to the road. They fell into silence for a moment, before he turned back to her, a more serious expression on his face.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Professional or personal?”

“Personal.”

She paused for a minute, before shrugging slightly. “Go for it.”

“Did you miss me at all?”

“Did I miss you?”

“You know—after we—” He let his voice trail off and let her infer what he meant from the statement. She was quiet for a minute, before shrugging slightly.

“Possibly. A little,” she sighed. “But we were complicated from the beginning, Don. We never would have worked.”

“When I was in fugitive recovery, maybe,” he said with a shrug. “But now that I’m back working homicide—”

“Don—Agent Warner, remember?”

“Yeah, yeah, no—I’m not saying that we should now,” he said, shaking his head. “But if somewhere down the line, it comes up—” He looked over at her, hesitating slightly. “—would you?”

She thought about it for a minute, before shrugging. “Maybe. That’s a pretty big maybe though.”

“I see,” he said with a nod. He looked away from her for a minute, before turning back to her with a smile. “You still haven’t changed a bit.”

Calleigh laughed, shaking her head slightly. “Neither have you, Don. Neither have you.”

Two Teams In The Lab

2007-11-01T08:56:19Z

Two Teams in the Lab by Meesh

Fandoms: Bones and NCIS.
Pairing: None.
Rating: PG-13
Category: Crossover, Gen, Humour, Team.
Content Warnings:
Disclaimer: I don't own either show (as will become evident in my lack of ability at writing any of the characters!)
Spoilers: None
Author's Notes: Written for amanda_is_wacky as part of the crimecrossover ficathon. Prompt "Temperance Brennan (Bones) gets requested to consult on a case for NCIS. The NCIS team are well known for their humour, whereas Brennan on the other hand... Some humorous interaction between them would be great. Feel free to add any other Bones characters as needed/wanted." This probably isn't as humorous as you wanted, Amanda, sorry!
Thanks to triciabyrne1978 for the read through, any lingering mistakes are mine!

(Two Teams In The Lab)

Admin: Don't forget

2007-10-30T09:22:50Z

To those of you who said you will be finishing your fics. Today is the day! For those of you who are able to we have some prompts which need pinch hitting...

If you want to claim one just reply to this post with the recipient number (e.g. recipient three) you would like to claim. Remember you only need to write one of the prompts. First come first served gets the prompt. I'll reply to your comment to confirm you have the prompt and tell you who your recipient is. Ideally we'd like a FAST turnover on these fics. 2 weeks max please!! 1000 words, or as near as :)

Recipient One
1. Sara (CSI) / Natalia (CSI: Miami)
2. Wendy Simms (CSI) & Natalia Boa Vista (CSI: Miami)
3. NCIS meets CSI: Miami on a case :: clash or work well together?

Recipient Two
1: Sara Sidle (CSI)/ Samantha Spade (WaT)
2: Olivia Benson (SVU)/ Stella Bonasera (CSI:NY)
3: Sofia Curtis (CSI)/Nikki Beaumont (Nikki&Nora)

~~Recipient Three~~ Claimed
1: pairing request - Calleigh Duquesne (CSI:M)/Don Eppes (Numb3rs)- however you want to do it, from mutual flirtation to actual relationship or anything in between. I just think they'd be adorable together.
2: friendship/non-romantic request - Alex Eames (L&O:CI) & Stella Bonasera (CSI:NY) (note: if you want to write it as a femslash pairing instead that's good, too)
3: situational request - CSI:Miami/NCIS, since I'd think they'd all drive each other crazy. (I can just imagine Tony hitting on Calleigh and getting SO shot down.)

Recipient Four
1: Danny Messer (CSI:NY)/Nina Cassady (L&O) --> teasing Detective Beauty Queen
2: Larry Flienhardt (Numb3rs) and Sheldon Hawkes (CSI:NY) have a zen moment.
3: Mac Taylor and Jack McCoy argue about how to try a case.

Recipient Five
1: Tony DiNozzo(NCIS)/Jack Hodgins(Bones)
2: Tony DiNozzo(NCIS)/Martin Fitzgerald (Without a Trace)
3: Tony DiNozzo (NCIS)/Charlie Eppes (Numb3rs)

Recipient Six
1: Pairing: Stella Bonasera(CSI:NY)/Olivia Benson (Law & Order: SVU)
2: Friendship: Samantha Spade (Without A Trace) & Don Flack, Jr. (CSI:NY)
3: Situational Wild Card: Veronica Mars in NYC on spring break with the CSI:NY team

Recipient Seven
1. Bones/Criminal Minds. Reid & Brennan friendship fic. I think these two could have a lot in common. I'd like to see Spenser Reid interact with the squints at the Jeffersonian on a case, and I'd love to see him interact with and form a friendship with Temperance Brennan.

2. Criminal Minds/CSI. Spenser Reid disappears while he's on vacation visiting his mother in Vegas. Can Grissom's CSIs and the rest of the Behavioral Analysis unit find him? (I would love it if you could somehow make this slash -- any pairing is fine with me -- but it's not necessary.)

3. Bones/Dead Zone. Forensic anthropologist and bestselling novelist Temperance Brennan appears on a talk show to promote her new book. Also being interviewed on the show is notorious psychic Johnny Smith. (Why Johnny, who dislikes publicity, decided to go on a talk show I leave as an exercise for the author!) They get into an on-air argument about the scientific validity of psychic phenomenon. Afterwards, a serial killer decides to help them settle the argument by sending them both clues about his next victims. Whoever gets there first wins, his letter says. If neither of them can catch him, he wins. But neither Johnny nor Temperance want to play. Can they work together to catch this killer?

Recipient Eight
1: Pairing request: Angela Montenegro(Bones)/Tim McGee (NCIS) Obviously this is pre-Jack on Bones. Also, would like it if Abby were jealous.
2: Friendship or First meeting request: Jack Hodgins (Bones)& Gil Grissom (CSI). The meeting of the bug men
3: Wildcard: Shawn Spencer (Psych) meets Allison Dubois (medium)

Recipient Nine
1: Abby Sciuto (NCIS) joins the 'squints' at the Jeffsonian (Bones)
2: Law Enforcement Convention in Santa Barbara. Brennan (Bones) is speaking on forensic anthropology, but when a body is found on a nearby building site, she and Booth recruit help from others at the conference, including Jack Malone and Samantha Spade (Without a Trace), who believe that the missing body is one of their missing persons.
3: Bones & Veronica Mars. Post series Veronica Mars, after she's joined the FBI and ends up working with Booth and Brennan. Appearance from Mac would be awesome (as would Veronica/Mac, or maybe Veronica/Logan.) Brennan/Booth also good, but not necessary.

promised fic

2007-10-18T21:51:28Z

Title: On the Fly
Author: saraid
Rating: PG
Fandoms: Criminal Minds/Without a Trace
Prompt: Jack Malone/Jason Gideon friendship.
WC: 1741

Beta’d be LeiaDianaMinerva. Any lingering mistakes are 100% mine.

Jack saw the sturdy figure coming down the hall. Danny was showing the way, a smile on his face. Jack stood from behind his desk and headed for the door, just as the two of them reached it.

Danny opened it, a laugh lightening the air. Jack could tell he was honestly amused, not just humoring the visitor. The young agent had false good cheer down to an art form.

“I found your lunch date,” he anounced, stepping aside to let him in as Jack stepped back to make room.

“Jason,” he said, finding that he couldn’t keep the surprise out of his voice.

“Jack.” Jason stopped, obviously uncomfortable. He moved his arm and Jack thought, is he going to hug me?, but Jason’s hand landed, instead, on Jack’s shoulder. He nodded and smiled, stepping further way.

“I’m almost done here, just let me close a couple of things,” he said, going behind his desk and leaning over his keyboard. “Danny, have you been properly introduced? Agent Danny Taylor, Special Agent Jason Gideon of the BAU.” He waved a hand toward them, and straightened slowly when Jason spoke.

“Not anymore, Jack.”

“What?” Taking a deep breath, Jack took the time to actually look at Jason.

He looked tired, a frown creasing his forehead, but that was normal. On any given day they all looked tired.

There was something different about his face, though – a lessening, a lightening. Had something lifted the pall that followed Gideon through life?

Jason looked back, at Jack, and Jack wondered what he saw.

“I’ve left the BAU. For good this time.”

“Are you okay?” The words slipped out thoughtlessly.

Jason shook his head, his familiar self-depreciating smile creeping across his face. Jack relaxed.

“We got to know each other in the elevator,” Danny said. Both older men looked at him, as if they’d forgotten he was there.

“Oh. Good. Where are Martin and Sam?”

“In Queens, questioning the father’s next family and friends. Elena and I are just heading out to interview the mother’s CO.”

“Okay. Tell Viv I’ll be out, but my phone’s on in case we get a break.”

“Right. Nice meeting you, Mr. Gideon.” Danny let himself out.

“He’s sharp, that one,” Jack said.

“Enthusiastic,” Jason agreed.

There was a brief silence, filled with the sounds of a busy office.

“I’m done here, did you bring a car?” Jack asked.

“Cab.” Jason’s answer was short and frustrating. Jack grabbed his coat, slinging it on, and stuffed his phone in a pocket. He didn’t try to button it, he knew it was a bit tight and he didn’t want to deal with that at the moment. He just hadn’t found time to go to the gym since Anne – well, it wasn’t like he’d ever been an underwear model.

“So what are you in the mood for?” he asked as they went back down the hallway. The elevator ride down was taken up with discussions of various retaraunts, and then the walking distance vs. cab debate.

At Jason’s insistence Jack chose, a small family-run Italian place not too many blocks from the office. He waited until they were seated, bread given and wine politely refused by both, and then he slouched back in his chair. Jason met his gaze straight on.

“I was surprised to get your call,” Jack admitted after a minute. “I wasn’t sure you’d show up.”

“Here I am,” Jason gave a little shrug.

“So, you quit the BAU, but you’re not –“ Jack twirled an index finger at his temple, pleased to see Jason smile widely.

“No more than usual.”

“Then I have no idea why you’d do that.”

Their server arrived before Jason could answer, the heels of his shoes cliking loudly on the tiled floor. It was past lunch hour proper, they were the only people in the dining room. He recited a respectable menu for the day. Both men chose the chicken piccatta, Jack assuring Jason that it was ‘almost as good as somebody’s mother might make’.

Jack sipped water as they sat in silence. Then he took another deep breath and dovein.

“We haven’t really talked in years, and you show up in New York, give me a call? Ask me to lunch. As my daughter Kate would say, what’s up with that?”

Jason shrugged again. “I’m here to see Steven.” He picked up his own glass of water, drank. “I’m trying to re-connect.”

“With your son?”

“And old friends.”

“So I’m an old friend?” Jack asked, wanting to press the issue, just a bit. He didn’t have many make friends, peers. Truth be told, he didn’t have any. The job, family, there wasn’t much time left over.

“Or a new one.” Jason gave him that crooked half-smile.

He looked strangely vulnerable. Jack wanted to ask about it, but it seemed too soon.

“I’m glad you did. A lot’s been going on, I haven’t talked about it much.”

“Really?” Jason looked interested, his psychology meter probably tweaking.

“Yeah.” Jack allowed some of his pain and frustration leak into the word.

“Tell me about it.” Jeason leaned forward, his attention firmly focused on Jack. So Jack did, he told him all about it. About Anne, the apartment, and the baby. He told Jason how much it had hurt to lose that life. How guilty he felt because losing the baby hurt so much more than losing Anne.

They were on their second cup of coffee by the time he finished.

“And I think she knew, all along. I was just going to do the right thing, the honorable thing, but before I knew it I wanted the baby.”

“I’m sorry,” Jason said quietly. “I know how much you miss your girls.”

“I do.” Jack felt a tightness in his chest, but he managed a smile. “They’re coming next month, when school lets out, and I’m taking two weeks off. I’m thinking of taking them to Disneyland.”

“They’ll love it. You’ll hate it,” Jason predicted, leaning back with his cup in both hands.

“You’ve been to Disneylad?”

“A couple of months ago.”

Jack made a show of blinking and scratching his head.

“Did you go alone?”

“Ah, the heart of the matter,” Jason smiled, a small smile. “Or the matter of the heart.”

“Your turn,” Jack said, leaning forward, with his elbows on the table, their positions now reversed.

Jason set his cup down and looked past Jack as he spoke.

“Do you remember when you were having that affair with that young agent in your office?”

Jack sucked in a breath, puffed it out. “Not something I’m likely to forget.”

Jason glanced back at him, nodded, and looked away again.

“So you…?” Jack let the question trail off delicately.

“I’m in love,” Jason half-laughed. Suddenly Jack understood the changes he’d seen in his friend’s face.

“With a subordinate,” Jack said.

“Yes.” And Jason just looked happy. Jack didn’t think he’d ever seen that before. “I’m so stupid in love that I’ve quit my job and undertaken the task of allowing myself to be happy. It’s taking some effort.”

“I can imagine.” Jack would have laughed except that somehow Jason still seemed vulnerable. “Your – significant other – is still working at the BAU?”

There had been a night, almost twenty years ago, when a younger Jason Gideon had stopped a much younger Jack Amlone in an emoty meeting room, and touched his face. Just a touch, a hand warm and strong on his cheek, and Jack had said no with as much grace and kindness as he could. Because he was married, because he was straight. Because being the focus of Jason Gideon’s intensity was an almost terrifying thought.

The subject had never come up between them again. They moved on to different offices, different cities and their friendship became a proatic long-distance thing that was still a true friendship. Jason was the man Jack could call when it all went to shit, and Jack had been one of the many people calling Jason daily after his life and world went up in flames.

Jason was watching him. Jack thought he was wondering if Jack would ask, but he knew Jason. The man would tell him when he wanted to.

“Their position is more important that yours?” Jason was the premier profiler on the entire BAU. One of the reasons everyone had worked so hard to her him out of the office, back intothe field.

“Their potential is amazing,” Jason said. There was a light in his eyes. “IT was time. I need to step away from the mosters, and step closer to humanity.”

“Society,” Jack corrected.

Jason tilted his head, considering that.

“You’re one of the most human people I know,” Jack explained. “You need to be closer to the society that you live in, not the humanity that’s inside you.”

“I like that,” Jason murmured. He picked up his cup, cradled it. Jack’s coffee was cold now, but he wasn’t going to interrupt this moment to get more.

“Being in love is a pretty goood sign of humanity,” he added.

“Thank you.” Jason was staring at him. It might have been his imagination, but Jack thought he looked less tired.

“Anytime.” Jack smiled back. It surprised him how much he meant it, and made him feel good. Strong. “Hey, the Yanks are playing tonight – want to see if we can score some seats?”

Jason pulled out his wallet, still smiling, and dipped in two fingers to pull out two tickets.

“Need a date?” Jack joked.

“Nothing would please me more,” Jason laughed back.

“Let me call the office…I can take you by, show you the new place, let you change…”

They took the walk back to the office slowly.

“Anything I can do for the case? I’m still consulting, officially.”

They paused to watch a Latin teen’s hands fly over a cardboard three-card monte table.

“No, it’s not that complicated. A custody thing. We’re pretty sure the father took her. Mom’s a diplomat going overseas. There seems to be little chance the child is any danger, so –“

Jason listened, and Jack talked, into the building, the elevator, and Jack, looking at his friend – one of his oldest friends – thought that perhaps there were changes in his own face, too.

Changes that happened over a lingering lunch. A lightening of his face, a loosening of his heart. Maybe love was still out there for him to find.

Bad mod, no biscuit

2007-10-15T08:37:52Z

Right, apologies for not being more on top of this until now.... Real life went nuts etc.

This is a list of the people who are yet to turn in a fic. We need EVERY author on the list below to reply to this post and say whether they are going to finish their story BEFORE THE 30TH OCTOBER. That's a whole MONTH after the deadline. (I myself am on the list...!)

If you are pulling out let us know NOW. If you don't reply by the end of the week we are going to assume you have pulled out and find pinch hitters.

If you are able to write one (or more) back-up stories, PLEASE COMMENT (if you didn't take part in the ficathon and want to write, that's perfectly okay too! If that's the case a quick run down of what fandoms you can write would be great!) and we will be in touch - there are already 2 stories that definitely need writing!

The people who need to respond are:
5. pinch hit
8. meeshy, will be posting before 30th.
9. thudjack, will be posting before 30th.
10. pinch hit
17. pinch hit
20. pinch hit
21. vicki595, will be posting before 30th.
22. pinch hit
23. pinch hit
24. pinch hit
25. miriel, will be posting before 30th.
28. pinch hit

All comments are screened.

ETA Oh, and if you pull out and the person who was writing for you also pulls out we won't be finding a back-up writer for the story you were due to receieve.

On A Night Like This (Bones/NCIS), for miriel

2007-10-05T16:57:59Z

Title: On A Night Like This
Fandom: Bones/NCIS crossover
Author: calleigh_j
Rating: PG
Warnings/Spoilers: None for either show
Pairings: Brennan/Abby
Word Count: 1091
Disclaimer: I don't own Brennan or Abby, and Jeffrey Flier is the real Dean of Medicine at Harvard
Summary: "...what are the odds of two people meeting at a party who actually get along?"
Feedback/Concrit: is made of win and greatly appreciated
Author's Note: miriel wanted Brennan (Bones)/Abby (NCIS). Sorry, I couldn't work the 'Abby's convinced Booth's a vampire' storyline in, but I hope you enjoy it anyway, and apologies for the lateness. Hugs to alianne for being my sounding board, beta, and general go-to girl

The party was busy and Abby was waning a little. She'd been working nights for the past week and a double shift today and though she was never one to turn down an invitation to a party, she'd been sorely tempted to go home and just crash when the rest of the team had left. However, she had a dress picked out and it had seemed a shame to miss out on an evening with some of the other scientists working in the DC area.

“Can I get a glass of white wine please?”

Abby turned to look at the woman standing beside her at the bar. She was tall with dark hair that curled around her shoulders and there was something familiar about her.

“There you go,” the barman said, placing the glass down in front of the woman before turning to Abby. “Can I get you anything else?”

Abby looked down at her glass, weighing up the merits of having another drink or going home and finally getting some sleep.

“I'll have another Jack and Coke please,” she said finally, sliding the empty glass across the surface of the bar.

Abby looked over at the woman who was still standing next to her. She suddenly realised why the brunette was so familiar.

“I love your book,” Abby said, the words leaving her mouth before she was entirely aware that she was going to say them. She thought that maybe she should stop drinking right now. When the woman turned towards her, Abby continued speaking in an attempt to stave off her embarrassment, “I'm sorry; I just meant to say hi. It's been a really long week and I'm tired and I think I might be a little drunk and you should feel free to leave now.”

“Why would I leave?” Temperance Brennan seemed genuinely confused, tilting her head to one side and frowning a little.

“I'm rambling, sorry. But I do love your book.”

“Thank you.”

“I'm Abby, by the way. Abby Sciuto. I work at NCIS, as a forensic scientist.”

“Temperance Brennan.” Abby smiled at the unnecessary introduction as she shook the woman's hand.

“You probably hear that question a lot, but can I ask: are your characters based on real people?” It was Doctor Brennan's turn to smile now.

“Booth thinks that the FBI agent in the book is based on him, but I've told him more than once that any similarities are purely coincidental.”

“Booth?”

“Booth is the FBI agent I work with.”

“He reminded me of Tony, this guy I work with.”

“Does Tony make a lot of references to popular culture?”

“Loads,” Abby replied. “He does that insanely protective thing as well.”

“The one where he won't let you out of his sight if he thinks that you might be in trouble?” Brennan questioned.

“That's the one,” Abby replied, nodding. “It's sweet, but I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

“I've told Booth that on more than one occasion but I don't think that he ever really listens to me.”

“It's exactly the same with Tony.” The two women smiled at one another in recognition of shared experiences.

Taking another sip of her drink, Abby took a moment to look around the crowded ballroom.

“Do you know any of these people?” she asked, searching for a face she might recognise.

“Not really.” Brennan's eyes followed Abby's around the room. “Actually, I wasn't sure I was going to come this evening,” she continued, “We just closed a big case and I was planning on going home, but Cam - my boss – said I had to come.”

“I almost went home after work as well,” Abby admitted. “I'm glad I came though.”

“Me too,” Brennan agreed, and the two clinked their glasses together.

“Doctor Brennan?” Both women looked around at the sound of the approaching voice.

“Can I help you?” Brennan asked. Abby looked the man up and down: he was tall with dirty blonde hair, and he looked very comfortable in his suit.

“My name's Sam Anderson. I work for Jeffrey Flier, the Dean of Harvard Medical School.”

“Nice to meet you,” Brennan said.

“Normally the Dean would've contacted you, but since I was in town, he asked that I come and speak to you personally. I'm in charge of organising the lecture program for the next academic year and we were wondering if you would be interested in coming and doing a couple of lectures for us some time after Christmas.”

“I'd love to.” Brennan reached into her purse and pulled out a business card, “Why don't you give me a call on Monday morning and we can work out some days that might work.”

“Thanks,” Sam replied, pocketing the card, “I'll speak to you on Monday then.” He and Brennan shook hands, and he disappeared back into the crowd.

“So, what's it like then?” Abby asked when Brennan had turned back to the bar.

“What's what like?”

“Being a world famous scientist; having people from Harvard wanting you to come and lecture for them.”

“It's...interesting,” Brennan said wryly. “It gets a little tiring at times, but I enjoy being able to share what I know with people who don't know as much and who haven't seen the things I have.”

Abby glanced at her watch and then back out at the other people in the room. It was starting to empty out.

“It looks like it's winding down here,” she pointed out. “Do you want to go and get a drink somewhere?”

“Do you know anywhere around here?” Brennan asked.

“There are a few decent bars, but I should think they'll all be pretty busy. My apartment's nearby though,” Abby suggested, watching Brennan closely as she slipped off her stool. The other woman half-raised an eyebrow, and then smiled widely. Abby got the impressed that Brennan didn't smile like that very often.

“I'd like that,” she said finally, picking up her own bag and joining Abby on the floor.

“I live just a couple of blocks over,” Abby explained as they headed towards the doors. “It's only a few minutes' walk.”

Outside, the air was clear and fresh. A few stars were visible over the bright lights of the city.

“So,” Abby began as they started off down the street, “Given the size of the city and the number of people who live here, what do you think are the odds of two people who actually get along meeting at a party?”

“Well, if the population of Washington DC is approximately...”

eek! i'm late!

2007-10-03T05:06:21Z

but fortunately too old to be pregnant, since i'm a grandma now <g> which isn't at all relevant - i desperately need a beta for my story and i hope it's okay to ask here - if not, delete this silliness! but i'm really not happy with my story and i don't want to dissapoint the person i wrote it for.

Chance Meetings, CSI: Miami/CSI: NY, for nasn

2007-10-02T08:06:10Z

Title: Chance Meetings (CSI: Miami/CSI: NY)
Author: lucifers_toy
Rating: G
Summary: Speed and Mac run into each other in a sex store. This is more pre-slash than actual slash, sorry.

“Yeah, H, I’m okay. The last case just—yeah. Yeah. Okay. No, Eric was great. Tell Alexx I’ll call her tonight. H. Don’t do anything stupid. Make sure I have a MDPD to come home to.” The voice was unfamiliar but the words weren’t, and Detective Mac Taylor sauntered closer to investigate.

He moved along the aisle, automatically cataloguing the different, uh, products. Dildos, vibrators, nipple clamps, handcuffs that rival his own…it’s a familiar scene but he wonders who the voice on the phone is and why he knows Horatio Caine.

“Yes, Horatio.” The voice, now only a few feet away, sounds amused and affectionate. “Okay. Bye.” There’s the unmistakeable sound of a cell phone being snapped shut and Mac makes his move, the unsatiable curiousity that comes with being a CSI ensuring that he finds out just who the other person is.

He rounds the corner, one hand automatically going to his service weapon before he removes it, dropping his hand by his side. There’s no need for violence here, not in his secret hideaway, and he’s fairly certain that the other man is harmless.

And then he sees him, a tanned man with scruffy hair and a layer of stubble. He recognises him, remembers that face from a worn photo from Horatio Caine’s wallet.

“Tim Speedle?”

The man –Speed- jerks, turning around. “Yes?” He says suspiciously, hand flying to his hip, trying to find a gun that isn’t there. “How do you know my name?”

Mac raises his hands in the universal sign of harmlessness. “I’m Detective Mac Taylor, NYPD. I worked with Horatio Caine on a case a while back. He talked about you.” Slowly, so as not to alarm Speed, he lowered one hand to his belt, flashing his badge and ID.

Speed relaxed, tension easing from his shoulders though his eyes remained wary. “I’m Speed, though you already know that.” He said wryly, still cautious. He tilted his head back curiously. “So, Detective,” He drawled lazily. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same question,” Mac answered, raising an eyebrow challengingly, smirking as Speed flushed, a light splash of colour lighting up his cheeks.

“I had time off,” The younger man said defensively, crossing his arms across his chest, drawing his shirt tighter around his body. “Thought I’d come to New York, see the sights.”

Mac nodded appreciatively. “New York certainly has great views.” He said, running his eyes up over Speed’s body and flicking easily to scan through the shop. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

The embarrassed flush remained on Speed’s cheeks and he glared, annoyed at his reaction. He raised the packet in his hands, running his own eyes along the clean lines of Mac’s shoulders, over his chest and up to his face. “Yeah, I guess I did,” He drawled, lazy and confident again.

Mac tilted his head to the side questioningly and smiled when Speed relaxed, the two men falling into pace with each other seamlessly.

“So,” Speed started, shooting a curious look at the silent man by his side. He absent-mindedly trailed his hand along the shelf beside him, fingertips collecting dust. “How did you know who I am?”

A tiny smile curved Mac’s lips and he looked at Speed in amusement. “It took you longer than I’d thought for you to ask that,” He commented. “You’re a trusting man, Speedle.”

“Not really. But I know a good cop when I see one. Besides, H talked about you a bit.”

Mac turned slightly to face Speed, the pair pausing in the aisle. “He told me about you, and your team. Horatio carried a photo in his wallet, with you and Detectives Duquesne and Delko and Doctor…Woods, I believe?”

Speed smiled fondly. “Yeah, Alexx Woods.”

A fine eyebrow arched and Mac nodded behind Speed, where his hand rested on a shelf. “Interested?” He asked, smirking when Speed blinked at him.

Speed turned, following Mac’s pointed gaze, and flushed again, snatching his hand away from the shelf of frilled, transparent panties. He glared wordlessly, frustration radiating from him, then smirked wickedly, looking to Mac’s left. “Not my style, but I’m thinking those might be yours,” He said, dark eyes lit in glee, and Mac found himself smiling back at the younger man.

The ex-marine cast a quick glance behind, smiling in amusement as his gaze lit briefly upon a fine selection of multi-coloured, multi-sized dildos. “My collection is fine, at the moment,” He said dryly. He placed a large hand on the small of Speed’s back, gently steering the other man to the register.

Speed leant back into Mac’s touch, offering the older man a small smile even as he hid his package slightly behind his back, ensuring that the native Detective couldn’t see. They talked back and forth, teasing, and if their hips bumped occasionally, if their hands brushed against each other’s, if they stared just a little too long, well, neither of them minded.

They reached the counter of ”Eden”, still talking, and Speed pushed his packet over the black plastic surface quickly, using his body to shield it from sight.

Mac thwarted his plans by leaning over his shoulder and he smiled when he saw the packet of anal beads, slick and thick and shiny. He beat Speed to his wallet, smoothly sliding a few notes across the counter to the bored woman working the register, and smiled when Speed glared at him in frustration.

“I could have paid myself,” Speed informed him, scowling ferociously.

Mac looked back at him steadily. “My treat, Detective Speedle.” He took the bag from the store employee and passed it to Speed, smirking when the younger man snatched it from him childishly. “After all, I did intrude on your…private shopping.” Placing his hand on Speed’s back again, he led him out, stepping into the brisk air outside.

Speed inhaled deeply. “Pollution,” He said, grimacing.

Mac nodded gravely. “I wouldn’t want New York air to offend your delicate senses,” He mocked gently. “My apartment is quite close, if you’d like a drink.”

Speed stared at him for a long moment, eyes serious, then he nodded. “I think I’d like that,” He said, and smiled.

Today and Tomorrow for saraid

2007-10-01T22:13:10Z

Title: Today and Tomorrow (LO:SVU/Criminal Minds)
Author: Divine Joker
Recipient: saraid who asked for several things of which only one seemed to click – George Huang/Jason Gideon.
Rating: NC-17/MA
Warnings: Slash… yeah, that about says it. Oh, and angst. There some of that, too.

A/N: So, just to clarify – and to an extent fore-warm those who are going to read this – I have never written slash before. This was a challenge for me, which is good, cause that what fic-a-thon’s are meant to do, stretch your creative sphere. That said, I do think that this is one of my more introspective pieces. In deference to the characters on the show, who are both intellectuals, this turned angsty quite quickly. Still, saraid, I hope that this works for you.

~~ Today ~~

He’d spent his entire career working inside the minds of depraved sociopaths, sexually sadistic rapists and any number of slightly off-kilter murderers. By now, life had shown him that understanding his fellow man left him with nothing but an empty feeling.

He knew the patterns of them, could predict the way that one man would act in relations to another… but never in his life did he ever want to understand them.

Still, there were the few beacons of light, shining forth from the pale vibrancy of human life. He’d come across some minds that were full of understanding and justice and the long-lost sense of duty for the unprotected individual.

This case had only introduced him to a few more, but had in turn exposed him to the underbelly of sado-masochism to an extreme that drained him of nearly every thought but that of getting drunk and forgetting all about it until the late hours of the following day.

Elliot Stabler and Olivia Benson had seemed to handle the turn of events with a sad belief, not even blinking to the emotionless confession of the suspect after five days of sleepless nights and empty coffee pots. He could still see the outstanding veins on Stabler’s neck, the barely controlled rage that seemed to boil and boil and never release. Having read the detective’s file, he knew that it didn’t always work out that way.

Benson seemed to possess an unnatural calm in the face of depravity – a detachment that made her almost as dangerous to herself as Stabler was to the people in custody.

The two other detectives and the captain all held themselves together with a certain balance of calm and ferocity that made him understand the streets of New York with a new light.

Criminals kept coming, SVU kept working.

And then there was George Huang; a calm light in the midst of fluctuating emotional turmoil. He seemed to have a detached understanding of the human psyche that left him somewhat out of the loop of the rest of the Manhattan SVU. He was emotionally uninvolved, but aware of the impact that all the cases seemed to have on the rest of the team. His calm demeanour left Stabler and Benson thinking instead of acting, and his detached understanding and reasoning made them act differently than emotion would have dictated.

That was a man that he could respect.

His team sometimes had the same types of emotional upheaval, and he found himself in situations not unlike what he had witnessed with Huang.

Reluctantly, he could also find himself identifying with Huang’s mode of conduct.

Which is why now, he found himself sitting next to Huang at the celebratory bar of choice, watching Morgan and Garcia flirt along the dance floor and Hotchner and Reid drinking sparsely of their now tepid beers.

“It always like this?” He asked, finally allowing his thoughts to wander from the others to his drinking partner.

“Drinking after a case?” Huang pursed his lips and shook his head. “No. But I’ve never really seen any of them as affected as they were by this case.”

“Really?” That intrigued him. He hadn’t thought that any of them had shown an undue stress to do the case – though he had seen it in his team. For being a known analyst, he’d missed the ball on that one.

Huang smiled and tipped his pint in Gideon’s direction. “No worries. I get more than my fair share of unscheduled therapy sessions because of this team. I wouldn’t expect you to find anything obvious.”

Gideon cocked an eyebrow in disbelief, but let the moment pass along his veins like the thinly veiled threat of alcohol in his system. He knew that beer was bad for his self-control, but the lack of it in his team seemed to make it contagious. He honestly felt no reserve at the moment.

And that was dangerous.

Dangerous and drunk always seemed to get him into situations that he couldn’t dig himself out of. And sitting next to a man who piqued his curiosity was only adding fuel to an already potential bonfire.

“So how do you do it then?” He asked after a long moment of reflective silence.

Gideon didn’t need to clarify and Huang just sighed. His dark head turned, caught Gideon’s eyes and then, without pretence dropped his gaze before bringing it back up.

“Mental stability is all in your head,” he laughed. “If you think you’re stable, you usually are. If you know you’re drunk, you usually are… or are well on your way to being there.”

Silently, Gideon took the invitation. “And if you know what you need to stay sane, you’ll do anything to get it.”

Huang tipped his head in understanding. “To an extent.”

“Touché.”

Gideon drank to that. And again. He could feel the pull of interest slipping along his arms like a rope, tugging him in one direction; he could barely stop himself from dropping a hand over Huang’s in acceptance.

Denial had worked it way into his system for so long, that allowing himself the belief that he could take the opportunity in front of him was so tempting, he didn’t care if the rest of his team saw.

But he knew that he would have to seem them tomorrow, where he may never see George Huang again.

“You know what I find interesting, Jason?” He asked softly.

It took a moment for Gideon to remember that that was his name. He grunted in response, watching the rhythmic gyrations of the people on the dance floor, deliberately avoiding looking for members of his team; if they had disappeared, so could he. He could bring himself to look at Huang for fear of breaking his internal monologue, talking him into taking the chance that was sitting beside him.

“That with all that you see on your job, you’re convinced that your team will see you as a different man.”

His soft voice could barely be heard over the magnified thrum of bass vibrating along his nerves. Gideon’s eyes fell shut against the final slip of control and without waiting for anything further from Huang, he stood up and moved towards the door; knowing that there was nothing that would have stopped Huang from following him.

It appeared that New York taxis were just as hard to flag down as Washington ones, but both of them were completely silent after Gideon gave the address for the hotel he was staying at.

They didn’t touch, didn’t talk and there was no way that Gideon was going to look at him, knowing that his reserve would talk him out of his actions if he so much as thought with anything other than the burning feeling inside of his gut.

His tight reign of control snapped with the clicking of his door. The safety of darkness gifted him with the power to throw off anything to do with tomorrow, work or anything further from his thoughts than the immediate feel of Huang’s strong fingers tearing at his t-shirt.

His normally unlimited vocabulary disappeared under the taste of skin under his tongue and the feel of smooth hair between his fingers. Rough breathing broke the otherwise heavy silence as the soft ruffle of clothing discarded brushed against a chair, the desk and the normally over-starched hotel sheets. He detached himself from the thought of his partner, blocking his mental image for the reality of touch, taste, sound and smell.

Vision was over-rated when it only made him think.

Huang was smaller than he had imagined, his own hands grasping his biceps and pulling him roughly against his own body, revelling in the human contact that threw worries and thoughts into tomorrow. Arousal fired his senses and Gideon shuddered against the warmth of Huang’s breath on his shoulder.

Something ripped under his fingers, but neither he nor Huang made a move to stop the tidal wave of frustration, arousal and hidden release from crashing over them. It was something that they both needed, he knew, something that had long been sitting in his own system that would help him feel more tomorrow.

Tomorrow… everything tomorrow.

Now, his world was narrowed to the soft touch that was tugging on his jeans, the ragged breathing that was raising his hairs and desperate need to somehow escape his skin. His own fingers were fumbling with the buttons of Huang’s shirt and he gave up, satisfied with the soft ping of a button rebounding off of something wooden beside him.

Having enough of the fumbling beginnings, Gideon guided Huang to the bed, and pushed him backwards. He let his fingers gather information, traveling down the other man’s chest, defining lines and textures, feeling the rise and fall of his rapid breathing.

He was taken by surprise when he felt warm fingers wrap around himself, tugging gently and nearly bringing him to his knees.

“No.”

It was the only word he expected to say in the darkness and it was listened to immediately by the wandering hand. Gideon knew that he needed to have control of this moment, or his rare lapse into ‘physical therapy’ would back-fire with bad results.

This was his moment.

His own work roughened fingers grasped Huang by the shoulders and drew him up, finding his mouth in a sloppy kiss of desperation and greed. His movements became short and demanding as the kiss drew out, his fingers traveling to Huang’s waist and turning him, flipping him and moulding his back to Gideon’s front.

Satisfaction surged through him at the unexpected pressure, and suddenly he was trembling with a need so primal that his eyes closed in the darkness. Nothing could have stopped him from possessing the man before him short of a gun to the head.

Huang pressed backwards, eager noises littering the darkness with unexpected frequency. Gideon could feel his blood boil where he touched Huang, and time disintegrated under his caresses. Pushing Huang’s upper body against the bed, Gideon leaned over him and pushed against him, sighing in satisfaction as he was slowly surrounded by tightness. Instinct nearly short-circuited his physical responses, barely containing his movement at the sound of the man below him groaning with an edge of pain. He slowed, but refused to stop.

An invisible hand pushed against his lower back and desire that seared along his nerve endings brought spots of light to his eyelids. He knew that there was soft sounds coming from his throat, but the softer sounds coming from below him were the cause of his need to *move.*

One of Huang’s hands grabbed his and pulled him tighter to his body, guiding Gideon’s hand underneath and around himself. His fingers tightened reflexively, holding Huang in his grip and stroking him with uncoordinated movements. His tired mind couldn’t keep the rhythm and he resorted to holding Huang tightly as he moved jaggedly against him. The build-up resulted in a short fuse; a hot, intense fire that he knew was fast in igniting and taking him whole.

He stopped a second, re-focused and brusquely jerked his hand around Huang, desperate to take the other man with him on his fast-approaching ride. He was rough, not caring about the repercussion of his violent hands.

Something clicked and then, there, he could see Huang’s back and a vivid red line all the way down his back, drawn by Gideon’s own hand. Visual evidence shattered anything that might hold him back and, desire aside, Gideon snapped against the man beneath him.

Eyes closed again, he bent forward, laid his forehead against Huang’s shoulder and let himself go, gladly losing himself into the coursing feelings along his spine and limbs.

He tried to hold himself up, tried to keep his collapse off of Huang, but he seemed to guide Gideon onto himself, taking his weight and with a delayed shudder, came under Gideon’s hand.

~~ Tomorrow ~~

Gideon opened his eyes to see the muted lamp light shining off the sheen of sweat on the shoulder in front of him. The grey tint of morning was sneaking into the room through the half-shuttered curtains giving the man in front of him a sickly look, though Gideon knew him to be anything but.

Blinking heavily, Gideon turned onto his back and sighed at the long forgotten strain of this particular release. His physical release had been building for such a long time that the emotional explosion that he had thought would have accompanied it was mild in comparison.

He didn’t feel anything: shock, guilt, regret or even happiness. He felt a swirling in his gut, a residual shudder of pleasure at the memory of the night before, but there was no way that he would have been able to put a name to it.

Both he and Huang had lost themselves completely in the oblivion of mutual need, and he was still trying to find himself.

Sighing, he sat up and moved to the edge of the bed, pulling on his boxers as he stood. With a fleeting glance at Huang, he went to the bathroom, emerging moment later to pick up his shirt. Idly, he fingered the tear at the shoulder, vaguely remembering the sound of it ripping the night before. Pursing his lips, he threw it on and moved to the window, tugging on of the curtains to the side to take a look at a waking New York City.

His flight was set to leave in a few hours and he knew that Hotchner and the rest of the team would already be up and packing.

Knowing that he was going to leave felt… strange.

A change in breathing made him turn around and he found Huang sitting up with the sheet draped over his bent knees, elbows perched on top and his dark eyes surveying him.

“Not so bad in the light of day, is it?” He asked Gideon, not moving a muscle.

Gideon grimaced by way of answer and, by way of needing to do something, began to pick up his clothes and place them in the suitcase left open on the table. He had thought that come the light of day, he wouldn’t have wanted to look at the man in his bed, but the acceptance and soft manners that he had could do nothing but put him at ease.

The silence grew and suddenly Gideon realized that Huang was waiting for a verbal answer. He sighed and dropped his hands to his sides, finally really deciding to look at him.

“No, not so bad.” He cocked his head to the side and shrugged. “But this is just you and me.”

Huang nodded and then dropped his head to his arms. “I get the feeling that last night, you didn’t even want that.”

Panic struck him. Didn’t he? He mentally stumbled across his thoughts from the night before, the fear he had felt from the alcohol, knowing that it was going to make him finally release his inhibitions. There was so much about his world that was uncertain, he didn’t really want to think of this as another part of that.

So, he decided that it wouldn’t be.

“Last night, maybe not,” he admitted. “But this morning, it’s not so bad.”

Huang smiled, but still didn’t move.

Someone knocked.

Gideon hesitated, looking to see if Huang would move from his perch on the very obvious bed only to see him cock his eyebrow in silent challenge.

“You need to trust someone, Jason,” he said softly.

With some reluctance, he moved to the door, placing his hand on the knob just as another knock sounded.

“Yeah,” he said by way of greeting, knowing that his tone was much less confident than normal.

Morgan stood on the other side, his usually casual dress a little wrinkled and his face slightly drawn from drink and sleep. Dark eyes scanned the room behind Gideon, catching for less than a second on the man in his bed before stopping to look at Gideon.

He couldn’t see anything in Morgan’s face; there was no judgement, no fear, and no condemnation. A resigned understanding shared from years of tragedy, pain and shattered hopes for victims lost.

“Garcia’s just packing up her gear, but the rest of us are ready to head out. 20 minutes?”

“That’s fine,” Gideon said, still holding tightly to the inside doorknob, white-knuckled with the thought of Morgan saying anything about Huang.

Instead, the younger man just nodded, turned and disappeared into the room one door down that Gideon could have sworn was Garcia’s registered room. He couldn’t help the tired smile that tugged on his lips.

Interesting, but nothing horrible.

Just like him, just like every other person who dealt with depravity, death and blood on a regular basis. It was elemental, and that was it.

Tomorrow wasn’t turning out so bad.