“I wonder,” John mused as The Five formed a lopsided star in the snow and lay back to observe the cloudless heavens.  They had determined that, after missing the lunar eclipse in April, they would get prime seats for the one on the fourth of October.

It was a decision that had been in no small part influenced by Doctor Edward Moreau, the man declaring himself Helen’s rival, who had spent much of the spring months regaling anyone who would listen, and even those who would not, about how absolutely marvellous the April eclipse was.  For her part, Helen was quick to deride the barbaric doctor; despite her own experiments, which often pressed the boundaries of ethical science, she abhorred her colleague’s techniques.  Vivisection on abnormals, Helen had heatedly argued on many occasions, was an unnecessarily cruel procedure.

Disdain for his research practices notwithstanding, Helen had been galled by the man’s boasting and so she had turned to John with the devil in her eyes and requested that they get the best possible view of the latest lunar eclipse.  John was happy to oblige and, after a bit of scouting, deposited the group in the middle of a field somewhere in the United Kingdom with a perfect view of a clear, starry sky.

At least Helen assumed that it was the UK – there were no signs of civilisation, and thus no light pollution, or noticeable landmarks in sight.  She suspected that James had deduced where they were, but she didn’t mind being left in the dark.  Her trust in John was absolute.

Vindictively, she hoped for a thick cloud cover over London.  Doctor Moreau would just have to content himself with a lovely view of the clock tower housing Big Ben.

“I wonder if I could make it to the moon,” John finished his sentence after a long, contemplative pause.

“John!” Helen’s voice had an edge of shock, but her wide blue eyes glinted with curiosity as they met his across the snow.

“I have teleported clear across the world with no ill effects,” John shrugged, the devil-may-care grin on his face giving rise to a flutter in Helen’s stomach.

“The distance to the moon is thirty times greater than that of the diameter of the Earth, John,” James pointed out mildly from the other side of Helen.

“Not to mention that the air gets awful thin when one leaves the planet’s surface.  I doubt that one can breathe in naught but aether.”  Nigel added, watching his own breath condense in the crisp air.

“Oh, I could remedy that,” Nikola drawled.  “I could build one of those suits used to explore the ocean floor.  But better, of course.  Much better.”

“Of course,” John drawled right back, his tone faintly mocking.  “And if I cannot make it in one jump, I could just take the journey in a series of smaller hops.”

The conversation lulled as the five friends contemplated the idea.  Helen, as per usual, was the first to give voice to their hesitant thoughts.

“We could be the first people to set foot on the moon.” She was almost breathless with wonder and her lips turned up in a determined smirk as she refocused her gaze on the faint sliver of a moon above her.  The four men exchanged long glances, complete with matching grins, before turning back to the moon as well.

To an outside observer, the five friends painted a picture of serenity as they watched the last crescent sliver wink out and the moon flare to life again; its new colouring reflected back onto the snow and painted it copper.  But The Five knew that that their shared thoughts were far from serene – rarely did they have an idea that they were content to let remain as an intellectual curiosity and they knew that, one day, their lunar observations will be not be bounded by the atmosphere.

“You’re missing a song,” Roxanne said, a small frown on her face as she pursued her boyfriend’s iPod.

“Hmm?”

“The Police – you’re missing one of their songs.”

“Oh, you mean Roxanne?  I had to delete it – I couldn’t bear having a song about a prostitute that shares your name on my iPod.”  Megamind shrugged and turned back to his schematics.

“Megamind?”  Roxanne carefully crawled her way across the organised chaos he had spread across the couch between them.

“Hmm?” Megamind murmured, distracted.  Roxanne brushed a light kiss on his cheek and he glanced up, green eyes wide.

“I love you.”

So, yeah, I have until July 1st to bingo this scorecard.  And any others that I may request.

Thomas Edison?

He’s going to be so much fucking fun. Tesla vs Edison!!!

And, for myself, this is the list of easy ones: Disney, ozone beatle, the main lab, gen, Edison, Ford, 1990′s, Bigfoot (abnormal), lizard creatures, WWI, The Cabal, Helen’s room, For King and Country, Will’s office, fluff and shape shifters.

And, awww, Twain and Steinbeck?  I’m so not a fan of Twain and, for Steinbeck, I’ve only read Of Mice and Men.  Gunna have to use the modern cast for those prompts.

James, long used to their squabbling, simply blocked it out.  In two decades he had not heard a new argument from either party and, after unsuccessfully attempting to join in the first time he caught them bickering, he just sighed and carried on.  Clearly it was just one of their things and the detective was not one to begrudge Barney for staking that claim on Helen; he and her had an intimidating amount of shared history and quirks as it was.  From day one, it had been difficult, if not impossible, for outsiders to squirm their way into The Five’s circle and James was impressed at how deeply Barney had integrated himself into their lives.  Especially since it started with something as mundane, and loathed, as coffee.

So the time James and Barney caught Helen in the kitchen with a coffee mug at her lips came as a great surprise to all parties.

“This isn’t what it looks like!” Helen exclaimed, heavily shadowed blue eyes wide over the steaming mug of coffee.  James just tiredly leaned back against the doorframe with an amused smile stretching his face as Barney stepped into Helen’s personal space.  This, James mused, was going to make for a great show.

“Really?” Barney said gleefully as he nudged his boss with his shoulder.  “To me, it looks like you’re drinking coffee.”

“I’ve had one sip!  One!” Helen could feel a blush forming and ruthlessly tamped down on her embarrassment.

“And how many cups?” Barney crowed.  “Are you the reason why my pot is depleting faster than usual?”

“Hardly!” Helen scoffed.  “This is my first cup of coffee.  Ever.  Which I only poured because I’ve completely ran out of tea and I am in desperate need of caffeine.”

Barney looked at her suspiciously and then nodded in acceptance of Helen’s claim.  “So, what do you think?”  His shit-eating grin got wider.  Helen just looked at him flatly.

“It tastes like swill,” she said succinctly.  “Burnt swill, in fact.”  Barney looked horrified until he turned to the twin coffee makers and his expression relaxed as he took in two pots, one full and one empty.

“Of course it tastes burnt,” Barney said. “You took last cup of coffee out of an hours old pot.  Here, let me fix you a new cup – it’ll be marvellous and you will love it!”

James winced as Helen’s jaw clenched and her eyes hardened minutely.  Never a good sign.  He was amused to notice that Barney hadn’t picked up on that particular tell.  Either that or was blissfully unaware of Helen’s state of mind in his over-caffeinated exhaustion.

Barney chatted enthusiastically as he poured a new cup of coffee from his second coffee machine, oblivious to Helen deliberately pouring the burned coffee down the sink with narrowed eyes.  He didn’t look up until Helen slapped the ceramic mug down in front of him.

“That,” she said, “will not be necessary.  I am going back to work.”  She swept an imperious gaze over the two men.  “And we shall never speak of this again.”

With that, Helen stalked out of the room, her back ramrod straight and her head high.  Barney looked at James and slumped sheepishly with his eyes pleading mercy.  James laughed.

“I see some things never change,” James said between chuckles.  “Helen would always get a bit moody in Oxford when things didn’t go quite her way, especially when she began forsaking sleep for science.”

Barney laughed.  “I bet she never went as far as to drink coffee back then.”

“Well, no.” James admitted as he swung an arm around Barney’s neck and led him out of the kitchen.  “But there was that time where I convinced her to try cocaine.  Now that, my friend, is quite the tale.  I’ll tell it to you sometime, perhaps after we catch Helen’s latest prize.  For now, we’ve got work to do.”

Yeah, no.  Fuck you anon.  Or non-anon.  Basically, fuck you to anyone who says that.

Why?

Because wanting to read a certain type of fic does not mean in the slightest that you want to write it.  The other day I was bitching about the lack of sick but not pregnant fics on the internet but it’s not like I actually wanted to write it.  I have no inspiration to (though Beckett with food poisoning and the guys thinking that her biker boyfriend knocked her up would be kind of funny).  But I was rather happy when @wabbit89 wrote a fic in which T’Pol was rather under the weather.  Cuz, yeah, I wanted to read, not write.

And there is a huge difference between the two.  Especially the motivation behind why one writes rather than reads.

When I write, it’s because I have (or at least very strongly want) to.  The story won’t leave my head so, dammit, I just force it out onto paper/MS Word/my iPod.  I need an entire idea and the sense that the story is going to go somewhere, not just a trope to fill/subvert.  Not to mention the sense of satisfaction I get from writing a fic is a completely different emotion from the enjoyment I get from just reading one.  I enjoy both activities, but only one of them requires me to use my brain.

When I read, it’s because… well, I always read.  My default state of being is reading.  Hell, even while watching tv (NCIS, currently), I’m reading.  That’s part of the reason why I absolutely detest streaming video – too much of it is flash based and you can’t really fullscreen a flash video on one monitor and read on your second – it just bumps out.

In short, writing is time consuming.  Reading is not.  I can read a 1500 word fic in two minutes for chrissake.  You know how long it’d take me to write that?  Two, maybe three, hours – that’s seventy-five times as long.  Sure, it might take me an hour during NaNoWriMo, but I don’t do any research, editing or, hell, even thinking during a word war!  There is a complete and utter difference in time commitment between reading and writing.

So yeah, the next time you go to say that, just do us all a favour and stfu.  If you’re trollin’, you’re not being particularly ground breaking – get some new material.

(Oh look, I wrote an entry without Sanctuary as one of the tags!  Damn, broke my three post streak.)

Now, well over a decade later, they were still a source of fascination and had even inspired the respect and awe they had so coveted in the past.  They basked in it, pleased beyond measure that they were the centre of attention, even if it was only supposition on how they had managed to not age a day since they last set foot in Oxford.

To the other attendees, the surprise of the night was that Montague John Druitt was alive.  They had all read that he had been found drowned in the Thames and some had even attended his funeral.  To his friends, the fact that he had survived Helen’s bullet didn’t come with that much of a shock – while there was a copious amount of blood on the scene, James had determined that none of the blood splatter possessed the right trajectory to have come from John.  Helen, being a physician, had privately double checked James’ conclusions by analysing the blood for the manufactured genetic abnormality that The Five shared.  It had come up clean – there were no traces of John’s blood mixed in with Molly’s.

If anything, Helen was mostly surprised by the long scar on John’s right cheek.  The scar and the way her heart soared and shoulders lifted, unburdened from a previously unnoticed weight, were her greatest surprises when John had walked into that room.

Helen had cursed her heart fervently.  How dare it, that traitorous muscle, keen so strongly for a murderer?  And not just any murderer, but the elusive Jack the Ripper, the man who once topped Scotland Yard’s most wanted list?  How could she love a monster?  And, dear God, did she ever love him.  Though tainted now, the fire that had consumed them both during their days in Oxford and their passion-filled engagement still burned and she knew that both John and James saw it in her eyes.

When John stepped into the corner claimed by his small circle of friends, James yielded his position nearest to Helen, as he always had, to John without a comment and barely a sideways glance.  For his part, John had taken James’ place without a missing a beat and had preened in his position of honour.  Nikola, damn that Serb, simply smirked behind his glass of wine and Helen couldn’t help but suspect that the absent Nigel was lurking about, naked and invisible, and laughing at his friends.  He had always preferred to observe the group before making his presence felt, and his invisibility only made him more prone to lurk in the shadows.

It was no matter that her heart still beat for John; Helen had finally consoled herself late that evening, cold and alone in her overly large bed. It just meant that the organ was not a fickle one and the passage of time was not yet great enough for it to move on.  It was the next day that she began her hunt – she had tasked herself to find the bastard and then… well… Helen tried not to think about that part.

She never did have to find out what to do with her ex-fiancé – whenever she wasn’t sabotaging her own hunt, James was.  He had barely pulled her out of a deep depression when John had come strolling into that reunion and he had neither the desire to give Helen up to the other man nor to watch her suffer in silence again.

Years had passed, nearly a decade, before the next time they truly saw each other, again in a lavishly decorated room, much smaller this time, with the other three members of their circle.  The Five had been given a task by His Majesty, King Edward the VII, himself. Hunt down their erstwhile classmate Adam Worth and deal with him however they deemed necessary.

Despite the gravity of the situation, Helen had found herself expending considerable energy on just paying attention to the Prime Minister’s words. At every glance and sly touch from John, her chest constricted distractingly and she found herself at her sanity’s end.

James, the traitor, had made himself scarce whenever John was around. He had flashed that infuriating smirk at her when she had demanded an explanation for his abandonment – was he not her paramour now, not John?  His answer, so entirely James, that he was fine with John’s position as first in her heart since he was the one she turned to now, did little to assuage her annoyance and guilt.

His later, drowsy statement, after Adam had died (from her bullet, regardless of that fall, oh God, she had truly killed a man in cold blood this time. She was a killer – a murderer – now.  No different from John) and John had disappeared, was that it was fine to still love John, despite his misdeeds, because she was Helen.  Loyal, unwavering Helen and, with her expected lifespan, it had been but a blink of an eye since they were engaged.  James’ kind words were enough to sooth her worries for the night and Helen had rolled over and laid her head on his chest with a sigh.  James, surprised at Helen’s uncharacteristic desire to be held, traced absent patterns along her sweat dampened spine.

For eighty years after that, Helen didn’t speak with John.  She knew that he and James would share an occasional drink every few decades and that, on the times their paths crossed, he and Tesla would exchange blows.  And she saw him, on occasion – just glimpses in the night that sent her blood rushing through her body.  But never once did John ever stay long enough in Helen’s vicinity to exchange words.  His presence was always noted, though – Helen grew to be quite observant.

She wrote off the increased tempo of her pulse at those times as simple shock –nothing more.

When she saw him for the first time with Ashley – her daughter, his daughter, their child – my God, they shared a child and she had never told him, Helen was struck by how much she still loved him. Eighty years without speaking and a part of her still yearned for him.  Eighty years and now that bastard was holding her daughter – their daughter – hostage and the part of her that wasn’t clamouring in fear for her daughter was aching to step forward into his arms.

It was so wrong.  And Helen desperately – so very desperately and so very futilely – didn’t want to be in love with him any longer.

But Helen suspected that, even with another hundred and fifty-seven years and thousands of atrocities committed by the both of them, she would still love him. She, with all of her education, knowledge and supposed wisdom garnered for a long (oh so very long) life, would continue to be in love with the man known Jack the Ripper.

“Hmm?” Rachel replied.  The blonde was focused on the car in front of her going fifty-five on the bloody highway and really wasn’t paying too much attention to man her passenger’s seat.  She pressed down on the accelerator, inching closer to the old Cavalier and silently cursed the car alongside her blocking the passing lane.  While Rachel by no means had a lead foot, she preferred to be going a few miles over the limit, not a couple under.

“Could you take the next right?”

“What?  Hood, why?” Rachel groaned, “If you need another pit stop, you can hold it.  We’re half an hour from D.C. and I told you not to buy an extra large coffee.”

“It’s that turn right there,” Hood ignored Rachel to point out a dirt road that didn’t even warrant a deceleration lane.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Rachel sighed, but, nevertheless, she flicked up her turn signal and took her foot off the gas pedal, “Where are we going, Hood?”

“I saw a sign for a diner a little ways back,” Hood explained.

“A diner.  Hood, I told you to grab some breakfast from the hotel,” Rachel rolled her eyes.  Men.  They never listen to good advice.

“None of it was particularly appetizing.  The muffins were clearly stale,” Hood pointed out.  Rachel couldn’t argue with that – her own breakfast was abandoned halfway through.  “Besides, I wanted pancakes.”

“Oh c’mon Hood.  We’re almost home; couldn’t you have just made your own?”  Rachel turned onto the grid road, wincing as the SUV bounced as it left the smooth highway.  She eyed the suspiciously level surface with trepidation – no heavy tire tracks.

“Not exactly.  All my groceries expired last week and I haven’t had the time to go shopping,” Hood admitted with a small grin.

“Living off of takeout?” Rachel looked over at Hood and smiled back.

“Don’t tell me that you’re not!”  Hood shot back.  Rachel shrugged and smiled.  She turned back to navigating the twisting road and Hood unashamedly turned his gaze towards Rachel.  The late morning sun lit her hair in a blaze of platinum blonde glory and Hood was briefly captivated by the play of light.  As the SUV slowed to a stop, Hood redirected his gaze out the window and his eyes widened in surprise.

“Oh,” Hood said.

“Wow,” Rachel agreed.

Scottie’s Diner was a complete and utter dive.  The paint was both fading and peeling, the windows were smeared with dirt and there was only one car in the patchy grass that apparently served as a parking lot.  An equally dilapidated building was partially blocked from view by a handful of overgrown bushes and a beat up old pickup was parked beside it, its bed filled with an assortment of junk and, Hood squinted, was that a broken chair?

“Um… isn’t there an IHOP on the way to the Hoover Building?” Hood asked.

“Yes, yes there is,” Rachel lied and shifted the SUV into reverse just as the front door of the diner banged open and a large woman with flaming red hair tumbled out.

“Customers, Scottie!  Customers!”  The woman, with a speed unexpected from her size, rushed over to the Tahoe and tapped on Hood’s window.

“So what’ll you two be havin’?” The woman had pressed her face way too close to the window and Hood and Rachel took in the makeup caked face, the hair so red that it was a faded crimson and the wide, nicotine-stained smile in mute disbelief.  Rachel reached over to the window commands and the glass slowly slid down.  The older woman casually rested her arms along the now open window.

“My, you are a cute one,” the bottle redhead eyed Hood.  Hood’s eyes were very wide and very green as he subtly shifted towards Rachel, still mute but now with shock.  “M’name’s Lizzie.  Y’folks from ‘round here?”

Rachel had to resist rolling her eyes as Hood stared dumbly at Lizzie.  For a genius, the man sure wasn’t good at thinking on his feet.  Rachel leaned forward and cleared her throat, “No, we’re just passing through.  Actually, we need directions.  Could you tell us how to get to Piscatawny Creek?” Rachel was sure she had passed a sign for the place recently.

Lizzie’s watery blue eyes narrowed craftily as she replied, “Well, I’m not entirely sure of the route, but I know Scottie can tell you.  Come in, come in!  I’ll get you some coffee!”

Rachel eyed Lizzie’s death grip on the Tahoe and realised that there was no escape.  She sighed, shoved the car into park and turned off the engine.  “I suppose we could stop for coffee.”  Lizzie smiled gleefully, eyed Hood again and let go of the window.  Hood quickly hit the command to roll up the glass and the two got out of the car, Rachel locking it as they walked towards the diner.  Hood and Rachel purposefully slowed their steps and let Lizzie get ahead of them.

“I don’t think they get very many customers, Rachel,” Hood leaned down to speak quietly in Rachel’s ear.

“I don’t think so either – the road didn’t have deep enough tire tracks,” Rachel murmured back, “I figured that that wasn’t a good sign.”

Lizzie looked back and eyed her two unwitting customers slow pace, close stance and quiet conversation critically, “You two been involved long?”

“What?  No, we–” Hood cut himself off as Rachel’s hand slid into his.  Automatically, Hood shifted his hand and laced their fingers together.  Rachel suppressed a territorial smirk and tightened her grip on Hood.

“We’re just married,” Rachel said then squeezed her eyes shut.  That was so not what she meant to say.  Married?  Really?  What was she thinking saying that they were married?  Rachel flushed slightly, resolutely avoiding Hood’s gaze.  She didn’t particularly want to know what Hood was thinking, especially since she was encouraging him to move things forward with his dog sitter a month or so ago.

Lizzie’s eyes focused on their clasped hands and made an interesting discovery – “No rings?” Rachel’s blush deepened, her embarrassment countering her usual quick wits.  Surprisingly, Hood rescued them.

“We wanted to get married as soon as possible,” Hood smiled down at Rachel, who finally met his gaze.  She was surprised to see a smile on his face and a warm look in his eyes.  Rachel’s blush showed no signs of abating as she broke eye contact with Hood.

Lizzie stared at them for a few moments more before clapping her hands together and exclaiming, “So, whatcha waitin’ for?  C’mon in!”

Hood and Rachel stepped into the diner and shared a quick look.  The inside was just as bad as the outside – a light layer of dust covered most of the surfaces and the floor was grey with grime and sticky in places from long-ago spilled pop.

Rachel stretched up to whisper in Hood’s ear.  “It’s no wonder that they don’t have many customers.”  Hood grinned and huffed out a small laugh.

“Just take a seat there, I’ll bring you your coffee in just a sec,” Lizzie gestured to a booth by the windows.  Hood and Rachel approached cautiously and quickly noticed that one of the benches had a long rip in the vinyl.  By silent mutual agreement, they both slid into the side without the rip.  After settling in, Rachel discretely ran a finger over the tabletop, grimacing when her finger came off with a bit of a grey coating.  Hood leaned over, curious, and she showed him her finger.

“With so few customers, how is this place so dirty?  What else could you do all day but clean?” Hood asked quietly.

“Sudoku,” Rachel nodded at the open book near the old-fashioned cash register, “And probably soaps.”  Hood eyed the small tv placed at a perfect viewing angle from the till.

“Have a favourite soap, Rachel?”

“Are you kidding me?  I don’t even have enough time to regularly watch primetime shows!” Rachel rolled her eyes.

“I dunno, Rachel, you do tend to disappear for an hour in the afternoon every now and then,” Hood teased.

“Ah, yes, you’ve caught me – I need my weekly Days fix,” Rachel grinned at Hood.

”You watch Days too?  It’s pretty good, but General Hospital is better, if you ask me,” Lizzie plopped down two small cups of coffee in front of Hood and Rachel, then sat across from them, “Cream or sugar?”

“No thanks,” Hood said, pulling the small cup towards him.

“Both please,” Rachel waited until she got her sugar fix before taking a sip… and then promptly tried to hide a gag. “Maybe a bit more sugar.”

Curious, Hood took an experiment sip from his cup and nearly choked.  The brew was quite potent and far more bitter than even Hood preferred.  To add insult to injury, it also tasted faintly burnt.  “On second thought, could I perhaps have some sugar as well?”

“Of course,” Lizzie said, laying a hand overtop of Hood’s.  Rachel narrowed her eyes at that display and scooted closer to Hood, who, had also shifted closer to Rachel while carefully removing his hand from under Lizzie’s.  The two were pressed together close enough to be uncomfortable so Hood slung his arm over the back of the bench.

After a few moments of uncomfortable silence in which Lizzie continued to eye Hood, Rachel, impatient to leave, spoke.  “So… about those directions?”

“Ah, I had Scottie whip you two up a late breakfast.  You’re both so skinny – you need meat on your bones,” Lizzie grinned, “It’s difficult to cook and write at the same time, y’see?”  Hood and Rachel exchanged horrified looks.  If the coffee was that bad, how terrifying would breakfast be?

“I hope you’re hungry for pancakes!” Lizzie slapped her hands on the table and then slowly pushed herself up, “how about I bring you folks a fruit platter?”

“Well,” said Hood after Lizzie left, “at least she got the order right.”

“I just hope the contents of their kitchen are at least fresher than either of ours,” Rachel sighed.

Hood grinned and nudged Rachel gently, “So you have been living off of takeout!”

Rachel grinned back, “Well, if your exploits didn’t generate so much paperwork….”

“My exploits!” Hood exclaimed, “Who was the one to shoot at another car yesterday?”

“Riiiight.  And your little demonstration in that borrowed lab was nothing,” Rachel laughed.

“It was only a little explosion!” Hood protested.

“An explosion?” Lizzie asked, clomping towards Hood and Rachel.

“He’s a scientist,” Rachel said as if that explained everything.

“Who explodes stuff,” Lizzie said flatly.

“It wasn’t me, it was the undergrad!” Hood declared.

“We were the only ones in the lab, Hood,” Rachel pointed out.

“Rachel, Rachel, Rachel… Undergrads exist to blame things on.  I didn’t get a PhD just to be blamed for a minor lab accident,” Hood explained.

“Caused a few ‘accidents’ back in your wild and crazy college days, Hood?” Rachel grinned.

“Of course not!  I just didn’t prevent a few of them,” Hood grinned back, unrepentant.  “I think your college days were far more interesting than mine, Rachel.  I tended to spend my spring breaks in either in the library or the lab.”

“What?  No trips to Tijuana?  Just a trip to the stacks?” Rachel teased.

“Hmm, it’s not like a trip to the stacks was… boring,” Hood smirked.

“You didn’t!” Rachel exclaimed.  Hood just kept his smirk and Rachel leaned forward, “You did!  Did you ever get caught?”

“There were a few close calls, but, no, I was never caught in flagrante delicto,” Hood turned to face Rachel fully, his smirk turning into a full toothed grin.  Lizzie cleaned in closer, her eyes wide in fascination.  Unfortunately, her perusal of the agent and the scientist was cut short by frantic motions from the kitchen – Scottie was demanding her attention.  With a heaving, melodramatic sigh, she pushed herself up from the booth and slowly made her way over to her business partner.

“What?” She hissed at Scottie.  “Can’t you not see that ah’m busy?”

“Lizzie, please.  Stop crowdin’ the customers or they’ll ne’er come back.”  Scottie rolled his eyes.  “Here, take this here fruit and come straight back to the kitchen, y’hear me?”

Lizzie rolled her eyes right back and snatched the fruit platter from Scottie’s unresisting hands.  She floofed off back to her precious customers.

For their part, Hood and Rachel hadn’t even noticed Lizzie’s departure.

“Ha!” Rachel had exclaimed.  “What would they have done if they caught you in the act?”

“Honestly?  I have no idea,” Hood shrugged.  “Probably banned me from the library.”

“And then what would have you done?  Failed all of your classes?” Rachel teased, eyes bright with amusement.

Hood let out a small huff of laughter.  “Unlikely.  If necessary, I would have bribed my friends to get me the materials that I needed.”

“Friends that require bribery?” Rachel arched an eyebrow.

“I had the best fake ID on campus – everything was a reason for bribery back then.”  Hood said gravely.

The tray clattered against the table as Lizzie set down the fruit.  “Here you are, loves.”  She moved to sit down across from them but froze when a throat was cleared quite loudly from the kitchen.  “Ah’ll be back in a few with yer pancakes.  Eat up!”

Hood and Rachel eyed the fruit dubiously.  All of the, thankfully meagre, pieces seemed strangely off colour.  Hood reached out a tentative finger and pushed the fruit around in a haphazard inspection.  “Doesn’t seem to have any mould,” he murmured to Rachel.

“Well,” she said in reply as she picked up a piece of watermelon.  “Bottom’s up, I guess.”  She chewed briefly and hastily swallowed.

“How was it?” Hood asked.

“Overripe,” Rachel replied.  “You try the next one.”

Hood carefully selected a strawberry and hesitantly popped it into his mouth.  Frowning, he chewed and swallowed thoughtfully.  Rachel eyed him impatiently.

“Well?” Rachel asked.

“Underripe.”  Hood stated solemnly.  Rachel groaned.  “You next.”

Rachel didn’t bother to carefully inspect the next piece of fruit – ignorance was bliss, she figured.  As it turned out, that particular adage didn’t hold true.  “Bruised.”

The two managed to clear the entire platter in that manner – one would eat a piece of fruit and comment on it and the other would follow suit.  Whilst Rachel’s complaints stayed well within a normal range, Hood’s had grown more and more esoteric with each bite.  He had finished the platter with a hastily cut off “prunus necrotic ringspot virus” when Lizzie stepped forward with two heaping plates of pancakes.  She plunked them down in front of the two investigators and grinned.

“Eat up, dearies!  And ah better not be seeing no leftovers!” Lizzie’s inane grin grew wider as Scottie placed syrup and butter onto the table before dragging the redhead off again.

“Oh god.” Rachel said, eyeing the six inch stack in front of her with trepidation.  “How many miles do you think I’ll have to run to wear off these calories?”

“I can’t eat all of this,” Hood said.  “You have less than me – take some of my pancakes.”

Rachel glared at him and her voice came out in a low, dangerous growl.  “You’re the one who got us into this mess – eat your damned pancakes.”

On the counter by the till, Lizzie leaned over, resting her chin on her fists.  “Aren’t they not an adorable couple, Scottie?  A bit odd, to be sure, but cute.”

Scottie just nodded the nod of a browbeaten man.

“Yes Rachel?”

“I won’t be coming in to work today.”

“Me neither – there must have been something in those pancakes we ate yesterday.”

“I hate you, you know that?”

“On the bright side, if your symptoms are the same as mine, you won’t need to run those extra miles.”

“I really hate you, you know that?”

“…I’ll call Frank.”

As for why fanfic?  It’s easier to summarise in a couple of sentences.  No need to explain who and where, just what and why.  Also, I want to be writing my fucking comic and not novelling atm – it’s time for my yearly post-NaNo-you-suck-at-life depression.

It should go without saying that everything on this list is a WIP and that the longer the length is, the less likely I am to write it.

The fandoms, if you’re interested, are Castle, Gargoyles, Criminal Minds, Warehouse 13, Sanctuary and Lost Girl.  Every single fic but one (a Castle fic) listed is a crossover.  Yeah, idk, I’m on a crossover kick as of late?

Title:  What Rick Saw
Fandom:  Castle
Characters:  Castle, Beckett, possibly Alexis, Lanie and Martha
Ship:  I… really don’t know.  Castle/Beckett UST goes without saying (you can’t write Castle/Beckett without the UST, of course) but I won’t know if it gets resolved until I write it.
Length:  One shot
Summary:  Set right after Kate’s apartment goes boom and she’s staying at Castle’s.  In short, Castle finds out that Kate’s been writing fic.  I suspect that she freaks out and flees to Lanie’s, which just shapes it up to be a series of one shots, which is SO LAME and hard to read on FF.Net.  Ugh.

Fandom: Castle and Gargoyles
Characters: idk, everyone in Castle?  Well, maybe less of Martha and Alexis.  Manhattan Clan, Xanatos, Fox, Alex, probably Demona and MacBeth because I loves those two.
Ship: Castle/Beckett UST, Goliath/Elisa, Fox/Xanatos, maybe Demona/MacBeth shiptease if they’re there?
Length: Probably really fucking long
Summary: A series of animal maulings, one of which takes place in Beckett’s jurisdiction, cause Beckett and Castle to unintentionally meet the Manhattan Clan.  Elisa and Beckett already know each other.  Semi AU by necessity - the gargoyles aren’t public knowledge, though there were those rumours over a decade ago….

Fandom: Castle and Criminal Minds
Characters: Everyone.  Including JJ.  Will likely be focused on Castle, Beckett, Rossi, Prentiss and Hotch due to my own unabashed character preferences.
Ship: Nothing, apart from the requisite Castle/Beckett UST.  And probably a few shipteases for Hotch/Rossi/Prentiss (any and all combinations) since I (sorta) ship it.
Length: Long.
Summary: Serial killer in NYC (again… for both shows).  Castle calls up Rossi (hey, they’re both authors with a plethora of ex wives!) with a slew of questions and Rossi being Rossi knows that it’s not book research and gets the team on the plane.  Beckett probably fangirls Rossi, much to Castle’s annoyance.
Note: I wanted to write this before any info about the (awesome) Castle two parter last season.  So, yeah, the show itself beat me to the punch and I dislike writing things that I know other people have already written.  Unless they did it horribly.

Fandom: Warehouse 13 and Sanctuary
Characters: HG, Helen, Tesla.  Probably Watson (cuz I love him) and maybe some Griffon too
Ship: It has Tesla.  C’mon, he’s going to be hitting on Helen and HG.  And it’s me – I’m going to be putting some Helen/HG in.
Length: Short.  Probably not a one shot.  Most likely a series of one shots a la the Castle fics.
Summary: Uh, hullo?  I think it’s obvious – HG, Helen and Tesla science (and possibly sex) it up in Warehouse 12 and the original Sanctuary.

Fandom: Warehouse 13 and Sanctuary
Characters: Myka, HG and the main Sanctuary gang (and maybe some Tesla)
Ship: Myka/HG.  Probably HG/Helen UST.  Ish.  They’d've been involved back in the WH12 days.
Length: Long.
Summary: The Regents shipped off HG to the one place where she could be contained (and uncrazied) – Helen’s Sanctuary.  Helen is epic pissed that she wasn’t informed that HG was debronzed, HG is omg Helen’s ALIVE wtffff?, an enraged Myka hunts HG down.

Fandom: Lost Girl and Sanctuary
Characters: Everyone
Ship: Uhhh… none, really
Length: Not a clue.  Probably long.
Summary: AU – Helen gets at Bo before the Fae do.  Madness ensues and the two worlds clash, turning Helen’s world upside down.  Big Foot a spy for the Light (redemption for his un-Light-ish human tormenting), Helen angsts.  The Fae call out Helen for calling them Abnormals, Helen angsts.  Tesla learns that he wasn’t the last vampire, Tesla angsts.  Turns out that Helen’s Sanctuary network is little more than a prison/exile for the undesirable Light and Dark Fae.  Helen angsts.

As weird as this may sound, and despite my love for both fanfic and tv, there are some fandoms  that I just cannot readfic for.  And, well, you’d have to be living under a rock for you not to know that I really love fanfic.  I read it constantly.  For chrissake, I have downloaded fic and put it on my iPod.  And I’ve been doing that since I got a first gen iPod nanoback in, what, 2006?  Admittedly, that experiment didn’t last very long – the nano only would display x number of characters in a text file and, ultimately, it was waaaay more work that it was worth.

But, dammit, I had tried.

Nowadays I just save the page in html (or view source and c+v the appropriate code), boot out all of the page formatting and convert to ePub.  Or c+v into Word and convert to ePub.  Or take the supplied pdf/doc and convert to ePub.

I think you get the point – I really like ePub.

Not that point is the point of this blog – the point is that I can’t read fic for certain fandoms.  Only two fandoms, mind you – Castle and Lost Girl.

Wait, what?

Yes, those are my two of three of my most favourite of favourite shows currently on the air (the other, of course, is Sanctuary, which I also don’t read fic for, but that’s just because nobody writes anything I’m interested in).  I’m actually in both of those fandoms (well, ish - I’m not really in any fandom, I just lurk on the edges) and, hell, I’ve ever written Castle fic.  So why can’t I read fic for either of those fandoms, especially Castle?

All the fic out there just… bothers me.  There’s always something wrong about the fic - the characterisations are a bit off, the tone doesn’t ring true… I don’t know, there’s just something wrong.  For the longest time, I had just thought that it was the fandom at fault – maybe all of the Castle writers just suck at writing.  But that’s not true – Castle fic is, objectively speaking, no better or worse than any other fandom.  It’s just that I find that the ‘good’ Castle fics all suck for different reasons.

And, it took awhile, but I eventually figured out why I thought that Castle fic was worse than all other fic out there – it wasn’t the fandom, it was me. My perspective of the show and the characters is just a little bit different than fandom’s.  Arguably, it is a little less diluted because, well, anyone who spends any length of time in fandom knows how fanoncomes about.  Take, for example, Rizzoli & Isles (also among my most favourite of favourite shows, but it’s a summer show so it doesn’t count in the off season (it makes sense in my mind, okay??)).  This is a fandom with a shit ton of fic and I have read the vast majority of it (no really, I have).  And I love the fic.  However, there is a hellalot of fanon that has cropped up – so much so, in fact, that someone once (get this) actually posted an entry on one of the R&I comms asking if something is canon.  I can’t remember what it was in specific, but I do know that the entry exploded with comments (including some from me) about how Jane calling Maura M is so weird (it was never on the show, though Maur was), how Maura calling out Jane for swearing came out of nowhere (eventually it was determined that the @JaneRizzoli and @MauraIsles twitter accounts were to blame) and a whole slew of other oddities that never showed up on the show became staples of the fic.

And it was true – there are so many common threads in R&I fic that aren’t in the show at all. And that, folks, is fanon.  And that is part of why I suspect I cannot get into Castle fic - the Castle fanon just strikes me as wrong.

The other reason why I can’t read Castle fic?

It’s because I can write Castle fic.  As stupid as it may sound, but damn I understand those characters.  I know why Castle does what he does and why Kate does what she does as well as Martha and Alexis and Lanie and even Montgomery, Ryan and Esposito (and I’m never good with male characters, which really doesn’t explain why Castle is the character I relate to in Castle).  I can hear their voices in my head (and I primarily think in words, not voices).  If I’m in a Castle-y enough mode, I can quote (timing, intonation and all) an episode along with it… on the episode’s first airing.  I understand these characters.

But my interpretation of the characters does not match up with how the Castle fandom, in general, interprets them.

Am I more correct than every other fic writer out there?  Fuck if I know and somehow I doubt it.  I’m too close to it to be unbiased and I have a strange ability to be both an arrogant fuck and a self deprecating dunce.  And, y’know what?  I don’t care if I’m wrong and they’re right or anything like that – it’s fucking fanfic - we’re all wrong in characterisations.  Only the show’s writers can get it right.

Mostly, I’m just really pissed at myself for reading Castle fic - the alternative characterisations of Castle and Beckett have completely, 100% fucked up how I see them and now nothing I write for that fandom rings true.  I’m getting better at it, though, since I’ve stopped reading Castle fic over half a year ago and maybe, in the not too distant future, I’ll be able to write Castle fic again.  I really hope I’ll be able to – writing fic for that show is so much fun.

As for how Lost Girl factors in?  Yeah, I’ve kinda over analysed that show and, while there is very few fic out there (yet), those that are out there have given me the same feeling that Castle fic did – something is just plain wrong.  So I’ve decided to learn from my mistakes in the Castle fandom and just not read Lost Girl fic.

And, upon reflection, I think that I’d have the same feeling about Sanctuary fic if it wasn’t for the fact that nobody writes what I want to read (John/Helen).  Hell, I’m a fan of the Five being all, uh, ‘involved’ back in the day and, despite being plenty of fic for that, I haven’t read it either.  I guess, subconsciously, I know that what has been written will never match up to what’s in my head.

…

Damn, this is an incredibly arrogant sounding blog entry.  I mean, the tl;dr is basically “Nikki thinks that everyone else fucks up the characters and her interpretations are closer to the word of god”.  How more self centred can one get?

But, hey, it’s the truth!  At least now I know that I should never, EVER read fanfic for my own stuff.  Not that such fanficexists, but if it did….

In fact, Kate had nearly nodded off entirely when she heard Alexis’ voice.  It sounded suspiciously like a cheerful ‘Hi Kate!’ but that couldn’t be right – it was two in the afternoon.  Alexis still had class and, barring a family emergency, Alexis would never skip class.

Kate’s eyes snapped open in realisation and her body tensed, ready to act, and she pinned Alexis with a serious stare.  “What’s wrong, Alexis?”

Alexis flinched back and adjusted the strap on her book bag.  “No-nothing?”

“Why aren’t you in class?” Kate asked, her stare softening a fraction.

“Because class is finished for the day?” Alexis said as if she were talking to her dad on one of his more thick-headed days.  Kate frowned – she didn’t like being on the receiving end of Alexis’ ‘are you dense?’ tone and she would be embarrassed to admit how many times she had had it levelled at her.

“It is?  But it’s,” Kate flicked her gaze, and her mouse, to the monitor, “…oh.  Four o’clock.  Apparently.  Sorry Alexis, I thought it was a lot earlier.”

Alexis grinned.  “Dad does the same thing, except I usually catch him writing at six in the morning under the impression that it was just past midnight.”

Kate laughed.  “I guess there’s one thing cops and writers have in common – strange hours.  So what brings you here?  If you were looking for your dad, he’s off on a coffee run.”

“In this heat?  I’m impressed – how did you convince him to leave the Precinct?”

“We drew straws.  Castle picked the short one.”  Kate’s smirk was devious and wiggled a little in her seat.  Alexis raised her eyebrows.

“Let me guess, Dad went first and all the straws just happened to be short.”

Kate’s grin widened.  “Perhaps.  Pull up a seat – Castle shouldn’t be too much longer.”

Alexis dropped down into Castle’s usual chair and pulled her bag onto her lap.  “Actually, I’m not here to talk to Dad; I was wondering if I could talk to you sometime?”

“Of course.  Wanna go grab some coffee now?” Kate asked.  “Clearly I need some.   And, either way, I also clearly need a break.”

“No, that’s alright.  I’d rather not risk running into my dad,” Alexis shrugged.  “I’m just wondering about a summer job, that’s all.”

“Got any ideas on what you want to do?” Kate asked, and then laughed.  “Then again, you probably have prospective employers lined up or you wouldn’t be talking to me, would you?”

Alexis blushed and looked away.  “Yeah….”

Kate leaned forward and looked up at Alexis.  “Hey, hey!  That’s perfectly alright, Alexis.  I’m the same way – there’s no point talking about something—”

“—Unless you’re reasonably certain it won’t fall through,” Alexis finished and Kate grinned.

“Exactly.  So what’s the plan?”

“Well, I was out shopping with Rina on Wednesday and we ran into her boss.  He took one look at me and started gushing about how I was the perfect model for one of his dresses and he offered me a job.  Rina thinks I should take it, Gram says that models have no talent, but if I want to, I should do it and Paige thinks that models are brainless morons and that I don’t need a job anyway because my dad’s rich.” Alexis said in a rush.

Ryan and Esposito, already casually eavesdropping on the conversation, glanced at each other and synchronously rolled towards Beckett’s desk.

“So now I don’t know what to do and I was hoping that you could help.”

“Modelling, huh?”  Ryan said, smirking at Beckett.  Kate glared at the duo warningly.  Predictably, they ignored her.

“Well, you certainly came to the right person for advice, isn’t that right Beckett?”  Esposito had an identical shit eating grin on his face.  Alexis raised an eyebrow and silently prompted Esposito to continue.

“Freaky how she does that,” Ryan muttered as an aside.

“You see, Little Castle, Detective Beckett here was a model once,” Esposito’s grin widened as he ducked to avoid the pen his boss threw at his head.

“When I was seventeen! And what part of ‘don’t tell Castle’ didn’t you understand?”  Beckett hissed.

“Ohhhh!  You meant all of the Castles?” Ryan said.

“Could we tell Mrs R. then?” Esposito grinned and failed to duck this time and Kate’s pen hit in square in the forehead.  “Ow!”

“Scat, you two!  Don’t you have paperwork to file?”  Beckett made shooing motions with her hands and the boys rolled off, bickering.

“Hey bro, is there pen on my head?”

“I dunno man, hold still and I’ll see!”

“Well?”

“I think so—”

There was a smack and a slight yelp of pain.

“Get your hand out of my face, Honeymilk!”

“Are you ever going to stop calling me that?  It’s been years, man!”

Kate rested her cheek on one hand and smirked sideways at Alexis.  “One thing about this job is that it’s never boring.  As for the modelling… if you want to do it, go for it.  Despite it all, I’d really regret not having modelled; it’s a bit embarrassing in hindsight, yes, but better that than spent the rest of my life wondering what I missed.  At the very least, knowledge is knowledge, wherever it came from.”

Alexis smiled and her blue eyes sparkled decisively.  “And it would only be for the summer – it’s not like I want to make a career out of modelling like Rina.  Not that I could; Dad is getting pretty weird about possible careers lately.  He doesn’t want me in a field where someone got killed on one of your cases.”

Kate rolled her eyes.  “How did I miss those conversations?  How many jobs are you down to?”

Alexis rolled her eyes back.  “One – veterinarian.”

Kate winced.  “Sorry, that one’s a no go – the guy we just caught worked at a vet clinic as a vet tech or something.”

Alexis rolled her eyes again.  “Well, I suppose now that everything has been eliminated I can threaten to bum off of him forever like Grams.”

“What’s this?” Castle said, carefully depositing his full load of coffee and assorted pastries onto Kate’s desk.  “My two favourite ladies are waiting for me?”

Kate smiled up at him fondly.  “No, I’m waiting for grande skim latte with two pumps sugar free vanilla.”

“Alas, they were out of bear claws, so I brought you a donut instead.  I hope this is acceptable?”  Castle presented the chocolate raspberry jelly donut with a flourish as Kate dug out her coffee from the tray.

Kate made a show of inspecting the donut and daintily plucked it from Castle’s hand.  She took a bite and winced as the raspberry jelly squirted out onto her hand.  Castle, laughing, swiped a bit of the jelly before it could slide off Kate’s hand and onto her paperwork, and suggestively licked it off his finger.  Kate rolled her eyes.  “Yes, Castle, the donut is indeed acceptable.”

Castle dimpled at her before turning to his daughter.  “So Alexis, what brings you to this fine establishment?”

“Just wanted to ask Kate for some advice,” Alexis said with a shrug and a smile.

“So, did the detective give good advice?”  Castle asked.

Alexis smiled.  “Yes, in fact she did, Father.”

“Of course.  When has Kate steered either of us wrong?”  Castle said with a dopey smile.  “Well, I guess there was that time with the – oh no, that’s wildly inappropriate.  Or the–”

“Castle,” Kate interrupted, “You’ve already used this joke.  Twice.  In the past week.”

“Fine,” Castle sighed melodramatically, “So what were you asking Kate about?”

“Oh, just about a summer job,” Alexis said.

“At the Precinct?  We could carpool!  Or, well, share a cab.”  Castle grinned.

“Sorry Dad, I was thinking about modelling.”  Alexis grinned at her father’s flabbergasted look.

“Modelling?”

“Yes Dad, modelling.  Rina’s boss wants me to work for him this summer.”

“But…!”

“Rick,” Kate interrupted gently, “It would just be for the summer.”

“Yeah, I guess…” Castle said, distracted by Ryan’s furtive ‘get over here’ motions.  “One sec; it looks like Ryan needs me for a minute.”  He ambled off towards the other two detectives and the three began speaking in hushed tones.  Esposito pointed something on his monitor and Castle’s eyes widened as he leaned in closer to the screen.

“Alexis,” Kate said, drawing Alexis’ attention away from her father.  “About what Paige said about you not having to work because your dad is rich?  Work anyway.  My parents had money too and I never had to worry about college funds or anything, but I found that I just felt better if I was providing for myself.”

Alexis just looked at Kate for several beats before smiling slightly.  “Yeah.”  She said.  “I think I’m the same way.”

Castle’s low whistle echoed throughout the still bullpen and Kate and Alexis returned their attention to the men.  “That had got to be one uncomfortable position to stand in – and who holds a tennis racket like that?”

Kate’s eyes widened.  “You didn’t!”  Her green eyes narrowed as she pushed herself up from behind the desk.

“Uh oh,” Ryan said.

“Scatter!”  Esposito commanded and the three men shot off in different directions.  But Kate was only interested in hunting down one man.  The man holding the flash drive.  The man who was going to be sleeping on the couch for the next few days.

“Richard Nathaniel Castle GIVE ME THAT FLASH DRIVE!” Kate yelled as Castle jumped between the closing doors of the elevator.  Karpowski just looked at Castle.  He smiled back widely.

Kate, seeing that the elevator had already left, skidded around the corner and wrenched open the door to the stairs and barrelled down them.

After a few moments of stillness, Montgomery stepped out of his office as Ryan and Esposito slunk out of the men’s washroom.  The three men gathered around the youngest Castle and stared at the elevator in amusement.

“We’re not going to see them for another hour, are we?”  Alexis asked after a long moment.  A chorus of nopes, uh uhs and yeah rights echoed from the bullpen.  “Thought so.  I think I’ll just take the subway home.”

Written mostly because I have a huge soft spot for mom!Beckett fics and because I’m currently on a quest to see how many Castle/Beckett fics I can write without them ever actually kissing.  I’m up to three (by a technicality).  And a half, if you count the half-finished fic languishing on my hard drive.

As ever, thanks is owed, and given, to the lovely Sarah/ObsidianJade for telling me that I forgot important words like ‘not’ and one of Alexis’ lines.  Without her, my stories would be even more nonsensical.