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melwilI wrote these three stories the other day, which meant I should post them at some time. The next step, I suppose is to post them in as many available forums as possible. It would all be easier if I wasn't so ambivilent about the whole process at the moment . . .
Title: Swish and Flick
Author: MelWil
Rating: PG
Fandom: Harry Potter
Disclaimer:Not mine. I make no money.
Feedback: lina_wilson@hotmail.com
Summary: Old lessons revisited.
~*~
It was Wingardium Leviosa again. Sometimes Hermione thought it would always be Wingardium Leviosa.
“It wasn't quite so funny at the time,” she reminded Ron. She took her wand away from Jennifer, seating her youngest in the baby chair.
“It was funny. Very funny.” Ron grinned at her as he helped Caroline and Anthony put their toys away.
“You weren't laughing at the time. You were too busy making fun of me.”
“I was wrong of course. Horribly, terribly wrong.”
“And then I almost got killed by a troll” Hermione brought a plate of food to the table. “What would you have done if the troll had won?”
“Never would have happened.” Ron settled the older two in their chairs, wiping a smudge of dirt from Anthony's nose. “Harry and I were there to save you.”
“You were just feeling guilty.”
“Well if you weren't so good at that swish and flick.”
“Swish and flick,” Caroline giggled. “Flick and swish.”
Title: Echo
Author: MelWil
Rating: PG13/R – due to violence
Fandom: Spooks/MI-5
Disclaimer: Not mine, I make no money
Feedback: lina_wilson@hotmail.com
Summary: The sound echoes in his ears and he wonders if he's human anymore.
Author's note: Mid-ep story for episode 1.2, otherwise known as the deep fryer episode. Thus the violence.
~*~
The worst thing, Tom thought as he allowed Zoe to hustle him into the car, the worst thing about it all was the noise. It echoed in his ears – still - mingling with the pounding of his heart and the noise rising in his throat every time he tried not to throw up.
Zoe took him straight to Thames House. “I've already disobeyed one set of orders today. Harry'll want to see you straight away.”
Tom knew that. He knew procedures, he knew the rules. He knew the odds of dying on an op and how they increased if you happened to be found out.
Knowing it didn't make the sounds go away. It didn't stop the bile building in his throat. “Pull over,” he choked, grabbing at Zoe's arm, “pull over!”
Zoe turned into a side road, slowing the car to a stop and turning the engine off, She turned to look at Tom. “Tell me. What happened?”
Tom winced at her bluntness, at her curiosity. “We were found out.”
“How could . . .”
“Because of me. Or Helen. Or the guys who screwed up trying to bug the place. Or the blasted reporter trying to get his big scoop. Could have been anyone really; he was a suspicious bastard.”
“And Helen? How did they . . . ?” Zoe looked down, the moonlight reflecting off her hair. “I mean, what did they . . . ? Did they shoot her?”
“Yeah, he shot her. Eventually.” Tom laughed, surprised that such a cold, brittle sound could come from his lips. He looked away from Zoe and wondered if his training would hold up, if he would finish talking before he broke down. And what if it did? What would it mean if he didn't cry? What would it say about the man he'd become?
“Eventually?” Zoe pushed her hair away from her face. “Tom, I don't understand.”
“There was a fryer. A deep fryer. They thought I'd talk if they shoved Helen's arm in it. A fucking deep fryer and her arm and I wouldn't tell them anything. So they decided deep frying her face would be an appropriate mode or torture, and quick pathway to death. They shot her almost immediately after that.” His voice was dull and at that moment he hated himself. “I can't get the noise out of my head, Zoe. I can't make it go away.”
Zoe's hands were pressed against her eyes, and Tom wondered if she was crying, if she was a better human being than he was. Then she exhaled heavily and it was obvious she was becoming as cold and emotionless as him. She leant forward to start the car. “We do what we have to, Tom, to get the job done.”
“Well we didn't get the job done this time, did we? We lost everything and gained absolutely nothing.”
Zoe pulled out, back on the main road. “We've still got you.” She said, stumbling slightly over her words.
“Thank you.” His voice was weaker than he intended and for a moment he thought he might not be a heartless bastard after all.
It was too hard to know anymore.
Title: Ten Percent
Author: MelWil
Rating: PG
Fandom: M*A*S*H
Disclaimer: Not mine, I make no money
Feedback: lina_wilson@hotmail.com
Summary: She only wants small doses
~*~
Margaret Houlihan only wanted him in ten percent doses.
That was fine. Okay, even. Dandy. He could (would have to) live with that. As far as he was concerned it was nice to make the short list. Hell, she hadn't mentioned BJ or Charles at all. He was one of the elites.
He had no idea how much of her would go into his perfect woman.
He drank his scotch and watched her paw through the scrabble tiles, searching for some misplaced letter. It was impossible to say what he wanted from her, impossible to subject her to casual catagorisation. There were too many back stories, too many memories to many exceptions and acceptions.
He would have liked the see her in Klinger's dress. A pink dress, Klinger told him, fitted just so.
“How do you do it?” Margaret asked him once. “How do you know everything about everyone?”
“My good looks and charm,” he smirked and handed her a martini (Swamp style). “Or just the result of being a high profile doctor who's been here too long. People will tell a doctor anything.”
So he knew about the pink dress and he knew about her fight with Scully and he knew about the other things that went on behind the bland, khaki canvas.
And he knew he never stood a chance with Margaret while the war lasted.
“Found it,” Margaret held up a tile. “I knew there was a 'c' in there somewhere.”
“What are you spelling?” Hawkeye scanned the scrabble board.
“Peace.” She filled the letters in.
He smiled. “Perfect.”
Title: Swish and Flick
Author: MelWil
Rating: PG
Fandom: Harry Potter
Disclaimer:Not mine. I make no money.
Feedback: lina_wilson@hotmail.com
Summary: Old lessons revisited.
~*~
It was Wingardium Leviosa again. Sometimes Hermione thought it would always be Wingardium Leviosa.
“It wasn't quite so funny at the time,” she reminded Ron. She took her wand away from Jennifer, seating her youngest in the baby chair.
“It was funny. Very funny.” Ron grinned at her as he helped Caroline and Anthony put their toys away.
“You weren't laughing at the time. You were too busy making fun of me.”
“I was wrong of course. Horribly, terribly wrong.”
“And then I almost got killed by a troll” Hermione brought a plate of food to the table. “What would you have done if the troll had won?”
“Never would have happened.” Ron settled the older two in their chairs, wiping a smudge of dirt from Anthony's nose. “Harry and I were there to save you.”
“You were just feeling guilty.”
“Well if you weren't so good at that swish and flick.”
“Swish and flick,” Caroline giggled. “Flick and swish.”
Title: Echo
Author: MelWil
Rating: PG13/R – due to violence
Fandom: Spooks/MI-5
Disclaimer: Not mine, I make no money
Feedback: lina_wilson@hotmail.com
Summary: The sound echoes in his ears and he wonders if he's human anymore.
Author's note: Mid-ep story for episode 1.2, otherwise known as the deep fryer episode. Thus the violence.
~*~
The worst thing, Tom thought as he allowed Zoe to hustle him into the car, the worst thing about it all was the noise. It echoed in his ears – still - mingling with the pounding of his heart and the noise rising in his throat every time he tried not to throw up.
Zoe took him straight to Thames House. “I've already disobeyed one set of orders today. Harry'll want to see you straight away.”
Tom knew that. He knew procedures, he knew the rules. He knew the odds of dying on an op and how they increased if you happened to be found out.
Knowing it didn't make the sounds go away. It didn't stop the bile building in his throat. “Pull over,” he choked, grabbing at Zoe's arm, “pull over!”
Zoe turned into a side road, slowing the car to a stop and turning the engine off, She turned to look at Tom. “Tell me. What happened?”
Tom winced at her bluntness, at her curiosity. “We were found out.”
“How could . . .”
“Because of me. Or Helen. Or the guys who screwed up trying to bug the place. Or the blasted reporter trying to get his big scoop. Could have been anyone really; he was a suspicious bastard.”
“And Helen? How did they . . . ?” Zoe looked down, the moonlight reflecting off her hair. “I mean, what did they . . . ? Did they shoot her?”
“Yeah, he shot her. Eventually.” Tom laughed, surprised that such a cold, brittle sound could come from his lips. He looked away from Zoe and wondered if his training would hold up, if he would finish talking before he broke down. And what if it did? What would it mean if he didn't cry? What would it say about the man he'd become?
“Eventually?” Zoe pushed her hair away from her face. “Tom, I don't understand.”
“There was a fryer. A deep fryer. They thought I'd talk if they shoved Helen's arm in it. A fucking deep fryer and her arm and I wouldn't tell them anything. So they decided deep frying her face would be an appropriate mode or torture, and quick pathway to death. They shot her almost immediately after that.” His voice was dull and at that moment he hated himself. “I can't get the noise out of my head, Zoe. I can't make it go away.”
Zoe's hands were pressed against her eyes, and Tom wondered if she was crying, if she was a better human being than he was. Then she exhaled heavily and it was obvious she was becoming as cold and emotionless as him. She leant forward to start the car. “We do what we have to, Tom, to get the job done.”
“Well we didn't get the job done this time, did we? We lost everything and gained absolutely nothing.”
Zoe pulled out, back on the main road. “We've still got you.” She said, stumbling slightly over her words.
“Thank you.” His voice was weaker than he intended and for a moment he thought he might not be a heartless bastard after all.
It was too hard to know anymore.
Title: Ten Percent
Author: MelWil
Rating: PG
Fandom: M*A*S*H
Disclaimer: Not mine, I make no money
Feedback: lina_wilson@hotmail.com
Summary: She only wants small doses
~*~
Margaret Houlihan only wanted him in ten percent doses.
That was fine. Okay, even. Dandy. He could (would have to) live with that. As far as he was concerned it was nice to make the short list. Hell, she hadn't mentioned BJ or Charles at all. He was one of the elites.
He had no idea how much of her would go into his perfect woman.
He drank his scotch and watched her paw through the scrabble tiles, searching for some misplaced letter. It was impossible to say what he wanted from her, impossible to subject her to casual catagorisation. There were too many back stories, too many memories to many exceptions and acceptions.
He would have liked the see her in Klinger's dress. A pink dress, Klinger told him, fitted just so.
“How do you do it?” Margaret asked him once. “How do you know everything about everyone?”
“My good looks and charm,” he smirked and handed her a martini (Swamp style). “Or just the result of being a high profile doctor who's been here too long. People will tell a doctor anything.”
So he knew about the pink dress and he knew about her fight with Scully and he knew about the other things that went on behind the bland, khaki canvas.
And he knew he never stood a chance with Margaret while the war lasted.
“Found it,” Margaret held up a tile. “I knew there was a 'c' in there somewhere.”
“What are you spelling?” Hawkeye scanned the scrabble board.
“Peace.” She filled the letters in.
He smiled. “Perfect.”
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on 2003-09-06 09:57 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2003-09-06 10:18 pm (UTC)