Fractured Dreams

[FIC] Last Thing I See

Sun, 22 Jul 2007 09:08:12 GMT

Title: Last Thing I See
Author: Shirahime
Rating: PG
Pairing: Snape/Harry
Word Count: 330
Warning: Deathly Hallows spoilers
Summary: Gazing up one final time.

Snape gazes up at the horror-stricken boy, making him gasp as he grabs hold to his shirt. What a sight he must be, Severus thinks to himself, judging by Harry’s expression. “Look… at… me,” Snape manages to utter, clinging to the boy. He barely holds himself partly upright, soon slumping backward to lie completely supine, blood pooling under him from the rent in his neck. If he didn’t know better, Snape could almost swear that he sees the shimmer of tears form in the eyes above him.

So strange, Severus thinks, how what must be the space of seconds seems to stretch and stretch as one’s life ebbs away. Those wide green eyes staring down at him, horror mixed with something else. Fragments of scenes play rapidly within Snape’s mind, of the eyes of a friend peering through the face of a foe, expressively defiant in some, fearful in others, apprehension often laced with something more. He’d always loved Harry’s eyes. Eyes like hers. But at some point in the space of the then and the now, he’d become enamored of them because they were Harry’s own. He has the time to wonder when protecting the boy due to the guilt of the past became protecting the boy only for his sake.

Strange, Severus thinks, but stranger still is how he finds the strength to raise a blood-stained hand. And soon it is reaching up until cooling flesh meets the soft and warm of Harry’s cheek. He tries to speak, but his voice is beyond the ability to form words. Severus watches as understanding dawns in emerald above as Harry reads the emotion buried in obsidian depths, almost as if it is plain to see. But all too soon, the light behind dark eyes is fading, and the boy opens his mouth to speak. But Severus is beyond hearing. As Snape’s vision blurs and fades to black, he swears he feels a tear strike his cheek as he slips away.

[FIC] Fine Cuisine

Tue, 27 Feb 2007 18:26:15 GMT

Title: Fine Cuisine
Author: Shirahime
Rating: PG
Pairing: Lecter & Graham
Word Count: 997
Summary: Will finds himself a guest for dinner at the doctor’s house. No real spoilers.

Hannibal had just finished the sauce for the roast when the doorbell rang. Turning off the heat from under the pot, Lecter headed out of the kitchen and through the dining room toward the front door. He was hardly surprised to see the form of Will Graham standing on the front porch, although he was able to affect an excellent facsimile of it.

“Will,” Lecter greeted. “It’s nice to see you. Is there anything that I can help you with?” He stepped away from the door somewhat, a welcoming arm stretched out toward the interior of the home

“I’m sorry to bother you,” the younger man told him as he stepped inside past the doctor. “I was hoping that you’d have time to go over-” Will’s words trailed off as he caught the aroma of a freshly cooked meal. “I’m so sorry – I must be interrupting you,” he said apologetically.

“Don’t be silly,” Lecter assured him. “Helping you on a case is never a problem for me.” He eyed Will for a moment before saying. “Would you like some dinner? There’s plenty for two.”

“I really don’t want to impose,” Will started, but the rest of what he’d intended to say died on his lips as he watched Lecter’s expression shift to one of disappointment. “Well, I am hungry.”

Graham found himself led toward the dining room after the doctor took his coat and placed the file that he’d been holding on a table near his study. Graham eyed his surroundings as he seated himself. The dining room was elegantly decorated. He had rarely been in such surroundings and found that he felt slightly out of place. The doctor placing a warm hand on his shoulder before leaving to retrieve dinner from the kitchen made Will feel more at ease.

He hoped that his stomach didn’t growl too loudly as Hannibal placed the platter and other items on the table. Will hadn’t had time for a real lunch earlier in the day. Coffee and a previously forgotten candy bar in his jacket pocket had hardly been much of a meal. So such fine cuisine that Lecter began to serve was a welcome sight. The doctor smiled at him briefly before beginning to slice through the roast on the platter with a sharp knife, steel sliding through the meat as one would through butter. The meat looked succulent, but Will found that he couldn’t really identify it. It was too pale to be beef, but darker than pork. Veal perhaps?

“This looks delicious, Dr. Lecter,” Will found himself saying as the older man set the plate in front of him. “But I’m afraid that a meal like this would be wasted on someone like me. It’s more suited for the higher circles that you usually travel in.” He watched the doctor grasp the wine bottle on the table nearby.

“Nonsense,” Lecter told Will, glancing at him before popping the cork of the bottle and tilting it to pour dark red liquid into Will’s wine glass. “One should always try new things. And I’m not interested in dining with the orchestra board tonight.” He placed a hand on Graham’s shoulder that lingered just long enough to still be considered merely friendly. “Right now, I’d like nothing better than to dine with you.”

Will smiled broadly as he watched Lecter take a seat opposite him before gazing down at the meal elegantly displayed on fine china. He could feel the doctor’s eyes on him as he sank a fork into the tender meat, drawing his knife across it. Will brushed off the intense gaze of the other man as Lecter being anxious to see how the meal was to his guest’s taste. He was at least partly right. A smile spread across the doctor’s face as the younger man pushed the fork past white teeth into his waiting mouth. He noted how Will chewed tentatively before his eyes lit up. Hannibal could almost sense the way that the morsel melted in the other’s mouth, pleasure igniting across taste buds.

“It’s delicious,” Will told him. “Is this veal? I’ve never had any that tasted as good as this.” He cut another piece, the fork guiding the meat upward to be drawn off the utensil with tongue and lips. The doctor had so many talents, and Will was glad to be treated to a particularly tasty one of them.

Hannibal smiled at him faintly from across the table, picking up his utensils to eat his meal. “It’s all in the preparation, Will. I’m glad that you enjoy it.”

The men made amiable conversation over dinner. Will pushed out of his mind the particularly gruesome case that the two of them would go over at dinner’s end. The body of a salesman who’d been alive not so long ago had been found missing several large sections of flesh along with several organs. More than what was usually taken from the victims of the Chesapeake Ripper - that and other details of the crime made Graham wonder if it was the same culprit or a copycat.

Hannibal examined Will over the rim of his wine glass as he took a sip, alcohol warming his tongue. He could see the play of emotions on the other man’s face, though Will tried to hide it, tried to push unpleasantness aside so that he could enjoy this respite from the horrors of his job that he’d found in Lecter’s company this night. Looking up from his plate, Will smiled faintly when he noticed Hannibal’s scrutiny, a gesture that the older man returned. The idea that Lecter had had two days prior had borne fruit so nicely, bringing the young FBI profiler to him in even more pleasant circumstances than he’d thought it would. Salesmen could be so annoying when they were on your doorstep, pestering you for entry to your home. But marinated and served with saffron rice and a nicely aged wine, they were divine.

End.

Yet Another Challenge

Tue, 27 Feb 2007 13:56:59 GMT

Here is the table for my claim of Red Dragon at the oh-so-appropriate-for-this psych_30:

1.	Transference	2.	Daddy Issues	3.	Addiction	4.	Ego/Id	5.	Multiple Personality
6.	Inferiority Complex	7.	Nature vs. Nurture	8.	Phobia	9.	Sociopath	10.	Approach-Avoidance
11.	Castration Anxiety	12.	Collective Unconscious	13.	Delusion	14.	Fixation	15.	Halo Effect
16.	Fetish	17.	Group Think	18.	Instinct	19.	Separation Anxiety	20.	Learned Helplessness
21.	Rationalizaton	22.	Libido	23.	Vicarious	24.	Skinner Box	25.	Placebo Effect
26.	Obsession	27.	Catharsis	28.	Free Association	29.	Repression	30.	Denial

[FIC] Beyond the Wall

Sun, 25 Feb 2007 02:00:38 GMT

Title: Beyond the Wall
Author: Shirahime
Pairing: Lecter & Graham
Rating: PG
Word Count: 804
Summary: Brief encounter at Hannibal’s cell. No real spoilers.

It was with trepidation that Will Graham walked down the hallway in the bowels of the psychiatric home that held the man who was the key in making headway in the case that he was working on. The lights shined dimly above as Will made his way down the corridor, his hand tightening on the file folder the closer he got to the end of the row of cells. Taking a deep breath, he drew nearer to the brightly-lit cell, its occupant rising from the bed at the sound of his footsteps.

“It’s nice to see you again so soon, Will,” Lecter’s voice came as he fixed the young man with a steady gaze. It was one that the older man reserved for fascinating subjects, whether that was an interesting mind, a piece of art, or a fine meal. The FBI agent before him had been one, almost two, of the three at one time.

Though the older man was the one standing in the cell, it was Graham that felt trapped, pinned by the intense gaze from the other’s eyes. He tried to steal his expression as Hannibal approached him.

‘There’s some new information on the case that you might be interested in seeing,” Will told him, pleased that his voice remained level.

A hand suddenly moved to press against the transparent wall separating Lecter from Graham. The younger man flinched at the motion before finding his calm again, as if he somehow thought that Lecter could reach past his confines to touch him. Hannibal canted his head to one side as he contemplated his former friend. He imagined that Will’s heart must be racing right now, the scent of thinly-veiled fear reaching him from the hallway beyond. Will’s heart, fresh and warm, pounding inside of his chest. Hannibal had wanted to put his hand on it that time in his study, the organ giving its last quivering beats as he pulled it from the young man’s body. As he pressed it to his lips, Will’s blood staining them bright red. He watched Graham’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed reflexively. It would have been a meal that Hannibal savored above all others he’d had.

Hannibal regarded the mask Will had made of his face, seeing the cracks in his façade, but not acknowledging them verbally. He glanced at the manila folder the man held tightly in one hand close to his body.

“Then let’s have a look at it, Will.”

Hannibal paced leisurely over to the other side of the cell, his hand trailing lightly over the smooth plexi-glass surface as he matched the younger man’s steps. His eyes were on Will and not the envelope as the young man pulled open the drawer to place the folder inside. Graham could sense the heat of Hannibal’s gaze on him as he slid the file into the cell. Finding his strength, he raised his eyes to meet Lecter’s. Hannibal’s eyes were like the color of venous blood freshly spilt as they glinted at him. Like the blood that had soaked into his crisp white shirt spreading out from the wound Hannibal had made in his gut. Like the blood on the knife that Hannibal had slipped out of him as smoothly as it had sunken into his flesh. There had been a moment looking up at the man as he lay on the floor that Will though Hannibal would lap the steel clean.

“I’ll give you some time to go over it,” Will found himself saying, remembering what the man had asked for at his last visit. Turning, Graham was glad to be heading back down the corridor, away from the subject of his nightmares.

“Have you been sleeping, Will?” Lecter called to him as he tried to hurry away, knowing full well that he likely figured prominently in whatever dreams the younger man was having. He watched Will freeze in his tracks as if riveted to the spot by his words. “After trauma, nightmares tend to be a common occurrence,” he continued.

Graham didn’t answer immediately. After a moment, he remarked without turning around, “That’s not really important, Dr. Lecter. If you could just look at the file, that’s all I need from you. I’m not in the mood for what you would consider therapy.”

Lecter smiled faintly as he watched the young man head down the hallway toward the stairs and freedom, his footfalls sounding heavy as they echoed off the walls of the corridor. Holding the file, Hannibal stroked the smooth surface of the folder where Graham had been holding it before opening it to thumb through the papers within. Things had been so dull before Will had come again, before he’d placed a new game in his lap that Hannibal was more than willing to play. It was almost like old times.

End.

[FIC] Where Loyalties Lie, Part Two

Thu, 15 Feb 2007 02:21:31 GMT

Title: Where Loyalties Lie, Part Two
Author: Shirahime
Rating: eventual NC-17
Pairing: Garibaldi/Bester
Summary: Early Season 3-ish fic. Wherein Bester becomes an unwanted new fixture to the station, and circumstances are more than they initially appear.
Previous ||Part One||

Part Two

Back in Med Lab, Dr. Franklin had finished treating Garibaldi’s injuries. The doctor pulled his eyes away from the viewer in his hand that held the man’s test results to look at his friend, who was already getting antsy from lying on the treatment table.

“Shift around anymore, and you’ll end up falling off,” Franklin warned. “It wouldn’t be good to undo everything we just did for you.”

Garibaldi groaned. “You know I hate all types of hospitals. And even with this medicine, my leg’s still sore.” He muttered under his breath, adding, “Where’s Bester when he can actually be helpful.”

Hearing him, Franklin smirked. “Now those are words that I’d never expect to hear out of you. However, I’m surprised to hear about what he did for you. I had no idea that telepaths were capable of using their talent like that.”

“Yeah,” Michael answered. “It seems like they keep a lot of information about their true abilities under wraps.”

“Even so, it must be a great thing to be one of their doctors,” Franklin continued. “I never really envied telepaths and what they could do until now. Imagine the use I could put a skill like that to.”

Garibaldi smiled up at the other man. It was so like Stephen to think of using a power that most normals would use for no good to help others. “Maybe one day, they’ll make something that can actually trigger the latent gene in normals without all those pesky side effects,” he remarked.

Fetching the pair of crutches that had been set nearby for his friend, Stephen answered, “I won’t hold my breath on that one,” before instructing the man on staying off of the healing leg for a week or so.

__________________________________________

Alfred gazed at the screen of the telecom, informing his superior of the results of the interrogation, Bester’s junior psi cop hovering nearby. The rogue had been a relatively minor player in the scheme of things, so less information had been obtained than they’d hoped. The psi cops had discovered that the person the rogue was meeting had fled, but that there may be other rogue terrorists on the station in hiding.

“In light of this new situation, I’m glad the committee came to the decision that it did,” the older man said to Bester who looked at him curiously. The telepath continued. “It was decided to place a Psi Corps outpost on the station. Hopefully, more of a presence will help put a stop to the increase in rogue telepath activity there’s been lately out in that sector.”

Gazing at the monitor, Alfred nodded his head. It was a good idea, given the fact that the station was a known draw for rogues seeking to escape the Corps’ grasp. “It’s good to hear about that. I heard that this has been an idea that had been in the works for quite some time.” He did feel sorry for the psi cops being thrown to the interstellar den of wolves that the station tended to be for telepaths loyal to the Corps.

“I’m glad you agree, Al.” the other man said. “Actually, the committee couldn’t think of a more qualified telepath besides you.”

Bester’s face fell. “Me?” he asked, incredulous.

The other man raised his hands in a placating gesture to ward off the objections that he knew were on Bester’s lips. “Now I know that Babylon 5 isn’t your favorite place in the universe-”

“That is an understatement,” Alfred interjected, succeeding in controlling his tone of voice.

“However,” the man continued, “you are the best choice for the job. We need someone with your resourcefulness out there, not to mention the fact that you’re familiar with the place. We’ll send you a few additional blood hounds of course.” The man leaned toward the monitor, his eyes intense. “Al, the Corps needs you on Babylon 5, at least for now. Don’t think of it as a permanent reassignment. When things are better under control on the rogue front, we’ll send a replacement.”

Alfred nodded sullenly. He couldn’t protest too much, as the orders came from fairly high up in the Corps. He sighed. It was far too convenient that he had been chosen for this mission only to be told that it had suddenly been decided to assign him to the station. Alfred wasn’t exactly on friendly terms with all of his superiors. Perhaps muscles were being flexed to show him that he could only have so much freedom within the power structure.

Evan moved slightly forward, an expectant look on his face as the older man turned to him. “I would be honored if you’d allow me to serve with you, sir. I know that I don’t have as much experience as some, but I’d like to think that I make up for it in other ways.”

Bester managed a smile. At least one of them was able to be happy with the sudden situation they’d been thrown into. “I’d be glad to have you, Evan,” he told the green-eyed brunette who tried to hide how pleased he was with his superior’s approval.

__________________________________________

Even at this time of night, the Zocalo was still bustling with activity, the nightlife on Babylon 5 moving into full swing. Sitting at one of the bars in the area, Alfred nursed a drink, idly playing with the stirrer with one hand. Even across the telecom, he could tell that his wife had been happy that his trip would last much longer than initially thought, though she’d tried to hide it under the guise of being supportive. More time for her to spend with the man she actually wanted to be with, he supposed. Despite the fact that the arranged marriage hadn’t blossomed into one of love, the infidelities still hurt. Once more, Alfred had thought that he could at least be a good friend of the person he’d married, to share an amount of trust that might become more with time, and yet again, he’d been disappointed.

Alfred’s daughter, though, had been upset that he wouldn’t be able to visit her anytime soon, which of course made him feel worse about his failings as a father to the girl. Bester didn’t spend nearly enough time with her as it was due to his job, yet she hadn’t given up on him quite yet. Bester frowned, believing that this was because of her young age. He was nearly certain that in later years, she would grow to resent him. The telepath took a long sip from his now empty drink, alcohol burning his throat slightly. Ultimately, the Corps was her father, her mother as well. But this could be cold comfort when you were left alone in the world. Of all people, he should know.

A stool being pulled out next to him made Alfred look to his side. Garibaldi, assisted by crutches, moved to sit next to him, saying, “I’m surprised to see you here.”

“Mr. Garibaldi,” Bester greeted, surprised himself that the normal was actually going to sit next to him. “up and around so soon?”

“Yeah,” the man answered. “I just have to keep weight off of it for about a week. A little well deserved rest from the job, if you ask me.” He seated himself nearby, ordering a non-alcoholic drink for himself and another of the same for Bester. “Looks like I get to repay you a little sooner than expected.”

“Apparently so,” the telepath replied, his voice without its usual tone.

“I would have thought that you would have flown out of here as fast as a shuttle could take you,” Garibaldi said, turning toward the other man.

“I would have, if I hadn’t been reassigned here-”

“Reassigned?” Garibaldi echoed, his previous good mood dampened somewhat.

Alfred shot him a look. “Don’t sound so happy about it. Besides, it’s only temporary. When the Corps finds a good enough replacement, I’ll be back on Mars and out of your hair.” He cast his gaze up to the top of Garibaldi’s head. “Or what’s left of it.”

Garibaldi sighed. The man could never pass up a cheap shot, could he, especially when he was in such a foul mood. Michael found himself smiling, sipping at the drink the bartender set in front of him. He figured that he should be annoyed that he’d be seeing more of the psi cop in the near future. Somehow, knowing that Bester would be made more miserable by the Corps’ decision than he would be gave Michael a perverse form of joy.

Alfred noticed the smirk on the man’s face. “What’s so amusing?”

Garibaldi turned to him. “I guess you really ticked off someone back home, huh? It’s no secret that you hate this place and most of the people in it.”

If he didn’t know better, Alfred would have sworn that the man had read his mind just now. “Not most of the people, only a few of them,” he corrected.

Garibaldi shook his head slightly. “I don’t even want to ask who’s on that list.”

Alfred smirked. “Wondering if you’re on it, Mr. Garibaldi? I can safely say that you’re not.” He shook his head at the security chief’s incredulous look. “I’ve never hated you, Mr. Garibaldi. You can be fairly annoying, infuriating actually, but I don’t hate you.”

Michael took a long sip of his drink. “I suppose that being on a psi cop’s good side isn’t necessarily a bad thing.”

Bester shot him a look. “I didn’t say that you were. There’s a rather large spectrum between ‘hate’ and ‘good side.’”

Garibaldi sighed. It was more than annoying to have his efforts at lessening some of the animosity between them thwarted at every turn. The only reason that he even bothered to try is that for some unknown reason, the telepath had decided to help him earlier. “What’s with you, and I mean that seriously. Must you really give every normal that you meet a hard time? It’s not so bad to be on better terms with one, you know.”

Alfred gazed at him steadily. “That’s interesting, coming from you. It’s hardly a secret that you hate telepaths.”

Garibaldi gave him a suffering look. “I don’t hate telepaths. I don’t trust them very much, but I can count on one hand the number of people in general that I trust. I tend not to do well with authority types and people with power I can’t defend myself against.”

Alfred frowned. “You do realize that your current job description makes you one of the ‘authority types’ that you can’t trust, don’t you?”

Garibaldi smirked. “Yeah, that does tend to be problematic.”

Alfred just blinked at him. “You are a very strange man, Mr. Garibaldi. You needn’t have any worries about me scanning you. I don’t even want to know the things that you think about.”

Michael glanced at him, saying “Thanks, I think,” despite knowing that the telepath meant the remark as more of an insult than reassurance.

Ivanova entered the Zocalo a few minutes later, her mood especially dark. The news that she’d received from Sheridan a short time ago that had been handed down from those above him made her want to run to the nearest bar. Suddenly, she stopped in her tracks, balling up one hand into a fist at her side. Seeing the subject of her distress sitting next to Garibaldi, no less, infuriated her. She was even angrier at the fact that it seemed the two men were engaged in a relatively friendly conversation.

Susan strode over to the bar, moving to stand next to Garibaldi, leaning a hand on the counter top. She glared over at the telepath. “So, it’s seems that you’ve finally managed to get a Psi Corps foothold on the station. You must be proud of yourself.”

Alfred gave her a suffering look. “I’m as surprised as you are about the situation, commander.”

Ivanova glared at him in angry disbelief. “You expect us to believe you had nothing to do with this?”

“I don’t expect anything from you, commander,” the telepath shot back. He was hardly in the mood for this.

“Don’t think that I’ve forgotten what you did to Talia,” she added suddenly. “Yet I’m supposed to ‘play nicely’ with you after that?” Garibaldi realized that her word choice probably echoed what the captain had told her. He was certain that the only reason that Sheridan hadn’t gotten his head chewed off was his higher rank.

“Whether you want to believe this or not,” Bester said after a moment, “I’m not responsible for everything that the Corps does. I may have gained some clout over the years, but I’m hardly a high-ranking official. High-ranking officials in the Corps sit at their desks in their comfortable chairs in their spacious offices while they send people like me off chasing rogues or stick them on space stations like this one for Corps security’s sake.” His eyes narrowed as he met the heat of her glare. “You can hate me, if it pleases you. But please do it for something that I’ve actually done to you. It’s tiresome to be made a scapegoat for mundanes.”

As Bester turned away to finish his drink, Susan shot her friend a look. “Nice company you’ve decided to keep lately, Michael.”

Garibaldi sighed. First the angry tone, now one used to guilt him sufficiently. There were times that the woman reminded him of his mother. “Come on, Susan. It’s not like that. The guy helped me out-”

“For his own purposes, I’m sure,” the commander interjected.

“Believe what you like,” Bester remarked.

Garibaldi opened his mouth to speak when Susan cut him off with a wave of her hand. “I’m going to get some fresh air,” she told him before walking away.

Garibaldi groaned, watching the commander leave the Zocalo, realizing that there was no point in going after her when she was in such an angry mood. He realized that Bester’s uniform was a reminder of things she’d rather forget, the latest of which was the friend that all of them had lost.

“Now you owe me,” the security chief told the telepath who turned to frown at him. “Deflecting her wrath from you to me is going to cost you. I have to work with her, you know.”

Bester rolled his eyes, finishing off his drink and ordering himself another. “I’m hardly going to walk on eggshells around here because of those who have difficulty dealing with their past.”

Garibaldi gave him a considering look. He had figured that the man had taken a look at their personnel files. “Everybody’s got a past they have issues dealing with, even clean-cut guys like Sheridan.” He paused, adding, “Probably even Psi Corps poster boys like yourself.”

Alfred frowned, not meeting his eyes, instead gazing down into amber liquid before taking a large gulp of the drink in front of him. The security chief had unknowingly rubbed salt in several old wounds. Or maybe it was the alcohol that made unpleasant things come to mind. “I’ve never been a ‘poster boy’ for anything,” Bester said, his tone more bitter than intended. “I’ve only ever done what I could.”

Michael eyed the telepath as he downed the drink. “Great, I always figured that someone like you would be a sullen drunk.”

“I’m not drunk,” the psi cop answered, leaving ‘but soon, I will be’ unspoken.

“It’s really going to help matters if you get there, I’m sure.”

Bester glared at the man for a moment before his gaze lost its anger. He’d read Garibaldi’s file soon after their first meeting. The security chief probably knew all about such matters, given his history. It angered Alfred suddenly that the man was showing concern for him, possibly even pity for him, though the man only knew a fraction of why he was so upset. Alfred wanted to make a scathing retort based on what he’d discovered about Garibaldi fueled by his bad mood, but somehow, the words died on his lips. It seemed wrong to mock someone in such a way who’d overcome a powerful addiction.

Alfred placed the nearly empty glass down onto the bar counter. “I suppose it’s not the best of ideas for a psi cop to get drunk, anyway,” he said instead. “I might not be able to help myself and peer into that sullied mind of yours, give myself a shock.”

Garibaldi scoffed. “All you’ll find in there are cobwebs, anyway.”

Bester smiled faintly despite himself. “Probably so.”

When the security chief moved to rise from the stool, Alfred was surprised that he was reluctant to see him go. Some form of company was apparently better than none, or so he told himself.

Garibaldi slapped him on the shoulder. “Cheer up,” he said, trying to lighten the psi cop’s mood. “Just think of all the normals around here that you can harass. Besides it’s not many people who are lucky to see this gorgeous face,” the chief said, pointing to himself, “on a daily basis.”

“I’ll consider myself blessed, then,” Alfred found himself answering shaking his head slightly. He watched the security chief head out of the Zocalo into the corridor beyond.

To Be Continued

[FIC] Where Loyalties Lie

Tue, 13 Feb 2007 22:14:48 GMT

Title: Where Loyalties Lie
Author: Shirahime
Rating: eventual NC-17
Pairing: Garibaldi/Bester
Summary: Early Season 3-ish fic. Wherein Bester becomes an unwanted new fixture to the station, and circumstances are more than they initially appear.

Part One

A flash of light, and the area between the struts of the jumpgate shifted in shades of blue, a portal opening from the depths of hyperspace. Four figures sat in the darkly painted shuttle, the telltale bronze and silver emblem on the craft’s side displayed proudly on a field of black. His mouth a grim line, Alfred Bester gazed at the space station looming ever larger in his field of view, turning slowly on its axis in what were the early evening hours. Duty once again brought him to Babylon 5, a place seen by many as holding a promise of new beginnings and harmony among varied species. It was this very thing that made the place one of the hubs of an underground railroad for unregistered telepaths being shuffled out of the grasp of the Corps, the situation allowed by the complicit command staff of the station.

Alfred’s expression darkened. The debriefing that the former commercial telepath on the station had undergone back on Mars had largely confirmed what that Bester had suspected the last time that he’d left the station, the fact that the combined psi of the rogues that the station had harbored was enough for them to cause him to have a false vision of events. His pride was still wounded by that knowledge, as well as the fact that a once loyal servant of the Corps had been led astray by the group. He shook his head. Unfortunate, though, that Talia’s personality had ended up replaced by the sleeper. He had liked the blonde despite what she’d done, after a fashion.

“Is something wrong, sir?” a young psi cop asked from beside him. The older telepath always kept his blocks up fairly high, even around other psi cops, but the young man didn’t need his talent to tell him that his superior was fairly annoyed.

Bester sighed. “Coming to this place always puts me in a bad mood, Evan,” he replied. “You might have the displeasure of meeting a few of the people responsible for that.”

The shuttle announced itself, moving into the docking bay after obtaining the required clearances. It wasn’t long after the psi cops and the two bloodhounds that had accompanied them made their way out of the docking bay past the security checkpoint before a voice rang out nearby that was all too familiar.

“Well, look what crawled out of the docking bay,” the voice remarked, making Bester halt, a pained expression on his face before turning around. Garibaldi, of course. The security chief approached the group, his mood darkening with every step forward that he took. What was he doing back on Babylon 5? “So what brings you here to my humble station?”

“Psi Corps business, Mr. Garibaldi,” Alfred answered with a pleasantness that he certainly didn’t feel. “Nothing that will get in the way of the command staff or interfere with you.”

Garibaldi shot the man a look. “Somehow, I doubt that.”

Bester sighed. “If you must know, we’re on the trail of several telepaths with ties to rogue terrorist cells on Mars.”

“Sounds like something that’s going to make you cross paths with security”

Bester gave a faint and unkind smile. “We already have several leads as to their whereabouts. I doubt that we’ll be needing your… expertise, but thank you for offering.” The less that normals interfered with Psi Corps matters, the better.

As the man turned to walk away with the rest of the telepaths, Garibaldi had a few choice thoughts for the psi cop that he hoped the telepath had been listening in on.

___________________________________________

During the impromptu command staff meeting a little later in the evening, Ivanova was livid, as Garibaldi had expected her to be.

“You mean that man was allowed onto the station, to roam as he pleases? Don’t you realize what he’s responsible for?” Susan leaned over the table toward Sheridan, her face animated with anger. She’d been away from C & C when the Psi Corps shuttle had docked, unable to make any protest of their request to board the station beforehand. “Who knows what his real purpose is!”

Sheridan raised his hands in what was a placating gesture. “I understand your concerns, Susan, but we can’t interfere with Psi Corps business without drawing unneeded attention to ourselves.”

“But what if this is a ruse to scout out information on the command staff?” Ivanova insisted.

“We don’t have any proof of that,” Sheridan answered. “Besides, it’s not like they can do any unlawful scans on anyone without repercussions. And we still have some leverage on Bester regarding what went down the last time he was here. We still have some tricks up our sleeves as far as information the Corps doesn’t want to see the light of day.”

Franklin chimed in with, “But is that really the case?” He frowned, not wanting to speak of it, but the words had to be said. “After what happened with Talia,” he started, continuing despite Susan’s look of discomfort, “we don’t know what kind of information that the Corps was able to obtain. It’s not clear how much the latent personality was able to find out before it was exposed.”

Considering, Michael remarked, “Well, if they really had anything concrete and had told Earth Gov about it, the powers that be would have gone after us already-”

“Unless, they’re biding their time,” Susan interjected.

“Whatever the case may be,” Sheridan said, “only time is going to show the truth of it. For now, all we can do is behave as we usually would. Don’t give them a reason to think that anything other than the usual business of the station is going on.” The captain looked around the table as the others nodded in agreement.

___________________________________________

Sitting a roughly a level and a half down from where he’d fallen, Garibaldi realized that things probably could have turned out worse. He tried not to move the leg that was twisted awkwardly, waves of increased pain assaulting him with the slightest movement. His hand was still sore from striking against the wall after he’d fallen, the pieces of his comlink nearby. They didn’t make those things like they used to.

After the meeting with the command staff, Garibaldi had gone to check on a few leads they had in an ongoing security investigation into a smuggling ring for illegal goods supposedly run out of an area of Down Below. He was supposed to be meeting up with his informant who allegedly had some information about the next shipment so that a bust could be staged. Unfortunately, things had turned out to be a little more than he’d expected. Instead of the man he was supposed to see there, several low-level suspected members of said smuggling ring were there to greet him. After a brief scuffle spilling over into a damaged area of Down Below undergoing construction, he’d ended up shoved backward and falling through an area of damaged flooring that had been sectioned off and was still undergoing repair, landing with a dull thud. While the criminals had hoped this fall was to the security chief’s death, the darkened area wasn’t quite deep enough to do the trick.

Garibaldi was only mildly comforted by the fact that, though he didn’t get the information he’d wanted, picking up his assailants later and leaning on them with attempted murder charges would likely get a few of them to speak up and implicate their bosses. However, with his comlink broken and no one in the area to answer his calls for help, Garibaldi was forced to wait for what could be 8 hours or more for the construction crew to return in the morning. He cursed himself that he hadn’t told Zack about the meeting with the informant. Being too much of a lone wolf didn’t help at times.

___________________________________________

After a brief telepathic battle in a different area of Down Below, the rogue telepath fell to the ground, stunned by Bester’s psi. The psi cop approached the fallen man. A mid-range teep, a P-7 at best, hardly a match for him, but the man had tried anyway. The bloodhounds hoisted the unconscious rogue up by an arm under each shoulder. Alfred was instructing them to take their captive to the impromptu interrogation area they had set up in one of the conference rooms levels above when he caught something nearly beyond the range of his psi. Frowning, the telepath turned to look behind him down a twisting corridor leading to another area of Down Below.

“Is something wrong, sir?” Evan asked his superior.

Alfred turned back to him. There was a strange familiarity to what he’d sensed. He supposed that he should check it out. “No, just a curiosity. Head back up with the bloodhounds and start questioning the rogue when he comes around. I’ll meet you up there shortly.”

Trying not to let his disappointment show, Evan did as instructed. Walking back toward where there was an elevator leading to the higher levels, he wondered why the psi cop always sought to accomplish many of his tasks alone.

With a mild degree of wariness, Bester headed down the long corridor. There didn’t seem to be anyone around that would be a threat to him, but a degree of caution never hurt. As the corridor led into a wider and open area with two exits, the impressions of pain and anger gained clarity. Choosing what appeared to be the more likely of the passages that held the source of the impressions, Bester traveled until he came upon an area of construction, signs warning of danger placed about. There was an area near the back where the floor had been damaged, a large section missing with telltale signs of unfinished repair. From what the images that appeared in Alfred’s mind told him, someone was down there, in pain from… a leg injury? And it seemed that the someone in question was Garibaldi.

Bester frowned. It seemed that the security chief was conscious, yet why hadn’t he called for help? Or maybe he had, yet they hadn’t arrived yet. Whatever the case, the telepath had half a mind to leave the other man there, but something made him do otherwise. Sighing, he headed over to crouch down near the aperture, leaning over to peer down.

Hearing footsteps, Garibaldi looked up hopefully only to see Bester’s head come into view, the last person that he wanted to see.

“What are you doing down there, Mr. Garibaldi?” the telepath asked him.

Rolling his eyes, Garibaldi snapped, “Isn’t it obvious? I fell – pushed actually. Comlink’s broken, so I couldn’t call anyone.” He picked up the broken object in annoyance, tossing it a distance away.

Scanning the area nearby with his eyes, Bester noticed a retracted sliding ladder on the other side of the rent in the floor on the wall leading downward. He supposed that the construction workers had attached it there to access the lower level. “You couldn’t climb up, I suppose.”

Garibaldi shot him a look. “No, because the ladder’s too high for me to reach, even if I managed to stand up somehow,” he snapped.

The security chief saw Bester disappear from view, but the footsteps told him that the man was circling around toward the area where the ladder was. A creaking sound, then metal sliding against metal as the ladder was extended downward until it was several inches off of the floor. The telepath descended, moving to stand near Garibaldi after he reached the ground.

Crouching nearby, Alfred eyed the man’s leg that was twisted at an awkward angle. “It seems to be broken.”

“That’s kind of obvious,” Garibaldi remarked, pain making him even more annoyed with the man than usual.

“Hopefully, it hasn’t broken the skin,” Bester continued, choosing to ignore the man’s words along with the scathing tone.

Garibaldi watched the telepath, Bester’s face one of contemplation as he looked down at the twisted limb, his brows knitted together. Before Garibaldi could open lips to speak, Bester was looking up, eyes focused on him and his face a mask of concentration.

Garibaldi startled at the vague and strange feeling of pressure in his mind as the telepath gazed at him. “What are you-?”

Don’t fight it, came the words spoken into his mind, Bester’s ‘voice.’ It was almost as though it had a shape and feeling as well as a sound, like a shimmering wave inside of his head. I have to straighten this leg and I don’t feel like hearing you scream when I do it. Michael blinked at the strange sensation in his mind, realizing that his leg was starting to feel numb. Dark eyes stared into blue intently. Garibaldi noted absently that the man’s lips had parted slightly as he pushed at his mind.

“Are you-?”

Don’t distract me, that voice came again. It’s been awhile since I’ve done this. A moment more, and the pain in Michael’s leg was largely a memory, the limb feeling heavy and dull. He’d had no idea that telepaths were capable of this, selectively blocking pain centers in a mind. Garibaldi had seen telepaths inflict pain globally on a person with their minds, but never a controlled talent utilized to relieve it. As he watched Bester pull the limb back into alignment, the only sensation a dull feeling of pressure, Garibaldi wondered why the telepath was even doing this.

“I don’t enjoy watching people suffer as much as everyone here seems to believe,” Alfred said aloud. It was almost strange to hear the man speak aloud now, the physical sound of notes reverberating in air paling in comparison to the presence felt when the telepath had spoken into his mind. Garibaldi was more than mildly disturbed by the fact that Bester’s other voice had been oddly soothing.

Looking around for something he could use to brace the leg, Bester found two slats of material that had fallen from the damaged floor above that were roughly the right size for the job. There was, however, nothing around for him to tie them with.

He gazed up at Garibaldi intently. “Take off your shirt,” he ordered. The telepath made a motion as if he were going to unfasten the man’s uniform jacket for him.

Pulling away somewhat in mild alarm, Garibaldi couldn’t stop from uttering “What?” incredulously.

The telepath shook his head at the suspicions that rose in the normal’s mind. Really now. “I need something to tie this with,” Alfred told him, his tone saying that this should have been obvious to the other man. “You don’t think that I can sit here holding your leg in line and go for help at the same time, do you?”

“Fine,” Michael agreed reluctantly, annoyed at the man’s chastening tone of voice. He slipped off his jacket unaided, unbuttoning the white shirt. Handing it over, he watched the telepath rip it into large strips. “But you owe me another one,” Garibaldi added.

Alfred glanced at him briefly before turning back to focus on the task at hand. “It’s a sacrifice for your own comfort.”

Finished binding the security chief’s leg, the telepath rose, dusting off his pants before heading back to grasp the ladder. Bester looked back over his shoulder at Garibaldi. “Once I’m out of range, you’ll feel pain again, but it shouldn’t be as severe as before.” Michael’s eyes widened slightly. Was the man offering him reassurance?

“Just stating the facts, Mr. Garibaldi,” Alfred responded with his typical grin, picking up the thought. “You can interpret them as you see fit.” Then the man climbed up the ladder, an exasperated but surprised Garibaldi waiting below.

___________________________________________

A short time later, Garibaldi was lying on a stretcher, the medical team preparing to bring him back to Med Lab for treatment. Realizing that he hadn’t yet thanked the psi cop, he gestured for him to come closer.

Garibaldi looked up gratefully at the other man. “Hey, thanks for what you did back there, you spared me a lot of pain. Let me buy you a drink sometime.”

Bester gazed at him as he lay in the stretcher. “There’s really no need for you to thank me, Mr. Garibaldi. My motives weren’t entirely altruistic.”

“How so?”

Alfred sighed. “Being in the same room with you as you were would have been like being wirh a wounded animal. I did it for myself, actually. Less dangerous that way.”

Garibaldi’s gaze at the man darkened initially, until he realized what the other man was doing. The psi cop didn’t want to accept Garibaldi’s kind words to him, so he responded with his usual sarcastic routine to maintain the dynamic that existed between them. Was it such a bad thing to be on friendly terms with a normal? Well, he wasn’t going to play along with the telepath’s game this time.

Smirking slightly, Garibaldi answered, “Well, worse things have been said about me, usually by old girlfriends.”

With a less than kind smile, Bester answered, “With you, Mr. Garibaldi, I can believe it.”

Michael frowned. The telepath sure didn’t make it easy, did he? He watched the older man turn, pausing to call over his shoulder, “I’d have to take a rain check on that drink anyway. I doubt that I’ll be on the station much longer.” Then Alfred headed back to seek out his companions, a figure in black disappearing down the corridor and out of sight.

To Be Continued.

[For 50 Scenes] Efforts in Futility

Tue, 13 Feb 2007 02:26:02 GMT

Title: Efforts in Futility
Author: Shirahime
Fandom: Babylon 5
Characters: Alfred Bester
Prompt: 005 - Power
Word Count: 903
Rating: PG
Summary: One interrogation in a string of many.
Warnings: none
Disclaimer: I don’t own Babylon 5 or its characters, and I’m not making money from this story.

The room had four dull grey walls, a table and two chairs the only sparse furnishings. But this room wasn’t made for its aesthetics, but for function. The bare walls were fairly soundproof, and their bland appearance was as forbidding as those who utilized the area.

On either side of the table stood two blood hounds, ready for whatever orders their master had for them. In one of the chairs sat a rogue, freshly captured, hands bound behind his back. He breathed heavily, nearly exhausted from the less than kind treatment he’d received recently as well as the drain from attempts at keeping his opponent at bay. Perspiration beaded on his forehead and trickled down his cheek as he glared at the black clad figure across the table.

Alfred Bester met the man’s angry gaze with amused disinterest. He actually wanted this over so that he could go after bigger fish, the resistance leaders that this underling had the names of. Annoying, that the rogue put up such a struggle, but it was only a matter of time.

“You must know that this is all very pointless,” Bester told the man, the strain of keeping his blocks up at full visible in the rogue. In contrast, the psi cop’s features hardly showed his exertion as he pressed against the other man’s blocks forcefully, bowing them inward as if in demonstration of his words. “You’re only a P-10, an admirable psi rating to be sure, but inferior to mine nonetheless.” He leaned forward in the chair to gaze pointedly at the man, the kind expression on his face belying what lay behind dark eyes. “Why not stop this? We won’t blame you for being led astray, as long as you prove your loyalty to the Corps and tell us what we want to know.”

Lips pressed into a thin line, the rogue didn’t trust himself to speak, not wanting his voice to waver. It was no secret what the outcome of this battle would be. The truth of things was all too clear in the dark eyes trained on him from across the table. Yet-

Alfred sighed. “I suppose that I should admire the loyalty that you’re demonstrating to the values that you believe in.” He frowned. “A shame that it’s misplaced.” The man smirked at the fact that he could say the same to the psi cop.

His face becoming a mask of concentration, Alfred ignored the stray thought gleaned from the rogue. The man had eyes, yet still couldn’t see the truth that was right in front of him. Perhaps a re-education camp would sort that out, but first…

The rogue braced himself, his blocks a brick wall behind locked steel doors, then another wall behind the first, bricks piling up higher and higher, the layers as thick as he could make them. A nagging and sinking feeling as the psi cop’s force didn’t increase, as if Bester was giving him a head start, a lull before the coming storm. Was he being played with, or shown a form of kindness?

Then, it came at the rogue from behind the dark and piercing stare, tendrils sharper than daggers, stronger than steel, merging to become one. The door was pierced by the Bester’s psi, the rent extended until warped metal split in two. The bricks that lay behind it were not chipped away at, but plowed through, faster and faster as the rogue tried to build them up. The man didn’t give in yet, the head start allowing him to keep up until…

The psi cop’s voice in his mind, low and dangerous, not the lure of comfort it had offered the time before. This is useless. You’re only delaying the inevitable…

The force of the telepath’s psi pushed forward at the center of the man’s blocks, warping the center of the wall, bricks splitting as they were forced from their position inward. The rogue’s body trembled where he sat in the chair, his head lolled back onto his shoulders. Bester’s eyes were dark, his lips slightly parted. A raised hand slightly extended, gloved fingers flexed.

Useless… Give me the names, then the pain will be over…

He reinforced the wall with metal struts, then more brick, then more steel, then-

Are they worth the suffering that you’re going through?

Behind the last wall, a box that the rogue forced the information into, closed it, locked it, dropped it inside of concrete, then steel, then encased it in-

The last wall exploded inward, shards of brick scattering, some striking the sealed box, then that force, not tendrils now, but crushing, cracking, splitting the layers around the box, then the container itself, the words spilling out, the precious names and places that the rogue was ultimately unable to protect. As consciousness waned, the rogue only had enough time to wonder if the others had made it out of their hiding place before darkness rose to claim him.

Sighing, Alfred stared across at the other man as his head lolled forward. He motioned to the bloodhounds, who moved in concert to hoist the man and take him back to his cell. Rising from his seat, he straightened his dark jacket, pushing the chair in closer to the table before following the bloodhounds out. So many times, and it’s always the same. A pointless fight all for naught, just for the sake of pride.

End

Babylon 5 Claim

Tue, 06 Feb 2007 17:01:44 GMT

Here is the claim table for Babylon 5: General Series over at 50scenes:

Table Two

my tag: blurredfic:b5:general

001.	Hero.	002.	Grave.	003.	Repent.	004.	Change.	005.	Power.
006.	Glory.	007.	Bitter.	008.	Smiles.	009.	Her.	010.	Writer's Choice.
011.	Escape.	012.	Rose.	013.	Heart.	014.	Bleed.	015.	Crimson.
016.	Pain.	017.	Relax.	018.	Lover.	019.	Without.	020.	Writer's Choice.
021.	Child.	022.	Banned.	023.	Grin.	024.	Pattern.	025.	Imprint.
026.	Cost.	027.	Calculate.	028.	Gasp.	029.	Benevolence.	030.	Writer's Choice.
031.	Angel.	032.	Teddy.	033.	Failure.	034.	Sigh.	035.	Overdose.
036.	Saviour.	037.	Epitome.	038.	Syringe.	039.	Mask.	040.	Writer's Choice.
041.	Angst.	042.	Loss.	043.	Wrapper.	044.	Christmas.	045.	Flicker.
046.	Glimmer.	047.	Bells.	048.	Voice.	049.	Listen.	050.	Writer's Choice.

[For 50scenes]: Coffee break

Fri, 05 Jan 2007 17:44:12 GMT

Title: Coffee Break
Author: Shirahime
Fandom: Infernal Affairs
Characters: Wong & Yan
Prompt: 039 - Sugar
Word Count: 470
Rating: PG
Summary: A break from the usual business.
Warnings: none
Disclaimer: I don’t own the IA trilogy or its characters, and I’m not making money from this story.

The sun had just begun to peek out from behind the clouds when Yan heard the footsteps that heralded the arrival of the man he’d been waiting for. Yan rose from the ledge on which he sat, turning in the direction of the approaching figure. Sunglasses glinted as rays of light reflected from tinted lenses as the dark-suited Wong approached. The light winds blowing across the rooftops caught short black locks, tossing them slightly.

Wong nodded to Yan, taking a seat on the concrete ledge by the stairs to the lower level. The other man followed suit, noticing that his boss was holding a small brown bag.

“What’s that?” Yan asked, indicating the bag. Wong was always bringing some new form of spy equipment or other.

The bag crinkled noisily as Wong opened it to reach inside, pulling out a white Styrofoam cup. “Coffee,” he answered, holding the container out for Yan to take. “I got thirsty on the way, and thought that you might like some.”

Yan smiled faintly as he took it, shaking his head. Boss was so casual about this sometimes. At any time, the two of them might be spotted together, cover blown, lives possibly over. Much of the time, it was with trepidation that Yan headed to the heights of the Guangdong Investment Tower. Yet Wong acted so nonchalant about it most days.

He watched Wong tear the packet of sugar, white crystals cascading into the swirling black liquid as he stirred. Yan’s eyes followed the thin brown straw as it was placed in his boss’ mouth, the remnants of sweet liquid drawn off by suction.

“Hey,” Yan said. “Got anymore?” he asked, referring to the sugar.

He watched the other man’s eyebrows furrow in question. “I thought that you took your coffee black?”

“I do most days,” Yan answered, wondering why it was that the man knew this. They’d never drank coffee together before, if memory served.

Yan took the packet from the other man, pouring the contents into the cup nestled between his legs. He looked up, surprised initially to find the other man gazing at him. He could almost feel the strange intensity of it, even though brown eyes were hidden behind dark glasses. He brushed his apprehension off quickly, since Wong usually gave his surrounding a similar form of scrutiny.

“Do you have another…?” Yan trailed off, pointing at the thin straw held between Wong’s lips.

The bag rustled as Wong fished within it before removing his hand to pluck the straw from his mouth. “This seems to be the only one.”

Yan glanced at it a moment before taking it from the man’s hand. “It figures,” he remarked as he used it to swirl the warm fluid.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Wong smirk faintly.

End

For 50 scenes...

Wed, 03 Jan 2007 21:10:11 GMT

Here is the table for the claim of Infernal Affairs Trilogy: General Series at 50scenes:

Table One

my tag: blurredfic:iat:general

001.	Sleep.	002.	Love.	003.	Pain.	004.	Sand.	005.	Glass.
006.	Church.	007.	Moonlight.	008.	Happiness.	009.	Tears.	010.	Writer's Choice.
011.	Cry.	012.	Silence.	013.	Sun.	014.	Sing.	015.	Twist.
016.	Empty.	017.	Blossom.	018.	Harp.	019.	Control.	020.	Writer's Choice.
021.	Psychotic.	022.	Hope.	023.	Alone.	024.	Viridian.	025.	Gasp.
026.	Smirk.	027.	Piece.	028.	Fly.	029.	Elope.	030.	Writer's Choice.
031.	Moment.	032.	Eternal.	033.	Wish.	034.	Darkness.	035.	Poem.
036.	Sick.	037.	Turbulence.	038.	Malevolence.	039.	Sugar.	040.	Writer's Choice.
041.	Embrace.	042.	Dark Eyes.	043.	Hands.	044.	Youth.	045.	Ignored.
046.	Mistake.	047.	Stars.	048.	Pluto.	049.	Fortune.	050.	Writer's Choice.

100 Situations

Wed, 03 Jan 2007 01:53:03 GMT

Here is my fiction table for my pending claim of Infernal Affairs Trilogy: General Series over at 100_situations:

001.	Finger	002.	Bad	003.	Intelligence	004.	Announce	005.	Day
006.	Murder	007.	Sad	008.	Plan	009.	Ill	010.	Secret
011.	Behind	012.	Want	013.	Stranded	014.	Wealthy	015.	Marriage
016.	Affected	017.	Long Hours	018.	Worthy	019.	Sinful	020.	Obvious
021.	Caught	022.	Splatter	023.	Flight	024.	Slip	025.	Escape
026.	Honor	027.	Ashamed	028.	Attentive	029.	Motivated	030.	Grovel
031.	Swear	032.	Shoot	033.	Switch	034.	Promise	035.	Crawl
036.	Hell	037.	Grin	038.	Hug	039.	Burn	040.	Kiss
041.	Mute	042.	Suffocate	043.	Punch	044.	Exile	045.	Plead
046.	Strong	047.	Defenseless	048.	Discover	049.	Action	050.	Sport
051.	Memorable	052.	Die	053.	Missing	054.	Luck	055.	Rescue
056.	Abort	057.	Possessed	058.	Graveyard	059.	Trail	060.	Walk
061.	Plunge	062.	Jump	063.	Self-conscious	064.	Suspicious	065.	Mistake
066.	Complicated	067.	Black Out	068.	Reveal	069.	Grotesque	070.	Swim
071.	Resign	072.	Nonsense	073.	Declare	074.	Corrupt	075.	Wrong
076.	Right	077.	Administer	078.	Embrace	079.	Argue	080.	Lose
081.	Monster	082.	Hit	083.	Build	084.	Destroy	085.	Breathe
086.	Assist	087.	Stab	088.	Bite	089.	Hunger	090.	Passage
091.	Drama	092.	Haunted	093.	Crisis	094.	Dirty	095.	Emotional
096.	Writer‘s Choice.	097.	Writer‘s Choice.	098.	Writer‘s Choice.	099.	Writer‘s Choice.	100.	Writer‘s Choice.

Fan Fiction @ LJ

Tue, 02 Jan 2007 09:15:59 GMT

Here is the fan fiction that I've written so far based on live-action fandoms. Anime/manga fics are over at blurredfate:

INFERNAL AFFAIRS TRILOGY

Fiction for 50scenes
Claim: Infernal Affairs Trilogy: General Series. [prompt table is over here]:

· Coffee Break Rated PG. Prompt 39: Sugar. 470 words. Wong & Yan. A break from the usual business.

Fiction for 100_situations
Claim: Infernal Affairs Trilogy: General Series. [prompt table is over here]:

When I get approved, I'll start these.

BABYLON 5

Fiction for 50scenes
Claim: Babylon 5: General Series. [prompt table is over here]:

· Efforts in Futility Rated PG. Prompt 05: Power. 903 words. Bester & rogue. One interrogation in a string of many.

· Where Loyalties Lie Rated NC-17 overall. Pairing: Garibaldi/Bester. Early Season 3-ish fic. Wherein Bester becomes an unwanted new fixture to the station, and circumstances are more than they initially appear.
||Part One||Part Two||

RED DRAGON

Fiction for psych_30
Claim: Red Dragon: General Series. [prompt table is over here]:

When I get approved, I'll start these.

· Beyond the Wall Rated PG. 804 words. Lecter & Graham. Brief encounter at Hannibal’s cell. No real spoilers.

· Fine Cuisine Rated PG. 997 words. Lecter & Graham. Will finds himself a guest for dinner at the doctor’s house. No real spoilers.

HARRY POTTER

· Last Thing I See Rated PG. 320 words. Snape/Harry. Gazing up one final time. Deathly Hallows spoilers.

ROME

Fiction for fanfic100
Claim: Rome: General Series. [prompt table is over here]:

I'll start these fairly soon.

Fan Fic 100

Tue, 02 Jan 2007 09:11:16 GMT

This is the table for my claim of Rome: General Series over at fanfic100:

001.	Beginnings.	002.	Middles.	003.	Ends.	004.	Insides.	005.	Outsides.
006.	Hours.	007.	Days.	008.	Weeks.	009.	Months.	010.	Years.
011.	Red.	012.	Orange.	013.	Yellow.	014.	Green.	015.	Blue.
016.	Purple.	017.	Brown.	018.	Black.	019.	White.	020.	Colourless.
021.	Friends.	022.	Enemies.	023.	Lovers.	024.	Family.	025.	Strangers.
026.	Teammates.	027.	Parents.	028.	Children.	029.	Birth.	030.	Death.
031.	Sunrise.	032.	Sunset.	033.	Too Much.	034.	Not Enough.	035.	Sixth Sense.
036.	Smell.	037.	Sound.	038.	Touch.	039.	Taste.	040.	Sight.
041.	Shapes.	042.	Triangle.	043.	Square.	044.	Circle.	045.	Moon.
046.	Star.	047.	Heart.	048.	Diamond.	049.	Club.	050.	Spade.
051.	Water.	052.	Fire.	053.	Earth.	054.	Air.	055.	Spirit.
056.	Breakfast.	057.	Lunch.	058.	Dinner.	059.	Food.	060.	Drink.
061.	Winter.	062.	Spring.	063.	Summer.	064.	Fall.	065.	Passing.
066.	Rain.	067.	Snow.	068.	Lightening.	069.	Thunder.	070.	Storm.
071.	Broken.	072.	Fixed.	073.	Light.	074.	Dark.	075.	Shade.
076.	Who?	077.	What?	078.	Where?	079.	When?	080.	Why?
081.	How?	082.	If.	083.	And.	084.	He.	085.	She.
086.	Choices.	087.	Life.	088.	School.	089.	Work.	090.	Home.
091.	Birthday.	092.	Christmas.	093.	Thanksgiving.	094.	Independence.	095.	New Year.
096.	Writer‘s Choice.	097.	Writer‘s Choice.	098.	Writer‘s Choice.	099.	Writer‘s Choice.	100.	Writer‘s Choice.