Waiting for the angel

"The Night Before Christmas" (24 ficlet)

Sun, 20 Dec 2009 18:29:12 GMT

Title: "The Night Before Christmas"
Author: Leigh57
Characters: Jack, Renee
Summary: Nothin’ but Christmas squash. No really. Nothing.
Warnings: Language, sexual situations? Also, I guess for the horrifyingly spoilerphobic, stuff I elliptically allude to here is speculatively spoilery. Adverb overload. Say that ten times fast. Edit: marinw read and said she didn't get anything spoilery. Must be in my head.
Disclaimer: So not mine. If they were they’d do this. On TV. And I’d watch. Repeatedly.
A/N: I should disclaim all responsibility for this fic, because it’s lauridsen09’s fault. Heh. In any case, I wrote it for caviarandmeths’ holiday ficathon, explained here. Prompts are “(Good) tears over a special gift, candles, wistful.” Huge hugs to lowriseflare and adrenalin211 because well, I just love you guys and have no idea how to write without you holding my hand.

Oh! And the reference to the Japanese movie is taken from this week's Newsweek.

“How long have we been in here?” Renee reached for her foot, running her finger over her heel. “I’m totally pruney.”

“I have no idea.” Jack moved her wet hair aside, kissing her neck, drawing abstract shapes on her shoulder with his soapy finger. “You wanna get out?”

“No! This is the best Christmas Eve since I was fourteen. My mom and dad bought me a Mac Classic.” She leaned her head back, relaxing into his chest. “I have to admit you surprised me though. I didn’t take you for a five-star hotel, Jacuzzi-in-the-room kind of guy.” She picked up the champagne glass sitting on the edge of the tub and took a long swallow, watching tiny circles of air spiral to the top and explode.

“I didn’t have a lot of time to think.” Jack sat up a touch and reached for his own champagne. “It was either this or my dick in a box.”

She coughed, sending white coconut-scented bubbles flying. “You know that video?”

“Not my fault,” he muttered. “Kim and Stephen watch it every five fucking minutes.”

She smirked, set her glass down, and rubbed her fingers softly over the inside of his thigh. “I’m not complaining. I got your dick in black boxer briefs.” She tilted her head to kiss his jaw. “And out of them.”

When he caught her off guard like that, jostled her perspective like a well-shaken snow globe, her stomach inevitably did a tingly funny thing. Okay, so “thing” was a spectacularly stupid word for the sensation, but she couldn’t think of a better one right now -- deliciously warm, full of apple crisp with whipped cream, still coming down off whatever the hell Jack had done to her on the pillowed chair in the bedroom, cocooned in the radiating heat of his body. She was drowsy to the point of drifting, yet so awake that each time he moved, his skin slipping softly over hers, she remembered how goddamn good it felt to be touched like this.

So different from . . . Fuck.

She pressed her finger and thumb together. Exhaled. Tried not to stiffen or breathe faster.

“You’re doing it again.” His voice against the curve of her ear made her shiver involuntarily. He turned her palm upward and closed his fingers around her hand. “Don’t. Please. Stop trying to keep me from noticing.”

“I don’t want you to notice,” she whispered. “Shit. Is one night off too much to ask? It’s Christmas Eve. One night to . . . not think about it. That’s all I wanted.”

Jack was quiet.

Hands firm on her upper arms, he put just enough distance between her body and his to allow him access to her shoulders. His thumbs pressed into her muscles, hard, the tipping point between pleasure and pain. When a tear tracked over her cheekbone and slipped off her chin, she smacked it hastily away, frustrated.

Stupid. Her face was wet anyway.

Jack wouldn’t speak first. And if she remained quiet, he’d sit there and silently rub her shoulders until dawn. She blinked, watching the white bubbles continually regenerating, the shiny tile in which she could see her shadow.

She was glad she couldn’t see her face.

Lately, she looked at herself as little as possible.

Jack’s warm, firm fingers moved further down her back, pressing at the edges of her spine.

She said abruptly, “When I came in to debrief you about the canisters and you had your shirt off, why did you apologize?”

His fingers stilled. “Where the hell did that come from?”

“Will you please just answer me?”

“Yeah. I’m-” He drew her back into his chest, holding the edge of his mouth against her cheek. “Trying to figure out how to explain.”

“Start talking and I’ll figure it out.”

He huffed. “That’s ironic coming from you.”

“Jack.” The single syllable cracked her voice.

“Fuck.” He kissed her jaw. “Fuck. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. Tell me.”

She felt his chest expand behind her. The room was tranquil for a few suspended moments, the only sound the soothing rush of water pulsing from the tub in a rhythmic circle.

“I thought you were probably repulsed,” he said flatly. “And I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. I wanted you to-”

“What?”

She could feel his lips against her neck, curving in a grin. “I wanted you to leave.” He kissed her again. “At least the conscious part of me did. You shut that door behind you and everything was easier for a minute.”

She pulled his arm over her stomach, touching the tips of his fingers. “You do know that’s not what I thought? I wasn’t repulsed. At all.”

“I’m not wearing a shirt at the moment.”

“Shut up.”

“Yes. I know. I don’t-” He sounded surprised. “I don’t think about them. With you.” His voice dropped a fifth or so and he added mischievously, “Unless you’re. . . doing something.”

She closed her eyes. Combating the memories was exhausting, a marathon that mysteriously didn’t stop at twenty-six miles, finish line forever a few hundred yards ahead.

Her thoughts flickered with the candle on the sink. Ideas and pictures floated in and out as she felt the lift of Jack’s chest behind her, the soft slow thud of his heart. She remembered some weird Japanese movie she’d watched with her college boyfriend, where people on their way into heaven first had to choose a cherished memory, which they would then relive for eternity. She thought about blue raspberry slushies in the car with her dad after piano lessons, playing poker under the covers with her sister when they were supposed to be sleeping, drinking beer on college camping trips and watching the sky morph into deep blue darkness and stars, the candles sparking and shifting at Christmas Eve midnight mass.

She thought about the first time she’d fallen asleep with Jack.

“I’m happy. Right now,” she whispered.

Jack swallowed. Paused. His hand tightened on her knee. “Good. Let’s go to bed.”

Speed of the Sound of Loneliness

Tue, 01 Dec 2009 03:52:44 GMT

Title: "Speed of the Sound of Loneliness"
Author: Leigh57
Characters: Jack, Renee; mentions of Kim, Stephen, Little!Teri, Chloe
Summary: “Back on the couch, she clutches the saltines and ginger ale Jack brought her, because this is what remains in the aftermath. Concrete objects she can hold.”
Warnings: Language, violence, sexual situations. All the standard disclaimers about my fics apply. Also, I guess one of the plot points is a speculative S8 spoiler. I know nothing.
Disclaimer: They’re so not mine. I think we’ve established this quite clearly.
A/N: Under the cut.

(Speed of the Sound of Loneliness)

Fic: "Four Times Five Things"

Thu, 15 Oct 2009 00:58:02 GMT

Title: "Four Times Five Things"
Author: Leigh57
Characters: Jack, Renee, Kim, Stephen, Little!Teri, Chloe, Karen
Summary: Slightly angsty/very smushy snapshots of Jack and Renee in a post S7 AU.
Warnings: Language; sexual situations. AU and a touch cracky. If you dislike Jack/Renee smush or prefer your fic without humor, definitely skip this.
Disclaimer: They’re so not mine, which often makes me cry because I can’t make them do what I want;)
A/N: Under the cut, because it’s long.

(Four Times Five Things)

Meme Fic

Wed, 23 Sep 2009 00:19:39 GMT

I'm posting these one at a time because I never know when I'm going to get the next one finished. However, at least I've managed to get writing again, so that's something? Heh. Or not. Thanks to Adrienne and Jess for super quick betas. Anyway. . .

For lowriseflare, who is entirely evil for making me do this,
1.

“You still dating that stockbroker?” he asks one afternoon. She has cramps and forgot her Advil. “What was his name?” Elliot continues, sticking the yellow copy of some form in his outbox. “Ridge? Ledge?”

She wants to say None of your business or Why don’t you go fuck a cheese grater?, but then he might respond and she’d rather live Advil-free for the rest of her life than talk to him right now.

So she says, “Cliff. And no.”

Elliot makes a noise that might be Huh or Oh or Good -- it’s too generic for her to decide.

She stares at him across the desk, her abdomen twisting so painfully she’s holding her breath, and wonders if he can hear her thinking, Fuck you. Just to be certain, she thinks it at the top of her lungs, and sure enough a second later he looks up.

2.

The bullet barely draws blood. The raised purple bruise on her knee she got tackling a suspect a couple days ago both looks and feels a lot worse. But it’s an INCIDENT, so there’s procedure to be followed and they can’t go anywhere until papers are signed and statements taken. Elliot’s unbuttoned the top of his shirt and he’s fiddling with the knot in his tie. He lost it for a second when she was hit, running toward her and yelling, just until he realized.

Now he won’t look at her.

Finally she leans against the hood of the cruiser, pulls out her notepad and says, “Come on. Tic tac toe. We’re gonna be here for awhile.”

He hesitates but finally strides over. “I’m X.”

“Fine.” She pulls a blue ballpoint pen out of her pocket. Medium, not fine, because even though she likes fine he prefers the medium and after ten years she still orders them for him.

It isn’t until they’ve finished their fifth consecutive cat’s game that she looks at the haphazard mishmash of navy blue lines, Xs, and Os, and thinks, Shit. Yes. Exactly.

3.

He knows things are more than a little out of control when he tears up over an Emmylou Harris song. He hates Emmylou Harris. He fucking hates country music period, with all its incessant crying and whining about the daddy who didn’t love you or your one true love who left you all alone with a six pack of Bud Lite. He only knows the lyrics to this song because when Kathy was pregnant with the twins, she refused to listen to anything but The Horse Whisperer soundtrack, and Elliot certainly wasn’t going to argue with her under those conditions. And he’s only stuck on this station because he was scanning when some asshole in a red Mercedes cut him off, forcing him to grab the wheel with both hands.

That’s not the point anyway. The point is that at seven fifteen a.m. on a fall Tuesday he’s sitting in rush hour traffic with a sick heavy feeling in his chest over some goddamn song lyrics.

He doesn’t switch the channel though. I used to be half of the whole of you and me / Now I’m the limit of all I am.

When the song is finally over, he twists the silver knob until it lands on classic rock and wipes the back of his hand over his eyes.

He doesn’t know if the words remind him of Kathy or Olivia.

The real bitch of it is he thinks maybe both.

4.

He slams through the bullpen doors on Friday morning, forty-five minutes late. Another fight with Kathy, who walked out in the middle of the “conversation” and took Eli to spend the weekend at her mom’s. He’s sure the twins already have plans.

Olivia’s not there, her desk neatly arranged the way it was when she left last night, no coffee cup by the computer or coat thrown carelessly over the back of her chair.

She hadn’t said she wasn’t coming in, and for a second his mind does that thing where fifty horrifying scenarios play out in what seems like an impossibly small period of time.

He taps his knuckles on Cragen’s doorframe. “Where’s Liv?”

“Taking a personal day. Aren’t you supposed to be in court in ten minutes?” Cragen’s phone rings.

“Yeah. I’m on my way.”

He ducks into the locker room to find some deodorant; it’s not even nine and he’s already clammy. He fishes in his pocket for his phone and hits Olivia’s number.

“Benson.”

“You okay?”

“I’m fine. Why?” She sounds distracted, and he can’t identify the noise he hears in the background. A shower maybe?

“I don’t know. I just thought-” He takes a breath and glances down at his own knuckles where they bend around the grey handle of his coffee mug. They’re white. “Maybe you’d call.”

“I did call. I called Cragen.”

Screw you. No really. “Right. I’ll see you Monday.”

“Yeah. Bye.”

It takes all the energy inside him not to hurl his coffee cup against the metal wall of lockers, just for the satisfaction of watching it shatter into thousands of shards.

5.

It’s a December Wednesday, almost midnight, and they’re not even close to being finished with prep for Alex’s case tomorrow. The suspect is a serial rapist who went close to two decades without being caught, and they can’t fuck this up. For some reason Elliot has the radio on to the all Christmas all the time station, but he’s looked so pathetic since the second she walked in this morning that Olivia can’t bring herself to turn it off even when she has to grit her teeth through the horror about the Christmas shoes. Her ass hurts from sitting in her chair too long, and she can’t stop being distracted by the ridiculous stuffed Santa skunk Fin has sitting on the edge of his desk.

She glances at Elliot, whose eyes are fixed at a point on his desk slightly left and above the paper he’s supposed to be studying.

Suddenly she stands up. “Let’s go. We need coffee and donuts now.”

“What?” His expression is the same one she imagines he might wear if she had just said, I’m gonna go screw Rush Limbaugh. Back in ten! The surprise on his face feels like a cut, like a bad incision with a dull instrument, and she’s reminded again that for as long as she chooses to keep doing this, the level of pain he can inflict without even trying will always hold the power to surprise her.

But it’s Christmastime and they have court in just over eight hours, so she only says, “We’re not going to get anything else done without sugar and coffee. My treat.”

“Okay.” He pulls his wool coat on and holds the door for her as they leave, and she hates herself for noticing when five years ago she wouldn’t have.

Outside it’s colder than she realized. She should have worn her heavier coat. She shivers, and without breaking his stride Elliot pulls off his wool tweed and slips it over her shoulders. She almost rejects it but the residual warmth hits her skin and she mumbles, “Thanks.”

“Yeah.” He walks faster, probably in an attempt to stay warm.

“I’m gonna look like hell tomorrow. We’ll be lucky if we can catch a few hours in the crib.”

He glances sideways at her, grinning. “Well you can’t look as bad as you did when you testified on the Williamson case.”

“Shut up,” she mutters, pushing at his shoulder. “I had the stomach flu.”

“I know. The judge put everything on hold three times because you were in the bathroom.”

“Please. That’s nothing compared to the time you managed to drive into a fire hydrant on the way to testify against Jason Ballard and we all had to sit there for an hour and a half.” She pushes her hands into the pockets of his coat. “I thought Alex was going to fillet you.”

“Well she put salt in my coffee the next morning. A lot of salt.”

“Seriously? You never told me that.”

“I drank it, too.”

“I’m sure you did. You’re such an ass.”

“I know,” he says, with more gravity than her comment required. “Sometimes I really am.” He pauses. “So are you gonna get the bar with that disgusting maple goo on top or the gross pumpkin muffin with the crystallized sugar globs?”

“Maybe I’ll surprise you,” she shoots back, smirking. “Could happen.”

He grins, knocking his elbow lightly into hers. “It could.”

Her throat scratchy from exhaustion and probably an impending cold, Olivia gazes at the Christmas lights sparkling in bright-colored strings all over the lampposts and considers all the things she does not know in this life.

What she does know is that this is what’s left, the occasional five minutes of unexpected magic when the last few years vanish like vapor and they can still be them, distilled.

Fic: "Harvest"

Fri, 18 Sep 2009 03:13:46 GMT

Title: "Harvest"
Author: Leigh57
Pairing: Jack/Renee
Summary: So much for making light of it. She wasn’t going to let it go. She never did.
Warnings: Language; sexual situations? Also, AU to an unbelievable degree.
Disclaimer: They’re so not mine. If they were they’d be on every week. In bed.
A/N: For mintcloud, who asked for Jack/Renee in response to my recent meme post. Yeah the ficlet got a little out of hand. But only a little. Ahem. Katie and Adrienne, nobody does beta better. I love you guys. And A, you rock for title help, as always.

(Harvest)

'Cause I'm a sheep meme

Sun, 09 Aug 2009 23:30:09 GMT

Because lowriseflare is my beta wingman and an all around awesome person, I wanna be just like her. So I can't resist posting this meme.

Ask me my top five [whatevers]. Any top fives. And I'll answer them all in a new post.

Also, it will be a good way to avoid writing the challenge fics I should be working on, right? Hee hee. *headdeskslam*

ETA -- Two Things: 1) Hillary Clinton rocks. I just watched a half hour interview of her with Fareed Zakaria and almost cried. She's brilliant and articulate and intelligent and awesome and incapable of being ambushed and just! Ahem. 2) I will actually probably just answer the fives in a response, because I don't want to spam everybody if I do manage to get a challenge fic done here or there. Heh. Big if.

Challenge Fic #1

Wed, 05 Aug 2009 04:11:14 GMT

Author: Leigh57
Summary: “Is he coming back?” she asked, turning to face the other woman.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Blah blah.
A/N: These challenge fics are my little exercise in forcing myself to write, and write quickly, no matter what happens. I'm sure sometimes the quality will reflect that. Oy. Thanks to Adrienne and Katie for super quick betas. And a pox upon you, Rachel, for making me write Kim! A very loving pox though. I swear.

For catch22girl - first line challenge. Fandom = 24. Characters = Kim and Renee. My first sentence was, “'Is he coming back?' she asked, turning to face the other woman." Well I cheated and changed it into past tense, because that's where my brain is at the moment.

And here's what I came up with:
_________________________

“Is he coming back?” she asked, turning to face the other woman.

“I don’t know,” Kim replied, looking anxiously at the door. “Eventually. Dr. Macer’s the only one who tells me what’s going on. The rest of them check his vitals, write on his chart, and leave. I’m lucky if I get a sentence out of them.” She took a sip of coffee from the white Styrofoam cup in her hand and made a face. “You’d think I’d learn to stop drinking this. The cafeteria stuff is better if you want me to get you some.”

“No, thanks. I’m fine.” Renee looked around the tiny waiting room, taking in the antiseptic white walls, beige chairs, and flat-screen TV mounted in the corner. Continuing CNN coverage of the Olivia Taylor mess. She glanced back at Kim. “I’m sorry I couldn’t come sooner. I was tied up with the Attorney General’s office. I didn’t even get your messages until a few hours ago.” She sank into one of the cheaply upholstered chairs.

“It’s okay.” Kim sat down across from her, pushing off her high-heeled shoes and leaning back into the stiff grey couch. “I wasn’t even sure if I should call you. But it seemed as if my dad. . .”

“Your dad what?“

“Nothing. I’m not making sense. I just think he would have wanted you to know.”

“I’m glad you called. The last time I saw him I was sure . . .” She swallowed. “What are the doctors saying?” She absently rubbed at a bruise on her forearm.

“Nothing that makes a whole lot of sense.” Kim stared into her coffee cup, idly swirling the remaining contents. “What I get from Dr. Macer is that nobody knows for sure what’s going on with him. If the treatment didn’t work, he should be dead by now. If it did, he should be showing signs of coming out of the coma, and he’s not.”

Renee laced her hands together, observing the red scrape that covered the curve of her thumb. Despite her exhaustion, she felt overcaffeinated, like she couldn’t sit without fidgeting. After a minute she said quietly, “I’m glad you got to talk to him before Dr. Macer put him under.”

Kim looked up, her eyes glassy, and shook her head. “I didn’t. She’d already induced the coma by the time I could get here. I thought I was too late to do anything.” One of the fluorescent bulbs overhead flickered for a moment and went dark. “I guess maybe I was right.”

“You don’t know that yet.”

“No. But I can’t stop thinking that if I’d pushed him harder, maybe he would have listened.”

“I doubt it. He was adamant about you not being involved. And you told me yourself how impossible it is to change his mind.” Renee reached for the back of her neck, moving her fingers in circles over the knot of pain that extended from there all the way across her shoulders.

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Renee listened to the intermittent squeaks of carts being pushed by outside, the random PA announcements -- one of which included a code blue on another floor -- and the quiet drone of the television above her head. The volume was too low for her to make out the words, but the pictures were still of Olivia Taylor, interspersed with some file footage of the president. She felt vaguely as if she ought to associate some emotion with the images on the screen, but it might as well have been a test pattern.

Meaningless white noise.

Kim said tentatively, “Can I ask you something?”

“Definitely.”

“You worked pretty closely with my dad, right?”

Renee paused, trying to figure out the most honest way to respond. “Well I hadn’t even known him for a full day when you finally caught up with him, but yes.”

“He asked you to find me at the airport.”

Renee smiled tiredly. “I don’t think he had a lot of options.”

“He wouldn’t have called unless he trusted you.”

“I hope you’re right,” Renee replied softly. She wanted to add, He’s already been screwed by enough people, don’t you think?, but instead she counted slowly backwards from five until the impulse passed. She could still hear the shock in Kim’s voice when she’d mentioned Tony. No need to go there again.

Not now.

“What did you think of him?” Kim took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable. It’s just that-” She tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear and swallowed another sip of coffee. “I hadn’t talked to him for so long. And then when I finally decided to try, I couldn’t find him. I thought maybe if he knew-“

“Knew what?”

Kim paused, studying the back of her hands. “I have a daughter. She’s one of the reasons I was so determined to find him. But when I got here I couldn’t bring myself to tell him.” She put the Styrofoam cup on the end table, next to the purple plastic flowers. “It was hard enough for him to have me here.”

Renee squeezed her fingers into the scratchy fabric of the chair until she could feel her fingernails pulling away from the flesh underneath. She didn’t want to know this, not when Jack was lying unconscious in a room down the hall, when he might die without ever hearing Kim say those words. But it didn’t matter now, so she forced herself to ask, “What’s her name?”

“Teri.” Kim reached for her purse and began to search through the main compartment. “I have some pictures if you want-” She broke off. “I’m sorry. I have this compulsion to show them to everybody.”

“Teri.” Renee’s voice was quiet and uneven. “I’d love to see them.”

Kim stood and walked over. Taking the seat next to Renee, she placed the plastic rectangle in Renee’s hand. “I had these taken about two weeks ago.”

Renee smoothed her thumb over the protective plastic, gazing at the blue-eyed baby whose resemblance to Jack was strong enough to be almost startling. The image blurred and she blinked, bringing it back into focus. “She’s gorgeous.” Without lifting her eyes she added, “In answer to your question about your dad, I thought a lot of things about him. Most of them were wrong, especially at first.”

Kim wiped the edge of her eye. “Well he’s a pain in the ass.”

“Yeah. He is.”

“Did you get to talk to him? Before they brought him here?”

The eagerness in Kim’s voice made Renee’s stomach muscles contract. She didn’t want to go back to that moment. Not now. Not here. Depending on the outcome of the next few days, maybe not ever. She’s Jack’s daughter. You don’t have a choice. “For a few minutes.”

“Was he-” Kim's voice caught, and she was quiet again while Renee watched the red second hand on the wall clock opposite her drift rhythmically in a complete circle. Finally Kim cleared her throat and sat up straighter. “If he doesn’t make it, I just need to know if he seemed-” She stopped again. “Shit. I’m sorry. I don’t even know what I’m trying to ask you.”

“It’s fine.” Renee swiped at the tear she could feel slipping down towards her chin. “I do.”

_________________________

Since I've clearly lost my mind. . .

Sat, 01 Aug 2009 20:24:53 GMT

If anybody wants to take me up on this, I'll try. My brain needs something to force it into writing.

Give me the first line of a fic, a fandom, and two characters in it, and I'll write you the opening scene.

Just keep in mind that I don't watch television, which probably makes posting this meme amusing. I can do 24, X-Files, Buffy, Angel, and probably that's it in terms of anything anyone watches now. Pop-culture challenged people should probably not post writing memes.

Got crackers?

Sat, 16 May 2009 01:48:43 GMT

Because holy shit do I have cheese! I was so determined to get these damn drabbles done before the finale, because who knows what that will do to my insane little fantasy world?

So they're here: http://community.livejournal.com/24_fanfic/305648.html?#cutid1

Kay, I have to say thank you one more time for the amazing songs and for not cybersmacking me through the inevitable whining that accompanies all my attempts at writing. I'm taking a break for a little while now, no matter how much my brain is exploding.

Katie and Adrienne, you guys went above and beyond holding my hand through trying this new craziness. I promise to be normal for a day and a half before the new fic bunnies gnaw my brain in two. I can't think about fic now anyway because in exactly 72 EFFING HOURS I'LL BE TWELVE MINUTES AWAY FROM THE END OF THE SEASON. Oh, frak me.

I cannot wait.

*FLAIL* *SQUEEP* (that's my new word when I'm squeeing and fleeping at the same time)

I can have my LIFE back:)

Wed, 06 May 2009 14:46:01 GMT

Holy shit. I posted the *insert every expletive known to humankind* story that's been slowly gnawing at my brain for the better part of two weeks now. It's here: http://community.livejournal.com/24_fanfic/304876.html#cutid1

I am so excited, not because I think it's even slightly good, but because I finally worked up the courage to hit the post button and get it the hell out of here. And look -- it even comes with appropriate visual aids! ;)

The next fic I write is going to be 24 one hundred word drabbles based on songs Kay sent me (thanks Kay!). I am beyond stoked by the idea of working on something that is 1) not over nine thousand words long and 2) doesn't have to make sense as a whole.

Remind me never again to write a long fic. Yeah, I'll so forget that resolution over the summer. That's when I should come back and read this post. Now, a return to real life, in which I frantically clean my house and try to catch up on all the details I've been ignoring. The weather here is cold, grey, and gross, I have a million errands to run, Kiefer's probably gonna wind up in the slammer and derail S8, and I'm STILL in a good mood because I can stop thinking about this. Hoosh.

ETA: I just realized I didn't even put in a summary. That's where my brain is right now. hahahahahaha. I'm thinking something along the lines of "This fic is too long for my fragile little mind to summarize. My bad."

So I did it. And so did Jack and Renee. In my fic anyway. . .

Tue, 24 Mar 2009 03:43:22 GMT

I finally posted the damn story I've been whining about forever and five days. It's up here: http://community.livejournal.com/24_fanfic/296099.html#cutid1. I'll put it up at the Jack/Renee comm when I'm not about to fall into my computer and can figure out how to make the cut work there.

Thanks to everyone who listened to me flail about this story for . . . however long I've been flailing about it (Yeah -- long time. I know).

A&E (like the cable network! only not), you rock extra specially for rescuing me when I REALLY hit the wall. Why you put up with me? NO CLUE.

I couldn't be more clueless if I tried. . .

Mon, 09 Mar 2009 19:03:08 GMT

I don't have a clue how to navigate livejournal yet, so I'm practicing here and hoping I can learn something. I've at least figured out how to comment on other people's stories (I think) and even managed to post my first LJ story on Saturday. I'm not going to post stories on my journal page, too -- just in the community forum. I'm never going to be someone who writes public journals. But if you're into 24 and want to read my stuff, the first story is here: http://community.livejournal.com/24_fanfic/, and I'm hoping there will be more to come.

I love talking with other writers, and while it helps if I'm familiar with the fandom, that's not mandatory. I know more than I want to about SVU and am strangely into CI fic even though I don't watch the show. But 24 is my grand passion. Thank god it's Monday.