Yey fics

[sunshine_queen]

Right, to start off this whole fic-posting thing with a bang, here's the J/I drabble I wrote for alias_drabble.

Title: Anesthesia.
Author: sunshine_queen
Challenge # 1
Characters: Irina
Pairing: J/I

Irina’s beauty is an anesthetic.

There is no immunity against the reaction caused by appearance. There is no one unaffected by the curve of her throat, the gleam of her hair, the charm of her glance. She uses it as such.

She is not the innocent creature she affects, a fact carefully concealed beneath a face one would gladly die for.

And if you found the truth… you were too numb to care. Her beauty blinded you, slowed you, deafened you, made you drunken and foolish. You can see the action, but not feel the pain. She stopped time, truth, tragedy.

She was the tragedy.

Her beauty made your mind go numb.

She was poison by choice, as you chose to be desensitized. 

Untitled little… nondrabble.
601 words
SyVa

Late-night talk shows irritate him. Letterman, this time, and there's some insanely thin starlet chattering vapidly about her latest film that he might wind up seeing despite his protests. He will go, of course, to keep the peace, because it's not worth getting his own way if he will be made to suffer in the long run. He stands in the same position her father stood in: one with no authority, no importance.  She will make sure that his house is neat and that his suits are pressed and that his coffee is prepared as he likes it every morning, but she will always choose where they go and what they buy, what car he will drive and what doctors he will see and how often. She does this all with great ease, and in return he keeps quiet.

She is sleeping now, curled up in their bed in a satin slip, her hair tumbling over the pillow, her features serene. She never dreams, he knows. She goes to sleep with her hair combed and the sheets smooth and will awake in the same position, completely unmussed. She wanders through the house before bed, making sure the lights are off and the windows shut and the doors luck, tiptoeing in to kiss him goodnight and to remind him to turn off the television and the lights and to sleep well.

He doesn't love her.

She's been asleep for an hour, and the starlet's movie clip begins when his cell phone starts shrilling from across the room. He debates not answering it, but the beginning of the clip- which involves a bathroom, a small dog, and a not-funny situation- is enough to change his mind.

"Hello?" is barely out of his mouth before the reply comes.

"Joey's pizza?"

"Where?" is his immediate response.

"The pier. How far are you?"

"Ten minutes."

Dial tone.

He knows that he should wake her up and inform her of his departure, but he can't bring himself to care. He would be unable to find an acceptable excuse; the truth would come out, and she would send him to bed without supper and ground him for a week.

He gets in his car (quietly, quietly) and arrives at the pier in seven minutes. She is already there.

There is no one else on the pier, and they don't look at each other as he sits down next to her. "Hi," he says quietly.

"I'm getting married."

There is no preamble, no softening of the blow, just a straight hit. It is punishment and retribution.

"Oh," he says, quite brilliantly. "Congratulations."

"Thanks." Silence.

He wants to ask why this couldn't have waited until daylight, why this couldn't have waited until he was prepared to deal with this, but he knows better. He bites his tongue and waits for her to speak.

"He's a nice guy. He lives in my complex. We met in the laundry room."

"Ah."

"It's been a year."

Has it really? How long has it been since she rose from the dead?

"He's a lawyer. He's not much older than me."

"Does he make you happy?"

She looks at him, and his answer is in her eyes.

"He's normal," she responds evenly, with the slightest undercurrent of uncertainty. "And I need that."

He looks down and nods, and her left hand grabs at his wrist, pleading.  "I needed to move on. You understand that, don't you?"

"I do," he rasps.

He places his hand over hers in an agonizingly slow movement. His left hand covers hers; her diamond glitters, and his plain gold band gleams.