Posts tagged ct.
RvB: Too Many Letters, Too Many Cards (Pt 2 of prompts based on Starring Role by Marina and the Diamonds)
I never sent for love, I never had a heart to mend
Because before the start began, I always saw the end
"Agent Connecticut," she had said, introducing herself, and he remembered how rigidly she had shaken his hand while York had come up to both of them, his hands had clapped their shoulders and he had said with a big, stupid grin, "Wash, meet Connie. None of the "Washington" and "Connecticut" crap, that’s way too many letters."
Now when he was curled up, breathing in her hair, caressing her skin but careful not to show too much affection, too much care, he wondered if she knew how hard and fast he had fallen. He wondered because she’d always say something, some little words she didn’t think twice of, and he’d be so surprised at how well she knew him, how clearly she saw through him. Of course she knew. She must.
Not that it changed anything. She was still holding all the right cards. Even (especially) the ones Wash didn’t even know existed. He was playing with his hand on the table since the start.
RvB: Until You Make It (Pt 1 of prompts based on Starring Role by Marina and the Diamonds)
Sometimes I ignore you so I feel in control
Cause really, I adore you, and I can’t leave you alone
Fed up with the fantasies, they cover what is wrong
Come on, baby, let’s just, get drunk, forget we don’t get on
Sometimes she said things that made Wash remember what they were doing. Things like “I’m not that tired, I think I’ll just go to my room,” or “this broom closet is perfect - no one will hear us.” Sometimes it was what she didn’t say that really did it. The silence when he said he liked her hair down. The way she always wore it half-up from then on. The soft sigh in the bed and his arms encircled her.
He tried to do it, too. He’d try, “someone might hear us,” like he really cared what anyone heard. And she’d leave, and he’d continue to act like it was his idea. He’d say, “I have a mission tomorrow,” and she’d say, “you’re right, we should just go to sleep. See you in the morning,” and he hated that she proved him right. But he still said it, so she wasn’t the only one. Because if he made believe that the relationship is balanced, that she didn’t only show him affection when they’d both been drinking all night, that she didn’t trace circles in his skin only those times when he could smell her night on her breath, then maybe it’d become balanced by some wishful thinking. Fake it ‘till you make it. She said that, once.
completelysane asked: For Wash/CT during season nine: "So if you're lonely, you know I'm here waiting for you I'm just a cross-hair, I'm just a shot away from you"
"Ah, yes, the killers," York announced with a grin as Wyoming, Wash, and CT piled in from their mission. He welcomed them with a mock bow and a grand gesture to the prime seating on the couch.
"Not killers," CT said reflexively, but it was Wash who finished it. "The Avengers."
Wyoming shrugged. “I have no problem with being described by our skills. Sharp shooting, Wash. You should carry the sniper rifle more often.”
"Yeah," CT said, and Wash could swear he heard her blushing. "Thanks."
completelysane asked: Prompt, except it doesn't really have to be a prompt, just a thing I thought might also give you Sandtrap feels: "May you never steal, lie, or cheat, but if you must steal, then steal my sorrow, and if you must lie, lie with me, and if you must cheat, then cheat only death."
Wash stared at the old armor in the sand and it seemed like it was sinking, sinking deeper into that memory of her on the edge of his pillow, smiling stubbornly until he followed, sleeping in his arms. Sinking into the ground along with the helmet she so hated, sinking with every memory of her except the memory of the moment they told him she was dead, and then the moment he found out she wasn’t.
"Wash, your turn," CT said, her armor new and regulation blue, and he considered, for a moment, how much he always hated the yellow stripes of his suit since that night, first night in the cold sand dunes, when she called him a coward.
RvB: The Weatherman
Zuzanna prompted me with: "You’re a storm/ So emotional/ Moody and Controlled/ Sly and Involved/ You’re alright/ You come to me in times/ You make me realize/ I’m not the kindest guy/ But I give give give give/ I give what I can give/ So just give give give give/ Give me what you have, dear" - The Black Angels, "Black Grease"
Wyoming liked to call it his daily forecast. One night he stayed up past lights out with a knife, markers, and some paper, carefully cutting out rays of sunshine and stormy clouds. He taped a small strip reading “Today, the weather in Connecticut is:” to the back of his door, and left the crafted symbols on the floor next to it. He’d come back after breakfast each morning and stick on the appropriate graphic. After a few weeks, he had to replace the worn out storm cloud.
At first it was “Connie”, and Connie was sunny and bright and eager. She would volunteer, which saved him the trouble of ever having to do it. He was perfectly alright with that. Connie had a ray of sunshine for every letter of the name. Clouds would brew in the sky when she got quiet, or started talking about the war and who are we fighting, really, but she never pushed it when the others laughed her off. She made sure she was first in line, behind Carolina, for everything they were required to do. She made sure she always finished in the top ten at the end of every exercise. She smiled at him when it was Connie.
The board went up, and it became C.T., Cloudy Thunderstorms. Wyoming stopped changing the forecast, every morning it was the same. She pulled half of her hair back and cut it short for good measure, and she was at the end of the table stabbing her food as York made jokes and Wash missed the punchline every breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Wyoming liked this new storm even more than the usual sunshine he used to have. He liked the way she did things now, not to be the best, but to be right. How she snapped at people, and kept the argument going. How she became unapologetic. He’d always liked the rain.
"What’s this?" she said, two days before she deserted. No one knew she was packing her life up. She had come into his room to get something from his toolkit, and the door had closed behind her.
"Nothing, what does it concern you?" Wyoming said easily. He was pulling out boxes trying to find what she had asked for.
"Because it has my name on it," she said, examining the faded paper and the cartoonish thunderstorm cloud underneath.
"It has a state name on it," he pointed out, handing her the wrench she’d asked for. "Or have you forgotten that we’re people, not geography?"
She looked ready to say something, ready to start biting at his words, but seemed to think better of it. “I think it’s supposed to be sunny this time of year,” she said.
"In my experience, Connecticut has always been unpredictable like that." He hid the smirk well beneath his groomed mustache. She stood in a such a way that the cloud’s lightning strike was igniting her small ponytail. "Anything else?"
She shook her head and left. Wyoming slowly closed the door and tugged at the cloud until it came off the metal, replacing it with a small ray of sunshine peeking through some poofy clouds. Sunny this time of year.
RvB: Graduation (Happy Birthday, Nem!)
He held her hand softly, fingers interlaced. “What’s your favourite graduation?” he whispered, keeping this tradition of small, harmless, personal questions in the dark. She was always herself when no one could see her.
"What do you mean?" she said, genuine.
"Mine was fifth grade." He turned and gestured out into the room, even if it was so dark he knew she couldn’t see. "We all got tiny caps and gowns like we were graduating high school, but it only took ten minutes because you can’t make nine year olds sit still for much longer. We got a giant piece of paper and then threw our hats at each other. My parents bought me ice cream." He squeezed her hand a little before adding, explaining, "my mother had passed away by my high school graduation. It was so much longer, too. More stuffy."
She raised their hands and kissed the back of his. Compassion. Another thing she was so good at, in the dark. “Last time my parents were together was in Kindergarten.” She gave it more thought, and Wash heard her lick her lips. “I think my favourite is college. It was long. Neither of my parents came. I didn’t get ice cream,” she added, with a smile. “But I did it. Without any help, I did it.”
They lay there in silence for a while, her thumb making circles over his. “Did you join right after?” he said.
"Yep," Connie nodded, like it was the most natural thing in the world. "I’d just graduated college. I thought I could do anything."
"You can," he said, without thought. Without hesitation. She squeezed his hand.
"Sometimes, I think so too." She rolled over, closer to him, and he smiled as she fell asleep, slowly, into his arms.
"You seem like you’d be the type to fall in love often," she said, and he wasn’t sure why he took offense to it.
"Is that wrong?" Wash stammered, half defensive, half apologetic. "How many times have you been in love, then?"
"Twice." The number hung in the air, filling the space between them with intimidation. "Once in high school. It was probably more puppy love than anything. And then again, just after college."
"We grew up," she said with a shrug. "We didn’t grow up together, so when I left for training, there wasn’t anything to sustain." Connie said all of this looking at the ceiling. His sheets covered her bare hips, just a corner. She had declared it too hot and lacked the modesty to care that the rest of her lay exposed in the dark. The number two floating between them. Or maybe just over him. "I bet you tell girls you love them after a month."
He crossed his arms, laying down on his back next to her and pouting slightly. “What of it?”
"Doesn’t it, I don’t know, cheapen it? If you say it so often."
"How can it cheapen what you feel? I say it because it’s true." She turned to him, looking at him with that intense curiosity that always made him want to share secrets.
"How do you have so much? I mean. You’d run out eventually. You’d get hurt and you’d stop saying it so often because it lets people hurt you."
"It lets people love you," he corrected, holding to his point. All defense now.
"Love hurts," she concluded, rolling back again.
"People hurt," he corrected again. "Love-"
"I’m tired," she said, with a certain finality. I’m tired of this conversation. I’m tired of love.
It took him three months longer to say it to her. And three weeks shorter to feel it.
RvB Prompt: Whispers
Prompt from Nem: You’re one of my secrets, too. Wash/CT
She always thought he spoke in little private bursts, moments he makes his own as he leans into her ear. She used to accuse him of stealing them, but the more she got to know him, the more she realized that stealing anything was far too dishonest for him. She still wasn’t sure how she felt about that. But she knew how she felt when he would lean over during lunch and mutter something only for her ears, and stolen or not, it was private. It was intimate. It was just like him.
He always thought she was telling him a secret. The way she smiled when he starined to hear, and the small laugh she always had when he asked her to repeat something. Sometimes she slipped him notes, and he thought he was in some kind of spy movie, and the paper would self-destruct after he read it. The more he got to know her, the more she seemed like a secret herself, from her words to her laugh to her smile to the way she held his hand. No one had ever trusted him with a secret before.
poolwatcher asked: Prompt: "I believe we lied, even though we said it was the truth. We were never in love with each other, it only felt just the same." Pairing/character of your choice.
"Love doesn’t come easy," he said one night, and she frowned in the darkness.
"Shouldn’t it, though?" she said, rustling herself free from his embrace to turn and face him. "Shouldn’t it just be easy and natural? Shouldn’t it come when we feel it, and without having to fight for it?"
"No one writes about the ones that come easy," he offered, after a moment.
"That’s because everyone writes with a broken heart," she said back, turning around again so his face was buried between her shoulder blades.
He was quiet for a while, breathing her in to gather courage. She felt him tense up and ask, “does this come easy to you? I mean, natural?”
"Yes," Connie answered, eyes open in the darkness. As he relaxed into her, she smiled and pressed against him, all second thoughts gone. This feeling, this smell, his arms around her. This was love. Surely, this was love.
Later, she would think, loving and lying are only a few letters apart.
completelysane asked: For Wash/CT: "But I will not chase your shadow as you go from room to room/dropping handkerchiefs and daggers, smoking guns and other clues"
CT never thought herself hard to find, not for someone who had all of the Freelancer network at their disposal. Sure, the Insurrectionists had done their best hiding her behind a new voice and a new signal and, for good measure, in the middle of a desert, but she knew better than to think the Director didn’t know about it. She still spent those first few months waiting for someone, someone very specific, to do just a little digging and follow the smoking trail of self destruction that she left in her wake.
completelysane asked: "There’s no one to talk to/All I can think/Is your eyes are full of train smoke/And your mouth tastes like rain/And I know when I know nothing/I will always know your name" Wash/CT, maybe AU where she stays during the time he's implanted.
For the longest time since meeting him, she refused to call him anything other than Wash. Washington was never even an option. She remembered when he introduced himself and said “David”, our of habit. His cheeks turned red and he immediately tried to correct it, saying he wasn’t used to code names. She cut him off and said her name was Connie, and he thought she’d also confessed her real name for an entire month. York had come up to her later and said his name was Wash, when she asked what it was short for, York laughed. She looked it up in on a map later.
"David," she would say as she sat next to his hospital bed, her hand tentatively next to his but never touching. It always calmed him down. It took her a few days to realize she should try it. She’d been saying "Wash" with no effect.
She only had another few days left. He hadn’t opened his eyes yet.
She kept going back and forth on her goodbye. If he was still unconscious, it might be easier. She thought about taking his hand. Maybe kissing him. Would she kiss David? Would she even kiss Wash at this point?
He moved again, and whimpered. She leaned close and whispered that everything was going to be alright.
That she was here for him.
Here for you,
completelysane asked: Prompt: "I will love you as a dagger loves a certain person’s back, and as a certain person loves to wear dagger proof tunics..." ~Lemony Snicket. Wash/CT, Sandtrap.
"It’s like you don’t trust me," she murmured with a small grin, that half joking manner that they were finally coming back to. He scoffed, the sound harsh in her ear piece, and walked past her pointedly as she was loading up her gun, exposing belly, back, unarmed, unfisted hands. "I’m not so sure you should, anyway," she added, and took aim before he had time to turn.
queen-of-france asked: "I'll love you to death, I guess that's what you get/ And I don't know where we are all going to/ Love don't get stranger, it is what it is/ And I don't know where we are all going to/ Everything happens today, and that's what you get/ And I don't know where we are all going to" - Spiritualized, "Ladies And Gentlemen We're Floating In Space"
"I always hated that question," she said accusingly, staring Wash down as if it would prevent him from asking it. "It’s my last chance," he explained, and she tried to sigh but she was too busy being nervous and anxious, planning her way off this ship for good, in five minutes’ time. "Where do we go from here?" he said, softly, and she looked at him with all the harshness she could find and said in a voice that only cracked twice, "we don’t.”
completelysane asked: 15 for Wash/CT and 1 for Supernatural (any character/pairing is fine but Sam is my fave!)
15. kissing to save the day
"So, you remember that Firefly episode, The Train Job?" Wash asked a bit nervously. Connie glared at him.
"I can’t believe you’re going to get us arrested, Wash," she repeated. "This is not how I wanted to spend my mandatory vacation."
"I’d argue that York and North are going to get us arrested, by running away faster than us. And then picking that lock at the end of the alley." He noticed her still glaring at him and decided to backpedal a bit. "But anyway, the episode, right?"
"Yeah, I remember."
"Good. Think of that as context," he said and slammed her against the alley wall, kissing her just as five police officers, two squad cars, and one helicopter ran past the entrance to the small abandoned street. One of the officers paused to look at their silhouette, let out a small chuckle, and kept going.
"Uh, guys?" York appeared a bit later, maybe a minute, maybe ten. "They’re gone. You can stop now."
Wash immediately backed off of Connie, his cheeks slowly reddening. She looked at him, licking her lips thoughtfully, and said “The Train Job, huh?”
"It was inspiration," he replied sheepishly.
North clapped him on the back, still drunk, and loudly declared “I can’t even believe that worked. Or that she kissed you. I really can’t believe she kissed you.” The other three shushed him hurriedly.
"Alright kids," York said, "time to get out of here, but do it calmly. They always chase a running man."
"You were going to be an astronaut?" Dean said one day, driving the impala down the road at predictably unsafe speeds.
"Yeah," Sam said, a bit quietly. "I mean, before you came and got me-"
"I thought you were going to be a lawyer." He picked up a leftover bag of chip crumbs from three days ago and emptied it into his mouth, blocking his vision of the road ahead with perfect accuracy.
"I did too, but, you know, once I got there-"
"-space? Dude, you were in space?”
Sam’s mouth twitched softly at his brother’s disbelief, somewhere between a smile and a frown. “Forget it. We hunt demons now.”
"If this doesn’t work out, Sammy, we’re gonna take you, me, and dad as soon as we find him, and you’re going to fly our asses to a demon-free moon."
"Yeah," Sam resigned, looking out the window now. "Sounds like a plan."
For AJ! RvB: Extraction
When I have a moment, I will write you something more because it’s your birthday so you need more fics. But for now, here’s that one we collaborated on a long time ago that I found and finished this morning as a small, timely gift (to come before the belated one) :P
"I don’t see why we have a random trooper on this mission," Wyoming said, staring at the offending man in plain, unenhanced armor.
"It is the mission. Protecting a civilian,” South said and the malice was obvious in her voice. Wyoming and Connie laughed.
"Come on, guys," York said with an easy shrug. "Just give the guy a chance, it won’t kill us to learn how to play nice with others."
"Surprise, surprise," Maine growled.
"Hey, we could all use a little more teamwork."
The new guy laughed, and betrayed that “he” was actually a “she”.
"You’re not helping my case," York muttered and the girl raised her hands in defense and defeat.
"You can carry your own weight?" Carolina demanded, speaking for the first time since the Pelican took off. "We’re two minutes from drop point."
"Yeah, no sweat," she said and that seemed enough for Carolina.
"If I had known we were going to babysit, I would’ve brought my gold stars to give you for doing a good job at not dying," South muttered with a smile.
"Who would ever let you within a mile of their kids?" York retorted. North’s small, instinctive laugh came over the radio and died just as suddenly as South’s head whipped around to face him.
"She used to babysit all the time," North said, suddenly very interested in defending his sister’s credibility to watch over children. "Tons of people in our neighborhood would hire her, all the kids were scared shi—-loved her. Loved her, yes."
"I’ll have to make due without that validation, then," the girl said, her voice smothered in sarcasm.
"I see why you stuck up for her, York," Wash chimed in from across the soldier. "She’s got your terrible, obvious sense of humor."
"Hey, I have a fucking awesome sense of humor," both of them said at the same time, and Wash sat back smugly with his arms across his chest, his point sufficiently proven.
"Get ready," Carolina said firmly, cutting the other replies from the agents short. "Showtime."
"Really?" York snickered and Carolina’s helmet turned to glare at him. "Sorry, sorry, I just…really?”
The doors opened before anything else could be said, and the agents rushed out, a surly Carolina behind them.
"Are you mad you didn’t get to have the last word," York asked, head tilted towards the leader in an oddly apologetic stance.
"No," she growled simply.
"Right, because that would be silly."
York nodded. “Sorry.”
She looked at him for a moment, her expression softening slightly under the helmet, and then - “You know, I could’ve sworn you were taller.”
"Must be how I’m standing or something. We ready to go?"
She gave him an odd look- as she normally did -before shaking her head and jumping out. The cement cratered under Carolina’s feet, knees nearly touching the ground. The others had taken up observational cover around her and she was momentarily caught in the revelation that their guest, crouched between the twins, had to be taller than South. The thought was jarred out of her head when York hit the ground hard, stringing together curses as he got to his feet and- was he limping? -moved to cover next to Maine. Carolina just shook her head and barked out, “What’ve we got?” She’d long since come to terms with the fact that, so long as he wasn’t hampering the mission, York just did whatever York did.
"Looks like a full house," North said, scoping the place out on his sniper rifle. "Couple of guards and a lot of traffic in the halls."
Carolina took in the building and surroundings, forming and discarding plans until she said, “Alright, we’ll go for the tried and true method. Maine, you and South make a nice big diversion on the east end. I saw some fuel tanks there and possibly a generator on the drop in. I want you drawing as many to you as you can. North and Wyoming will scope out sniper positions and cover you. The rest of us will head into the base. Connie, we’ll leave you at the data center to get our secondary objective. Wash, watch her back. York and I will get out guest here through to our primary objective. We’ll move once North and Wyoming are in position. Everyone clear?”
They all nodded, “Got it.”
"Get to it, people!"
The Freelancers split up and as Carolina led hers close to the building entrance, she heard York whispering to the newcomer: “She sounds like some cheesey action movie.”
The newcomer whispered right back, “Hey- everyone’s got their kicks.”
"That doesn’t make it any less ridiculous."
"Hey," Carolina snapped at them. "We’ve got a mission to focus on." They held up their hands in almost identical apologetic shrugs.
By Carolina’s elbow, Connie snickered. “What’s wrong, Carolina? Jealous that York’s got a new banter buddy?”
"Try keeping up this time, Connecticut."
Connie just shook her head and laughed which was not the reaction Carolina was going for but at least she didn’t say anything again. In the end, that was fine by Carolina because, even though she’d never admit it out loud, she thought this was pretty useless training mission. Get their special guest party member to the center of the facility to gain access to some prototype only she knew the codes for. Carolina didn’t know why she couldn’t just explain how the Freelancers could get it on their own but the Director had decided and she wasn’t about to question him about it. He already shot down Connie’s attempts to ask, anyway.