wrigleyfield

Wed, 30 Sep 2009 13:40:56 GMT

Title: Four Times Josie Dumped Sock
Fandom: Reaper
Characters/Pairing: Sock/Josie
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2,016
Summary: Just as the title says. Four times that Josie needed to break up with Sock.
Notes: I wrote this about a year ago and then lost it, hence the slight abrubtness. Oops.

I.
Even knowing that Sock would likely show up in some hideous powder blue tuxedo straight out of a bad seventies movie, Josie had squeezed herself into a perfect red dress. She'd spent the evening telling her mother to try and not looked horribly shocked when she opened up the door later and saw Sock standing there in, what would inevitably be, John Travolta's old threads, a crooked bowtie, and scuffed shoes with bits of his shirt untucked from his waistband, and a wilted corsage in a banged up and already open container.

There was a lint roller in the front hall, a bowtie in her mother's pocket, a hairbrush in her purse, and an extra corsage sitting in the Miller's freezer in the kitchen. Josie Miller was a pragmatic girl and she knew her boyfriend all too well. She expected just about everything to go wrong on her prom night, but she was okay with that. She'd resigned herself to the fact when Sock's check to the limo dealership had bounced three days before. She was expecting the worst.

Granted, amidst all her pessimism, Josie had still been expecting him to at least show up.

Instead of shock at his appearance, Mrs. Miller was simply shocked that the never doorbell rang. Josie held back tears and forced a smile onto her face to keep her father from really going for the shotgun until her mother took over and she was free to run upstairs to her room and rip off the red dress she'd practically fasted all day to get into that evening. She was in her rattiest pajamas and curled up in her bed before anyone could run up and remind her that girls went stag to their proms all the time. That was all well and good and Josie was the last person to spit on the whole strong black woman thing, but there was a problem with that plan: Sock had the tickets.

It was ten o'clock when the pebbles started beating at her window and even though the prom had started at six thirty, she knew exactly who it was. Josie went back downstairs before her father could cock that shotgun.

"Josie, baby, you ready to rock?"

He really did look like a reject from Saturday Night Fever. Where once she might have found that endearing, she now just wanted to punch him. She didn't even bother coming down off the porch. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Uh, we're going to our senior prom, duh?" Sock waggled his eyebrows and ran his hand through his hair in what was obviously meant to be a debonair fashion. "Why aren't you dressed?"

"I was dressed four hours ago when you were supposed to pick me up, jackass." And given the full bag of chips she'd devoured while crying in her room, there was very little possibility of her getting back into it even if she'd wanted to.

Josie hurled one of her mother's begonia pots and it shattered on the driveway to his left. Her neck might have rolled a little. It wasn't something she was proud of. "Goodbye, Sock."

And when that was followed by the distinctive pull of the barrel in her father's hands, Bert Wysocki had the good sense to leave.

II.
"It's my job!"

"Then maybe you need to get yourself a new one, because I'm tired of this, Sock, and it is not Ted's ass you should be trying to get your lips all over."

Of all the things she could have said, Josie was almost angry to see that those words had more effect on her (soon to be ex) boyfriend. "Are you saying I kiss Ted's ass? Because I do not kiss Ted's ass. I have never kissed Ted's ass. Never."

"Not the fucking point, and you know that." Her finger pointed between his eyes, so close that she could see his eyes cross from staring. Knowing him, he was probably enjoying it. "This is the sixth night in a row that you've cancelled on our anniversary date, for an anniversary that was two weeks ago, and it's the sixth time you've done it because Ted's put you on night shifts. It's like you're doing it on purpose and Andi told me it wouldn't be happening if you'd just shut up and do your job. Kind of like all our problems."

"Some things are sacred, Josie," Sock answered solemnly. "The paint can rodeo is sacred and I was doing my duty by it."

Josie rolled her eyes. "See, and there we go. This—you…" She held up a hand towards him, closing her eyes and taking a breath before speaking again. "You, Bert Wysocki? Are a grown ass man. And grown ass men do not pull this sort of mess. You work at a ghetto ass version of the Home Depot in the suburbs of Seattle! Do you see a bull anywhere? Cowboy hats? Boots? No, what I see is a grown ass man covered in paint who's about to go outside and get hosed down by his equally dumbass friends, come back in here and count night inventory for his GED having boss until he's forty-five."

"So you want to reschedule dinner?"

"We're not going to dinner, Sock."

"Lunch?"

"You're not funny and you're dripping on my shoes." She scowled at him before bending over to grab her briefcase before the paint found the leather. "We're done. Okay? Can you understand that this time? We're done. I can't take this anymore and let's be honest, we’re probably about two months away from you doing something idiotic enough to get arrested and prosecuted by my boss. So let me walk away before you become a conflict of interest."

Two months later when Sock and his friends were arrested after assaulting a candidate for city counsel at his own fundraiser, Josie talked her boss out of pressing charges, telling him that prosecuting Sock as an adult was fundamentally unfair, as he obviously had the mind of an eight year old. She could call him a grown ass man all she wanted, but Sock was obviously determined to defy her expectations.

III.
The first time she'd noticed it, she'd ignored it, telling herself that she'd never once been disturbed by it in her younger brother's room, so why should it bother her here? Because you don't make out with your little brother? Right. There was that answer. As much as she didn't want to, Josie started pulling away.

"Mm, Sock?"

"Wha?"

"Stop. Just a second—wait."

"What's wrong?"

Josie planted one last kiss on Sock's lips before letting go and sitting up. "He's staring at me."

"Who's staring at you?"

"Batman."

There it was, the crux of the problem. At nineteen years old Josie felt that she was far too mature to have a man dressed up as a bat staring her down from sheets and pillowcases while she tired to do everything from get her bra off to begging Sock for more. She didn't care if it was Christian Bale. That only took it too a different level of weird and didn't do anything to explain why, at twenty, Sock still had new –and she knew they were new because the movie had only come out months before— Batman bed sheets on the twin bed in his mother's basement. She didn't even bother to think about the fact that they were having sex on a twin bed in his mother's basement.

"It's watching me," she said, making a face.

"Okay." Sock reached around her body and started yanking at the pillow that her elbow was resting on. She fell awkwardly, smacking herself with her own hand when he finally got ahold of the thing, but he didn't seem to notice. Instead he took the pillow and tossed it over the side of the bed where Josie could only assume it landed in the remnants Chinese food they'd had for dinner the night before. When she'd straightened herself out again, he was grinning at her. "There, he's gone. Sex now?"

"Sock, they're everywhere. It's creepy." And as she spoke she realised she couldn't even bring herself to wrap the sheet around to cover her body for fear of cradling the Dark Knight to her breasts. "…and there's an image I'm not going to be unseeing for a long time. Great."

"What?"

"Nothing. Do you have any other sheets?"

"You're college girl, what do you think?"

"I think it's either Batman, C-3PO, or your mother's bed and that was weird the first time," she groaned.

Sock grinned. "It's a waterbed. You loved it."

"It's a waterbed. I got motion sickness. And then I got wet."

"Damn right you did."

"No, pervert. We poked a hole in the thing, remember?"

"C'mon, Josie…" He kissed her, and for a moment she did forget about the bed sheets. She had to give him credit: it was a good way to keep her eyes closed. Who kissed with their eyes open?

She refused to be that easily sidetracked. "Now they're watching me—" her words were cut off by a squeal muffled by Sock's lips as he slipped two fingers inside of her. She was sure it was meant to distract, but all it did was reaffirm to her the fact that she was having sex on top of Batman bed sheets and that essentially equated to having sex in her little brother's bedroom, which was –yes—worse than having sex in Sock's mother's waterbed.

Not to mention that Batman was still watching her.

"It's too weird," she said. "I can't have sex with someone who sleeps on superheroes."

"You're kidding, right?"

"Nope." Which should have been plenty apparent by the way she'd already reached for her shirt. "Besides, do you really want me thinking I'm Christian Bale while I'm sleeping with you?"

"I could take him," he answered without hesitation.

"I'll be back when you buy new sheets, Sock." And get a real apartment. But she didn't add that. Josie only wanted the basics from Sock, not outright miracles.

IV.
Josie was almost positive she'd set her alarm for eight am the night before. "I'm late. Fuck, I'm so late. I have a negligence torts test this morning. Fuck!"

"What're negligence torts?" Sock asked from his unmoving position on her bed.

"Breach of duty of care cases. Donoghue versus Stevenson in Scotland in 1932 is the best known example. The case was defined by— shoes!"

"It was a fight over shoe duty?"

"No, I found my shoes." She collapsed into her desk chair and started shoving her feet into sneakers. "Hair tie?"

"Catch." A black piece of rubber arched across the room for her to catch.

"Thanks."

"What would you do without me?"

"Have permanent bed head. Like you."

"I thought you liked my bed head."

"I do." Josie smiled and gave him a quick kiss. "I really do, but I've got work after this test and they don't like my bed head."

"They're stupid." He squeezed her ass. "You coming to the Work Bench before dinner?"

"Don't I always? You know, I could've sworn I set this last night?"

"Set what?"

"My alarm clock."

"You did. I turned it off."

For a moment it felt as if time slowed down, but Josie knew better. Josie knew this feeling, knew it all too well. Time wasn't slowing as she turned around to face her boyfriend, time was only her anger making her see red. "You want to repeat that?"

It didn't much look like he did. "I turned it off." There was a pause before he said, "You were dead last night, Josie."

"Which is how it works in the real world. You work hard, you come home tired, and you wake up tired the next day," she snapped. "And now I'm late."

"I was trying to give you a break."

"You made me late."

"Josie--"

"I don't have time for this argument." Josie grabbed her bag from her desk chair. "Don't be here when I get back."

Tue, 12 May 2009 03:58:15 GMT

Title: The Long Way Down
Author(s): cajun_chick411 (aka, wrigleyfield)
Fandoms: Reaper/Supernatural
Disclaimer: I don't own SPN and I don't own Reaper!
Type: Gen
Word Count: 15,600~
Characters/Pairings: Sam Oliver/Crossroads Demon (briefly)
Warnings: As a rating, I would say PG-13
Spoilers: Season 1 of Reaper and Seasons 1-3 of SPN
Summary: When Sam Oliver is killed on the job, his journey through hell introduces him to several interesting characters as he tries to figure out whether or not he really belongs. A series of vignettes that connect towards a common end.
Author’s Notes: This was written for the sncross_bigbang, a huge Supernatural crossover ficathon! First, I'd like to thank davincis_girl for the wonderful artwork for this story, and ittykat for helping me beta this story (even if I wasn't able to implement more than the most basic of suggestions, thank you mono and finals). I'm generally a oneshot writer, 2,000-5,000 words at the most, so this was a challenge for me, but a good one! I really enjoyed writing this, and I hope that someone out there enjoys it :)

PART ONE. PART TWO.

Mon, 12 Jan 2009 02:52:52 GMT

sncross_bigbang.

I'm not sure if I'm doing it yet despite having a Reaper/SPN idea (my mind is weighing the pros and cons >.>), BUT I figure a little pimping can't hurt anyway :-)

My writing year.

Wed, 31 Dec 2008 16:51:59 GMT

Most of my energy this year went towards 'Betty and the Bat', which was about a 30-40k endeavour, so while I was going on with that, I didn't have time for a lot else. Then, of course, RP was taking up a lot of my time at the beginning of the year. Not so much any more. I have some half finished stuff sitting around, and I assure, I intend to write more in the new year.

Anyway, this is all I produced. Not including my Yuletide fic, or the Reaper fic I'm working on now. I seriously do not pump it out like I used to, and I completely kicked drabble writing month to the curb.

Betty and the Bat (Ugly Betty, Nolan-verse Batman; series; complete, 16 parts)

Partners (Oceans 11, Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego; drabble)

The Neighbours (Dogma, Reaper; oneshot)

Hide and Seek (Oceans 11, Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego; drabble)

Betty the Bat and the Bird (Ugly Betty, Nolan-verse Batman; series; incomplete, 5 parts)

What Children Forget (Reaper; oneshot)

Marriage Proposals: Drabble 1 (Iron Man, Heroes for Hire; drabble)

Marriage Proposals: Drabble 2 (Ugly Betty, Batman; drabble)

Marriage Proposals: Drabble 3 (Buffy the Vampire Slater, Oceans 11; drabble)

Marriage Proposals: Drabble 4 (Ugly Betty, Oceans 11; drabble)

National Drabble Writing Month: 1
(Ugly Betty, Batman; oneshot)

National Drabble Writing Month: 2 (The Mummy, Indiana Jones; 'verse beginning)

National Drabble Writing Month: 3 (Iron Man; drabble)

National Drabble Writing Month: 4
(Iron Man; drabble)

Leftover Idea Prompts

Mode Photoshoot	Danny + Carmen + airport frustration	......	......
Fables + X-Factor/any Marvel	Five Times Josie Dumped Sock	......	......
Indy, Evie, Rick + Yale = meeting	......	......	......
Seven people you meet in hell (Reaper/SPN)	......	......	......

Thu, 06 Nov 2008 05:29:04 GMT

ELECTION FATIGUE!!

Two drabbles tomorrow.

Wed, 05 Nov 2008 03:02:58 GMT

Title: The Hazards of Rick Astley (NaDraWriMo: Day 4)
Fandom: Iron Man
Characters/Pairing: Tony Stark and JARVIS
Spoilers: Iron Man movieverse
Rating: PG
Word Count: 235
Summary: JARVIS has a litle fun with Tony. Pure fluff for my own amusement.
Notes: Instead of National Novel Writing Month, I'll be attempting to drabble/ficlet once a day throughout the month of November. They're going to be quick, dirty, and all betaed by the lovely ittykat and zenni (who is doing the same thing!). The idea is just to get my lazy and work-bogged self writing again, and writing for things that aren't RP.

I guess I'm just exploring Tony's vices right now. Oprah and the View last night, and tonight, the New York Mets. (My Tony headvoice is a GIANT Mets fan. I don't know why, but he is. I've tried to get him to convert to the Cubs, but it's just not happening. He loves his Mets!)

The Mets were playing in Seattle that evening. Tony was somewhere above Egypt. The situation was depressing.

"JARVIS?" He asked as he flew over the pyramids. The sun was just coming up and if he'd cared, he might have appreciated the beauty of the whole thing. But he just wanted to get home.

"Yes, sir?"

"Can you patch through the Gameday audio for the Mets/Mariners game?"

"Of course, sir."

The flight, first across the Sahara and then across the Atlantic, was a long one. He was going to need the company, even if the company was just Jose Reyes and the rest with a few baseball announcers having mostly inane conversation. Tony liked what he liked and he was unapologetic.

"Never gonna give you up…"

He almost flew into the sphinx's nonexistent nose.

"…never gonna let you let you down…"

"Shit!" Tony jackknifed back up into the air, trying to regain his composure.

"…never gonna run around and desert you…"

"JARVIS?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Never gonna make you cry…"

"Did you Rickroll my armour?"

"Yes, sir."

Tony shook his head. "I really don't know about you, JARVIS."

"Never gonna say goodbye…"

"You built me, sir."

"Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you..."

"Sometimes I'm not really sure that matters anymore," he laughed, increasing his speed as he headed south towards the desert. "Can I have my game now?"

"Yes, sir."

"Thanks, JARVIS."

"You're welcome, sir."

Tue, 04 Nov 2008 06:06:15 GMT

Title: Car-And-Fantasy Time With Tony Stark (NaDraWriMo: Day 3)
Fandom: Iron Man
Characters/Pairing: Tony Stark and James Rhodes
Spoilers: Iron Man movieverse
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 374
Summary: Rhodey debates Tony on the worst thing he's ever caught him doing. Because I imagine Pepper is not the only one who's had the pleasure.
Notes: Instead of National Novel Writing Month, I'll be attempting to drabble/ficlet once a day throughout the month of November. They're going to be quick, dirty, and all betaed by the lovely ittykat and zenni (who is doing the same thing!). The idea is just to get my lazy and work-bogged self writing again, and writing for things that aren't RP.

Finally a drabble that is drabble size! Based on the "Let's face it, this is not the worst thing you've caught me doing," scene from the movie between Tony and Pepper.

"Let's face it, this is not the worst thing you've caught me doing."

"Yes it is," James Rhodes answered firmly, arms crossed over his chest. "Yes it is."

Tony shook his head as much as he could from his position, lying on his back underneath his favoured blue 1967 Shelby. "It's a beautiful day. Company's practically running itself. There aren't any giant robots wrecking havoc. I'm working on my car, in my garage, eating my pizza. What's the problem?"

"The henhouse on your television."

"JARVIS won't change the channel."

"Sir, that is incorrect." And if Rhodey had ever doubted that a computer could sound affronted JARVIS' tone certainly put that to rest. "You specifically asked for the American Broadcasting Company and have not asked for a change of channel since 10:55 AM, Pacific Standard Time."

Rhodey cleared his throat pointedly. "It's officially the worst thing I've caught you doing."

"It is not. You want to pass me a beer?"

"Tony," Rhodey said, walking over to the fridge and pulling out a can of beer that he wouldn't have even drank in his poorest of college days. He placed it in Tony's outstretched hand. "First of all it's not even eleven o'clock and you're eating two day old pizza and drinking cheap beer. Second of all? You're doing it while you watch the View."

"I fail to see the problem." The can cracked open and Tony took a swig before sliding back underneath his car. "You'll notice I have it on mute. The blonde one and I could have fun if she shut up for five minutes."

"You're a regular renaissance man, Tony Stark."

"Are you interrupting my Car-and-Fantasy time for a reason or have you just been waiting to play mom and use that zinger all week?"

Shaking his head, Rhodey rolled his eyes. "This is worse than when I walked in on you watching Oprah."

"I was watching the Olsen Twins who happened to be on Oprah."

"If that's what helps you sleep at night."

"It does, actually. You'd be amazed what a good twin fantasy does for a night of sleep."

"Forget what I just said. That would officially be the worst thing I've ever caught you doing."

Mon, 03 Nov 2008 05:33:17 GMT

Title: Father Figures (NaDraWriMo: Day 2)
Fandom: Indiana Jones and the Mummy series
Characters/Pairing: Henry 'Mutt' Jones the III, Alex O'Connell, Rick O'Connell, Evie O'Connell, Marion Ravenwood, and Harold Oxley
Spoilers: The Mummy Returns and Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull (for the purposes of this 'verse, the third Mummy movie does not exist).
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,271
Summary: As Marion entertains old friends for dinner, Oxley ponders on Mutt's parentage.
Notes: Instead of National Novel Writing Month, I'll be attempting to drabble/ficlet once a day throughout the month of November. They're going to be quick, dirty, and all betaed by the lovely ittykat and zenni (who is doing the same thing!). They're definitely not going to all be in my Betty/Bruce 'verse, and they're not all going to be crossovers either. The idea is just to get my lazy and work-bogged self writing again, and writing for things that aren't RP.

That said, this is an idea that's been kicking around the ol' brain for some time now. KotCS certainly wasn't my favourite Indiana Jones movie, and I still haven't seen the third Mummy movie, but I love what both franchises were before the studios ~~and George Lucas~~ got trigger happy. KotCS was fun, at least, once I got past the whole nuclear explosion in a fridge thing, and the movie gave us Mutt who I immediately decided needed slashing with Alex O'Connell.

This might not sound weird except for the fact that I'm generally not a fan of slash and I don't really write explicit slash. Even when I set out to write it tonight, I ended up going at it from a complete back story angle instead of jumping into it like I'd meant to. If I continue to drabble in this idea, then yes, slash is definitely coming out of it, but as they are eight and sixteen in this one, there's no slash. That would be wrong and LJ would probably snipe me. It's just the older brother admiration from Mutt that I see their relationship developing from, as seen through the eyes of Harold Oxley.

The Mummy Returns takes place in 1933 and KotCS takes place in 1957. For the purposes of this fic though, I notched up the TMR to 1937, meaning Alex was born in 1929. Mutt was born nine years later in 1938.

And now I shut up and let you read :-)

Connecticut, 1945

A boy needed a father figure in his life, Harold Oxley agreed with Marion Ravenwood, especially when one's father had died at such a young age. He thought it was perhaps peculiar that thinking this, she did not attempt to reach out to Henry's father at an earlier date, but the choice was hers and he said nothing disparaging of it. The politics between Marion and her former fiancé, Henry Jones the Second, were shaky at best and one might have argued that it wouldn't have been good for young Henry Jones the Third to be around two such volatile tempers. Marion certainly argued so, and seeing the hints of her own temper which always shown through when the discussion was broached, Harold chose more often than not to cease pushing the topic.

"Besides," Marion would remind him, "you're as good a surrogate father as he could ask for."

It warmed him that she would say that, but Harold refused to lie to himself. He was no substitute for Indiana Jones himself. None of the professors who wandered in an out of Marion's life were. He did what he could for the boy but he knew that Henry needed something else in his life. Eventually the young boy's enthralment with his books and engraved stones would wear away.

Marion's friends dropped in often to visit her at the Marshal College branch of the National Museum where she worked in Connecticut. Its proximity to Yale and several other institutions of secondary education brought a wide range of friendly acquaintances from around the world. More often than not they were all invited by for dinner, an invitation which Marion had made clear long ago was forever open to Harold as well. Never one to turn down a home cooked meal, the older professor made it his business to be sure he was at the Ravenwood house for dinner every Sunday he could.

That was how he came to meet the O'Connells.

The wife was pretty, smart, British, and polite. "It's an honour to meet you, Professor Oxley. Marion's told us so much about you and your work with the Mayan Pyramids. Your paper on the hieroglyphs in the Templo Mayor was fascinating. I'd like to talk to you about trans-cultural diffusion if you—"

"Evie." The husband was tall, tanned, muscular, and Harold could see the outline of a pistol underneath his shirt when he reached up to put his hand on his wife's shoulder, obviously thinking that perhaps Harold should be allowed a word in edgewise.

"Rick," Evie O'Connell replied to her husband in the same tone.

Harold decided that propriety insisted he step in. "It's quite alright, Mr. O'Connell." He smiled at both adults and squeezed Evie's small hand in his own. "It would be a lie to say I don't appreciate someone who's read my work. I'd happy to talk diffusion with you, if you and the others don't mind the ramblings of an old man. Lord knows I've put Marion to sleep more often than not."

"Never, Oxley." The lady of the house stepped from the kitchen with a smile on her face that only grew when she saw the married couple standing in her foyer. "Rick and Evie O'Connell. It's been too long. Where's Alex? He's not still up at school, is he?"

"No, yours greeted our car at the curb and dragged him around to the backyard before we'd had the chance to get out. Something about a cap gun." Rick grinned, the approval obvious in his eyes. "You should just get him a real one, Marion. The sooner they learn, the better."

"He's seven," both women responded in tandem. They both laughed before Marion looked at Harold to add, "Alex is the O'Connell's son. He's—- oh what is it? A little less than nine years older? Henry worships him."

"Nine years," Rick confirmed. "Turned sixteen a month ago."

Marion said something about him finally being too big to be easily kidnapped by mummies and Harold had no time to ask for the story behind the joke before she was inviting them to step out onto the backyard porch where there were appetizers and wine.

As promised, Harold engaged Evie in a lively discussion concerning Mayan pyramids, hieroglyphs, and diffusion. She was rather brilliant, if he did say so himself, and the way she went on about the Egyptian pyramids made him want to brush up on his own knowledge of the subject. He could read Mayan, and that was no small feat, but the love with which she talked about everything Egyptian was so very obvious that he wanted to almost instantly retreat back to his study at Yale and re-immerse himself in the country's history.

"I should like to get back to Egypt eventually," Evie said after their near forty-five minute conversation had concluded. "It's a beautiful country, but it's been near off limits with the war."

If only that stopped Indiana, Harold couldn't help but think. The war in 1938 had been a different beast than it was now in 1945, coming so close to the end. "You'll be back in before the end of the year, mark my words. America isn't going to let this war go on much longer," he said, turning his wineglass in his hands. "Is it just you and Rick when you go, or do you bring Alex?"

"Oh, we couldn't keep him away," Evie laughed. "He's been wandering the pyramids with us since he was born. Looking back… well, let's just say that the war's been something of a blessing in that respect. An excuse to finally put him in school. Safely. He's in Massachusetts for most of the year."

"You see Marion often then?"

She shook her head, her smile softening. "When we can. Alex sees Marion and Henry more often than we do. We owe her for the school breaks and Christmases we've spent indisposed at the hands of natives and Alex has spent here." It didn't appear she was joking and Harold wondered exactly what they got up to in their daily lives.

He didn't ask. "That's why Henry was so excited to see him then," he offered instead, glancing out at the backyard where a much older Alex O'Connell demonstrated a great amount of patience as he attempted to show the seven year old Henry Williams the proper way to aim his cap gun.

"Mmhmm," Evie nodded. "It's amazing with the age difference, but they're close. Like brothers, I suppose. It's sweet, especially with Henry's father…"

"Yes," Harold said quickly to fill the gap of silence for politeness' sake. "Though I assure you, Henry's father would be appreciative of anyone who teaches his son to aim a firearm."

"Is he one of those sorts then? One of us?" she asked.

Harold nodded as he continued to watch the children play. Henry beamed as he pulled from his pocket the old Swiss army knife Harold himself had given to him as an early birthday present. It had been Indiana's at one point. Alex appeared to be the appropriate amount of impressed and sat on the grass, watching and listening as Henry pulled out each tool on the knife and explained it.

He smiled at Evie. "His father is one of us," he confirmed, thinking of his friend. "Probably the best of us the world will ever see."

Marion meant well in everything she said, Harold knew, but there was little chance that she truly believed he was any substitute for Indiana Jones. That person simply didn't exist.

Sun, 02 Nov 2008 07:45:03 GMT

Title: Betty and the Bat: Very Random Future Ficlet (NaDraWriMo: Day 1)
Fandom: Batman Begins/Ugly Betty
Characters/Pairing: Betty Suarez, Christina McKinney, Alfred Pennyworth, Bruce Wayne, mentions of Superman
Spoilers: Ugly Betty S1 and Batman Begins
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,452
Summary: Betty praises her friend's success in the world of heroic fashion design
Notes: Instead of National Novel Writing Month, I'll be attempting to drabble/ficlet once a day throughout the month of November. They're going to be quick, dirty, and all betaed by the lovely ittykat. They're definitely not going to all be in my Betty/Bruce 'verse, and they're not all going to be crossovers either. The idea is just to get my lazy and work-bogged self writing again, and writing for things that aren't RP.

That said, starting in the Betty/Bruce 'verse was the easiest jumping off point. This takes place about two years after the current Betty and Bruce arc. Betty is still working as Bruce's assistant and Christina has just gotten out from underneath Wilhelmina's Mode-shaped thumb. I'd reccomend having read at least some of the Betty and the Bat 'verse before reading this one, as it won't make much sense otherwise!

This counts for November 1st. I'm just late. Luckily, Daylight Savings Time is an amazing thing. Also, if there's something you'd like to see written, I offer my prompt table. I'm counting on prompts to get me through the next thirty days!

EDIT: Duh, I'd meant to say that the suits referenced in the fic are the Returns version, vs. the more traditional 90s/comicy version. Personally, I'm a fan of the comic!suit version, as much as I enjoyed Brandon Routh.

"I'm glad you left Mode."

"How many times are you going to tell me that?"

"Until you realize how great this is." Betty turned from the small coffee table in the corner of the office-cum-waiting-room, two steaming mugs in her hands. She practically shoved one of them at her best friend and one might have sworn that it was the radiance of her grin that was heating both mugs. Her smile beamed across the room, restrained only by the post-braces retainer that she had to wear for at least ten hours each day. "Look, I'm serving you coffee. You're a guest here; that's great, right?"

For her part, Christina attempted to hold back her simmering amusement at Betty's mood, holding her hand over her mouth before giving up and letting out a small unladylike snort of laughter. "I can get my own coffee, Betty. I've always gotten my own coffee."

"I know, but you haven't always been a guest of Bruce Wayne, and now you are so I'm getting your coffee. That's my job." Betty said in a very matter-of-fact voice. Her smile softened when Christina finally took the coffee from her hands. "You're your own designer now and Bruce is your client."

The older woman sipped carefully from the cup. "Do you have any milk?"

"Here." Betty passed her the thermos from the table. "You could be happier about this. Bruce isn't going to get upset if his waist size goes up a half inch." Not that it ever would, she thought to herself. Her boss happened to be in an unchanging state of perfection when it came to his physical form. Betty was almost positive he'd been the same weight and size since the day he'd decided to don the cape and cowl. He had armour to fit into after all.

She sipped from her own coffee as she walked back around her desk. The familiar lights on her phone were still flashing indicating that Bruce was still on with whoever it had been twenty minutes ago. She assumed it was still Commissioner Gordon unless he'd hung up and dialed out on his own while she'd conversed with Christina. "Probably just a few more minutes," she said.

Christina was anything but impatient. "I know he's not Wilhelmina, Betty, but it's still Bruce Wayne."

"So? You've met him before," she said logically. "And it's not like you called him. He called you. He really liked the menswear line you did for Gotham's fashion week, and he read that article about how everyone's calling you the 'Designer to the Superheroes'… well, Bruce has to have the best." Betty trailed off with a shrug and another smile. She would, of course, neglect to mention that it was the latter occurrence rather than the former than had really piqued Bruce's interest in her friend. Bruce attended Gotham Fashion Week for the façade, not out of interest.

She could see that Christina was blushing. "I am not a Designer to the Superheroes. It had to be luck that Superman saw my redesign sketches in that issue of Mode… and I felt a bit bad about it after he told me his mum made it for him."

Betty stopped, looking over at the other woman in slight disbelief. "Superman's mom made his costume?" Now she'd heard everything.

"Aye, she did, and I'm hoping she doesn't come after me with her bloody laser gun or space ray when she hears I messed with it."

"You didn't 'mess with it'," Betty insisted. "You were right about what you said. It was too dark and the symbol was too small. I like the brighter colours, and obviously he did too, because he asked you to make him four spares. And you're the one who was all excited when the other ones started to call."

"Before I realised what a pain in the arse spandex is to feed through a Singer," Christina mumbled behind a small grin that betrayed her glee at the entire situation. Betty understood the nervousness she might be feeling; it was exactly how she'd felt after being shown the Cave for the first time. It wasn't exactly something to be taken lightly, being pulled into this odd world of heroes and villains, the way they were. Even if, unlike Betty, Christina wasn't privy to the names behind the masks, it was still nerve-wracking. Betty suspected that the worry on Christina's face had nothing to do with the difficulty of getting spandex through a sewing machine.

She'd been sewing for Wilhelmina Slater for years, after all. Spandex couldn't have been the worst she'd ever faced.

Betty smiled at Christina. "Well, Bruce isn't a superhero and he doesn't need a spandex suit." Betty suspected he would have been very insulted to hear it suggested that he don spandex or a suit that hadn't been developed in the brilliant recesses of Lucius Fox's mind. "He wants business attire from your fashion week line."

"Couldn't this be considered… nepotism or something?" her friend asked.

"Nope. We're not related," she answered happily.

The look on Christina's face said clearly that she wasn't completely convinced by the answer, but Betty didn't much care. As far as she was concerned, Christina deserved the job. Her boss needed suits and every rich playboy and their cousins could order out Armani, Gucci, and the like. Bruce certainly did, but after hearing Alfred mutter something underneath his breath about his dislike of this year's 'plaid fixation' as he did his seasonal shopping for Bruce's wardrobe she'd very casually brought up that Christina had left Mode and had a menswear line for the coming spring that very much lacked plaid. It hadn't taken very much more than that.

It was less nepotism, and more a butler desiring a classic and respectable silhouette for his charge's business wear. Either way, it worked in Christina's favour and still, a year and a half after leaving Mode, Betty brimmed with pride for her friend.

She looked over at the lights on her phone. Bruce was still talking. Briefly, she hoped it was all business and had nothing to do with the amount of time his fifteen year old daughter was spending with Bruce's seventeen year old male ward.

She could have buzzed the line, but she'd already done that once. Bruce knew Christina was waiting, and Betty was enjoying extra time with her friend. "So who else is on the list?"

"What?" Christina asked.

"The list. You said other people called after you did Superman's suit. Who were they?" There was distinct blushing and Betty's smile grew. "I have to live vicariously through someone."

"It's not that exciting," she peered over her mug. "Maybe the Flash. Maybe Zatanna, that magician. Maybe the Black Canary. I don't want to namedrop."

"Fishnets and leather. Faye Summers would be proud."

"And isn't that what I've always dreamed of," Christina finally let out a real laugh. "I'll admit, some of the things in her closet might have helped."

Betty laughed too. "At least it was good for something." Well, something other than it's original intention. "And you love name dropping, but the way."

"This is different. They can probably hear me namedrop."

"Only Superman," Betty grinned.

When Bruce finally hung up the phone and made an appearance in the outer office nearly twenty mintues later, Betty had done her best to extract every piece of information out of her friend possible. Like she'd said before, she was living vicariously through others. Spending as much time working as she did, it was becoming a habit. Her imagination trucked along when Bruce described –in very minimal detail—how he'd gotten the bruises she covered each morning. She took notes on those sporadic occasions Selina dropped by, fresh from a trip abroad to some exotic country Betty had never even thought of going to. Daydreams popped up with Christina told her about the goingsons in the world of New York fashion.

Maybe she needed a vacation, she thought as she went about the pleasantries of reintroducing her boss to her friend. Hands were shaken and Alfred, who had been with Bruce in his office, took it upon himself to thank her personally for neglecting the questionable stylistic choice of plaid while they walked into Bruce's office. Betty smiled as she settled back down into her chair.

She didn't mind being left alone behind her desk. She was the assistant, after all. She was the assistant who'd helped land her friend an excellent job and who would be receiving thank you drinks of the best kind later that evening, hopefully with several stories to boot. If this was nepotism, Betty thought, then it was obviously the best kind.

Hello!

Sun, 02 Nov 2008 04:21:47 GMT

So, instead of NaNoWriMo, I will be attempting a Drabble/short story a day for the month of November. 100-1,000 words of story in various fandoms. National Drabble Writing Month, I will refer to it as.

We'll see how far I get with this.

Tue, 07 Oct 2008 18:56:35 GMT

Title: Betty, the Bat, and the Bird: (Ficlet #5)
Fandom: Batman Begins/Ugly Betty
Characters/Pairing: Betty Suarez, Selina Kyle, Bruce Wayne
Rating: PG
Word Count: 2,129
Summary: Betty and Selina discuss their book club and Betty and Bruce discuss Selina
Notes: Thanks for the comments. And the patience. Writer's block sucks, yo.

• First Arc: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part14, and Part 15

• Second Arc: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

When she looked up from her paperwork, there was a book beneath her nose. The Life of Pi. It was a good book. In fact, Betty was sure it was her book.

"I finished it on the flight back from Paris. I liked it."

Selina Kyle would have been the last person Betty imagined having a miniature book exchange with if she was one to base her appearances on looks alone. Dressed in her normal sleek and black high fashion attire with her brown hair pulled back into a bun on the side of her head and an in season cap perched atop, Betty had to admit that Selina was not the sort of person she would have imagined enjoyed the works of everyone from Jane Austen to Michel Crichton. It was unexpected, for sure, but it made Selina's visits to the Gotham offices that much more enjoyable.

Betty liked the older woman as a person in general, but that she could talk literature made it ten times better. On her second visit Selina had walked in carrying not only the copy of Fast Food Nation that Betty had lent her two weeks prior, but also Midnight's Children by Salman Rushdie, telling her that she should try it. It was a complete turnaround from Fast Food Nation, but she'd taken it home with her and read as instructed, surprised to discover that she actually did enjoy the book.

Betty didn't like to make a big deal of their little exchange, but it was definitely one of the reasons she approved of Selina above and beyond any of the other women Bruce had dated during her tenure. She saw them together at times and she knew their minds – their intellectual minds, at least – matched so well. Together they were a smart, witty pair. While she knew that Selina's job took her to Paris often (why, Betty didn't quite get, but it was what it was) she didn't understand why she and Bruce didn't just strike up some sort of understanding of exclusivity with each other. It didn't make sense.

Still, she was glad to see Selina and eager to see her reach back into her purse for another book.

"I'm glad you liked it," Betty said with a grin. She palmed her book, worn with the love of several readings, and quickly stashed it away in her desk drawer. It was one of the few she liked to keep around for slow days. "How was Paris?"

Selina shrugged in a simple yet elegant way that perfectly suited her chic clad petite form. "It was Paris," she answered.

Betty could only assume that once you'd spent as much time there as Selina had, it became just another city. She sighed slightly; having been to Mexico just wasn't as glamorous or as cool as Paris. She certainly hadn't seen much of Mexico either; more important things had been on her mind.

A book, cover down, was placed in front of her. Selina held it gracefully, like one of those product models on the Price is Right, but with a lot more class. Betty reached out to take it and once it was in her hands, she flipped it eagerly.

"The Great Gatsby?" she asked curiously, looking at the familiar cover. She'd seen it dozens of times. How many times had she been assigned to read this book throughout college and high school?

Selina seemed to understand the look on her face perfectly, and shook her head, holding up a hand. "I know, I know. It's a school staple, but you have to read it again now that you've worked two of the richest men in America. It'll give it a whole new meaning, I'm sure."

Fair point, Betty decided as she grinned and slipped the book into her bag. It wouldn't take her very long to read at all. "Thanks," she said, idly adding, "your earrings are really nice."

"A high compliment coming from someone who worked for the great Mode Magazine," Selina laughed. The emeralds in her ears glinted and flashed against the light. "Thank you, I got them in Budapest."

Betty's face lit up. "Really? Were you there last week? Or was it two weeks ago—there were a bunch of robberies there that made the news all the way here. Whoever it was stole five Rembrants from the major museum, a Monet, and some other pieces. They still haven't caught the guy."

"I'm afraid I missed the excitement; these were actually from one of my earlier visits." Betty, so adapt at noting Bruce's odd changes in demeanor neglected to note the way in which Selina began examining her nails, painted shiny coat of black (in a way that somehow simply looked classy instead of goth). It wasn't exactly an uncommon habit in the woman, and Betty thought it was just that, a habit. It never occurred to her that perhaps it was a lying habit, and there was no reason it should have. "Though I heard about the thefts and they sounded impressive."

"Yeah, I think Budapest needs a Batman," Betty gave a short laugh at her own joke, another grin coming to her lips.

"Oh no, I'm positive Batman is fine right where he is. You never know what might happen if he leaves Gotham."

Cue the awkward silence, something Betty was used to when she was alone with Mercy Graves (who came around with Lex Luthor far too often for her liking), but not usually with Selina. She watched for a moment as Selina rearranged herself, pushing loose, wayward strands of hair behind her ears, dusting imagined pieces of lint from her shirt, and straightening her skirt before finally smoothing her hands down the entire slimming ensemble.

Betty had the feeling that for now, their conversation was through. Not in a friendship ending, never-speak-to-you-again sort of way, but in that awkward, 'somewhere along the way an insult was delivered , but I'm so sure where or what I did wrong' sort of way. In other words, the way she often felt after talking to Mark and Amanda, but with a slightly friendlier vibe. It still left her scratching her head.

"Want me to see if Bruce is ready?" she asked after a very pregnant pause which was perhaps far more awkward than it would have been if she hadn't been wringing her hands the entire time.

Selina nodded once, smiling briefly. "Please."

She jumped up from her desk and gathered a few papers needing signatures before opening the thick wooden door which separated her office from Bruce's and quickly slipping through.

Surprisingly, the air in his office seemed much more relaxed than it had been in her own over those last few moments. She decided, almost immediately, that it was because Bruce wasn't wearing his tie.

"You know, seventy percent of average American men aren't wearing ties to work anymore," Betty said, approaching his desk and setting papers down in front of him.

Bruce looked up, bemused. "You have time to take polls? Am I not giving you enough to do, Betty?"

"I heard it on the news this morning." Her tone said 'duh' even if her words didn't. "Sign here, here, here, and here."

"Do you see me as the average American man?" He still sounded slightly amused as his fountain pen scratched across the various documents.

Betty gathered the stack of papers once they'd been signed. "Not to much, no. Do I see you as capable of admitting you don't like ties? Maybe."

That got her a laugh and not the awkward silence of her last attempt at a joke. She smiled as she arranged the documents neatly in her hands and reached over Bruce's desk for a paperclip—sometimes she still got a thrill out of the fact that Batman used simple things like paperclips.

"Is Selina here?"

She nodded. "She's waiting outside. And I still approve."

"She's only staying for a week," Bruce said, standing from behind his desk. He reached for his tie, which hung neatly --rather, in such a way that wouldn't have given Alfred an aneurism—over the back of an arm chair in front of the large bay windows which looked out over Gotham.

"It's like you chase her out of the city every time she comes to visit." Betty shook her head and made a face that looked as if a motherly 'tsking' noise should have accompanied, but she kept the nose to herself.

Bruce shrugged slightly. "In a manner of speaking…" He trailed off and Betty chose not to pursue. It would only lead to another lecture on dumb blondes, and Betty was sure he was as tired of hearing it as she was of delivering it. She just had to be convinced that one day he'd realise that he wanted a girl with more brains than silicone.

She shook her head again. "So is this the last time you're going to see her before Bhutan?"

"Probably."

"Have you told her that you're going to do the DIL – I mean, the eligible bachelor issue?" Betty asked. She was going to kill Mark when she saw him. Or maybe just force him to wear clothing from the Gap. Both options were likely to make him scream.

Bruce shook his head, eyeing her. She hoped it wasn't because of her slip. "No. Why?"

"Well," Betty said, carefully choosing her words. "If I was your girlfriend --which I am obviously not-- I'm pretty sure I'd want to know that you were planning on declaring yourself as eligible and attractive to the entire world. Just a thought."

"I'm not declaring that." He straightened his tie, though Betty still had to walk forward and move the knot about. "Mode is."

She tried not to laugh as hard as she wanted to. "What were you saying about not being the Average American male?" When Bruce chose not to respond, Betty simply continued to fix his tie and grinned. "Are you going to tell her you're leaving for the middle of nowhere in March?"

Once she'd finished, he stepped back. "She'll find out eventually."

"Probably," Betty nodded. She readjusted the papers in her hands. "But I'd want to hear it from my boyfriend."

Again, Bruce said nothing. He grabbed his suit jacket from the back of the desk chair and slipped it easily over his broad shoulders as he prepared to leave. Betty had to admit, she didn't know much about relationships, having not been in many in her day, but she was a woman and she knew that in Selina's position, she'd want the truth, rather than finding it out through the tabloids or the news. She didn't completely understand why Bruce was so against just coming out and telling her, and again wondered exactly what she was missing when it came to the well-read enigma that was Selina Kyle.

"Straight home tonight." Bruce stated it more like a fact than the questioning tone most would have used for such a statement. It was just expected these days and Betty knew that Bruce expected her to know better than to dawdle in Gotham. She did, and despite the exasperated look she gave him at the warning, she took it to heart. It meant he cared and she wouldn't begrudge him that, or herself of the feeling.

It was nice, knowing that Bruce Wayne cared about her.

She nodded and smiled softly. "Home, I know."

"Good." And he opened her office door for her as he always did, letting her slip through first and hurry to her desk where she started packing up her things. She knew it was time to get going when Selina threw her arms around Bruce and started whispering something in his ear. As someone used to being the awkward third wheel in these sorts of things, Betty knew how to make a quiet exit when needed.

She finished throwing things into her bag, only really taking care with the book Selina had given her which she placed atop of everything else along with her writing notebook. With a pen slipped into the side pocket, Betty was ready to leave for evening.

"Have a good evening," she offered to both Bruce and Selina as she headed out.

The older woman looked away from Bruce briefly, grinning at Betty over his shoulder. "Don't forget about Gatsby, love."

Betty smiled as she opened the door. "I won't. Thanks."

"Gatsby?" she could hear Bruce asked as she headed towards the elevator in the hall.

"Don't worry about it, it's between us girls," Selina purred in answer. "Now, Bruce, I do believe we need to talk…"

As good an eavesdropper as Betty was, even she couldn't hear from behind shutting elevator doors.

Okay, who did it? :-P

Thu, 02 Oct 2008 22:21:01 GMT

Sooooo.... Betty and the Bat was fandomsecretsed . Number 106. This one.

>.>

<.<

I need to stop being swamped by school.

And as I work on whattheficathon...

Sun, 14 Sep 2008 02:24:58 GMT

Give me two characters from fandoms I write, and I'll tell/write you something about how they end up together and what their first-born is like, even if they are unqualified to have children. I may even come up with a PB, we'll seeeee.

I may not get to ALL of them, but I like these. They make my brain juices flow.

Fri, 05 Sep 2008 05:41:24 GMT

O hai.

I'm alive. Moved back to school this week and am finishing up whattheficathon, which is taking much longer than I'd originally thought!

That said, yeah, there's some Betty coming soon >.> I have a chapter finished, and two half done, one of which involves meeting Dick. Finally. Maybe this weekend, but I make no promises!

Just saying hi :D

<3 Wrigs

Sat, 16 Aug 2008 04:15:03 GMT

Title: Drabble #4
Author: wrigleyfield
Fandom: Ugly Betty/Oceans 11
Pairing/Characters: Wilhelmina Slater/Danny Ocean
Rating/Category: PG
Word Count: 105
Spoilers: None
Summary: Written for the marriage proposal meme
Notes: Sometimes a story just needs to be told in 100 words.

Vaguely requested by: mellowdee.

It was as if her Mode office had never existed. The walls were bare and even the beige carpeting was gone. Granted, it wasn't as if her office was ever decorated in the same fashion for over a week, but it was always decorated.

Wilhelmina Slater looked around the room as she tried to hold back an enraged scream. Perhaps on a better day she would have simply muffled it with a casual throw pillow, but those were gone too. She'd been left with her desk, a note, and a diamond engagement ring taped to the side.

You should have said yes.
Love,
Danny

Sat, 16 Aug 2008 03:47:57 GMT

Title: Drabble #3
Author: wrigleyfield
Fandom: BtVS/Oceans 11
Pairing/Characters: Buffy/Rusty
Rating/Category: PG
Word Count: 711
Spoilers: Season 6 of Buffy
Summary: Written for the marriage proposal meme
Notes: I haven't written Buffy in aaaaages (and the last time I did it was this shit horrible 90,000 word craptastic Harry Potter/Buffy xover. Oh middle school.) so this was interesting. I've also never written Rusty, so I focused on the one thing I always focus on for him... his eating habits.

Requested by: tinpra.

He came into the Doublemeat Palace every night, and every night he ordered the same thing. It had gotten to the point where Buffy started preparing the order as soon as she saw the silver Mercedes pull into the parking lot. One Doublewide burger with double meat and double cheese and one super sized coke. He ate the same thing seven nights a week and Buffy didn't know how he stayed so thin and handsome. Or how he could stand the smell.

God, she hated this place.

"Hot Mercedes guy is back," one of the fry-cooks said with a sigh. Her brown hair hung in a limp knot at the base of her neck and her forehead was coated in a sheen of sweat and grease from the frier. Buffy knew she didn't look much better. "Man, I wish I could go with him."

He was always eating something. She found it odd, odd enough that she'd asked Giles if there was some demon out there with a fetish for lollipops. He usually sucking on one, or biting into an apple, or a sandwich… something and anything with a better taste than the swill they served at the Doublemeat Palace. But no matter what he'd been eating, he always ordered the same thing.

"Can I get a doublewide burger, with double meat and double cheese. And a super sized coke." Tonight it was a small and greasy Burger King bag in his hand. He was lifting fries to his mouth, one or two at a time.

"Do you want fries with that?" Buffy could practically hear the fry cook girl swooning, as she did every night when Buffy asked the same question. Personally, Buffy had greater goals in life than asking admittedly hot men whether they wanted fries with their calorie packed meals. She would have happily given the other girl her job if she'd had any other means of a steady income.

"Got 'em already," he answered with a grin.

"Five eighty three," she said.

He handed over a ten dollar bill, probably the lowest thing she'd ever broken for him. He was the high roller type, regularly paying for a five dollar meal with fifties and hundreds.

"Why do you come here every night?" she found herself asking. Her eyes drifted towards the Burger King bag as she handed him back his change. "I mean… repetitive much?"

"It's about putting together the perfect meal." As if it should have been obvious. "Burger King has the best fries. Wendys does those tiny apple pies that melt in your mouth. You can't beat a McDonalds McFlurry. And you make the best burgers. Doesn't matter where the soda comes from."

Buffy couldn't help but look a little disgusted by the time he'd finished. Her slayer metabolism helped, but she still had a sense of when too much was too much. "Really?" she asked, sounding wholly doubtful.

"Working beggars and thieves can't be choosers."

Somehow, with him driving that car and wearing that suit the word 'beggar' did not come to mind. She'd never seen someone make eating a french-fry look so attractive.

"Order's up!"

"That's you." Buffy turned and grabbed the bag, already nearly completely soaked through in oil.

She watched in some strange state of disbelief as he immediately switched from the fries to the burger, reaching in immediately to unwrap it and take a bite. "I always said I'd marry a girl who could cook this well," he said, wiping the corner of his mouth with the side of his hand.

"I didn't make it."

He tsked and shook his head, wiping his mouth once more with the back of his hand. "Too bad. You're cute." He grinned and shrugged as he grabbed his Burger King bag with his free hand. She half expected him to start double fisting the burger and fries. But he didn't. Instead he just turned for the door. "Have a good one."

Buffy watched him as he left, walking through the door and headed towards the gorgeous Mercedes she would never be able to own. She sighed as he got in and turned on the car. She could see the tail lights and read the license plate. It said 'RUSTY'. "They never want me for my slaying skills."

Fri, 15 Aug 2008 19:07:17 GMT

Title: Drabble #2
Author: wrigleyfield
Fandom: Ugly Betty/Nolanverse Batman
Pairing/Characters: Betty/Bruce
Rating/Category: PG
Word Count: 319
Spoilers: None
Summary: Written for the marriage proposal meme
Notes: This was hard! If only because these are two characters who should probably never get married ever.

More meme responses to come!

The question couldn't have come at a more inappropriate time, and perhaps that's why she found herself providing a most inappropriate answer.

"Yes."

"Yes?"

"Why do you look so surprised?"

"Why do you?"

In a hurried motion Betty reached over to immediately shut off the small recording device sitting on the table between her and her former boss, Bruce Wayne. "I think I have every right to look surprised," she said. "But you asked the question, so you shouldn't look surprised when I give you what most men would consider the 'right' answer."

"I didn't think you'd say yes," Bruce admitted.

"Wait, you did something without knowing the odds of the outcome? Who are you and what did you do with my Bruce?"

He leaned back in his chair. "It was fifty-fifty. You could either say yes or no."

"Or 'maybe'," Betty pointed out. She reached up, trying to discretely scratch her neck where she swore she was breaking out in hives. She always did when she was nervous, though one would think in her fourth year as a fulltime reporter for the Gotham Gazette, she'd have gotten over it. She had, for the most part, but things were always topsy-turvy around Bruce. "Why would you… why did you ask me?"

"Why did you say yes?" he countered.

"Because you asked me!" And really, what else was she expected to say? She hadn't really thought about it before blurting out the answer, and could she take it back now? Any other female her age would consider her absolutely crazy for even considering changing her mind. "I was supposed to say no? I didn't even know that you… when did you decide you wanted to marry me?"

Bruce was silent for a moment before answering. "The night you didn't run screaming from the manor after I showed you the Cave.

"Oh right. Seven years ago." There went those hives again.

Thu, 14 Aug 2008 17:45:09 GMT

Something borrowed, something blue...something like that. Give me two characters from any fandoms (crossovers or not) and I will write you a short drabble of what a marriage proposal could be like for them! Feel free to pick anything.

My fandoms: Indiana Jones, The Mummy, Marvelverse, DCU, Buffy, Reaper, Angel, Robin Hood, Ugly Betty, Oceans 11, Carmen Sandiego, the West Wing, Dogma, MLB!slash, and the Office.

Or if you know something I've written before and want to request, that's cool too :D

Thu, 14 Aug 2008 17:39:06 GMT

Title: Drabble #1
Author: wrigleyfield
Fandom: Marvel Movieverse
Pairing/Characters: Tony Stark/Misty Knight
Rating/Category: PG
Word Count: 786
Spoilers: None
Summary: Tony asks Misty to marry him. Just because.
Note: Written for taintedlust for a 'give me two characters and I'll write a marriage proposal drabble' meme.

Assumptions made: Her prosthetic is a Stark creation.

"What?"

"You heard me."

"No, Mr. Stark." And suddenly the slick metal arm had disappeared from underneath his fingers and the tools he held between them. "No, I really don't think I did. Either that or I heard you incorrectly. In fact, I'm positive I heard you incorrectly."

"See, I like the way that sounds coming from you. What about, 'Mrs. Stark'?" Tony grinned at Misty. "How does that sound. I think it has a ring to it."

Misty glared back. "'Mrs. Stark-Knight. Or Knight-Stark. And they've got a ring to them all right. The ring of bad writing."

"So you're saying yes."

"I'm saying I'm still pretty sure I didn't hear you correctly." It sounded almost as if it would have been in his best interest had she not heard him correctly.

Tony, normally one to put his best interests first, continued to throw caution to the wind. "I asked you if you'd marry me."

"Yeah, see, there it is again." Misty kept her arms crossed across her chest despite the open panel just above the wrist of her prosthetic where he'd been working. A single eyebrow raised, which didn't help Tony at all. He only found it attractive. "You saying the words 'will you marry me'. In that order.

"Do you want me to get down on one knee?" he asked, still smiling as he ran a hand through his hair.

"I want you to cut that mess on your head," she replied. "But then, we've been over that."

"Which one do you want? Stark-Knight, or Knight-Stark?" Because Tony could focus like no else.

"My arm's not going to check itself, you know." And so could she. One of Tony's many justifications for raising the question in the first place. "Why the hell would you ask me that anyway?"

Tony looked at her quizzically. "Because I like you."

"Oh, because you're still in eighth grade. I get it."

"I skipped the eighth grade."

"Of course." There was silence for a moment before Misty finally laid her prosthetic arm back across the table so that Tony could reach it, perhaps realizing that she was perilously close to unplugging herself from the USB connection and possibly loosing all the data on her arm as a result. Tony knew she couldn't live without her music collection. "Let's try this again. Why?"

"Because," Tony started again, picking up a small welding tool. "You like Frank's and PBR. You like cars. You know that a shortstop isn't a midget stop sign. You can shoot a gun. You've got your own business. You haven't tried to sleep with me."

"Oh, that's romantic," Misty said with a sarcastic nod. "Get down on your knee and wow, I might just have to say yes."

He shrugged. "It's true. It's all good. I think I love you, Mercedes Knight."

"Confidence inspiring."

"I know I love you."

"And I think you need a reality check."

"Yes or no?"

Another pause. "I don't know. I have to think about it."

"It's better than no."

"I know better than to upset the man who's welding my arm back together." For the first time since he'd asked the question, Misty smiled. It made him feel a little better, watching her rest her cheek on her free hand and smile at him in an almost bemused way. "What about a test run?"

Tony looked up from his work completely. "A test run?"

"Yeah. For all you know, you might hate the way I brush my teeth. Or breathe when I sleep. Or tap my pen when I'm thinking. And I," --here she stopped, glancing around the room pointedly and raising her eyebrow again-- "might hate the way you live in the Hamptons all the time. We'd have to talk about that."

"Penthouse on the Upper East side? Maybe in the Dakota?" he offered.

"Try a brownstone in Brooklyn. It can be a nice brownstone." Misty shook her head. "What I'm saying is that we should live together first."

"Is this the part where we fall asleep together and wake up to read the Real Estate section of the Sunday Times the next morning?"

"Something like that. It's the part where you realize that I'm saying maybe we need to move in somewhere and you need to ask me that other question again in a few months." She smirked slightly. "Maybe with a ring this time."

Tony had the decency to look sheepish at that. "It was kind of spontaneous."

"I could tell."

"It's going to be a nice ring."

"It had better be."

"Does that mean you're saying yes?"

"I'm not making any promises. Though," she pointed to his hair. "Cutting that might help."

"Consider it done."

Tue, 29 Jul 2008 08:28:58 GMT

Title: What Children Forget
Author: wrigleyfield
Fandom: Reaper
Pairing/Characters: Sam, Ben, Sock, Josie, Mrs. Oliver, and the Devil
Rating/Category: PG
Word Count: 4,454
Spoilers: No season finale spoilers. Basic premise spoilers apply.
Summary: At eight years old, Sock has an imaginary friend who tells him to do things, but for some reason Sam is the only one who can see it. This is sort of a 'what could have happened' story featuring the characters in childhood. bb!Reapers, as my word file name reads.
Notes: I've always made assumptions about the friendships of the main three and their girls. In my mind, Sam, Sock, Ben, and Josie have probably known each other since first or second grade. That's how they ended up together, because I'm not sure Josie would have given him a second look if they'd only just met in high school. Andi was a late addition to the group, probably a high school friend of Josie's, and thus she's not applicable here.

It's a stand alone and I got the idea mainly from watching a lot of Family Guy and listening to the Damn Yankees soundtrack. Fans of the two might see the homage. It's pretty blatant. And, well, you know the obvious... please don't sue, because I own none of it.

Many thanks to ittykat who read it through, betaed, and made sure that my kids sounded like kids.

Ben's mom was always working and so she was never around after the school day was through. To make up for it she sometimes took the kids on the weekends. Sock's mom wasn't working, but since neither Ben nor Sam were allowed inside his house and Josie's mother had threatened to kill her if she set foot on the property after a certain incident, it didn't matter that his mother, despite not working, was never around to take them places. It was alright in Sam's book given that he couldn't pronounce Wysolki and he wasn't allowed to call adults by their first names. It left him in quite the conundrum when it came to Sock's mother.

Then there was Josie's mother. She worked sometimes, but more often she stayed home taking care of Josie's baby brother. Josie said that her mother said that the last thing she needed were three other kids running around her house and waking the baby. That left Sam's mom, who didn't work and had no other distractions besides Sam himself.

Sam didn't entirely mind that his mom was the defacto group mom. Sometimes it was kind of cool, if only because it meant that he didn't have to worry whether or not he would like the days after school snack and because he knew that when he was with his mom she didn't worry as much. His mom was very over protective.

Whenever Sam or Ben's mom picked the four children up from school they went straight to the park. Sam was rather proud of the fact that his mom always brought oreos for everyone (the best snack), including Sock's invisible pet monkey.

"Chewie says thanks, Ms. Oliver." Crumbs fell down Sock's chin before he ran off to join Ben, Sam, and Josie.

"Chewie," Ben said, stuffing another cookie between his lips. "Is a wookie name."

Sock stuck out his tongue. "You can't see him," he answered, as if that solved everything. Sam was well aware that in Sock's mind, it solved quite a lot.

"I can," Sam said. He shrugged as he pulled apart his oreo, preparing to lick away the icing with an utmost deliberance. He paused for a moment and looked up as the brown tufted monkey with red eyes that sat next to Sock and which Sam could indeed see.

It was a little scary, but at eight and a half Sam was reluctant to admit to anyone, especially his mother, that he was scared of something no one else could see.

"Stop lying, Sam. You're encouraging him." Case in point, Joisie. Older than all of them at a round nine years old, Josie liked to play boss. Sock liked it. Ben and Sam did what they could to avoid it while wondering what exactly 'encourage' actually meant anyway.

All Sam could do was look at Josie and mutter around his juicebox straw, "I'm not lying."

"My aubela says if you lie you go to hell," Ben offered. He scuffed his sneaker in the woodchips, kicking a spray towards Sock and his invisible monkey.

Sam watched as the red eyed monkey leaned over and whispered something in Sock's ear. A message which Sock promptly related to the group. "Chewie says to stop kicking us, Ben."

"Chewie didn't say anything," Ben retorted, but he stopped kicking woodchips. He wasn't that sort of kid, the one who did things just to make people angry. "What are we going to do? Sam brought the ball."

Taking that as his cue, Sam reached down and grabbed the rubber kick ball between his feet with sticky fingers covered in icing and crumbs. "I don't want to play house," he said, giving Josie a pointed look. She always wanted to play house and when they did he and Ben always had to be the kids. It was bad enough when Josie bossed them around by herself, but as the 'father' Sock very often tried to make them eat worms.

"Chewie says we should play foursquare."

"Chewie isn't real," Josie said with such vehemence that Sam suspected had they ended up playing house Sock would have been put in time out. She looked rather displeased with him when she stood up and snatched the ball out of Sam's hands. "I get to be king—ew, Sam." She stared down at the crumbs that now covered her hands.

Sam and Chewie laughed. Well, to be fair, Sam could only assume that Chewie had laughed as well. It certainly looked like laughter on the monkey shaped lips and with the way he slapped Sock's back with such camaraderie. He wondered if it was slapping his friend could feel. Sock couldn't see the monkey, Sam knew that much, but he could hear it perfectly. It didn't make sense to Sam why the person who 'owned' Chewie wouldn't be able to see him. Personally, Sam wanted nothing to do with the monkey and would have preferred to neither see nor hear him.

He got up, wiping crumbs onto his shirt. "C'mon, let's play." This once he was willing to follow Josie's instructions, just as long as they could all get along.

"Don't push, Sock." Or perhaps not. Josie seemed to have gotten herself into a permanently bad mood and Chewie the monkey wasn't helping as he stood behind her and pushed her towards the foursquare box and pulled on her skirt at the same time.

"I didn’t do anything." Bits of oreo spat out of Sock's mouth as he yelled at the girl and jabbed his finger at Josie's back where Chewie stood fiddling with the hem of her skirt. "He's doing it."

Josie glared. "Then maybe," she said, looking startlingly like her mother. "You should tell him to behave."

"He's not a good listener. He's got ADHD."

Ben shook his head. "No, that's what Miss. Dwyer says you have, Sock."

"What's that?" Sam asked. It was one of those things he always heard his teacher whispering about when they were supposed to be doing their 'sustained silent reading'. Usually it was in connection with Sock.

"It's—Stop it, Sock! It's not funny!" Josie whirled around to face Sock, clutching the ball in her hands. "Stop it! It's not the monkey, it's you." Ben and Sam just watched, both wincing as Josie threw the rubber ball straight into Sock's stomach. The boy doubled over onto his knees, groaning and clutching his stomach in pain. Josie stood above him looking fairly superior for someone who was just eight.

The ball bounced off to the side of the playground, forgotten. Ben bent down next to Sock and Sam watched as Chewie fell back on the ground, laughing hard with his arms wrapped around his furry stomach and his red eyes glinting with amusement. Sam wondered, not for the first time, if there wasn't something completely wrong with the thing that followed Sock everywhere.

"Play nice, guys!" Sam heard his mother shout out. The defacto group mother only barely looked up from her book, obviously trusting them to sort things out amongst themselves.

"I'll go get the ball," he mumbled.

The ball had bounced relatively hard off of Sock's stomach, rolling in the direction of the playground equipment and lodging itself underneath the bottom of the yellow tube slide towards the back. Sam started off, sparing only one glance over his shoulder to check on the red-eyed monkey still rolling around on the ground in fits of laughter. He really didn't like that thing very much.

The playground wasn't very large and it didn't take him very long to make is way over to the jungle gym. He was wondering if maybe it would just be a better idea to play on that instead of trying to organize a game of foursquare. Between Josie and the invisible monkey the game's chances of success didn't look that good. Sock's chances for a bloody nose, on the other hand…

Sam grinned a bit. Sometimes it was funny when Sock got beaten up by a girl. Sometimes.

His friends were waiting. By volunteering to get the ball he had an obligation to retrieve it at least somewhat quickly, so he crunched down next to the base of the slide in order to wiggle his way underneath and kick the ball free. He was more concentrated on not hitting his head and avoiding the worms that Sock wasn't forcing him to eat than actually reaching the ball at first, but eventually found himself forced to suck it up and get stuck in with the mud and dirt mixed with woodchips beneath the slide.

"Sam!" It was Ben's voice shouting across the playground as Sam made an attempt to grab at the ball which had gotten itself lodged in tightly. He needed longer arms.

"Need some help, kiddo?"

Sam turned around, hitting his head as he did so. "Ow."

"Watch it there." The man who'd spoken looked like somebody's grandfather, he thought. Sam pulled away from the slide, rubbing the back of his head. His hair stood up in tufts, looking sort of like Sock's, after his hand ran through. Wincing, he looked up and wondered why this man was wearing a suit on the playground. His father always ran up to change before even going out in the backyard to play catch with him. But this man didn't seem to mind that his shoes were getting muddy and that some of that mud could possibly end up on his red socks, red tie, and red pocket kerchief. His hair was slicked back and he looked like he'd spent a lot of time at the beach recently. He was grinning brightly at Sam. "Your head would be a terrible thing to damage."

"Um… I guess?" Sam wasn't sure how he was supposed to respond that that. Sounded like 'the mind is a terrible thing to waste', except slightly… meaner. His teachers never sounded mean when they said it. "Our ball got stuck."

"I saw." The man shook his head. "I'm surprised that monkey didn't throw it over here."

"What?"

The man pointed a rather tanned finger over towards Josie, Ben, and Sock. "The monkey looking up your friend's skirt. He seems like the type who'd throw a perfectly good ball in the mud."

"Chewie? You can see Chewie?" Looking from his friends back to the man and then back to his friends again, Sam balked.

"His name is Mike."

"No, it's Chewie."

"No, Sammy, his name is Mike," the man shook his head before extending his hand down towards Sam. "And my name, is Mr. Mr. Applegate."

Sam only reached out to shake Mr. Applegate's hand because he knew that it was the polite thing to do. However, it was at odds with his knowledge that he was not supposed to talk to strangers like this. His mom had always warned him against it. But there were strangers, and then there were strangers who could see invisible monkeys and knew his name. He was too curious not to talk to the latter. "How do you know Chewie? And how do you know my name?"

"Mike ran away from my house about… a week ago, let's say." Mr. Applegate was still grinning widely.

Sam made a face. "You have a monkey? You're not allowed to have a monkey for a pet." He'd definitely learned that in school when Sock had brought his pet alligator in for show and tell in the second grade. His teacher had promptly sent home a list of animals to parents that were not appropriate to have as pets or for show and tell. Alligators had been on the list twice.

Mr. Applegate just kept grinning. "I wouldn't call him a pet, but I'm going to need him back."

"How come they can't see him? And how come I can't hear him? And why's he got red eyes? And can you tell him to stop bugging Josie? She keeps getting angry with us." He found that he'd forgotten to wonder how he'd known that his name was Sam. "That's not a monkey. Monkeys don't talk."

"Smart kid. I did good with this one," the older man tilted his head back and laughed for a moment. His eyes crinkled and his white teeth gleamed. "It's not a monkey, but I still need it back. Want to help?"

"How?"

"Go play some Frisbee." Seemingly out of nowhere, Mr. Applegate produced a shiny red Frisbee. It was bright and not dented and scratched like the one in Sam's room at home, but never the less it didn't look like it really could have come from the inside of his suit jacket where he'd pulled it from. Sam peered closely at the man's hands, looking for some sort of trick somewhere on either his hands or the Frisbee itself. He wished he could have seen inside of the suit jacket.

He didn't take the disc immediately, instead looked up at the man with some suspicion. "I don't get it."

"Here." Mr. Applegate thrust the Frisbee towards Sam, doing everything but physically opening up his hand to make him take it. "Just throw it to your friend Sock."

"But the ball—"

"What ball?"

"The ball that got stuck under the…" Sam trailed off as he turned and pointed to underneath the slide where the ball had been just five minutes ago when he'd started talking to the man. There was noting but dirt, worms, and woodchips there now. The red rubber ball was gone, along with Sam, Sock, Ben, and Josie's hopes of foursquare. Sam had a plastic red Frisbee and the vague dream of a two on two game of ultimate in return. It didn't really measure up at all.

He looked up at Mr. Applegate. The man was still grinning. Sam didn't ever think he'd seen an adult grin this much. "You like Frisbee, right? Every kid likes a Frisbee."

"We also like foursquare." His ball had vanished into thin air and as a eight year old kid, he had every right to be unhappy about that. The Frisbee didn't make up for it and he knew his friends were going to be upset.

"Variety's the spice of life, Sammy." The Frisbee was shoved under his nose once more.

Sammy was a girl's name. "It's Sam." He wasn't going to get his ball back and he had to go back with something, so he reached out and took the disc from Mr. Applegate's hand. It didn't feel weird and it didn't bite. It was just a Frisbee and Sam didn't understand how this was supposed to help catch a pet monkey. Chewie had never shown signs of liking to play fetch before and what else was a Frisbee good for when it came to a pet?

Mr. Applegate watched for a moment as Sam turned the toy over in his hands, tossed it up about a foot in the air, and caught it again. "Just throw it."

"I don't get it," Sam said, clutching it. "How is the—"

"Throw the frisbee." Mr. Applegate wasn't smiling anymore.

That voice… Sam decided it was a voice that he didn't really want to hear again. It was angry, scary, maybe a little mean, like the voice of that guy who had the chainsaw that his mom never wanted his dad to let him watch. It didn't sound like it should have come out of Mr. Applegate's mouth and Sam didn't want to find out what happened next. It was like when that little vein on his dad's head started popping out after he'd done something like trying to prune the bushes himself— Ben's idea, not his.

He looked at the Frisbee again. He didn't understand why he was being asked to throw a Frisbee. He didn't understand how a Frisbee was going to get rid of Chewie, the invisible monkey with the red eyes and a penchant for looking up girl's skirts and pulling their pigtails (in that order). He didn't understand where his ball had gone or why Mr. Applegate knew his name. He didn't think he wanted to see what would happen if he threw the Frisbee, but he was more sure that he didn't want to see Mr. Applegate's metaphorical vein pop out even further.

Sam regrasped the Frisbee and lifted it into throwing position. "That'aboy, Sammy." Suddenly the man was smiling brightly again. Sam wasn't sure he liked that anymore than the voice.

"Hey, Sock!" he called out across the playground. He waved the Frisbee high in the air so that his friends would be able to see it and know it was coming. He could only ignore the confused looks on their faces and chose purposely to throw the thing towards Sock before Josie opened her mouth to say anything about the fact that the Frisbee obviously was not a ball. Sam knew that and he couldn't do anything about it.

It was a perfect throw. Sam didn't play much Frisbee, but he knew how to throw one and this one arced up through the air across the park. He watched as it headed straight for Sock, beginning its descent at just the right point to fall into his friend's outstretched hand.

But then it didn't. Which was odd, to say the least, because the strange turn it took through the air was anything but natural. Sam didn't throw around very often, but he threw enough to understand the way Frisbees were and were not supposed to move. Sharp, perfect ninety degree angled turns to the right were considered very unnatural, he thought, and probably shouldn't have been happening. Even Sock, Ben, and Josie looked strangely weirded out when the thing seemed to switch directions of its own free will. Sam watched as it instead soared to Sock's side, hovering next to Chewie in the air for five impossible seconds.

There was a blue flash of light, bright and cracking with sparks, electricity, and God only knew what else. Sock jumped back, very valiantly grabbing Josie with him and accidentally pulling them both to the ground while leaving poor Ben to be exposed to the elements, as it were. Ben screamed and it was only then that Sam noticed his mom look up from her book again, but he almost immediately looked back at the spot where the flash of blue had appeared and where Chewie had once been.

Chewie was gone. Even in school, Chewie had never moved more than a foot or two from Sock's side, but now he was nowhere to be found. The Frisbee landed on the ground, spinning quickly before finally coming to a complete stop in the dirt.

Sam's eyes raced back to Mr. Applegate. "Where did he go?"

With another one of his scary wide grins, the man draped his arm over Sam's shoulder, completely uninvited. He patted his shoulder and pulled him close, grinning down. "You make a man proud, Sammy."

"It's Sam," he insisted, trying but failing to shrug out of Mr. Applegate's grip. "What did you do to Chewie?"

"I didn't do anything, Sammy. That was all you."

There was a slight look of panic in his eyes as he glanced back over to his friends who seemed to have finally realised that he was talking to a strange man. Sock and Josie had gotten up from the dirt, but while Josie was trying to help Ben who looked as if he'd managed to burn his arm, Sock was back on his hands and knees on the ground, calling out for Chewie. The monkey might have been creepy and rude and gotten them into a lot of trouble everywhere they took him, but he'd been Sock's friend. Sam couldn't help but feel guilty for being the one to make him vanish.

But it hadn't been him. Not by himself, at least. The man with his arm around his shoulder had played a larger part in it than he was admitting. As weird as the red eyed monkey had been, that Frisbee was weirder and he was sorry that he'd even touched it.

Sam started wriggling out of Mr. Applegate's arm again, his efforts doubling when he noticed his mom looking over at him, a rather horrified look on her face. He half expected her to do something (he wasn't supposed to talk to strangers, after all, and he definitely wasn't supposed to take things they offered him), but she seemed frozen in her seat and Mr. Applegate just smiled at her as well, giving her a mock salute along with it as if they were old friends. It was only after Mrs. Oliver had seen that the older man let go of Sam, waving at her once more after he did. "How's Mr. Oliver doing?"

His mother didn't answer and even at eight years old, Sam knew he didn't like the look on her face. His parents weren’t supposed to be scared of things, they were his parents. Sure, his mom was a girl and all, but she was an adult and she was his mom. What business did she have being scared of anything? Guilt over Chewie was pushed aside for a moment as he realised that his proximity to Mr. Applegate was really bothering her.

"That's good to hear," Mr. Applegate replied to her silence. He reached out and ruffled Sam's hair. "Cute kid, by the way. He looks like his dad."

Sam immediately ran his hand through his hair, trying to push it all back into place. His scalp felt like it was crawling where the man had touched him.

"Mrs. Oliver!" Josie's voice rang out through the nervous silence and Sam felt like he could finally focus on someone else. He looked at Ben, who was cradling his arm. "I think Ben needs antiseptic and band aids. Can we go home now?"

Normally he and Sock would have made fun of Josie for knowing a word like antiseptic, but Sock was too busy poking his head up the baby tube slide in search of his red-eyed monkey and Sam wasn't much in the joking mood. He watched as his mother stood up from the park bench and started throwing things into her purse.

He looked up at Mr. Applegate, muttering very quickly, "I have to go now. It was nice to meet you." Lies.

"That's alright," Mr. Mr. Applegate said, that smile still shining on his lips. "You did good today, kid. Go on with your mom."

Sam wasn't exactly sure what he'd done 'good' on that afternoon, though he supposed it had to do with Chewie. If that were the case, he much rather would have failed. He could tell from the way Sock was searching that he wasn't going to take the loss well. His friend wasn't going to be fun to live with for the next few days, or at least until something distracted him. Usually that wasn't exactly the hardest thing in the world to do, ADHD and all. Still, Sam felt bad.

He didn't need to be told twice when it came to going with his mom. He was happy to get away from Mr. Applegate and the reach of his arm. He bolted, hurrying over to his mom's side. She was nearly done packing and Josie was leading Ben over, all the while yelling at Sock to hurry up over her shoulder. It was going to be hard to pull him away from the search for Chewie.

Sam couldn't help but look over his shoulder once more at Mr. Mr. Applegate, even as his mom pulled him close, hugging him as if he'd had some sort of near death experience. The older man waved happily upon catching Sam's eye.

Sam turned away. "He knows dad?" he asked his mom.

It was, apparently, a mystery for another afternoon. "How many times have I told you, Samuel Oliver? You are not to talk to strangers." Sam returned her tight hug, trying his best not to squirm when she held him at arm's length to get a good look at him, as if somehow Mr. Applegate had left some mark on him that no one but her would be able to see. Sam certainly hadn't felt anything, but he let his mom do it because he knew she'd been scared for a little while and he'd decided that he hadn't liked seeing that.

"M'sorry, " he said.

"We'll talk about this when we get home." And with one final squeeze she stood up straight.

She kept his hand firmly in his as she walked over to greet Josie and Ben, and to look at Ben's arm. It was declared to be a burn and she informed them that they'd have to get home quickly, meaning that Sock had to pull his head out of the sand in the sandbox and hurry up and get in the car. Sam watched as his mom very calmly explained to Sock that only ostriches did that with their heads and that he, she was sorry to say, was not an ostrich. So Chewie or no Chewie, he was going to have to come and get in the car.

"I don't know where he went, Sam," a frowning Sock said to him as they walked back to the car. "He was there and then you threw the Frisbee and he was telling me that he wasn't going to play fetch like a stupid dog. Then the Frisbee hit him. Then he was gone."

It was as if everyone but him had forgotten seeing the bright blue flash of light and electricity. Even his mother was asking Ben where on earth he'd blistered his arm and musing aloud if the metal parts of the playground equipment had been too hot, but Sam knew she'd seen it. He knew they all had, but he remembered the look on his mom's face specifically. It was the one that had made him want to run from Mr. Applegate.

They were ushered to the car as quickly as one could usher four eight year olds. Ben, Sock, and Josie piled into the back seat while Mrs. Oliver tossed everything into the trunk and Sam pulled open the passenger door. He was still half listening to Sock go on about his lost monkey when something fell out of the car to his feet. Bending down, Sam scooped up his red foursquare ball, holding it tentatively in his hands before climbing into the car. He left the red Frisbee sitting on the ground, right where it had landed next to his ball. He liked Frisbee, but he didn't like the way Mr. Applegate played it.

Tue, 29 Jul 2008 07:20:44 GMT

Title: Betty, the Bat, and the Bird: (Ficlet #4)
Fandom: Batman Begins/Ugly Betty
Characters/Pairing: Betty Suarez, Marc St. James, and Amanda Sommers
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,765
Summary: Betty, Marc, and Amanda have a three way over the phone.
Notes: Thanks for the comments. And the patience.

• First Arc: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part14, and Part 15

• Second Arc: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

If Betty looked perplexed as she held the phone to her ear, it was because she honestly was. Odd, how this feeling tended to only come over her when she was forced to deal with people from Mode. Not Daniel, mind you, and certainly not Christina. Even Wilhemina never left her feeling this flabbergasted. Wilhelmina, evil and all, at least made sense in her own special, evil, and twisted sort of way.

Maybe she wasn't being fair, then. It wasn't Mode that left her feeling blindsided with nonsensical and unimportant babbling. Not, it was really just Marc and Amanda. Amanda, who wasn't even supposed to be on the phone. Except, when Betty had tried to tell her that, she'd gotten a response equivalent to, 'this is an A and B conversation so C your way out of it', from the blonde receptionist.

"Amanda, first of all, we're not in third grade any more," Betty replied, scrubbing her forehead with her free hand. Her other hand held a pen between her fingers, nearly crushing the thing to an untimely death as she tried to remain patient. "Second of all, I called you. Actually, I didn't call you, I called Marc. You're the receptionist. You're supposed to patch me through, not patch me through, listen in, and offer your opinion."

"Oh my God, she keeps talking," Amanda said, apparently not understanding that she was meant to, at some point, remove herself from the phone.

Betty could hear Marc sigh into the phone on the second Mode line. "I know, sweetie, but Willy says I have to talk to her."

"But why?" The last word was drawn out into an annoyingly high pitched whine. Betty had to hold the phone away from her ear as she waited for Amanda to finish.

"I'm trying to get her boss here for the DILF issue," Marc explained.

Betty scowled. "I'm right here, Marc. And it's not called the DILF issue. It The Most Eligible Bachelor issue."

"Aka? DILFs," both Marc and Amanda said in tandem, their giggles ringing shrilly through the phone line.

Betty was beginning to regret ever returning Marc's phone call. Granted it was her job, but still, damn her civility. She could have at least made him wait a day or two. But no, she'd come back from her lunch break, seen the message light flashing and had decided for some odd reason, that calling back Marc St. James first thing that afternoon would be a good idea.

The message left had been a rather simple one. An initial request and invitation to appear in Mode's Eligible Bachelor issue. It was the issue for single, rich, attractive, and famous men to appear in each year. There were fifty men total, but only three of the finalists received the 'honour' of a four page spread of pictures and an accompanying article usually written by some rising journalistic star of the moment. Bruce had apparently garnered one of the three spots that year, cinching it, according to Christina, with the adoption of Richard Grayson. He was a shoo-in, and they seemed to want him enough to have Marc call personally on Wilhelmina's behalf, instead of the people whose entire job it was to book these people.

As her nephew would have said, Mode wanted Bruce Wayne something fierce for their issue. That much was true, but they would have to go through Betty first, and though Daniel was still someone she'd do anything for, Amanda's presence on the phone was not helping Mode's case in the least.

No lie, she did maybe enjoy this moment of power over Marc, Amanda, and everyone else at Mode who'd ever given her the stinkeye for actually eating more than a piece of spinach for lunch.

"My boss is not a DILF, Marc," Betty said, at the same time glancing over her shoulder to make sure Bruce's office door wasn't open. This was not a discussion she thought he really needed to hear.

Amanda snickered into the phone. "He's definitely a dad I'd like to fu—"

"Amanda!" Betty buried her face in her hands, just not needing the excuse think of Bruce and Amanda doing anything together. She'd been so glad when after the ball in December, a second date had never been arranged. Betty was firm in her approval of Selina, and so far no one else had met the bar.

It was hard to understand why, when really, the bar consisted of having more than three brain cells and being able to read sentences more complex than, 'see Jane run'. She would never understand where Bruce met these women.

She took a breath. "Marc, I'm really busy today. When you're ready to discuss this like an adult you can call –"

"Betty!" Marc interrupted, his tone rising nearly an octave it seemed like. Betty looked sufficiently shocked on her end, but held her fire. "Betty, wait. Willy really wants this, so let's get serious here. How much for the sexy DILF and the kid on the cover?"

"If you say DILF one more time, I'm hanging up," she warned.

"Fine. How much?" he asked again.

Betty shrugged, though they couldn't see. "I don't know, I'd have to ask." Knowing Bruce, it would all be donated to charity anyway. He never seemed to keep the money that came from things like this, in the very rare instances that he took part. "You're not going to get Dick though, just tell Wilhelmina that now. It's not going to happen."

"That's cool. I don't do father-son threesomes anyway."

"Amanda!" Betty's eyes went wide and she felt more scandalized than she usually did after talking to the blonde. She wanted to cover her ears, hide under her desk, and go 'LALALALALA' for a good long time. "Mark, I swear I'm hanging up."

She could hear him sigh back in New York. "Amanda…"

"Whatever," Amanda said, obviously trying to make it sound as if she didn't care that she wasn't going to be let in on the conversation. Likely Marc would tell her everything later anyway. "Thing Two just walked by anyway. Do lunch?"

"Did you bring your rice cake?"

"Crouton."

"Splurging!"

"I had a good night."

"Omigod, you must spill."

"Over. Lunch." Betty bit out. "Marc, Wilhelmina's going to be really angry if –"

"Put a muzzle over it, Thing One. Kisses." Betty had the feeling that Amanda's last word was to Marc rather than her, and she was glad to hear the click of the other line, signifying Amanda's departure from the conversation. Maybe it would seem like less of an ordeal now.

She took a deep breath, meant to be calming. Professional time. "Alright. Now… the DIL—The Most Eligible Bachelors Issue." So much for professionalism.

"Told you so," Marc said smugly.

"When's the shoot?" she asked, flipping open Bruce's planner. It bloomed with colour, Betty's obsessive compulsive postit-note planning system coming into full view. Not many people could make heads or tails of it, not even Alfred, but she understood, and that was what mattered.

"February 12th. It's on the stands for May." Marc paused a moment before adding, "Make sure he's still a bachelor in May."

"I don't plan on when my boss falls in love," Betty said dryly, though she was rather sure that come May, Bruce would still be as single as he ever had been– he was going to middle-of-no-where Bhutan for a month, after all. She sighed slightly, shaking her head. Sometimes she wondered if there was more behind the reasons why Selina retreated to Europe so often, leaving Bruce moping around and brooding even more so than he usually did. Dick's presence seemed to have helped, but a sixteen year old boy was no substitute for a girlfriend.

No matter what the tabloids said.

She couldn't help but shudder. The worst of the newsrags had gone absolutely too far with that particular line of gossip.

Admittedly, Marc's voice made her shudder sometimes as well. "Can't you just like, stick one of those orange pieces of paper over all of March and April?"

"No, because orange stands for 'Bruce Time'." Well, it was true. She only used orange post-its on weekdays between the hours of six and eleven in the morning, and then five and six in the evening. It was all part of the Rules. "Lime green is for meetings, purple is for lunches, Lucius is blue, dates are pink, and –"

"Fine, just keep him in meetings until April 20th. That's when it comes out," Marc interrupted her.

People really didn't understand her boss, Betty found herself realizing at times. That was the way Bruce wanted it, she knew that, but it was still odd sometimes when she realized the skewed perceptions they had of his personality. He wasn't really the billionaire playboy everyone thought he was, and he didn't chase skirts like there was no tomorrow. Betty actually though he treated women pretty well… especially when she compared him to Daniel. She didn't like to compare the two, but they really did have their glaring differences.

Rubber and bat fetish notwithstanding.

"I'll ask him if he's okay with doing it," she said, finally. She was being exceptionally polite considering that this was Marc, she thought to herself. This entire conversation could have gone badly had she been in a worse mood. "The whole… magazine and photoshoot thing really isn't him."

"We're going to pay him." As if that really did solve everything.

"He's a billionaire." Betty couldn't help but roll her eyes slightly.

"It's money."

Betty raised an eyebrow on her end, shaking her head. Yeah, it was true. No one understood her boss except for her and Alfred, and even she didn't completely get him at times. Alfred had had his entire life to get what made Bruce tick. She'd only had nine months. It had been an eventful nine months, mind, but still only nine months. There were lots of things she didn't understand about him, like why he'd decided to up and adopt a kid on a month's notice.

But that was neither here nor now. Betty licked her lips. "I'm just saying, it's not definite. I'll ask."

"Willy's going to be seriously. Pissed. Off."

The smile that came to her lips and lit up her eyes was perhaps not the most innocent that had ever touched her features. It wasn't that she was trying to be mean, but there was a certain satisfaction that tinged her final words.

"Not my problem anymore, Marc." And with that, she hung up the phone.

Sat, 19 Jul 2008 02:14:24 GMT

I had an idea on the train this morning. I don't think I have time to write said idea, or the skill. It's unfortunate, but SOMEONE should write it :-/

Reaper + Eli Stone, anyone? Boy who works for the Devil meets the lawyer who works for God? Perhaps boy who works for the Devil asks the lawyer who works for God to look over a certain eternally binding contract?

I'd love to read that. I'm not sure whether or not I grasp the legalese to write it though. Or know the Eli characters well enough, for that matter.

Besides, I have two Betty stories which are half done and sitting on my harddrive. Unfortunately work has been kicking my ass this summer. Slowly but surely Betty gets written.

I saw the Dark Knight again today as well? Thoughts?? I feel like I can discuss it now. Seeing it again actually made me slightly happier with the way the charity ball turned out at the end of the first Betty and the Bat arc. The Joker wasn't exactly right, but I felt like I got Bruce well enough, and his reactions in a situation like that. That was one of the few scenes I could envision slipping Betty into.

Anyway, enough of my babble. I'll get back to writing now :-)

Tue, 15 Jul 2008 05:14:58 GMT

I thought some might be interested to know that I saw the Dark Knight tonight. I went to the premeire and got incredibly lucky. It was a cool fandom night. I legitimately spoke with both Kevin Smith and Christian Bale. Even though with Christian I sounded slightly mentally ill because I was thinking about how incredibly hot he is at the same time.

There are days when I absolutely love living with the city just thirty minutes away. Today was one of those days. My friend Noelle and I had been planning to go to the Dark Knight premier for awhile now, but we thought we'd just be going to see the stars, not to actually see the movie.

Well, we saw the stars. Sat next to the stars. And saw the movie with them. In the same theater.

I'm still a little high from it all.

I had a fucking legitimate conversation with Kevin Smith. As in like Kevin Smith of Jay and Silent Bob. I was sitting with one person in between us! Christian Bale was like five rows ahead of me. I got to talk to him too.

And I should really try explaining this in order. That would help.

Noelle and I got to the theater at around 4pm. There weren't many people there and the people that were... you could tell they were fans. There were a few Joker faces, but mostly a lot of 'I Believe in Harvey Dent'. People were completely decked out in the stuff. It was all sorts of awesome. Because we got to go into the theater though, I'm glad I bypassed decking myself out as a fangirl. I looked normal and neat and put together, which was good. Anyway, so we stood out there with everyone and talked away the two hours until six when the celebs started showing up. The sidewalk outside of the theater (the IMAX at 68th and Broadway-- where I'm seeing it on Friday morning again) was closed off and there actually weren't TOO many people there. It was nothing like War of the Worlds was and I'm pretty sure that was on purpose, because the celebs didn't spend too much time signing things. But they did sign things, which was cool.

We were standing RIGHT next to the red carpet entrance, so everyone passed by us was they walked in. Noelle got better pics than I did of everyone except Christian, so I'll post more when she gets those up on Facebook. Michael Caine arrived first but he didn't bother coming over at all. The Aaron Eckhart showed up and he wanted to come over, but his handlers wouldn't let him and he yelled out 'sorry' before he walked into the red carpet tent. But THEN Christian Bale arrived and everyone went fucking NUTS. He came over and signed stuff. But the only pictures he took were with these two little kids. The security guards let them in to take the pictures which was srsly cute and adorable. After Christian left Maggie Gyllenhaal arrived and she actually looked pretty good, which was surprising. The only one from the cast we didn't see was Gary Oldman, but we heard he was there. Then all these random celebs started showing up like Blake Lively, Lauren Conrad, the Speed Racer kid, Josh Hartnett, and some more Gossip Girl people. I'm pretty sure we also saw Heath Ledger's family.

So after everyone had arrived they started to disperse us, but they also started handing out tickets to certain people. Including me and Noelle. We thought they were free tickets to opening night at first, but no. They were for tonight. I think they needed to fill the remaining bits of the theater. We promptly started flipping out, and upon seeing us flip out a bunch of reporters descended on us, which was funny because other people had gotten tickets too. I think we must have just been shrieking the loudest. We were interviewed by FOX, the AP, ABC, one of those Access Hollywood or Extra shows, and someone else who was local.

The seating was assigned once they started letting us in the theater. We had to check everything at the door, but then they gave us free popcorn and free sodas so it didn't matter that I didn't have my wallet (I was parched after being out on the street for three hours). Noelle and I had to split up once we were inside of the theater. My seat was reeeeeally good. Perfectly in the center and then just before the lights dimmed I realised I was sitting one seat away from Kevin Smith. I could see the back of Christian Bale's head too. And Noelle was sitting further back but she was sitting with a bunch of the Gossip Girl people and Lauren Conrad from the Hills.

Then the movie started.

I'm still absorbing and I don't want to tempt anyone with spoilers. All I'm going to say is that it was everything I went in expecting. It fulfilled every hope and dream a comic geek could have had for a Batman movie. Heath Ledger's Joker was PHENOMENAL. There were overhead shots of Gotham/Chicago that were absolutely GORGEOUS. The movie itself was just shot so beautifully. The Soundtrack was perfect. EVERYTHING was perfect.

When the movie ended I realised that my heart rate was up way higher than it should have been for the past two and a half hours. I also really had to pee. But I realised that no one else seemed to recognise Kevin Smith. So I pretended not to really recognise him either. And I turned to him and was all, "wow, that was really good." And he was like, "Oh, I've seen it twice already." And from there I said something about how good the Joker was and how it was so true to the eighties version of him, and he said something about the Killing Joke, and I was all, "that's one of my favorite Batverse stories." and then he says, "a girl comic geek? some guy's going to fucking love you." And then I was all, "*starts stuttering* You're kevin smith right?" Then there were some pleasantries exchanged and I said, "so, um, I really like Reaper, do you know anything about next season?" and he said he didn't. And then we were sort of separated by the crowd, but he held the door for me to walk out of the theater.

So I met back up with Noelle in the theater lobby, and we got majorly turned around. We accidentally went out to doors the celebs were going out through >.> It led straight onto the street pretty much and all their black SUVs were parked on the other side. Noelle and I walked out and pretty much ended up standing like a foot away from Christian Bale and his wife, 'cause we were all trying to cross the street. So at this point I start to internally freak out and finally I was like, "Um, I really liked the movie >.> It was really good and you did a really good job." It was something to that effect. I said all this sounding partially mentally handicapped, I swear. But he looked at me and smiled and said, "I'm glad you enjoyed it."

At that point my life was pretty much complete. It totally didn't matter that my pictures weren't that great or that no autographs were had. This night was like... omg, it was perfect. It was one of the best days I've had in a damned long time. In fact, I should have days like this more often.

I'll post more pictures once I have Noelle's as well. There's one picture of us holding up our tickets (which, YAY, they let us keep!) which I'm definitely going to stick up.

So, yeah. Tonight was just fucking awesome.
(xposted from cajun_chick411)

The movie really got my Betty juices flowing. In a bad, bad way. And for some strange reason I had an idea for a Superman ficlet as well. I don't even like Superman D:

Anyway, that was what I did this evening. Hopefully this post makes up a tiny bit for the wait between stories.

Thu, 03 Jul 2008 06:59:16 GMT

Title: Betty, the Bat, and the Bird: (Ficlet #3)
Fandom: Batman Begins/Ugly Betty
Characters/Pairing: Betty Suarez, Bruce Wayne
Rating: PG
Word Count: 2,460
Summary: Betty gives Bruce one of her famed peptalks. Bruce decides to leave the country. Maybe not the result she was hoping for.
Notes: I've been busy with getting a job and getting whattheficathon ready. Obviously Dark Knight is coming out soon, and while I completely intend to finish this, I might write a drabble or two for that here and there. I'm also working on a small Reaper fic. So those were my distractions too. But I make it up to you with a slightly longer ficlet! Hopefully it's worth it. I do enjoy Bruce in this one.

• First Arc: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part14, and Part 15

• Second Arc: Part 1, Part 2

With stacks of papers and a mug of coffee in her hands, Betty stood from behind her desk, knocked, and walked into Bruce's office. "Good morning," she chirped. Her hands were somewhat emptied when she dropped the papers on the side table by the wall. She then headed over to stand in front of Bruce, thrusting the steaming mug of coffee in his face as she looked him over. She took inventory of his various injuries on a daily basis, and though she didn't write them down, she remembered. She knew this was the third time since she'd returned to the office that at least a thin layer of makeup had been applied over his nose. "You look horrible. Rough night?"

"You haven't seen the papers." Bruce took the coffee from her outstretched hand and quickly took a sip.

"No, I haven't. You know, it was weird… I took the ferry over this morning and the guy at the dock was out of everything except for the Star Ledger and the Enquirer." Betty shook her head, giving a sigh. "I hate the Ledger. It's all Jersey news."

Bruce took another sip and set his cup down. Betty watched as he reached down into his leather briefcase, pulling out that day's Gotham Gazette. Betty usually purchased one for herself on the way in (she had a bit of a journalistic crush on one of the op-ed writers) but coming in from the docks that morning had screwed with her schedule a bit. She'd barely had time to pick up a bagel and fruit bowl. She put the bagel in front of Bruce now, along with a small thing of cream cheese and a plastic knife.

She handed him the knife just as he handed her the Gazette. "I ate already."

"Lying, Bruce? At this point in our relationship?" Betty shook her head again and smirked slightly. "Alfred called to let me know you needed breakfast before I was out of Queens. What did I tell you about coming in early and not eating?"

"Page three," Bruce said gruffly. He took the bagel from her reluctantly and Betty looked down at the paper, flipping through shortly to the indicated page.

When she looked down at the page three or four articles greeted her. She skimmed the headlines, noting something about a corrupt assemblyman, and some analysis on the upcoming election (Bruce's friend, Harvey, was running for something), and then the final headline, Arkahm Asylum Goes Green!: ivy and vines cover entire building overnight. Betty could only assume this was what she'd been looking for.

"This is page three news?" Betty asked incredulously, looking up at Bruce. Ivy covering an entire building overnight seemed like it would be worthy of more than page three.

"Look at page one."

He'd spread that cream cheese awfully fast, Betty noted, but still, she turned back to the front page. The Penguin Terrorises Gallery Opening! she read and looked up again. "Who's the Penguin?" she had to ask. It frustrated her a bit, because she liked to think that she had Gotham villains memorized. It was matter of both pride and survival.

"Picture. Bottom of the page, second column."

Well you're friendly this morning. The words almost slipped from her lips, but she thought better of it, instead glancing down the page once more. It took her little time to locate the aforementioned picture. A round, beady-eyed man stared back at her. Perched between his small, closely set eyes was a long hooked nose, round spectacles perched on top. He wore an old fashioned yet dapper coat and tails, though the cumberbund underneath didn't seem to fit just right. His top hat didn't even look clean in the picture. Betty pushed her hair out of her face and scratched her forehead as she stared at the picture. He didn't really look threatening, but she'd learned not to judge a Gotham book by its cover.

She folded the paper back up after she'd read the caption. Glitzy Grifter Grabs Gems. "Good alliteration, 'cept it's kind of obvious the spent some time with the Word thesaurus putting that one together," Betty mused to herself. She paused to see if Bruce would respond, but it was quickly becoming apparent that he wasn't in the mood for small talk this morning. She sighed. "So, the Penguin? And… Arkham was Poison Ivy? The whole green vine thing…"

"Yes." Succinct. She was definitely going to be doing most of the talking this morning.

She watched him, more specifically his face. "Which one of them killed your nose?"

"The Penguin," came the short answer.

"He must have been jealous." Betty tapped the Penguin's large schnoz in the picture and grinned. "Not that I'm making fun of the guy for his looks or anything, but, well… this is unfortunate. I mean, what…" she trailed off, realizing that Bruce wasn't even giving her the benefit of grunting in response anymore. Usually, he at least did that.

She sighed. "Okay, not the best of nights." She shuffled a few pieces of paper around on his desk, not really having anything to do with them. It was an unusually quiet morning at the office; perhaps fate's way of balancing out the rough night Bruce had apparently had. "I'm sorry," she offered softly.

It would have been awkward had he spoken too soon, she supposed. It might have sounded as if he were brushing her off, simply not caring for what she'd said. The pause that ensued, off-putting as the silence was, at least let her know that he was considering her words. They weren't empty at all.

"It's not your fault." Neither were his words empty. Bruce sounded just as sincere as she'd been herself, but Betty recognized the tone of his voice. It wasn't her fault because everything rested on his shoulders. It really was a lot, she thought, to blame the crime rate of an entire city on himself. Even if it was his own alter ego. "Gotham isn't getting any safer."

"Well that's not your fault either," Betty countered. "Two freaks-of-the-week happened to get their weeks confused and all came out at once. It's gotta happen sometimes. You're just one man, remember? And I think you do a pretty good job… just being one guy without powers. You can't do everything yourself. You run a billion dollar company and you work all night putting bad guys in jail. You get three hours of sleep a night. You work way too hard, and you're going to get upset because some guy who calls himself the Penguin happened to get the upper hand for one night? Arkham is on one side of the city and the museum's on the other. You're really good at what you do, Bruce, but you're not two people. Maybe you just need a sidekick. Or a partner. But if not, you can't beat yourself up over things that you can't help."

She sounded like her father, and maybe that surprised her a bit. She hadn't meant to say so much and she certainly hadn't meant to sound as parental as she had. It had gone from pep-talk to stern talking to that she was pretty sure she'd gotten from her father once upon a time at the age of seventeen.

Just as Betty thought she'd been dismissed through silence –there was only so much awkward paper shuffling a girl could do, after all– Bruce spoke again. His voice was as dark as Betty had ever heard it. "You act as if I have any right to bring someone else into this world."

"Um, hello, I'm standing right here." She couldn't help but point to herself, giving Bruce a look as her nervousness began to slip away once more. As if she was completely in the dark about what he did at nights.

"That's different," he said almost immediately, as if he'd already known what she'd been about to say. "You're not out there putting your life at risk."

"No," Betty said, looking him square in the eye. "Instead I'm inside putting my life at risk. You're the one who wanted to fire me because you thought it was too dangerous for me to work for you, now that the Joker knows. That's dangerous, isn't it? Risky? Whatever you want to call it."

Bruce gave her a look. "It's a risk I'm still not completely comfortable with you taking."

"I'm twenty-three, Bruce, I can make my own decisions. I want to be here," she said, shaking her head. "Maybe you need a vacation."

"Abandoning Gotham is not going to help," he answered. His hand reached out for the coffee mug and he took another sip.

Betty noted that the mug wasn't steaming anymore. She trotted over to the coffee maker to the side of the room and took the pot off of the hot plate to bring back over to Bruce and top off his mug. When he nodded his thanks she smiled just slightly in recognition of the fact that there was no grunt accompanying his nod.

"I think," she started slowly. "That a vacation would be good for you. Think about it, you could just go away and take some time to relax. You'd come back feeling refreshed and maybe more focused. Not so much with the blaming yourself for every little thing that happens. Couldn't you ask someone to watch Gotham for you while you're away? Superman? Or that Green Arrow guy? Superman still owes you for that whole thing with… My-zeck-pie-lick?" Betty could feel her tongue knotting up the moment she thought about even trying to pronounce the name.

"Mr. Mxyzptlk," Bruce corrected, somehow saying the imp's name perfectly.

"Right," Betty said quickly. "Him. Superman owes you for that one. You're the one who got him to say his name backwards. Ask him to watch Gotham for a week. Go and take a vacation. Take Dick with you… you have a son now. Bond with him. Go… snowboarding together. Or something." To be honest, Betty really couldn't see Bruce snowboarding, but she was sure he got the point.

Maybe he had. Betty was surprised to see even a trace of enthusiasm cross his features. Nowhere near a smile, but it was something. Betty stepped back, coffee pot still in her hand as she waited for him to give some sign that that really had been enthusiasm she'd seen light up his eyes.

And then, the words he didn't say very often, but that she loved to hear.

"You're right."

"I am?"

"You are." Features still grim, Bruce looked straight at her. "On all counts."

"Okay, I don't remember what 'all' was, but I'm going to assume you want to go on a vacation and you want to take Dick." She smiled at him, not-so-secretly pleased with herself. "Where are you going to go?"

He was quiet for a moment before his answer came, clear and sure. "Bhutan."

Betty blinked. "Bhutan? Um… okay." She paused, deciding on exactly how dumb it would make her seem, asking her next question. "What's Bhutan? Er… more importantly, where is Bhutan, and will I be able to get anyone to fly you are Dick there?"

"It's a kingdom in South Asia, and I'll take care of travel plans." Was it her imagination or had his mood just suddenly improved? It wasn't as if he was smiling and singing a jaunty tune, but something in his demeanor had changed noticeably. Betty wasn't going to question a good thing.

"That's good," she said instead, plastering another smile on her lips. "That's great! You and Dick, seeing the world. Or, well, South Asia. When do you want to go?"

"A month from now." Betty couldn't help but notice how sure of himself he sounded. Not that she was complaining. A happy boss meant a happy day for her. She finally put the coffee pot back on the hot plate and went about finding a pen and pad to start taking notes.

"How long? One week? Two?" she asked, pen poised above the paper to jot down notes.

"Six."

Her mouth formed a small o. "Six… days?"

"Six weeks," he said.

"That's… definitely a vacation," she commented, but wrote it down hastily. "Six weeks all in Bhutan?"

Bruce nodded. "That's right. Again, don't worry about the travel– I'll deal with it. And you'll be paid for the time off, of course.

"Really? Thank you." Six weeks paid vacation was definitely not something to complain about. Her eyes were maybe a bit wide and her face may have paled (six weeks paid vacation was something Betty hadn't dreamed of having until maternity leave, and she hadn't exactly planned on taking that any time soon), but she was thrilled. "What are you going to do with Dick in Bhutan for six weeks?"

"You'd be surprised the amount of things you can do there for six weeks." He stood from behind is desk, coffee mug in hand. She watched as he walked over to the large windows that overlooked the entirety of Gotham City. Betty had never been able to go too close. Her fear of heights and a weird sort of motion sickness always got the best of her when she looked out or down.

"Probably," Betty answered honestly. She shrugged a bit, but smiled nevertheless as she slid the pen through the spiral binding on her pad so as not to lose it. "So, I'm going to go cancel your March now."

"Just move everything around. I'll take a busy February, if necessary."

It was going to be necessary, but if Bruce didn't care then neither did she. "Anyone you want me to notify specially? Like Selina?"

"Selina can find out from the papers like everyone else will, I'm sure," Bruce said simply.

"Anything else?" she figured there would be, what with this being ridiculously sudden and all.

He shook his head. "That's all."

Betty nodded and gathered her things in her arms. A final smile was offered before she turned to head out of the room.

After she'd closed his door behind her, Betty stopped for a few seconds, screwing up her face in confusion and wondering exactly what had just happened back in that office between her and Bruce. She hadn't actually expected him to take her up on her vacation suggestion. She was still a little shocked that he had. Bruce didn't just do things spontaneously. He didn't just… go places. Everything he did was carefully thought out and planned to a tee, even the crazier things he did under his billionaire playboy persona… everything was perfectly planned and executed.

As she sat down behind her desk, Betty found herself wondering exactly what was in Bhutan.

Mon, 09 Jun 2008 02:02:00 GMT

Title: Betty, the Bat, and the Bird: (Ficlet #2)
Fandom: Batman Begins/Ugly Betty
Characters/Pairing: Betty Suarez, Alfred Pennyworth
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,776
Summary: Betty and Alfred have a heart to heart.
Notes: whattheficathon. That is all :D

• First Arc: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part14, and Part 15

• Second Arc: Part 1

It was only after Alfred had watched Betty beat the bread dough into a near pulp for ten minutes that he decided perhaps something should be said. The bread wasn't likely to survive any further kneading, if one could really call the pummeling it was receiving that. Gently, as was his way, Alfred reached out and eased the board out from underneath the younger woman's flour covered hands. "You seem frustrated, Miss. Suarez."

"Does it show?" Betty asked, unintentionally blowing a strand of hair away from her face with a sigh. She stumbled just slightly as she reached back to sit on the wooden stool sitting by the island in the middle of the large kitchen. The small seat had been in the room since Bruce's childhood and still gave not even as much as a squeak of protest when Betty finally perched atop it. "Sorry. I hope I didn't ruin the dough."

"Not at all." And to prove as such, he quickly molded the bread into the appropriate shape before laying it down on the tray which would eventually go into the oven. "I believe you're worried about something?"

"Ugh," she groaned. Her head fell forward onto the table and she cradled it in her arms. Her next words were muttered. "It shows."

"Slightly." Sometimes a white lie was necessary when it came to delicately navigating a situation. "Might I ask what's wrong?"

Slowly, Alfred watched Betty's face reappear as she turned to glance at him. "It doesn't bother you? At all?"

"What doesn't bother me, Miss. Suarez?"

She opened her mouth to speak almost instantly, but it seemed words had tried to move faster than her thoughts and she stopped to collect them, biting down on her lower lip. Alfred simply waited patiently and reached for the last bowl of dough to knead.

After a moment his patience as rewarded. "Bother is the wrong word. I'm worried."

"Again, I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific." Alfred pressed the dough down on the wooden board, careful to treat it well before arranging it on the stove-bound tray as well. "Out with it."

"The hearing today. I've got butterflies… the bad kind. I'm just worried." Betty sighed again, shaking her head. She was quiet for another moment, and then, "I just— you know I'd do anything for him, Alfred, but just don't think he can do this! He doesn't have the right to. I mean… it just seems– if it were Justin I'd flip out."

"And yet it's not, and you are anyway." A small smile touched Alfred's lips. He slipped oven mitts on and started towards the stove, trays of raw dough in hand. "'Flipping out' as you say."

"I know it's not Justin. But it's just… weird."

Alfred couldn't say that he altogether disagreed with Betty's sentiments. They were valid. As haltingly expressed as they had been, he still understood the crux of her problem with the entire situation which the residents of Wayne Manor –both temporary and permanent– found themselves in that morning.

"I mean," Betty continued, pushing hair behind her ear. "You know him better than I do, but… is Bruce really the father type?"

He closed the oven and turned the dial. "I do not believe anyone ever truly knows the answer to that question until they're faced with the possibility and opportunity; and people who are 'the type' are not always faced with the opportunity. Have you noticed the difference of late?"

"What do you mean?"

"I'm sure if you think back, you'll note the good humour Master Bruce has kept the past month."

"You mean not walking around glaring all the time? A sixteen year old kid is not a substitute for Prozac."

Betty wouldn't understand immediately, Alfred knew this. Perhaps if she had, one day, been with Bruce for as long as he has, she would be able to read into his decisions without a second thought. But for now, Alfred understood the frustration that tinged her words and halted her speech. It was hard to wrap one's mind around Bruce Wayne's decision. Hundreds of members of the press and paparazzi couldn't figure out his motivation; it was little surprise that Betty was having trouble by herself. Especially when one factored in what she knew.

Alfred suspected it was the extra knowledge Betty had which made it harder for her to understand exactly what Bruce was doing . As Batman, Bruce risked his life night after night, coming home to face the older man in various bruised and broken states, often going to work the next morning only to have his faithful assistant swipe a layer of concealer over his face to hide the black eyes. Together they were a well oiled machine. Alfred knew his place and Betty knew hers. They were old enough to know and understand the risks of what their boss did, and the risk it put them at if his identity was ever discovered.

What did it mean to throw a child into that?

"How long can you lie about black spandex and rubber anyway?"

It was not exactly the way Alfred would have put it himself, but the sentiment was echoed. He didn't doubt Bruce's parenting skills – there was a learning curve with each new parent – but he did wonder exactly what the man planned to do concerning his nightly escapades. They'd been sparse for a few weeks now, after dealing with Anthony Zuco, but Alfred knew Bruce too well to expect the mission to a take a seat to the side for anything. Even a sixteen year old boy who'd just lost his parents. If anything that was fuel to Bruce's fire, for people in his city simply didn't get away with things like that.

Unfortunately, there were some things that couldn't be pushed to the wayside, and parenting was one of them.

There was a hearing today, one which would most certainly go in Bruce's favour as Gotham's favourite son. There would be little to no question as to whether or not he was fit to raise a teenager, and even the incident from last year would be forgotten. After all, how stupid would a person have to be to burn down their ancestral family home twice? No, the judge would simply see what had happened the year before as a fluke. The boy had been living at Wayne Manor for the better part of a month now. The finest laywers money could buy, a personal favour from Harvey Dent, and what Alfred suspected was an already deep forming bond within Bruce has sped things along. Richard Grayson would leave the courtroom a Wayne, of sorts, and Bruce a father.

Alfred quite liked young Master Richard, but he wondered if this was all fair to the boy. It was hard to ask these things while trusting Bruce at the same time, but it was all he could do.

He washed his hands underneath the tap before turning around to glance at Betty again. "Will you be staying in Gotham for the day, or shall I drive you to the station at the appropriate time?"

"No, I'm going home tonight. I only came in to answer the phones this morning, but then Bruce said I should just ignore them… it was all press, and my throat was getting kind of dry saying 'no comment' over and over again. Then, I mean… well, I should go to the press conference after the hearing, I guess, but I don't want to intrude or anything. I haven't even met Richard yet— I mean Dick. See? The girl who doesn't know his name definitely doesn't need to be showing up on the big day." Betty was blushing by the time she finished speaking, looking almost overwhelmed. Alfred couldn't completely blame her; the last month had been hectic, even by Wayne Manor standards.

"I doubt it would be seen as an intrusion, though I understand," he replied. "I'll just put this cake in the oven and bring the car around."

"You can't make me stay with promises of cake," she said with a small smile.

"I'll put aside a piece for the office tomorrow," Alfred winked at her.

Betty's grin widened and Alfred was pleased to see that her disposition improved slightly as he continued to move around the kitchen. It didn't take long from there to scrape the batter he'd made the day before into the silvery coloured cake pan. Later, when it had come out of the oven, he would ice it in chocolate (which Master Richard had shown a love for early on) and then decorate with the appropriate congratulatory lettering once he was absolutely sure that things had gone the right way. Wouldn't do to jump the gun and jinx the process.

Not that Alfred believed in that sort of thing, of course.

It wasn't until he'd shut the oven door that Betty spoke again. "You really think this is going to go well?"

At that, Alfred nodded as he removed various kitchen accoutrements from his person. Oven mits went back to the hook above the counter, apron went on the hook behind the pantry door. Betty hopped down from the wooden stool and followed behind him as he led the way from the kitchen.

"He just usually takes so much time to think about things. A month is sudden for him."

They exited the kitchen together, Betty trailing just slightly behind him. He shortened his strides so that she would be able to more easily keep up. "He had the best of examples, you know."

"What?"

"His father," Alfred said. "Was an incredible man. If Master Bruce is anything like him, then Master Richard is incredibly lucky."

"I should stop worrying, shouldn't I?" she asked him. He watched as she did a thing he doubted she would ever cease to do; stare wide-eyed at the large, opulent main foyer of the manor. He would leave her there for the moment and go around to the garage to bring the car to the front of the drive.

"Perhaps bring it down to a simmer." Before setting foot through the front door, Alfred laid a hand on the young woman's shoulder. "You worry because you care deeply about a man I've looked after for over thirty years now; I certainly don't fault you for that."

It was with one gentle squeeze that Alfred turned from Betty. She did have a train to catch after all, and from the look on her face, it appeared as if she would need some time to think. It was time he was perfectly willing to give.