Just had to get this off of my harddrive!



‘You can’t have that, Owen,’ said Toshiko, matter-of-factly.

‘Why not? It’s a word,’ argued Owen.

‘It’s not in the dictionary,’ said Tosh.

‘Actually-’ started Jack.

‘Not in the current dictionary, Jack,’

‘Why do you care anyway, Tosh? You’re still winning...’

‘It’s the principle of it. No names, places---‘

‘Jack? Can I have a word?’ said Ianto from the doorway.

Jack nodded eager to get away from the petty bickering.

‘Sure. No staring at my pieces, you three,’ he said, narrowing his eyes.

He stood and followed Ianto out of the room, noting he was being led to his office.

‘I’ve been monitoring several news feeds to try and find out what is going on with the sudden changes in the weather-’

‘You found something?’ said Jack.

Ianto beckoned him over behind the desk as he slid into Jack’s chair.

‘Well, yes and no. Yes I found something, but no matter where I look for it, there seems to be little or no record of it really happening. The only reference I found that hints to something like this was in a rather obscure newspaper,’ he said, and hit a key on the keyboard which brought up the page he was referring to.

‘…and I’m not altogether sure whether the people who wrote it weren’t on drugs or something,’ he finished with a small chuckle, noting that Jack only gave a tight smile in return, while a flash of recognition flickered across his face. Ianto’s forehead crinkled slightly.

‘You’ve seen this before?’ he said.

Jack closed his eyes briefly and muttered something that sounded to Ianto bizarrely like ‘bloody wizards’.

Ianto raised an eyebrow, but remained silent, waiting for Jack to elaborate.

\\\

‘Look, I know for a fact that the last time there was such a drastic change happened to be about twenty years ago.’

‘...how did you know that?’

‘Take a seat, Ianto. This might be a bit too much to swallow at once. Even for Torchwood it’s a little crazy,’

Ianto obeyed, if only because he was curious as to why Jack hadn’t followed with a pun. He watched as Jack blew out a heavy breath and shifted in his chair.

‘Okay, er, could you wait until I’ve finished to ask questions?’ Ianto nodded, secretly wondering what could possibly be weirder than aliens in Cardiff.

‘Right, about twenty years ago, give or take, there was a really powerful wi- wizard by the name of Voldemort...’

Ianto blinked rather a lot, trying to process the nonsense he had just heard.

‘You're not actually joking, are you,’ he said at last. Jack shook his head.

‘Wish I was.’

\\\

‘Jack?’ Tosh beckoned him over to where she was standing over a stone basin.

‘What the hell is that?’ Owen joined them.

‘...It looks like a-’ Jack was interrupted by a girl in her early twenties with rather bushy hair.

‘It’s called a Pensieve. It stores memories... of a sort. What are you doing here?’ She narrowed her eyes as her gaze took in every detail.

‘...we could ask you the same question,’ said Owen. Hermione directed her gaze at the shortest of the three men.

‘But I asked first. Now, who are you? And what are you doing here?’

Jack realised they weren’t going to get anywhere by talking in circles.

‘We’re Torchwood,’ he trailed off as Hermione’s eyes grew wide in surprise.

‘Oh! Of course. I presume I’m addressing Jack Harkness, correct?’

‘Captain Jack Harkness,’ Jack amended. Hermione nodded.

‘Believe it or not, Captain, we’ve been waiting for you. I recognise you- Owen Harper, Toshiko Sato and... Ian-to?-’

‘Ianto,’ he pronounced for her.

‘Thank you. Ianto Jones,” she looked at him expectantly and saw him nod his acquiescence.

‘All but you,’ she said, looking at Gwen ‘You’re not Suzie Costello. Which means that you aren’t a part of the prophecy.’

‘Prophecy?’ said Gwen, confused.

‘Oh dear. Am I to take it that yourselves and Miss Costello parted company?’ said Hermione, a small frown appearing on her forehead. The group in front of her sifted their eyes to look elsewhere in answer. Only Jack remained looking at Hermione.

‘You could say that,’ he said cryptically. ‘But again, where are we and who are you?’

‘My name is Hermione Granger, and you’re currently in a conference room in the Ministry of Magic.’

‘Ministry of what?’ Gwen choked out.

Hermione sighed inaudibly and smiled politely.

‘Please, take a seat.’ She said, pulled out her wand and waved in the direction of the large table. Six of the chairs slide out from under it for them to sit on.

Moments later, there were three clicks behind her. She turned to see three guns pointed at her, and muttered a shield charm, just in case.

‘The fuck was that?’ said Owen, rather inarticulately. Hermione blinked in surprise at being spoken to in such a forceful manner.

‘What’s going on, Jack?’ said Gwen, noting that neither Jack nor Ianto had unsheathed their weapons.

‘Stand down, then sit down and I’ll explain,’ Jack replied, waving at them to join him at the table.

\\\

‘I think coffee might be in order.’ Hermione said as she took in the confused expressions from around the table. She pulled her wand from her robes and Accio’d the tea service from a table along the wall.

\\\

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude before; I didn’t even ask you your name.’

Gwen half smiled at the younger woman and shook her hand.

‘Gwen. ...Cooper. Gwen Cooper.’

‘It really is very nice to meet you, Gwen Cooper. I know it’s a lot to take in, especially so soon.’

‘I fight aliens for a living. Magic is just as bizarre.’

‘Way more bizarre if you ask me,’ commented Owen as he strode past them.

‘No one did, Owen,’ said Gwen.

\\\

‘Is he always so well dressed?’ she asked in an undertone, taking in Ianto’s three piece suit and nearly folded overcoat.

‘...pretty much,’ Gwen replied. ‘I think it’s a comfort thing.’

\\\

‘Are you Torchwood?’ said someone at Ianto’s elbow.

‘I’m sure I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about,’ said Ianto, politely.

‘You sure? It's written down the side of your car,’ said the man, pointing at the engraving.

‘...Bloody Jack. I knew I should have had that removed,’ sighed Ianto.

The Skull and Cross-- © georgierae


“Captain’s asked to see you,” said a voice into his ear. “I suggest you get up and make yourself presentable,” it finished, adding a dull jab to his ribcage with a boot.
---
He found himself standing in front of the Captain a mere ten minutes later, his sopping wet shirt creating a decent sized puddle beneath his feet. The bucket of saltwater that a crewmember had dumped over his head in an attempt to make him look less dirty only served to soak through his vest and clump his hair together in a sticky, erratic mess.

...

The storm continued rocking the ship rather violently from side to side, throwing all on board from port to starboard over and over.
“Have at you!” cried Victor Oswald, whipping the concealed pistol from its holster to point at Roscoe.
“Are you mad?” Roscoe shouted back, holding his ground. “You could damage the ship, it’s not safe.”
There was a cry from the staircase leading up from the middle gun deck alerting them to the approach of others.
“Lower your pistol, sir, before someone notices,” he insisted.
The other gentleman did as bade after a moment’s hesitation.
“Very well. But don’t you think you’ve heard the last of this,” said Oswald, shoving his gun back into its holster and stalking off in the direction of the officer’s cabins.

...

Jim leapt behind the main mast and used the overturned barrels as cover. As he crouched down trying to avoid getting shot at, his heel knocked into something soft. He looked over his shoulder to see the prone form of the Captain sprawled on the deck. He bent over him, mindful not to lift his head above the barrels he was using as cover.
“Captain? Captain, please don’t be dead,” he whispered to himself as he rolled the Captain over, trying to decide whether he was still alive.
Captain Henry Rolland stirred in his arms and let out a moan as he moved his injured leg.
“Are you always this morbid, Jim?” he muttered, just audible over the noise of the storm.
“Oh thank heavens,” said, letting out a huge sigh and sitting back on his haunches.
“I’ll be fine, James. It’s just a scratch,” said Rolland.
“Doesn’t look much like a scratch, Captain,” said Jim, but helped him to sit up. “You’ll want to get Boone to look at it. Just in case,” he added, trying to avoid Rolland’s glare.

...

Roscoe kicked at a pebble, sending it skipping into the gently lapping surf.
It wasn’t that he regretted his decision to remain on land, it was much more that he wasn’t sure how to go about the next stage of his life.
He remained on the beach until well after the ship had disappeared beyond the horizon. A cry from somewhere to his left drew him from his reverie. He wasn’t totally sure, but it had sounded like his name had been called.
He looked to his left, trying to gauge who was doing the calling. There were a couple of people walking along his section of the beach, but neither was heading in his direction.
“Forbes!”
He turned a little further to his left and a smile broke out of his face when he realised who it was. He waited patiently while the other man made his way across the sand dunes to stand at his side.
“Hullo, Charles!” he ventured.
“I resigned my commission as ship’s doctor, Roscoe,” said Charles in way of greeting.
“So I see,” replied Roscoe, his smile growing wider. He reached out a hand to clasp the back of Charlie’s neck gently and briefly brought their foreheads together.
“I really am glad to see you, Charlie,” he said quietly, a softness colouring his voice. “I’d want no-one else.”
Boone’s cheeks flushed with pleasure. He pulled back and brought up a hand to cup Roscoe’s face. He stepped back after a brief moment, one side of his mouth quirked up into a grin.
“Someone has to keep an eye on you, old chap,” he said. Roscoe chuckled, but lowered his hand from Charles’ neck.
“Well then, first things first,” he sighed. Charles looked at him in askance. “Lodgings. I am not sleeping out here, Charlie. No matter how much fun you might think that would be.” He waggled his eyes at Boone. Charles rolled his eyes.
“A bit of sand won’t hurt you, Roscoe,” he replied with a smirk. “But not to fear, I already have lodgings on this part of the island and there is plenty enough room for you and I.”
“Excellent, Charles. Shall we?”
Roscoe gestured past Charles to the steps leading down to the beach.
“Of course, old friend. Of course.”
The two friends began walking along the sand to the jetty
---
“How did you come by this, Charles? I imagine it must have cost you an arm and a leg.”
“Yes, I imagine it must have,” Charles replied rather cryptically. “Or at least it would have done, had my family not owned it for the last fifty years.”
Roscoe was silent for a minute.
“You certainly kept that quiet, Charles,” he said eventually. Charles merely shrugged in return.
“One always supposes that others will only be interested if the idea of money is there. Besides, it belongs to my parents.”

The Cave ©georgierae


She hides away in the cave, away from the gulls and the families and the crying children.
The cave is dark in the afternoon sun. Dark and damp from the sea air. As she closes her eyes, she can hear the sound of the waves echoing all around her.
The sand under her knees is coarse and soft all at once.

*that* other magical work of fiction I've been working on...

Rough bits:

(?) by Gee.
Original.

...

Dawn
Matthew (Matt)
Yannis & Taryn – Dawn’s parents.


“I watched you yesterday.” She heard the words whispered into her ear in an undertone. “I saw what you were doing.”

She jumped at the sound, causing her bag to spill half of its contents onto the floor. She inwardly cursed at whomever it was who had snuck up on her like that.

“What are you talking about?” she said, defensively squaring her shoulders and turning around. She sighed in relief when she realised the words had come from her friend. “Matt, are you still on those pills the doctor gave you?” she said, trying to deflect the conversation.

“…well, yes,” he admitted, uneasily. “But that doesn’t detract from what I saw yesterday.” She raised an eyebrow, urging him to continue. “I know what I saw, Dawn,” he said with a determined look in his eyes.

She closed her eyes briefly, reminding herself to remain calm and forced her teeth to stop worrying her bottom lip.

“Ok. What did you see?” she asked, keeping her face neutral.

“I saw you. Just like I’m seeing you now. You were making these little lights glow and dance around,” he gave her a small smile. “I though they were really pretty.”

Her lips involuntarily quirked up into returning a small but pleased smile. She schooled her features into a blank look.

“I… What you saw… It must have been a trick of the light or something,” she lied, trying to come up with a logical excuse and not really succeeding. “I mean why would you think I was creating them?”

“Right. Of course you don’t want to admit it. I don’t know why you would want to, especially not to your best friend,” he said, a hardness settling over his features. He turned and was halfway along to the door before she had even registered that he had moved away.

Panicking, she rushed over and grabbed hold of Matt’s arm, throwing her weight behind her hold and forcing him to stop. No mean feat, since Matt was at least a foot taller than her, and considerably heavier.

“So?” he asked, turning to face her. The semi-accusatory look he had on his face was enough to break her resolve.

“Not here,” she replied in a whisper.

Matt’s glare softened.

“Alright, not here,” he agreed. “Get changed and meet me at my car. I’m taking you for a burger and you are going to fill me in on what I don’t know.”

...

“You’re taking the news very calmly,” she said to him, relaxing into the cushions. “I was expecting fireworks. Or at the very least a lot of yelling.”

“Well, I’m just surprised it’s taken this long for someone to find out.”

“So…no yelling?” she asked tentatively, narrowing her eyes suspiciously.

He fixed her with a stern glare before his lips twitched and he barked out a laugh, unable to contain his amusement any longer.

“No yelling,” he agreed. “Besides, your mum found out about my magic shortly after I met her. You and Matt have been friends for years. I could hardly criticise.”

Her mouth fell open into an ‘o’ of surprise.

“I…what?” she stuttered. “But you always told me to be so careful with my magic. ‘Who knows what would happen if the wrong people found out’,” she mimicked in her father’s voice.

He didn’t even have the decency to look abashed.

“I’m your father, Dawnie. I’m supposed to say things like that,” he said.

Dawn rolled her eyes at her father in exasperation, but moved in for a hug when he beckoned her over.

“How quickly did she find out?” she asked after a while. Her father kissed the top of her head, stalling his answer.

“Dad?” she prompted.

“About an hour?”

She sat up, shrugging his arm from around her shoulder and turning to look at him with an indignant expression on her face that made him laugh.

“An hour?” she pulled one of the cushions out from behind her back and swatted him with it.

“What were you doing? Showing off for her?”

“I am both shocked and appalled that you would think so of your own father,” he said, assuming a hurt expression complete with overblown pout. Dawn merely raised the cushion in reply.

“Alright, alright!” he said, laughing and raising both hands to fend off her attack. “On this occasion you’d be correct.” He looked wistful all of a sudden. “Your mother was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. I’d have done anything to get her to notice me.”

...

Since she was classless for the final double period of the day, she headed to one of the empty classrooms near the gym at the end of lunch to get started on her homework.



Stuck on one of the more complex aspects of her homework, she briefly thought about starting on another piece of work when an idea struck her.

‘Maybe if I bring it to life it’ll make more sense.’

She concentrated her thoughts on the accompanying illustrations and one by one a three dimensional copy rose up from the page to hover in front of her. She muttered a colour-changing spell and each separate component started glowing a different colour. Another spell set them turning slowly, allowing her to get a good look at each part.

...

-Yannis looks up at the sound of his daughter laughing and clapping her hands with delight. The sight which greets his eyes makes him smile with pride (and yet, there is a heaviness in his chest). Dawn is playing with her toys, except there are now teddies drinking from their teacups on their own and the animals on the toy farm her grandfather had made for her are gallivanting around as if they aren’t made of plastic.

“Daddy, look!” she cried in delight and turns to find a huge (if slightly forced) grin on her father’s face.

“How are they doing that?” she asks a while later.

He doesn’t have the heart to tell her it’s only a quirk of nature, a rogue gene that causes it. Something that will have her labelled as a ‘freak’ by other children (and their parents). He rationalises that she’s too young to fully understand what it is that sets her apart from other children.

Tags: drafts, ideas, writings: original

The Caveman and the Dork by Gee.
Fandom: SGA

...

“You’re such a dork, McKay.”
“I-What? I’m a dork? What the hell does that make you, Mr ‘Call Me John’?”
“Shut up!”
“You shut up!”
“Hey, I out-rank you.”
“Of course you do, Sheppard, I don’t have one. I’m not surprised you forget that, since it’s all you can do not to trip over your own tongue every time she walks by.”
“I do not.”
“Actually, you do.”
“I do not!”
“Please! If your mouth was open any wider she’d be in danger of falling into it.”
“Well- what about you? “Would you like a tour around my lab? I’m currently working on something incredibly dull and long-winded, and I’d like to bore you to death with it”. You know you’d be better off beating her over the head and knocking her out.”
“…You’re such a caveman.”

The voices recede as the owners continue down the corridor. Half-hidden behind a pillar, Elizabeth smiles to herself.

The Bench.
Original work, © me 2010.
The updated version- hopefully I've ironed out the grammatical errors (I don't know what came over me, posting something I hadn't read through myself, let alone someone else!) thanks to amanda_is_wacky and cyberchezza for their suggestions :) ...I'm still iffy about the correctness of the French, but I think it adds character.

...

He sits on the park bench in the jardin, his hat resting on his neatly folded coat beside him. He scratches lightly at where the wool-mix of his trousers irritates his thigh. He sees her walking toward him, and wonders if today will be the day that she finally notices him. The day he finally says hello to her.

Every day he sits in the same place, on the same park bench, waiting for the same girl to walk around the corner of the park. He has never spoken to her; doesn’t even know her name. All he knows are the clothes she wears, and the scent of her perfume.

Some days she shows up later than usual. These are usually the days that she doesn’t smile.

Some days she doesn’t show up at all. He thinks maybe she takes a different path home. These are the days that he wonders if she hasn’t already met someone- someone who isn’t him.

Once he buys a handful of posies to give to her, although he never does. He pops one into a buttonhole and once she has passed him by, yet again without a word, he pretends they were for his hospitalised grandmother all along. That he was merely passing the time in the park before visiting hours began (although his grandmother had been pleased on his presenting them to her).

One time as she passes him by, her cardigan drops onto the path just beyond the bench where he sits. He waits to see if she will notice. A young couple enter the park just after her and call out to her. He sees the younger man bound up to her with the soft-looking, pale green cardigan held outstretched in one of his hands.

“Pardonnez-moi, Mademoiselle. Vous avez laissé tomber cette."

“Ah! Je n'avais pas réalisé. Merci, Monsieur.”

“No problème, Mademoiselle.”

She gives the young man a thankful smile and takes the cardigan, taking care to drape the material over her arm so as not to lose it again. All the while, not even a glance in his direction. He wishes he hadn’t been rehearsing what he would say to her over and over in his head.

Sometimes he wonders what she would see in him if he ever tells her how he feels. He doesn’t think he is especially handsome, not like some of his soldier buddies. Add to that the scarring from the bullet that took him out of action a few months ago, and he wonders what she could ever see in him.

These are the days he wishes he were braver.

Chasing Tails by Gee.
SGA
Disclaimer: Don’t own, don’t sue!

She’s always known that she’s more attracted to him than he is to her. At first it bothers her (why doesn’t he look at her like that?), but she tells herself that she isn’t sure why (she’s rather good at lying to herself).
It’s not like anything of a romantic nature will happen between them- she’s too preoccupied with running a city, negotiating peace (mainly between the scientists) and generally being run off of her feet to invest enough time in cultivating a proper relationship just yet. Not to mention that he’ll basically go for anything in a skirt (which might explain why he’s not gone for her yet- the pants must be putting him off).

Credit where credit is due, she knows it’s not always him doing the chasing. She has seen many women literally throwing themselves at him (including that one time they were off-world when a young woman crossed the path of an establishing wormhole just to get near to him. The bits of cloth that remained intact casually wafted toward him, while half a sandal had flown over to hit Teyla on the head (considering the sandal had been less of a flimsy bit of leather and more of a clog, it’s surprising that she hadn’t been knocked out by it. In which case, death-by-wormhole would have probably been the less painful way to go).

She is glad that she’s not the sort of woman who would throw herself at a man (except that one time when she did, but it’s only because she thought he was dead).

So she sits in her office, pretending to read a report but is actually ogling his backside which is hovering outside her door (his front half is currently preoccupied in giving ‘the tour’ to the latest bit of fluff he picked up on the latest backwater planet) and firmly squashes the thought of accidentally tripping someone else into the path of an incoming wormhole…