Airport Ficlets

Ficlets written in an airport. No, really.

A variety of small ficlets -- drabbles and double-drabbles, mostly -- written during an unexpected layover in an airport. Various pairings etc.

Drink

House scowled at the space where Wilson's blender had been. He'd come to think of it as his.

And now Wilson had absconded with the damn thing. Probably Julie had demanded it, along with everything else from their married life that had given Wilson pleasure.

Maybe it wasn't fair use Wilson's blender to liquor Cuddy up, anyway. Even if betrayal was a cornerstone of their relationship.

His knife bit into a lime and sliced it clean.

(100 words)

Interlude

I'd been almost asleep when I felt the familiar sickening shift. Next thing I knew I was in somebody's library, walls lined with thick old books, a nice crackling fire...

And -- shit -- a man in black robes who leapt up from the wing-backed chair, pointing a polished wooden stick at me as though he could eviscerate me with the force of his will. Which, given the way he was glaring at me, maybe he could.

"You will tell me who you are and what you are doing here or I will tear you limb from limb." His voice was measured and smoky.

"Look. I'm sorry. It's not -- " I panicked. "Can I just have that blanket?" Something about being naked in front of this guy made my hair stand on end.

He stared at me, intently, then seemed to relax.

"Severus?" A quiet man with brown hair appeared in the doorway. "Is everything --" He stopped, amused, when he saw me. "Ah. Hello."

"He's a Muggle. He time-travels. He's no danger to us."

"How the hell--" I began.

The dark-haired man -- Severus -- smirked. "Go home," he said, and flicked his wand, and I rolled over and into Clare's arms.

(200 words)

Potential

"I didn't know squirrels ate fries."

Logan glanced up, heart not sure whether to leap or to fall. "This one seems to."

"It's going to clog your little squirrel arteries," Veronica told it. The thing scampered away.

"Thanks a lot. Maybe I was befriending that little guy. Ever think of that?"

"Sorry," she said, lightly. "Guess you'll have to settle for talking to me."

Her voice was perfectly nonchalant, which meant she was nervous. Or maybe apologizing. But definitely flirting.

Logan sighed dramatically. "If I must."

When she reached over to take a fry, without asking, he felt himself smile.

(100 words)

Double

Charles' wheelchair rested in an unfamiliar bedroom. The walls and furniture were sleek, as though extruded, and soft music played. Bach, Gutenberg variations.

The door whispered open and a man entered, wearing a burgundy silk dressing gown. He stiffened when he saw Charles, plainly startled.

Though Charles hoped he hadn't shown it, he was startled, too. This stranger had his face. Looked, in fact, exactly like him.

"What the -- Q, is this one of your tricks? Exactly what point do you imagine you're making?" The man's exasperation was tinged with affection.

Charles isolated the buzz of this mind from the hum around them. Jean-Luc Picard, captain of the starship Enterprise. Well, that explained the great windows looking out on the black. And based on Picard's memories, this Q might be a fine explanation for how he'd come to be here-and-now.

"Q may have brought me here, though not with my consent," he said, carefully. "My name is Charles Xavier. I'm a telepath. I come from Earth."

Picard raised an eyebrow. "I see," he said. There was a silence. "May I offer you a drink?"

"I'd take tea," Charles said, pleased. "Earl Grey. Hot."

The two men smiled.

(200 words)

Ride

There's just one guy at the bar when Weevil walks in. Scrawny kid, red hair, nursing a Corona.

Weevil orders Tecate with lime.

"Nice ride," the guy says.

"Excuse me?" Weevil isn't used to strangers striking up conversation. Especially not since he got his neck inked.

"I used to be in a band with a guy who had a bike like that," he offers. "It's pretty sweet. I'd like one, someday. But for now I just drive a van."

"Whatever." Weevil takes a long pull on his beer. The guy isn't smiling at him, exactly, but there's something about him -- he feels friendly. Which could get him his ass kicked, if he's not careful.

"You're not from around here." It's not a question.

The guy shakes his head. "Sunnydale."

"Never heard of it. Look -- no offense, but you might want to find someplace else to drink."

"This seat reserved for somebody?" Dry.

"There's gonna be a whole lot of bikers here in about ten minutes, and things might get ugly. We have...matters to discuss. And it's full moon -- things can get pretty hairy, night of the full moon."

A cloud passes over the guy's eyes. "Yeah," he says. "I know."

(200 words)

>

Morning

The bells rang out before dawn. Their tolling cut through the fog, making Harry shiver. More Muggle deaths.

He'd heard stories about the last Muggle war -- air raid sirens, burning timbers, crashing bricks, but this was -- different. What were their ministers telling them?

Ron shifted and tugged Harry closer. "C'mon," he muttered. "We've an hour yet."

Ron could sleep through anything. Product of having grown up in such a chaotic house, Harry supposed. His own mind was racing -- strategy, tactics, what might go wrong that day -- but he slowed his breathing as though sleeping, and let Ron draw him near.

(100 words)

Gentlemen Prefer Blondes

Faith had been dancing all night and wasn't ready to quit.

And he'd been watching. When she turned with her beer, he raised his. All the invitation she needed.

She walked over, giving him time to look. "Wanna fuck?"

He gave a little laugh. "That's direct."

"That's how I roll." She stretched like a cat.

"Logan!" The girl's voice was dramatic. "Did you find me a friend?"

Logan smirked. Damn it.

"I've always wanted a hooker." Flirty, with knives underneath.

"Sorry. Not into blondes." She wasn't thinking of Buffy at all. "Your loss," she said to Logan, and moved on.

(100 words)

Delay

Cuddy checked her voicemail for the tenth time and sighed. Three hours in the airport. Odds of getting home were not looking good.

The man across from her -- wearing a tweed sportcoat most guys couldn't have pulled off -- offered a weary smile. "Long day." Ah, he was English.

"Too long."

"What brought you to Cleveland?"

"Conference. Hospital administration. You?"

He colored slightly. "A former -- student of mine lives here."

Maybe it was the accent, but she was charmed. His blush reminded her of Wilson. "Good visit?"

"Quite." This smile transformed him.

"Lucky student," Cuddy said, on impulse, and smiled back.

(100 words)

The End