A Walk on the Weird Side

Grrrr

2008-04-15T18:04:06Z

I'm gonna be forced to make a new journal, y'all... I'll post the new username as soon as I know it. This one seems to be locking me out of everything...

Anyway, that's the scoop, and y'all will have the info as soon as I do

Which World Of Warcraft Character Are You?

2008-04-09T00:01:37Z

Take the Which World Of Warcraft Character Are You? Quiz
Myspace Quizzes!!

Bad luck

2008-02-23T21:56:12Z

I swear to whoever happens to be listening that I'm sorry, okay? Whatever we did to tick off the Powers That Be, whoever/whatever they are, I'm really sorry.

The last two weeks have been from HELL, I swear.

I've been sued for collections. Three times. In two weeks.

The school is threatening to call Child Services on us because Bug misses so much school due to an intestinal problem that no one seems to be able to identify. She's always sick to her stomach.

Took her to the doctor AGAIN this week. Now they're talking about hospitalization, more testing, including some seriously painful stuff, because they can't figure out what's wrong with her.

And last night, Fuzzy totaled the truck. Only bright spot there is that he was alone in the truck and wasn't hurt.

Someone tell me which gods we pissed off to get luck like this? And how I can fix it?

More Supernatural fic! Complications, Part Three

2007-11-06T15:28:15Z

Here we go again! I hope everyone is enjoying this story as much as I'm enjoying writing it!

After the cut, part 3

Title: Complications
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: DJ Sparkles
Rating: FRAO (language, mostly, so far)
Disclaimer: I no own, you no sue. I’ll put them back when I’m done.
Spoiler Warning: Um, possible spoilers for all seasons so far… don’t want spoiled, don’t read. BIG spoilers for All Hell Breaks Loose, Parts 1&2, and season 3.
Timeline: Diverges from Canon after episode 3x03, Bad Day at Black Rock.
Beta: Ithil-valon, River, and Joe. You ladies just ROCK, you know that? And of course, any remaining mistakes are mine.
Pairings: None so far.

Part Three

Bobby Singer pulled up behind the Impala and shut off his car before getting out carefully. He was carrying a shotgun loaded with silver rounds; if the thing came at him, he’d be ready. He couldn’t bring himself to think of it as Dean. Dean was gone the minute the transformation happened. This was just a wolf, a werewolf, a monster to be put down.

He was shocked, then, when he found the two of them together on the grass, fast asleep. Sam’s arm was curled protectively around the wolf, and Dean’s head was pillowed on Sam’s chest. A touching sight, really. If you ignored the fact that Dean was a werewolf. For the first time, he considered that there might be another option.

He didn’t get too close to them, anyway. Might be a bad idea if Dean woke up ugly. He should have known, though; Dean would never hurt Sam, not in a thousand years. Not if he had any part of him left in there.

He reached out with a toe and gently nudged Sam, trying to wake him carefully. He didn’t want Dean to wake up first, because that could only end one way, with Dean on the wrong end of the shotgun.

Sam opened one eye and looked up, then scrambled off the ground as Dean also stirred, and then came to his feet with a growl. “Whoa, whoa, Dean, hold on,” he said firmly as he got between his brother and Bobby. “He’s okay, Dean, he won’t hurt you. Us. Won’t hurt us. Calm down.”

Bobby heard the growl step up a notch and fought to hold his ground. He didn’t want to appear scared, although he guessed the wolf could smell it on him. That snarl was getting a bit ugly and he tightened his grip on the shotgun.

“Dean! Cut it out!” Sam got between them again quickly and knelt down, taking hold of the wolf’s head and turning the eyes toward him. “I know you’re in there, Dean, stop being a jerk. You know Bobby. You know he won’t hurt us. So knock it off.”

Dean shook his head free and then did something Bobby would never have believed if he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes. He stepped back a couple of paces and lay down, covering his muzzle with one paw, and so help him, Bobby thought he looked embarrassed.

“Better. Y’know, dude, I think I like you better this way. Quieter.” Sam stood up again and turned to Bobby. “Dawn’s about what, half an hour? I’m not leaving him here.”

“Did I ask you to? No. We’ll wait it out.” Bobby was still watching Dean out of the corner of his eye, still not trusting the wolf completely. He hadn’t quite reconciled that Dean was in there somewhere, regardless of that display. And apparently the wolf could smell the distrust; he huffed a bit and went to the cars, looking around the Impala carefully and then raising a leg on Bobby’s Camaro. And looking like he was laughing while he did it.

“Dean, you are so dead when you change back, you idjit.” Bobby was less than amused, but in a matter of minutes he was rubbing the back of his neck and smiling, if not widely. “Kinda gives new meaning to the words ‘Piss on you,’ don’t it?”

Sam was in turn glaring at his older brother. “Not nice, Dean. Are you ever going to get civilized?” He threw up his hands. “Probably not. So, Bobby, what do we do now? We need to get out of here before a cop comes along. We’re still too close to the scene.”

“Too late.” Bobby indicated the cruiser pulling up behind the Camaro. “You get him in the car. I don’t care what you have to do, but get him in the car before dawn. Head back into town, find a motel. I’ll be right behind you as soon as I deal with Smokey here.” He raised a hand and hailed the trooper as he stepped out of his car. “Evenin, Officer,” he said easily.

“Okay, you heard the man, Dean, get in the car.” Sam could hear Bobby talking to the trooper, something about how they were headed to the same place and had to stop to let the dog out. “Look, I already put a trashbag on the seat, you won’t get anything on your precious car. Just get in already before that cop gets an eyeful, okay?” He waited until Dean finally took the hint and jumped in, then closed the door and went around to the driver’s side. He remembered he’d have to drive circumspectly; if the cop ran the plate they might still end up in trouble.

They got lucky. Seemingly, the guy had accepted Bobby’s explanation – long drive, let the dog out, whatever else he’d said out there. Sam raised a hand to wave as the cruiser swept past, headed into town, and then Bobby flashed his headlights behind. They made it to the motel with a few minutes to spare, even.

Getting the room was simple. The desk clerk didn’t seem to mind that there would be three people in the room; he didn’t even look up when Sam peeled off some of their hoarded cash to pay for it for a week. Just took the money, counted it, and handed over a key, all without glancing up from the novel he was engrossed in. Just as well. He wouldn’t be able to give a description if he was asked.

They had barely gotten Dean into the room when the sun touched the horizon. The door thudded closed and Dean gave a strangled growl/snarl/moan as the change started to take him. It was swift, but looked incredibly painful, and he was gasping for air by the time it was finished.

Sam handed him a pair of jeans without a word and nodded toward the shower. He knew Dean would want to clean up; there was slime all over and he wanted to clean what there was on the floor. He and Bobby methodically scrubbed and mopped until it was gone, and waited for Dean.

“I’ll say it again, Dean, that’s part of you I never wanted to see,” Sam remarked idly as Dean came out, toweling his hair. “Okay, time to get things moving. There’s one more night of full moon and I really don’t want to go through that again. Watching you shift is not high on my list of priorities.”

“You? Who spent the last few hours on all fours, Sammy? And without a girl, I might add.” Dean was trying to lighten the mood.

Bobby reached over and bipped Dean in the back of the head. “That’s for my car, you moron,” he said affectionately. “Let’s get busy. Werewolves. Sam, punch them up on that thing of yours and let’s see what we can find.”

TBC…

Supernatural Fic: Complications pt 2 (Spoiler warnings and rating inside)

2007-10-22T20:18:08Z

Wow, the response is overwhelming! Hope you guys continue to enjoy... I'll answer comments as I can... BJ, you are a goddess, love...

Title: Complications
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: DJ Sparkles
Rating: FRAO (language, mostly, so far)
Disclaimer: I no own, you no sue. I’ll put them back when I’m done.
Spoiler Warning: Um, possible spoilers for all seasons so far… don’t want spoiled, don’t read. BIG spoilers for All Hell Breaks Loose, Parts 1&2, and season 3.
Timeline: Diverges from Canon after episode 3x03, Bad Day at Black Rock.
Beta: Ithil-valon, and Joe. You ladies just ROCK, you know that?
Pairings: None so far.

Part Two

Sam stared at the wolf, hand outstretched, trying to stifle the fear that threatened. All accounts of werewolves he’d read said they couldn’t tell friend from foe. He was praying that they were wrong. “Come on, Dean, you know I won’t hurt you.” His voice was soft, non-threatening, and steady.

This was already different from the one they’d encountered earlier. That one hadn’t shifted to a full wolf, not in all the time they were fighting it. Maybe it was a conscious decision how far to shift, or maybe not. Sam didn’t know… but he didn’t really care, either. Not right now. The focus at the moment was on Dean, and trying to keep him from trying to kill Sam.

There was shape-shifter slime all over the place, and for a moment, Sam was grateful that Dean had made it out of the car beforehand. He’d never hear the end of it if the Impala got messed up. Dean loved that car and was a little obsessive about it. No. A lot obsessive.

Sam hauled his mind back to where it belonged, focusing on Dean. The wolf had made no move, and Sam was slightly encouraged. At least it wasn’t trying to rip out his throat yet.

Dean was looking at things a bit differently, that was for sure. He could smell things, hear things, things he’d never dreamed of before. But Sam was here… and Sam was afraid. He shouldn’t be afraid. Should he? Dean wasn’t sure, and right now rational thought was a bit out of his reach. Sam was human, and human meant prey. But he smelled like pack, and you didn’t hunt pack. He was confused and disoriented, and he hated that most of all. He didn’t feel like himself. He raised his nose again, scenting the air, looking for answers in the smells on the breeze, and finding none. He howled, a long, mournful sound in the darkness before dawn.

Sam was encouraged by the lack of aggression on Dean’s part, but he wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t going to go any closer until he was sure the wolf wouldn’t try to rip him up. He had to keep it separate in his mind. That wasn’t Dean. It was a werewolf. But it was getting difficult to do, especially when it was Dean’s eyes staring at him from the wolf’s face.

The ring of the cell phone was too loud in the darkness. Sam fished it out with one hand, keeping the other held out toward the wolf, trying not to move any more than was necessary. He flipped it open without checking the number. “Bobby, I really hope that’s you,” he said steadily.

“I wasn’t expecting to hear from you guys yet. You get your werewolf?” Bobby’s voice was the one sane point in the darkness, and Sam felt himself clinging to it.

“Not – not exactly.” He kept watching the wolf, who was watching him. There was no aggression in the beast, but he wasn’t taking chances. “Yeah, it’s dead, but ---“

“Oh, hell. Which one of you got bit?” Bobby wasn’t stupid. The only reason they’d call early, and that Sam would sound quite so unsteady, was that one of them had taken a bite. “Let me guess. Dean. And he’s shifted. Did you try the holy water?”

“About two gallons of it, yeah, inside and out. It didn’t work. I’m, um, I’m looking at him right now, Bobby, and he’s completely shifted. He’s a wolf. No aggressive behavior, though. He just keeps staring at me.” Sam decided to risk a step closer and stopped when the wolf growled at him. Okay, so that wasn’t the best idea in the world.

“Don’t get any closer. Where are you?” Bobby was rapidly turning over possibilities in his head, trying to come up with a solution that didn’t involve killing Dean. Sam would object to that pretty strenuously. The problem was, he couldn’t think of any other answer. Werewolves were just too damned unpredictable, according to all the legends. He’d have to do more studying up.

Dean was still trying to make sense of all this, and not doing very well. He could smell pack scent on Sam, like his own, but he couldn’t understand it. Sam was human, not pack. How could human smell like pack? He cocked his head slightly, listening to the words, but they made no sense to him.

Sam noticed the motion and stayed still, watching Dean in turn. “We’re on Route 17, just outside of Schuyler. I won’t be able to move until he shifts back, if he does. I’m not gonna leave him here. Dawn’s about two hours off, now. If I can last that long, I’ll get him back in the car and meet you. Where?”

“I’m about an hour from you, Sam, so just stay put. I’ll get there fast as I can, and we can try to figure this out.” He barely kept himself from saying there was nothing to figure out. They’d have to put Dean down somehow to keep him from killing someone. It was a miracle Sam wasn’t already dead. Bobby was hoping to get there before it happened, but he thought it was inevitable. Whatever else, that thing wasn’t Dean any more. Sam would have to face that.

Sam clicked off the phone and kept watching the wolf, considering. It almost looked like it was listening to what he said. “Dean, if you’re in there, hang on. Bobby’s coming. We’ll figure something out, okay? Just hang in there.”

Dean lay down on the ground, eyes still glued to Sam. He knew this human, knew him, and he smelled like pack. He would protect the human, instead of killing. He had to. Pack protected their own.

“You were listening. Dean, do you understand me? Can you understand what I’m saying? No, of course you can’t.” Sam answered his own question when he saw the wolf’s head cock to one side again, clearly quizzical. Something had changed, though. He could feel the change with the wolf’s decision to lie down on the grass. There wasn’t any threat any longer. He took a step forward, and then another when all it did was look at him steadily and then lay its head down on its paws. Finally he was next to Dean and sank down to the grass as well. He didn’t think about it, just laid a hand on the wolf’s neck and held it there. “We’ll get you out of this, bro. I promise.”

TBC…

Supernatural Fic: Complications (FRAO for language) Part One

2007-10-22T16:49:03Z

Hopefully someone will like this little gem... this is part One of a multi-part fic, so hold onto your hats... I'm going to try and give everyone a wild ride. :)

Ficcage after the cut, as always

Title: Complications
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: DJ Sparkles
Rating: FRAO (language, mostly, so far)
Disclaimer: I no own, you no sue. I’ll put them back when I’m done.
Spoiler Warning: Um, possible spoilers for all seasons so far… don’t want spoiled, don’t read. BIG spoilers for All Hell Breaks Loose, Parts 1&2, and season 3.
Timeline: Diverges from Canon after episode 3x03, Bad Day at Black Rock.
Beta: Ithil-valon, and Joe. You ladies just ROCK, you know that?
Pairings: None so far.

“Greater love hath no man than he lay down his life for a friend.” John 15:13

Part One

This was just NOT his day. Dean Winchester pulled back from the werewolf and backed up quickly. Just a simple job, get in, kill the thing, get out, burn the den. Yeah. Right. Since when did he and Sam EVER manage to do something the simple way?

He backed away again when it came at him, but it caught a scent on the wind and paused and Dean was able to put half the room between them. As well as a few pieces of furniture. “Sammy, this would be a good time to find that shotgun!”

Sam growled back at him as the werewolf swung his direction. “I’ve GOT the damn gun, bro, just hold it still!” There was an explosive discharge and the rock salt pellets in the thing took the wolf full in the chest… which only made it mad. It roared rage and headed across the room, murder in its eyes.

Dean launched himself at it, silver knives flashing, drawing blood and trying to stab it in the neck, but it wasn’t cooperating. Stupid fucking werewolf. He had to keep it away from Sam. “Where’s the SILVER?” he hollered.

“Not in the damn gun!” Sam was backing away as fast as possible. It was close enough to swipe one huge horrific paw at him; so he lunged away and landed on his ass. Not good.

Dean had to keep it away from his brother. He launched himself forward, landing on its back, slashing with the knives, desperate to take its attention off Sam. Everything he’d ever done, he’d done to protect Sammy. He wasn’t about to stop now. “Get out, Sam!” If he could just keep it distracted, at least his brother would get away. Then he forgot to concentrate on anything else when the monster ripped him off its back and dropkicked him across the room. He slammed against the wall with a yell and landed hard, breath knocked out of him. He scrambled aside as it reached for him, but no luck. NOT his day.

Dimly he saw Sam headed out the door and kicked back, winning another throw across the room in the process. He got groggily to his feet, shaking his head, and caught it out of the corner of his eye as it followed Sam out of the house. Oh, HELL no!

One of the knives flashed in the moonlight as it flew outward, striking the thing in the shoulder as Dean catcalled it from the upstairs window. “You can’t have him!” he roared as he launched himself at it. He had to buy Sam enough time to get to the car. The monster could probably tear the door off… but the silver bullets were in the back seat. At least he’d have a chance.

The wolf spun as Dean leapt, and the two of them crashed together with driving force. Dean rolled with the impact, coming up fast, one knife short, one leg a solid sheet of pain from hip to ankle, but not giving up. He had to keep it occupied till Sam got the ammo. He feinted with the knife, keeping its attention on him.

He managed too well. The wolf ripped the other blade from its shoulder with a scream of rage and flung it back toward Dean, who dived to one side to avoid it. Then it had hold of him by the ankle and while he scrambled to get hold of something, it was drawing him backward with a snarl of something he didn’t want to identify.

It sounded hungry.

He didn’t yell, he screamed when it clamped teeth around his calf. The pain was real, immediate, and intense for more than just the feel of the teeth and he gave vent to his fury in the only way he knew how. He stabbed the knife into the thing’s neck with an incoherent curse and sent it staggering backward, bleeding out. Then dimly he heard Sam’s voice telling him to duck and he curled up in a ball as the shotgun blast went over his head.

The silver did the trick; it was dead. Very, very dead. No pulse, no breathing, nothing. Dean crawled forward and checked it thoroughly and then just collapsed to his back for a minute, gasping for breath. “Why can’t anything be simple?” he grumbled.

“Because we’re involved, that’s why.” Sam was doing what needed to be done now, burning the house and the body, and Dean needed to get up and help him, but it felt a lot better to just lie there and try to breathe. And not worry about the pain in his mangled leg. Or the consequences.

Holy water. Holy water cured just about anything to do with the supernatural. He hauled out the canteen as fast as he could, splashing it over the wound and biting down on the scream when it hit the torn flesh. Then choking down as much of it as he could, trying to fight the infection from inside and out although the thought that death would hurt less hovered at the back of his mind.

Sam’s arms came around from behind, supporting him while he retched and struggled to keep the stuff down. “Easy, bro. We need to get you to Bobby. He can help.” Not bloody likely, but they needed some hope. Werewolf bites were automatically a death sentence. The cursed couldn’t distinguish between friend and foe once they changed and usually cut a bloody swath through the innocent until a hunter stopped them.

Dean fumbled in his pocket for a second before hauling out his keys. “You… drive,” he rasped. “I’ll keep pouring in the holy water. Gotta help, right?”

“Right.” Sam was seriously worried. Dean never let him drive the Impala if there was a choice. The leg was bad, but the fact that it was a werewolf bite made it that much worse. The moon was still full and it wouldn’t be dawn for another three or four hours. If Dean turned… would he be able to do what needed done? He didn’t know.

Fact was, they didn’t know much about werewolves at all. Conflicting legends, different interpretations of the curse, it all added up to one big, fat, zero. The only thing that all accounts seemed to agree on was that once someone turned, they wanted to kill. Period. And it didn’t matter what they killed, as long as they found something to tear up. Hopefully Bobby would know more.

“Sammy,” Dean rasped from the passenger seat. “Don’t be a wuss, okay? If you have to… you do it.” He could feel something changing, despite the holy water, and while he was still pouring it down his throat he no longer thought it would work. It might hold the change off for a while, but probably not long enough. And he knew Sam would understand what he was asking.

“Shut up, jerk. I’m not gonna kill you.” Sam felt his jaw clench. “Bobby’ll help, just hold on. Hang on, bro.”

“I’m trying, bitch.” But even their usual banter was lacking in enthusiasm. Dean could feel something twisting inside him, trying to get out, and he grabbed another canteen of the water from the back seat. He poured most of it on the outside of the leg, drenching the bite again, and choking off the scream before it could get too far out of his throat, then guzzling as much as he could of what was left. He felt like he was on a determined drunk, just with the water instead of the usual whiskey. “How long to Bobby’s?”

“Too long.” Sam could have bitten off his tongue for letting that escape. “Been trying to get him on the phone, he’s not answering.”

“Probably on a hunt of his own. Dammit!” Dean was turning the air blue, trying to keep up the pain relief. Swearing seemed to help, so he was doing a lot of it. His head was buzzing, his guts were churning, and he was pretty sure he wasn’t going to make it till dawn. Dying would feel pretty good about now, he thought. It wouldn’t hurt so much.

Sam risked a glance over at his brother and winced. Things were looking bad. Dean was more than pale, he was almost translucent in the moonlight. Not good. “Does that help?”

“Not with the pain… but it makes me feel better.” Dean was surly and snarky and didn’t care. It hurt. And he was starting to feel decidedly weird on top of it. He was sure he could smell Sam’s fear, and that wasn’t normal. He got a glimpse of his hand as he tipped up the canteen again and growled. “Shit! Sam, stop!” He didn’t wait for the tires to come to rest; he was out of the car and moving, clutching at his stomach, gasping for breath, and trying to get into the tree line before it was too late.

Sam threw himself out of the car right behind him, trying to stay close, but not able to keep up. “Dean, wait!” But the snarl from the trees stopped him in his tracks.

Dean had felt the change coming on, seen it on his hand, and was still trying to protect his brother. But now that he was completely changed, he was seeing things a bit differently. He stepped out into the moonlight, looking at the other man, nose upturned to scent the air. The smell of fear was heady, intoxicating, and he took a step closer.

Sam held his ground though he wanted to run. The wolf was larger than average and he had no doubt it was Dean. A complete change, with three hours to go until dawn. Crap. So not good. He raised a hand, palm up, and assumed what he hoped was a non-threatening stance. He kept his voice even, steady. “Dean?”

TBC

A fragment of a planned story...

2007-07-25T20:03:20Z

Okay, guys... I know, you're in shock, two posts in two days, what am I thinking? *LOL*

Anyway. This is the first bits and pieces of a story that bit me and won't go away... AJ/Eddie helped me with the concept and some of the dialogue.

I don't mean any infringement, I'm just playing in the sandbox and will return everything and everyone I've borrowed when I've finished with no harm done.

This is a DOOM fanfiction. Hopefully y'all are familiar enough with the movie/game/concept to understand what's going on here... if not, just let me know and I'll try to explain *LOL*

Without further ado...

DOOM: The Next Mission

All characters, concepts, locations, and creations remain the property of their individual owners. I'm just playing a bit. Original characters are my creation and may not be used without permission. Just ask, I'll give it.

John Grimm groaned as the commlink activated. He stared at it blearily for a moment before going to answer it. RRTS code... must be important.

Slowly he made his way to the comm, his thoughts whirling madly around in his head. Samantha had managed to keep the details of what had happened in the Ark room from the prying eyes of both the RRTS and the UAC... but it still haunted him. Medical reviews would reveal his secret, and he had so far avoided them, but it was becoming a hell of a lot more difficult.

"Yeah," he barked into the pickup once it became active. "What have you got?"

"Sergeant Grimm. We have your new team set up and they are being shipped out now. We need you to go back to Olduvai there appears to some activity there." The RRTS command rep on the screen frown and typed something on the screen. "Below is the vital data that you need for the mission as well as a list of those on your team and their skills. Oh and Sergeant before you can be allowed to complete this mission you will need to go to medical for a full physical. Is that understood?"

"Understood." Could he get them to accept Samantha's report as his physical? Only one way to find out. "Personal physician's report sufficient or do I have to see Medical?" Please, please don't say Medical... his secret would be out and then there would be hell to pay. Even with the report they'd brought back from Olduvai in the first place... his motives might become suspect, and he damned sure didn't want to be a lab rat. The C-24 had bonded with his own DNA, and a simple blood test would reveal it. So far, he'd managed to avoid it; but he knew it couldn't last forever. "Those guys are a bunch of pinheads." That was it, just the right amount of scorn. He waited pensively for the response.

"Negative. You will need the full physical required of all military personnel. A personal physician is not capable or prepared to fully test a military subject. You will report to Dr. Dana Cavelan." The operative on the screen scowled at him. "What do you expect, Reaper. The rest of your team is dead your the last man standing you get stuck with pinheads. Also you'll be taking medical personnel with you this time as well."

"Understood. I'll head for Medical now. What's the timetable?" Grimm swore softly. No way would he get out of this without being turned into a guinea pig. Once someone identified the C-24, he would be locked away in a lab forever. There had to be a way. He would be an incredible asset to the mission... his hyper-stimulated senses and reactions might just keep his men alive.

"We expect you up and in ready no less than eight hours from now. Your team will have been briefed and you will meet the medic that will be with your team when you go for your physical. That's all. Good luck Reaper." The comm switched off.

Grimm swore again, not so softly. Then he gathered his gear and headed for Medical. Eight hours would just about give him enough time to complete the physical and meet up with his team. The intel he had on them looked good; but it didn't tell him how they would react under fire. And Olduvai meant a fire mission, guaranteed.

He didn't want to go back there. Too many memories, too many friends lost in the UAC's station; but he had orders. And these people stood no chance if they went in there blind. They'd come out as hamburger, or worse. He had to go.

He stepped into Medical and asked for Dr. Cavelan.

Dana looked up from her scope and frowned. "Sgt? I'm Dr. Cavelan." She stood up her blue grey eyes coming even with his shoulder. "If you'll follow me the initial tests will be done in the chamber than the rest will be directly with me. I'll need to draw some blood to do a full panel on you." Her dark hair hung down her back in sheets.

Grimm nodded and followed her, stopping where indicated. "Your call, doc, you just tell me what to do." He kept the edge out of his voice, but only just. A simple blood sample would out him for sure. His blood wouldn't even look human any more, if what they had seen on Olduvai was any indication.

Dana gave him a look. "You don't like doctors do you Reaper? Or is it you just don't like me?" She glared at him as she took a syringe out and stuck it carefully into his arm. "Can you explain why you appear to be in perfect health even though from pictures I've seen from the attack on the Ark. All those poor people down below." She shook her head in disbelief she had autopsied some of them and couldn't explain how they died the way they did.

"It's been six months, that's how," Grimm replied evenly. This was it, any minute she'd notice something was off... she was already looking for it. "You've seen the report, right? It should have answered all your questions." He was avoiding her other question on general principles. It didn't matter one damn bit if it was her or docs in general he didn't like. The fact remained; he was only there because he had been ordered to be. And he stood no chance of leaving for this mission unless he was a good boy and followed orders.

Dana snorted as she watched the deep rich blood filling the vial. "Reaper, I need to get to know who I'll be working 7 and half hours from now. I like to know who people tick so that I can avoid cause them or me any major issues." She pulled the needle out gently placing a bandage over the small needle hole. "After all isn't that what a good commander does? Learns about those he'll be in charge of so he knows who the pains in the asses are?"

"Yeah, I've already got you tagged," Grimm shot back smoothly. "What do I need with a medic? I've got medical training." The whole situation had him off balance, and he didn't like it. At least Samantha was out of it. She wasn't anywhere *near* Olduvai, nor would she willingly go back. He looked down at Cavelan, one eyebrow raised in question. "Or did that get past you in the report?"

Dana frowned at him and motioned one of the orderlies to take him out. "Actually since you’re in charge you won't have time to take care of your men and be in command." Her voice was cold. "So don't pull I can handle everything crap Sgt. and nothing gets past me. Want to explain this dark substance in your blood?" She held up the vial and watched him as it swirled of its own accord.

Grimm closed his eyes. There it was... she would report it and he'd end up as a guinea pig somewhere. "Can we go off the record?" he asked softly.

Dana looked at him shrewdly, "If this is a proposition Reaper forget it. My job is my true passion. I find that Military men are assholes." She moved off to place the blood in the analyzer. "You may proceed to the initial tests. Reaper."

"It's not... not a proposition, Dr.” Grimm tried to keep his voice even. "I need that analysis off the record, or my career is over... and maybe my life. The UAC would *love* to see it, believe me." He took a deep breath. "It has to do with what happened on Olduvai the first time."

Dana glared at him. "I dislike UAC on principle." She placed a drop in the analyzer and turned back to look at him leaning back against the counter. "Reaper, tell me what happened that makes you think your career will be over?"

"How much of the data we recovered did you see?" It was a trick question, really. He and Samantha had destroyed the disks. Human experimentation wasn't just wrong, it was *wrong.* And what Carmak had done to those people... what they had then done to others... it would have caused a widespread panic. Her answer would determine his course of action... and whether or not he should trust her.

Dana snorted, "As you know all data was lost which is probably why they want me to attempt to download it again once I arrive there. I told them that they could shove it up there fuzzy asses and that I wasn't a UAC flunky." She looked at him curiously, "Unless there was some data retrieved but you had decided to keep it secret."

"We destroyed what we found." John had decided to take a risk and trust her. If it blew up in his face... well... that was life. He could easily outmaneuver her and take her down if necessary. He hoped it wouldn't be. "Dr. Carmak was experimenting on humans. The archeological dig had been reopened, and humanoid remains found. Humanoid... but with an extra chromosomal pair. Commack separated it and was using humans to experiment with it." He gripped the edge of the table, unable to look at her, lost once more in the tunnels of Mars City. "The subject escaped. He then went on a rampage and Carmak called the quarantine. We went in... but we didn't know what we were walking into. That... *thing*... killed half of us before we figured it out." His eyes were haunted, unseeing, focused in the past. "It was Samantha who figured out what was happening. Some of the men it killed, they... came back. As something different, something... not quite human. The mutation continued and we had to fight them off. Then we discovered... not everyone who had been attacked had been infected. It was only seeking like traits... homicidal, sociopathic traits, like its own."

His voice was hollow. "One of them got back through the Ark. We came after it... but not before it had already infected Sarge... and Pinky. And Pinky... whatever he was by then... attacked us. He... tore me up." The memory was still disturbing to him... it had been such a close thing. "I was dying. I knew that, from a medical standpoint, I was bleeding to death. Samantha theorized that the extra chromosomal pair was what killed off the Martians... it was seeking like traits in those that had it. The psychos won, and they all killed each other. But she thought... she hoped... that by infecting someone who *wasn't* a homicidal maniac, she could save me. She injected me with the C-24."

Dana watched him in disbelief until the analyzer blipped and said that there was no trace of blood in the sample. "Holy shit" She looked at him worriedly. "So what you’re saying is that this C-24 made you into some kind of monster? Does that mean your going to attack me?" She backed up trying to move away for safety.

"That's not what I'm saying at all," John replied firmly. "It... made me different, yes. Stronger, faster, smarter... and I would have been dead without it. But it saved me, it... I would never have been able to stop Sarge from getting to the surface and infecting others if she hadn't done it." The memory haunted him. "He'd been infected by the beast... I had to stop him." Another memory surfaced and he paused. "Just how are we supposed to get back to Olduvai? The Ark was destroyed at the source."

Dana shook her head continuing to back away. "They've been able to rebuild it since the technology was there and known I guess. I'm a doctor not a tech. So you’re not going to try and infect me?" She pulled out a knife and held it in front of her for protection.

"Would you get a grip? If I was going to infect you, I'd have done it already, and you wouldn't have been able to stop me." John had to win her trust somehow or this wasn't going to work. She held his very life in her hands, couldn't she see that? He crossed the room in one leap and had the knife from her hand almost immediately. "I'm faster, stronger, and more agile than you. I won't say smarter because it's probably not true." He stepped back, handing the knife back to her hilt first. "I've trusted you with my life. If *anything* of this were to get back to the UAC, no matter how, I'll spend what is left of my life locked up in a lab being poked, prodded, and experimented on. And it would probably be a very *short* life, since they will want to know what makes me tick. Will you let that happen?"

She growled at him and took his arm. "I've told you twice that there is no love lost between UAC and me. Now let me see your hand you cut it." She took the hand and looked it over. She wiped the blood away and looked at where there should have been a wound. "What the hell?" She looked up at him. "Did you just fake that wound or am I loosing my mind?" She took the tip of her knife and sliced the tip of one of his fingers testing.

Reaper drew his hand back quickly and fought the snarl that threatened. "That's exactly what I'm talking about. Experiments. You needed to see it; you couldn't just have me tell you it had healed." He was scared, now, more scared than he had been at first. Was she going to report this? Was it going in his file? If so, he'd best start running now. "You said there's no love lost between you and the UAC. If any of this goes in my file, I'm as good as dead. I trusted you. Will you trust me?"

Dana glared at him and stepped into his space. She looked in straight in the eye. "UAC won't learn a damn thing from me. I was just seeing if I had seen what I had seen. You could be just a very good magician. I need to know more about your condition. Do you want me to see if there is a cure for it?"

"No." The word was soft, but full of regret. "I'd feel... it'd be like I was crippled, somehow. I'm... I'm better than I was, stronger, faster, more agile... I can use those skills, those abilities, to better protect my men, to protect people, to help." John turned his face toward her, finally seeing her, really *seeing* her. "What do you want to know? I've given you the basics. I've got a 24th chromosomal pair attached to my DNA. And this mission... this mission might be the perfect place to observe first-hand. If there's something stirring at Olduvai Station, it's going to get nasty."

She raised an eyebrow and licked her lips. "It improved everything?" She fought the urge to moan and she couldn't figure out why. "Um so this chromosomal pair. Do you have any idea why it attached to you? I mean you said that Sam said it could help you heal but how did it do that." She was felt like her mind was melting. She shook her head feeling things that she hadn't thought about since she took on the responsibilities of being a doctor.

John shook his head. "It attached because Sam injected me with the solution. I was compatible. I don't know why." He thought for a moment. "Sam said that the extra pair had helped the inhabitants overcome disease, cancers. That their rate of cell division was twice what ours is, that's why I heal so fast. Almost instantaneous. She said they found no traces of disease, of cancers, of viruses... nothing at all in the remains they found that contained the extra pair." He checked his watch. "Getting close to time, doc... are we done here?"

She blinked and looked down at her own watch. "Um yeah. Just let me destroy the sample I took. I'll just take care of what I can and say your okay for duty. Uh did your sister say anything about pheromones? And survival skills like mating tendencies?" She flushed bright red. "Because I gotta tell ya that up until you walked in here I didn't feel the need to fuck anybodies brains out and in you come like a Greek god and I want to jump your bones." She slapped a hand on her mouth looking up at him in horror. "Oh god."

John laughed softly. "No, there's nothing like that. I'm still me, I'm just... better." He blushed brightly himself. "Come on, let's get this show on the road. I want to find out what's going on out there and stop it before anyone else gets killed." He thought that glossing over her confession would be the best thing for the moment... even if she was kind of cute, for a doc. "If you want out, you'd better say now. I'm not taking anyone but volunteers on this one. It's going to be ugly, run and gun, and probably messy as hell. Not everyone will come back. There's going to be a lot of blood, a lot of death... and not much time to patch up the wounded. You make your choice." He heard the difference in his voice, heard how hard he sounded... but it wasn't enough. It could *never* be enough to convey to others what was waiting for them out there. It was Hell, pure and simple. And if there was a worse place than Hell, the Olduvai Station was it.

Dana scowled at him. "You can't be a leader and healer at the same time and I'm not going to pass up a chance to see your amazing genetics in action." She disposed of his blood sample and smiled grimly. "Besides whose to say those UAC bastards won't send a mole in you team to download that data for them.

John just gave her a raised eyebrow. "That's a thought," he said pensively. "Although, you'll have to tell me sometime just what the UAC did to you to make you hate them this much." He held out his hand for her to shake.

She raised an eyebrow at him. "What you don't want to seal the deal with a kiss?" She laughed and took his hand. "Let's just say that they used my genetics against my family."

"Ouch." John released her hand after shaking it carefully; he knew he was much stronger and tempered that when dealing with others.

They went to the Ark room and John scanned over his new crew. He wanted to shake his head; new fish, the lot of them, and probably not one of them would come home from this nightmare. He needed experienced personnel, and what he got was the fresh out of boot camp rookies. "Listen up!" he bellowed. "You have been ordered on this mission. I'm releasing you from those orders. You have been briefed, they tell me, on what you will find at Olduvai Station. I'm telling you now, *nothing* in that briefing could possibly prepare you for it. I've been there. I am the sole surviving member of the first squad in." He fixed all of them with a hard glare. "There is no shame in backing out now. I'll take no one but volunteers. It's going to be ugly. It will be brutal. It will be bloody, and the chances are you won't make it back. If any of you are still willing to go, step forward onto the Ark platform." He gave a nod to the operator. "Fire it up. Anyone who's still ready to go, let's go. Everyone else... get out, go home, enjoy your families while you can." He stepped onto the platform.

Dana watched as no one in the group backed off. 'Oh god' she thought as she watched all those young faces as they watch the sergeant closely not a single one withdrew. "Looks like you have your answer Sergeant. Can we get started on this little adventure? I've always despised Ark travel."

"Ark travel sucks," Reaper replied sotto voce. "But you can't tell them that. They'll be sick enough as it is." He stepped up as the count finished. One more step...

Posting FINALLY YAY I'M WRITING AGAIN!!!!!

2007-07-24T00:23:39Z

Okay, so this isn't great, but it's a start. This is the third episode in my Lord of the Rings Series starting with Revolution and Retribution, followed by Revelation and Restoration. This one, however, is called simply, Redemption.

If you haven't read the others, you can probably make sense of this... but I'd suggest you read them first. No slash...

They can be found under my name at Fanfiction.net... DJSparkles, that is. :)

Without further ado... I give you

REDEMPTION
Chapter One
(After the cut, of course)

Disclaimer: I don’t own any of the characters from The Lord of the Rings. The late JRR Tolkien, New Line Cinema, and a bunch of other people with a LOT more money than I have do, and I’m just borrowing them to have a little fun and I’ll put them back when I’m finished. I’m making no money from this, it’s for entertainment purposes only, so please don’t sue me. Tanathel is my creation, as are a few of the other original characters in this series. Please consult me before you use them in your own fics; I’ll probably say yes, I just like to know where my babies are.

Archive permission: If you want it, take it. Just tell me where you’re putting it so I can stop by and visit. Thanks.

Author’s note: This is third in an AU series; you should read “Revolution and Retribution” and “Restoration and Revelation” before you read this. It isn’t necessary; but you’ll understand this one better if you do.

Dedications: To Evendim, who has given me such great pleasure with her own AU series and graciously given me permission to play in hers any time I wish. She has the same permission from me. Without her, I would never have gotten started in this particular fandom; she gave me the courage I needed to post that first story, and for that I am forever grateful. To Ithil-valon, who has provided tireless beta-services and been the best friend anyone could ever ask for… I love you for it, hon, don’t ever change. And finally, to my beloved AJ, without whom I couldn’t have gotten through some seriously horrid times in my life, or how I would go on without. I love you.

Chapter One

(The Houses of Healing, Minas Tirith)

Tanathel waited, her mind whirling, for Calas to be free. She would trust this to no other healer, not after her disastrous sojourn with them before. She had nearly lost her leg as a result and Calas was the only one of them she could still trust. That Boromir had given her his personal recommendation of the physician was also a powerful argument for trust. So, she held her silence, pacing distractedly as she waited in the corridor for him.

How had she let things get so serious? She could no longer perform her duties effectively; this wretched illness was affecting even her sleep. She knew she had lost weight, and she was unable to eat more than a few bites at a time. Wine and ale unsettled her so badly that she had steered clear, which had occasioned a comment from Boromir and that hadn’t exactly been handled well, either. Her temper was on edge, so much so that she mistrusted her ability to be an impartial judge when the need arose.

Calas waved her into the Infirmary with a smile. “What brings the Captain of the King’s Guard to me today?” he asked in a kindly voice. “I know how much you prefer to avoid my company.” His eyes twinkled with suppressed mirth.

Tanathel gave him a wan smile in return. “I do indeed, but not from personal dislike, as well you know,” she replied evenly. “I had thought to visit Lord Faramir after I had seen you to discuss this… illness hardly seems fitting. I do not sleep, I cannot eat… and my temper… the less said about it, the better.” She shook her head, her dark hair gleaming in the light from the open windows.

Calas gave her a quick once-over and nodded. Her eyes sported dark circles and she had indeed lost weight; it was puzzling to him. “How long have you been having these symptoms, Captain?” he asked seriously as he began a closer examination. “If you would just lay back for me…”

Tanathel did so, noticing that the ceiling seemed to have taken on a life of its own. Closing her eyes for a moment steadied the room, and she opened them with a sigh. She felt his fingers poking and prodding along her body and forced herself to relax; Calas was the First Healer, he would never take liberties.

“Well, it could certainly be much worse for you,” Calas said as he offered his hand to help her sit up. “Tell me, is it worse in the mornings? Do the symptoms ease over the course of the day?”

“Definitely. By evening I feel almost normal. Except for the lack of appetite. The sight of food…” Her voice trailed off with a suggestive shudder.

Calas sighed as he washed his hands thoroughly and came to stand before her once more. “I’m pleased to tell you, Tanathel, that while the condition is most upsetting to you now, that it will be transitory. It shouldn’t last more than a few weeks, and then everything will be fine. I’ll have Corvin deliver a dietary regimen to you that should help, as well as suggestions on how to deal with the changes your body is going to feel and when to start your confinement. You’ll need to slow down considerably, although I do believe you’ll be able to keep up your duties for some time yet.”

Tanathel’s mind wobbled dangerously for a moment. Confinement? Slow down? Did he mean… no, it couldn’t be. “Calas, what on earth are you talking about?” she demanded harshly, trying to avoid the inevitable. They had only been back from the southern border for a few weeks, it couldn’t possibly… No. Absolutely not.

Calas eyed her carefully. Certainly her reaction had been somewhat unexpected. “Am I to take it then that this is not only totally unexpected, it is a condition you wished to avoid? Please, Tanathel, let me help you. This should be an occasion for rejoicing, not despair. A child is a blessing, not a curse.” It mattered not to him that she was unwed; everyone in the White City knew the connection between her and the Captain-General, and most of them blessed the match, whenever they got around to making it official. Tanathel had been a law unto herself since he had first seen her; she had made a mark for herself in a man’s world, and as such, had earned the right to break a few rules along the way.

“You saw me on my return, sir, you know what happened to me there,” Tanathel said softly as she turned a carefully blank expression toward him. “Make no mention of this to anyone, please. Have Corvin bring me the instructions, but tell *no one* of this. I am counting on your discretion as a healer, Calas. Boromir *must not* know.”

“Of course. If I had realized…” Calas was beside himself. If not Boromir’s child, there was only one other’s it could be, and he knew it would be unpalatable to her in the extreme. The Haradrim had treated her most vilely during her brief tenure as their prisoner, and she would not welcome a permanent reminder of their hospitality. He took refuge in his profession for a moment. “As you wish. But you must eat, Captain, for the child’s sake. Bland foods would be best at the moment, since they will cause you the least upset. You should also avoid wines, ales, and the like, since they are acid and will cause upset. I will send some tea with Corvin as well that should prove soothing to you.” He turned away to allow her to take her leave.

Tanathel murmured her gratitude and withdrew, headed for the Council Chamber. There was no longer time for a visit to her Steward; her King had called a council session for this morning and she had taken too much time here. She would have time enough to think over her predicament afterward.

(Outside the Council Chambers, Minas Tirith)

Boromir, Captain-General of Gondor’s Armies, was pressing his luck and he knew it. When the King called a council, it was expected that everyone be on time. Matters of office aside, of course. And it most certainly was *not* a matter of his office that he was seeing to at the moment.

Corvin had reported that Tanathel had not been to her office as yet this morning, and since he knew her to be meticulous in her discharge of her duty, he was waiting for her outside the Council Chamber. He certainly hadn’t been able to fault Corvin for confiding in him; the page had an almost uncanny fascination with Tanathel and nearly worshiped her. He would do anything she asked… except keep a secret from Boromir. Once the boy had realized Tanathel was truly ill, it was only to be expected he would take the news to Boromir.

He saw her approaching and pulled himself away from the wall hurriedly. “Tanathel!” he greeted her lightly as he would normally, although his keen eyes quickly took in signs of her distress. She was thin almost to the point of gauntness, and obviously she had felt better. Lines of strain were visible around her eyes and he took all of this in instantly. “You’re late. It’s not like you.”

“I needed to see Calas for a moment, that’s all,” she replied easily as she took his hand in greeting. “It’s nothing. Shall we?”

Boromir nodded, determined to get to the bottom of this as soon as humanly possible. They entered the Council Chamber together, all business. He showed her no favoritism once inside; she was allowed to seat herself, as befit her rank, not her gender. She had earned that right, and he wouldn’t belittle it.

He nodded his apologies to Aragorn and took his own seat, knowing there would be some discussion of their behavior when the Council adjourned. It was the first time the two of them had ever appeared late for a Council, and in each other’s company to boot. It looked wrong.

Aragorn brought them to order quickly. “Boromir, in Faramir’s absence, to you falls the Stewardship. Are you prepared to give your report?”

Boromir rose and nodded brusquely. He was no stranger to double duty; but it had been some years and a period he didn’t want to think about since he’d had to fulfill what was now his brother’s office. Fortunately his training had held true. “The Haradrim are moving again. I’ve sent scouts all along the border, and the reports are the same. Massive troop movements, but no clear intent. I’m uncertain what to make of it, to be truthful; I had expected some form of reprisal after the rout in the South.” He paced a bit. “They move no closer to the border, yet they reinforce their positions heavily. Alajahado was high in their command; that much was obvious. That he had been assassinated by his own second is, I’m told, not an unusual occurrence when his loyalties had become suspect by treating with us.” He gave a glance to Tanathel.

She leaned forward, steepling her hands before her. “It is a Haradrim custom to advance in the military by assassination. Manzhanesh killed him for showing us mercy, for releasing us, and for returning our honor to us. His gift was personal… and yet Manzhanesh would have seen it as a betrayal of their traditions.” Her face was hard with remembered pain. “Manzhanesh considered it his duty to assassinate Alajahado for softening… and for betraying his own honor in such a fashion.”

Boromir nodded in agreement. “We know this much about them. The question becomes, why are they hesitating in launching a counter-offensive?”

Aragorn spoke again. “It most likely indicates they are in a state of unrest after the assassinations. I have encountered Manzhanesh before in my travels, long ago; at least, I believe it to be the same man. Ambitious, hard, and from one of the most respected families in Far Harad. His honor was more important to him than anything, family, position, wealth and power… they meant nothing beside his honor. To hear this from you fits with what I know of the man; and yet, not quite. Perhaps it is his son. In any case, Boromir, was his death truly unavoidable?”

Boromir shook his head slowly. “Perhaps it might have been. It was a matter of personal honor to me that he died, my lord. I would rather not rehash the details in open council, if you please.” His eyes cut to Tanathel for only a second, but it was enough. The Council erupted into muted mutters and hushed whispers as they debated the issue.

Aragorn kept his gaze fixed on Boromir, as though trying to discern his reasoning. He allowed the discussion to continue, patently waiting for some response from Boromir, but none was forthcoming. Boromir merely returned that level gaze, his own green eyes revealing nothing, until Aragorn judged enough time had passed. “Enough,” he said simply, and the room quieted. “Boromir, this discussion is far from over. Remain after Council. Gentlemen, this accomplishes nothing. We must discover why they have made no overt move toward us, why they are hesitating in launching a reprisal.”

Tanathel cleared her throat before anyone else could speak. “Discretion is useless when the truth could prevent a war, Boromir,” she said slowly, her voice firm. “Manzhanesh assaulted me. Boromir took vengeance for it, as was his right. *That* is why Manzhanesh is dead, Sire, and no other reason. That, and the fact that he was doing his best to kill Boromir at the time.” She looked up from the table, her eyes flat. “I would have done it myself had I been there.”

Aragorn stiffened slightly. “Tanathel, you will also remain. Gentlemen, I will require your discretion in this matter. Suggestions?”

Daerlin rose and Aragorn stifled a groan. The man was more than competent, intelligent, and had a sharp mind for civic matters; and yet his acceptance of Tanathel had been tainted from the start with distrust. At least he was honest enough to admit to his bias. “We should send a delegation to the Haradrim. Offer them a chance to begin treaty negotiations. Anticipate their demands and attempt to meet them.”

Several of the other councilors murmured agreement. “Very well, your suggestions are noted. Daerlin, you had another issue you wished to address?” Aragorn tried to keep things moving, though he dearly wished to discover what was at the bottom of all this.

Daerlin spoke again, his voice firm. “Indeed. There has been a systematic raiding of the outlying farms along the northern border, where our lands march with Rohan. They appear to be Orc raids… and yet no Orcs have been spotted in months, not since Saruman was destroyed. It is puzzling to me how this could happen with the Rohirrim constantly on guard as well. The border is well secured with both our forces and theirs. It is simply an impossibility that the Orcs could have come and gone unseen by *someone.* And yet, apparently they have.”

Aragorn gave the matter some thought. “We will have to send messengers to Edoras to see if the Rohirrim are encountering the same difficulty. Thank you, gentlemen, that will be all for today. Boromir, Tanathel, walk with me.” He rose and left the room, leading them to the gardens. “Arwen loved the gardens best of all,” he said softly. “I would like to understand what has happened here, Boromir. Your behavior at the border was rather… unorthodox, to say the least. Allowing yourself to be captured in the first place was incomprehensible… but this… you have *never* put aside the good of Gondor for your own personal satisfaction. What were you thinking, if you were thinking at all?”

Boromir appeared discomfited. “Perhaps it is as you say, and I was not thinking clearly,” he said slowly. “I have oft wondered, of late, if my father’s madness was passed to me… or if the wizard, when he brought me back, somehow affected my mind. Some of my decisions have been… shall we say… rash, ill-advised, and admittedly lacking in intelligence.”

Aragorn nodded while Tanathel merely murmured something that sounded suspiciously close to an agreement. “And do you believe, now, that you are mad? That you cannot perform the duties of your office competently? Boromir, I must be certain of you before I may adequately deal with this new threat, both of the Haradrim and the Orcs. If you are uncertain of yourself, tell me now.”

Boromir paused, his golden hair fanned by the slight breeze, his eyes focused on some point in the distance. Slowly, he shook his head. “I am not uncertain of myself, no. But perhaps the men will feel differently.” He shrugged. “I have overcome many obstacles before… this is simply one more. I say again… I would follow you into the very fires of Mordor did you ask it of me. You need have no fear of future lapses on my part.”

“Very well. Tanathel, I will begin by reaffirming my trust in you.” Aragorn caught her eye and held it, willing her to understand why he must speak as he was about to. “You have never failed me, never failed to do your duty as promised, never failed to uphold that duty as your first concern. I must ask you, can you prove it was Manzhanesh who assaulted you? I believe you… but many will not.”

“Because I am Haradrim.” Tanathel’s voice held no recriminations. “Understandable. No, I cannot prove it, not at present. And every witness to that reprehensible action is now dead.” She chewed her lower lip thoughtfully, avoiding Boromir’s eye completely, uncertain of how to proceed. “Boromir saw Alajahado give me to Manzhanesh, saw him take me from the pavilion… but most will not believe him, either, because of our… association.” She knew it would be hurtful to him, but she had to give her king the truth. “However, if it is questioned, there will soon be evidence enough of what happened.” She closed her eyes against the questions she *knew* were about to be asked.

Boromir whipped his head around to regard her anew as the answers for her illness and strain became clear. “Manzhanesh?” he queried softly, though there was rage in his eyes. “I should have killed him on general principles when we first met,” he growled.

“Boromir.” Aragorn’s voice was soft. “It cannot be undone. Tanathel, I trust you will care for yourself properly?” He paused for a moment. “There is also the matter of your courtship,” he began firmly, including them both in his level gaze, the grey/blue of his eyes startlingly bright in the morning sun. “This situation must be addressed, and the most obvious solution is to wed the two of you as soon as possible. The child must have a father; and appearances must be upheld. The haste of this will cause talk; but to delay will cause more, and perhaps lose you both the respect of the people.”

Boromir nodded, and after a moment’s hesitation, so did Tanathel. “Duty will always dictate our lives,” Boromir said softly as he took her hand. “I would expect no less from you than I do of myself. If this is not to your liking, you must tell me now.” He wanted her, had wanted her for weeks, had courted her with singleminded determination. He admired her, her dedication, her spirit, her fire… but he would have no part of her if she did not wish it. It must be her choice.

Tanathel shook her head. “Not exactly as we had planned, is it, Boromir?” she said with a wry smile. “But still according to plan, if a bit sooner than we liked. I would never have refused you. And you should know that.” His hesitation was endearing to her. “We are at your disposal, my liege, as always.” She inclined her head respectfully toward Aragorn.

The King nodded again. “Very well. Make your preparations, then, and we will see you wed within the month. Dismissed, both of you. Oh, and Tanathel… see to training Mauhar to take your place temporarily. I know he is your personal choice of successor; see that he knows the routine as well as you.” He waved them away and watched as they took their leave, their heads together and plotting something already. He was almost afraid of what this wedding would turn into… with the two of them, it would hardly be a traditional, staid, relaxed affair. Sighing, he took his leave of the gardens and went to his office; there was still much to be ordered before he could in conscience return to his quiet contemplations.

TBC…

MMORPG's are fun... and bloody addictive!

2007-03-09T23:15:53Z

Yep. You read it right. I've been sucked into the world of the Massively Multiplayer Online Role Playing Game.

If y'all can get to fileplanet.com, and are interested, this is a really REALLY neat game. You get to kill things, go on quests... and if you die, you get respawned in the town. Nice deal.

It's called Last Chaos...

Fileplanet is free to join, don't let the ads fool you... and the download is over 400MB so you need a good connection for it to work.

Yes, I know I should be writing... but as stress relief, this kicks butt. *LOL* I'll write when Fuzzy stops being difficult... promise.

More stuff :)

2007-03-07T15:53:05Z

Yep, that's right. More stuff going up on Ebay. This time it's comic books; about 5000 of them when all is said and done. If anyone is interested, you can find me on Ebay by searching for user djsparklesafghans.

I got lots of them, believe me... X-Men, Batman, and a whole lot more.

Yes, it's a shameless plug... *headdesk*

And yes, I promise to be writing this evening.

A Me. Found this elsewhere...

2007-03-02T07:31:27Z

If I got it from you, tell me please so I can credit?

How to make a Lockheed

Ingredients:

5 parts mercy

5 parts crazyiness

3 parts empathy

Method:
Blend at a low speed for 30 seconds. Add a little cocktail umbrella and a dash of lustfulness

Personality cocktail
From Go-Quiz.com

FIC Post: The Dresden Files, Epilogue (to an unwritten fic), FRT, hints of Harry/Murphy

2007-03-02T03:03:22Z

This is just a short snippet that demanded to be written and wouldn't let go. Based on the book verse more than the tv series...

Title: Epilogue
Author: DJ Sparkles
Rating: FRT
Disclaimer: They're not mine. I don't own them, I'm only playing with them a bit and promise to put them back when I'm done. All hail the mighty Jim Butcher for creating the Dresden Files... and I promise not to hurt Harry any more than he usually does. :)
Summary: After a difficult case, Harry has time to recover... and reflect.
Type: Gen
Author's Notes: This takes place in an unspecified future time, sometime AFTER Proven Guilty and possibly before the upcoming White Night.
Fandom: Dresden Files

I’ll probably never know what Murphy did to get three whole weeks off work, because I’m afraid to ask. All I know is that every time I woke up, she was there. Holding my hand, touching my hair, telling me I was going to be okay and I just needed rest.

Wow.

She’d even had Butters come in, once I was a little more stable and coherent, to have a look at me. He agreed with her; which made me wonder where they were getting their information. I felt old and used up and ready for a long, LONG nap. Like maybe about a hundred years or so. Even my crispy fried left hand, that had been healing, was starting to hurt again. I was drained.

Well, I guess I had cause. It isn’t every day you face off with a literal Demon from Hell and live to tell the tale. I guess I flattened it but good. Didn’t kill it, unfortunately… you can’t kill something like that. But I sent it back to its mommy kicking and screaming with a face full of whupass. Or so I’m told.

I can’t remember.

Morgan came to see me once. Yeah, that Morgan. The one who’s wanted to separate my head from my shoulders for a lot of years. The White Council’s watchdog and executioner. Warden. Whatever. He surprised me, too. Had nothing but good words to say, told me I’d be all right and that a little memory loss was expected. Don’t that beat all. Makes me wonder exactly what I did to make him eat crow that way.

Sooner or later, I’ll remember. I’ve got to hope for that. Right now… right now I’m in my comfy little bed in my antiquated apartment with Murphy bustling around out there being all homey, and it scares me. Murph just isn’t Suzie Homemaker. She’s a kick-ass Chicago cop with a who-knows-how-high degree black belt in aikido and other martial arts, an expert marksmanship badge, and an attitude to go with it all. This is a side of her I’ve never seen. It’s nice, don’t get me wrong… but I’m not used to Murph being all domestic. Makes me wonder what she’s setting me up for when I do get out of bed.

My name is Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden. Be careful what you conjure by it… because if it’s the wrong thing, I will find out. And there’ll be Hell to pay.

(There it is. I crave feedback, guys! Please?)

It's official... I'm old.

2007-02-22T13:10:16Z

Yep. I lived through it. I had that milestone birthday thing yesterday... turned the big 4-0. Funny, I don't feel any older than I did when I was in high school... until I stay up all night and the body reminds me I'm not a kid any more *LOL*.

At any rate, that's over, and I don't have to worry about another milestone for a decade.

I'm writing again! Yay! Unfortunately, I'm not writing on anything I've already got started *headdesk* I promise that I will finish them. It just might take a while.

Guess that's all, for now.

Update. About time, too!

2007-02-09T22:02:41Z

Guess I really should update this more often.

Um, okay, about me, I'm doing okay. Back on the meds that actually work, so I should be feeling a lot better and a lot more sociable really soon. This is a good thing :)

About the fics. Um... Well, honestly, I've been running over them in my head but haven't had the drive to do much of ANYTHING lately, am hoping the new meds help me finally get back into the swing of things. I've got bunnies galore and refuse to even start any of them until I've finished what I've got started. Hopefully the first chappie will go up this weekend. Meaning, hopefully, the ending of Behind Blue Eyes.

That's it for now... not much of an update but hey, such as it is, there it is.

Back to the Grind LOL

2007-01-08T18:31:09Z

Holidays are over... which means I have to be a good little dragon and get back to work on the store. Lots of stuff ordered I have to get shipped out today... but that's fine. Means more money :)

Hopefully I'll be doing a little writing again soon. Stress of the holidays has been relieved... maybe I'll calm down enough that Jaws will come back. *shrug*

Dentists

2007-01-02T19:36:35Z

Heh. I called for an appointment ASAP because I've got some broken teeth, right? Soonest they can get me in is NEXT week. Oh well... at least they'll be taken care of. Until then, I sip my meals from a straw...

Right now? I guess I should get back to work. *sigh*

Welcome to the New Year

2007-01-02T11:12:32Z

Hi guys. Just a short rant, then I'll go to the good stuff.

Rant mode ON: Anyone who has dogs will understand this one. I had to stay up late last night (or early this morning, depending on your point of view) to make sure dad woke up to go to work, since it was only a half shift and he doesn't always hear his alarm.

No problem. That's not why I'm upset.

My dogs, bless their little pointy heads... I took two MORPHINE based pain pills at 2AM after Dad left because my mouth was hurting so bad. Broken teeth, long story, not going there right now. THEN about an hour later, when I still couldn't sleep, I followed them with my Ambien (it's a sleep aid).

This is when the dogs decided it was time to play. Run all over the bedroom, bark, try to drag mom out of bed to play, run OVER mom, the works. I put them outside, they decided it was time for the canine howling chorus. It's 5AM by this time, I can't leave them out to do that, we'll get a ticket. Bring them back in, instant replay. They're out again now and i think they've got the idea mom's not a happy camper... but I still have to bring them in because it's too early to let them bark.

Anyone want to sleep for me? I can't go back to bed now... too much work to do today (Including calling the dentist to get these teeth removed).

Ah, well. At least it wasn't someone trying to get in the house.

No writing for me today, unless I get around to it. I've got to write up and post twenty-five listings before I let myself do anything else...

Busy little dragon

2006-12-14T08:13:50Z

Yep. I've been working on the store again... new magazines going up on a daily basis again. Reader's Digests this week.

For anyone who's interested, my store can be found on eBay by searching my username: djsparklesafghans.

I offer a wide variety of material... right now there are vintage magazines. I will be adding Lord of the Rings Trading Cards soon, as well as a wide selection of collector quality comic books and handmade items such as afghans and quilts. If anyone is interested, take a peek, and mention that you came in from my LJ please.

All that said... things around here are getting back to normal, finally. We're ready for Christmas, thanks to our very own Christmas angels (you know who you are and we will be forever grateful to you). And hopefully we will be crawling out of the hole by the first of February.

Yes, I'm still writing! The final Chapter of Behind Blue Eyes should be at the beta's by the end of next week. I know y'all can't wait for it... but I want to do it up right for you.

After that, I'm moving on to The Price of Vengeance, and Redemption, and an as yet untitled CSI:Miami fic that I guarantee y'all will love. Hopefully I won't get lynched for any of them... but they ought to be well received.

Thanks for peeking in! This little dragon is headed for my nest; it's 3AM and I've got lots and lots of work to do in about 4 hours. Catch y'all on the flip!

Another Quiz :D

2006-12-03T17:02:57Z

What type of Fae are you?

lockheeddragon @ 2006-12-02T02:24:00

2006-12-02T07:24:06Z

Fanfiction: The Price of Vengeance, 4/?, CSI:Miami/CSI crossover, FRAO. Slashfic.

2006-11-28T18:43:28Z

I swear I need to get a handle on RL so I can get back to my writing. Anyway, here's the next chapter of Vengeance...

Title: The Price of Vengeance
Fandom: CSI Miami/CSI Las Vegas
Author: DJ Sparkles
Rating: FRAO
Disclaimer: I no own, you no sue. I’ll put them back when I’m done.
Warnings: 1) SLASH! You've been warned, you no like, you no read. Don't come crying to me later that you hated it because H can't possibly be gay. 2) This is an exceedingly dark!fic that was sicced on me and won't let go. 3) Contains spoilers for the first four seasons of Miami and all seasons of Vegas. Some are veiled, some not so much so. 4) Mentions of drug use/abuse. 5) Adult themes, severe emotional trauma, etc. 6) Really, I think that's enough.
Spoiler Warning: See above
Timeline: Diverges from Canon just after Miami's fourth season ender, "One of Our Own."
Beta: Bev, Kris, and Melissa. You ladies just ROCK, you know that?
Pairings: Wait and see.

Part Four

Miami Beach

Horatio stood with his hands on his hips, looking over the scene. “What have we got, Frank?” he asked as the detective came over. He knew the others were ranging behind him, waiting for the word to begin.

“Looks like another Noche hit,” Tripp responded as he got close. “Execution. Vic’s one Luis Batista. Got a rap sheet as long as your arm, mostly extortion, some armed robbery. Little fish in the Noche organization; looks like they were cleaning house. He was out on bail, trying to beat an assault charge.”

Horatio nodded and turned to his team. “Full process, as always. Calleigh, inside. Wolfe, check the perimeter and around the pool. Nick, you’ll come with me, I want a look at the body.”

Everyone headed off to their assigned area and Nick followed him in without a word. Horatio crouched down beside Alexx. Alexx reported without looking at him; she knew he’d be there, he always was. “First impression, COD was a gunshot wound to the back of the head,” she said evenly. “Some sort of white powder on his fingers and under the nails. I’ll send that to Tox for you. One other thing you should see before I move him.” She indicated the chest area with a gloved hand. “His hands were tied in front of him.”

“Not normal for an execution,” Nick said quickly. He had his gloves on and knelt down to look as well. “Plastic tie. Not much help there, you can get them at any hardware store.” He looked over the corpse at Horatio. “Think this is part of what you were talking about earlier?”

“That is the question, isn’t it?” Horatio was thinking hard again. “The evidence suggests a connection, certainly.” He looked closer. “Alexx, what’s that behind his left ear?”

She turned the victim’s head slightly. “About the size of a dime, smooth, circular impression. Kind of looks like a muzzle imprint, but there’s no real wound there, just a bruise. I’ll be able to tell more at the post.” She signaled her helpers and they took charge of the body.

Nick was already passing his light over the area the body had occupied. The floor was carpeted, so they wouldn’t find clear shoeprints, but there might have been something else left behind. Bloodstains were obvious, but they needed to be checked anyway. Something might have fallen into them. Finally, about two thirds of the way finished, he came up with something. “Got a couple of fibers, here, and they don’t match the carpet pattern,” he explained uneasily. He had the distinct impression that Lt. Caine wasn’t all that impressed with his abilities yet. He bagged them and moved on until he hit the edge of the impression left by the body.

Gunshots from outside startled them and they both hit the floor. Both men came up fast, moving in a half-crouch with weapons drawn to get out of the house and find some answers. What met their eyes was totally unexpected.

Uniformed officers had converged on the rear part of the house. The scene was in chaos; one officer was holding pressure on another’s wounded chest. Another was barking details into his handset, demanding reinforcements and rescue units. Yet another knelt next to Tripp, who was holding his head in one hand and obviously furious. And Wolfe was nowhere to be seen.

Horatio was first to reach them with Nick only a step behind. “Where’s Wolfe?” H asked quickly. He was taking in the damage to the other man’s face and concealing his reaction. Tripp had been hit hard, probably pistol whipped by the depth of the gouge across one cheek under the eye that was swelling shut.

Tripp simply handed held up a piece of paper. “They dropped that on me when they cold-cocked me,” he snarled. “Wolfe gave ‘em a helluva fight, but they dropped him, too, and took him along. Got a partial plate, dark blue Escalade, late model. All I can give you, Horatio.”

Nick took the paper in a gloved hand. “It’s addressed to you, Lieutenant. ‘I am coming for you.’ Signed Mao direita do Diablo.” He thought for a moment. “The right hand of the devil.”

Horatio didn’t hesitate. “Bag it. Listen up!” he projected. “I want security doubled out here. We’ve got another crime scene here, treat it accordingly. Let’s pay special attention to trace: it might lead us to our missing man. Frank, get a BOLO out on that Escalade, maybe we’ll get lucky.” His eyes raked over the scene once more. A cold knot of dread had formed in his stomach. “Let’s get to work.”

(Warehouse district)

Ryan would have screamed if he'd had the strength. He had lost track of how long he’d been here, of how long the torture had been going on. He wasn’t even certain why he had been brought here; but he had a good idea.

It had something to do with Horatio. He knew that much because he had heard the name mentioned while the rest of the conversation had been in a language he didn’t know. The voice had been so familiar, so tantalizingly familiar… but he couldn’t place it. And the moment they had realized he was aware again, they had stopped talking and gone back to working him over.

He was close to death and he knew it. Every breath brought stabbing pains in his chest; one or more of his ribs were at least cracked if not broken. Other than that, they had proved themselves quite the professional torturers. There was enough soft tissue damage that he was going to die if they didn't stop soon.

One of them hauled his head up by the hair and he tried to focus his swollen eyes on the figure standing before him. There was something familiar about the man, something dancing just on the edge of his memory. Thick, long, curly black hair, not too long but enough to be restrained at the back. Carefully trimmed stubble lining the jaw, something about that jaw… His eyes would have widened in shock had they not been so swollen. His mouth dropped open to speak and one of the other men landed a vicious blow in his windpipe. He gagged and choked, trying to draw breath.

Eric caught Ryan’s lower jaw in his hand and forced the other man to focus. “When you get your voice back, give H a message. Tell him I’m coming for him. Tell him that he’s going to pay for leaving me in Brazil. And tell him that I’m not even close to done yet.”

He released Ryan and nodded to the other men. Orders were given in rapid-fire Portuguese, and they dragged Ryan into the Escalade, forcing him face down onto the floor and holding him down so hard he could barely breathe.

Ryan was barely aware of the ride. It wasn’t short, but at the same time, he couldn’t be certain. The pain was horrendous, and it was rapidly taking up most if not all of his waking mind. Darkness flickered around the edge of his vision and he fought to stay awake.

His last thought before he lost consciousness was that Horatio would *never* have left Eric behind if he had known the man was alive. How had they all been fooled? The evidence of his death had been overwhelming… what had gone wrong?

TBC…

What am I?

2006-11-24T06:58:08Z

THIS WAY UP
�

Lockheeddragon has fragile contents which may break!

From Go-Quiz.com

Really neat!

I'd add more, but I'm sleep on my feet as it is... more later

Family is great

2006-10-18T11:08:05Z

Y'know, I may say a lot of not so nice things about my dad... he's a crotchety old fart some days... but I got to say he's got HIS priorities straight, anyway.

Y'all know we've been really short on funds lately. We don't ask Dad for ANYTHING because he's worse off than we are. I made a decision this month to not get my trigger point shots, because we just couldn't afford them, even with the insurance. Well, in a nutshell, Dad found out...

He kicked me in the butt... and then HE made the appointment for me and took me over there himself yesterday so I couldn't get out of it. Got to say I feel a LOT better... it just boggles the mind because every other word out of his mouth is a lament about how little money we all have and how he'd like to do a lot of things but can't because there's no money, and so on and so forth...

I really do love my Dad, and not just because of this. I'm just... it's shocking. A lot of you folks have met him... you'll understand why I'm boggled. Others... just take it as read that he's pretty out there sometimes.

Back later... my pillow is calling me, it wants to have a long conversation *LOL*

Somebody shoot me

2006-10-17T10:32:48Z

I really really should update this thing more often.

Y'all know I have fibromyalgia, and that means i take a lot of painkillers. Well, they have to switch them occasionally, since I get tolerant quick; we did a switch on Friday to something I've taken Many many times before with no problems. BIG mistake. Ten minutes after I took them... let's just say it could have been a lot worse. Huge, honking blotchy red hives all over and felt like I'd been dipped in a vat of acid.

Needless to say, there aren't any more of those in my future...

Honestly, I don't use this thing just to whine. I'll see if I can't post more positive stuff later today. Promise...

One a better note... Fuzzy is up to something *LOL* He fixed sauteed mushrooms with a really REALLY nice dinner last night for me... so he's either up to something or he's done something he's afraid I'll find out about. Isn't that the way it works? Whatever the reason, I thought it was really sweet.

Going to work on the Ebay store a lot today, but hope to get in some writing, too. Hope y'all aren't upset with me for being so slow... but I want things to be just right.

Ciao for now!

*flits off to work and/or write*

Update on the theft thing...

2006-10-13T03:00:03Z

Well, I've got a few things I can give the police tomorrow. Our cell provider keeps a log of every call made to or from every phone on our plan. I found four calls made AFTER Bug's phone was stolen. AND three calls to customer service after the phone had been disabled *LOL* Anyway... I did a people search with the numbers and now have names and addresses to give the police. And these weren't wrong number calls... there were several minutes on each call. So whoever was using the phone was talking to his friends, whatever. The police will at least have someone to talk to to maybe find who did this.

Here's hoping that things will work out... I don't have much hope of getting the phone back, no matter what. But at least we can maybe find some closure with this.