sirona_fics | Over to you, folks!

OKAY. OKAY. LAST POST TODAY, I PROMISE -- or should I say first post today, since it's after midnight here? GAH, I AM RAMBLING ALREADY. THIS WILL WORK JUST FINE, THEN.

I find myself in the strange position of having three--no, four--huge stories in the works. When I say huge, I'm thinking at least upwards of 10K, probably nudging closer to 20K and over. And I'm stumped. Just thinking about ALLLL THE WORDS I'm going to write for them makes me leery of sitting my arse down and getting to it; moreover, I can't seem to decide which one to focus on right now.

So. After much pondering, and deft enabling by

delicatale, to get my writing juices flowing I propose the following: PROMPT ME. I will write drabbles for as many prompts as I get ideas for, and that's a promise. I can't guarantee that every prompt will get filled, BUT I will do my absolute best for as long as I need this exercise. Now, it's half past midnight here right now, so this will happen tomorrow most likely, but. GO ON, YOU GUYS. I WANT TO WAKE UP TO A VERITABLE DELUGE OF PROMPTS! :D

Fandoms: Inception (Arthur/Eames), Sherlock (Sherlock/John, Mycroft/Lestrade (oh god)), H50 (Steve/Danny), XMFC (Charles/Erik), HP (Harry/Draco -- this one is for you,

altri_uccelli, if you fancy it! :))

I did this last year for Christmas, when anyone who wanted a Christmas drabble from me got one. I will very likely do that again this year, so think of this as a wee taster! :D

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Steve steps out of the cab, feeling cold, miserable, and so, so tired. He owes favours to at least ten people, and man, are they going to collect. And he wishes he could say that they'd be worth it, but here he is, standing outside the Fitzwilliam house in Notting Hill, London, worn duffel hanging forlornly from his fingers, wondering what the fuck he's doing. He should just turn around and leave, walk to the nearest hotel (at least it'll help with the cramps in his legs from the ridiculous flight over), and then in the morning get right back on the plane and go home, leave Danny and Rachel in peace.

That's what he should do; but god, he's never felt more alone in his life than right now, not even after his mother's death. Losing Danny--it just doesn't bear thinking about. And yes, he knows he's the worst kind of asshole for doing what he's about to do, but still his feet travel up those steps and his fist lifts all by itself, rapping the door with knuckles gone white from apprehension.

"I'll get it," someone says from the inside, and by the way his stomach clenches, Steve guesses it's Danny himself. Then the door opens, and god, the mere sight of him almost brings Steve to his knees.

"Steve!" Danny says, clearly shocked. "What--what are you doing here?"

"Danny. I." Now that he's come all this way, he doesn't quite know what to say. Danny is staring at him, though, and fuck, at least Steve owes him an explanation. "Look. Uh. I'm probably the last person you want to see right now, what with everything, and I'm a bastard to do what I'm about to do, but.

"I know you love Rachel. And I know you have a baby coming, and you and Rachel and Grace, you're such a perfect family, but I just couldn't. Not without saying it. So here goes. I miss you. So much that some days I wonder that I can still breathe. And if you don't want any of the rest of it, which, honestly, I wouldn't blame you at all, at least think about coming back to Hawai'i. Please."

Danny stands there, mouth gaping open a little, looking at Steve like he's an apparition. "What rest of it? Is there something you're trying to tell me? Because my 'Steve'-ese is a little rusty, so maybe you could translate?"

Oh, god. Walk away. Walk away now, McGarrett.

"I love you," Steve blurts, looking at Danny for just long enough to try and parse out a reaction. "I know it's not what you're expecting to hear, or even want to hear, but I just wanted you to know. You're amazing, and you deserve all the best things, and I'm obviously not one of them, but I still, I can't help but hope. I'm sorry I couldn't stay away, couldn't fight it. And I'll leave right now if that's what you want me to do. I just wanted you to know that, for me, it--it isn't over."

He can't look at Danny's face; he's not strong enough. His fingers knot around the handle of his bag, light with only a couple changes of clothes and a toothbrush. He never meant to stay and ruin it for Danny -- and now it looks like he'll get his wish, because Danny still isn't saying a damned thing.

In the end, he looks up, just to make sure it's really over, that this is the death of his hope, right here on the doorstep. But when his eyes meet Danny's, he sees a light in them that has been absent for far too long, and Danny's biting his lower lip like he wants to keep himself from saying something he won't be able to take back. Steve stands there, weightless, daring to breathe just a little when Danny's hand reaches forward, slower than it would if Danny wanted to hit him. Instead, Danny's fingers catch on his shirt and he's being pulled forward, right onto Danny's lips, warm and pliant and everything Steve could have ever wished for.

He is so overwhelmed that all he can do is kiss back just as slowly, as tentatively. He still can't quite believe it's happening; but then Danny's pulling back, turning around, and Steve's heart settles somewhere in the region of the soles of his boots. That's it, then, he thinks dully, waiting for the door to close in his face.

Over to you, folks!

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