CSI:NY fic: AU: mirrorverse ficlet
Mar. 11th, 2006 05:53 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bedlamsbardMirrorverse, Coinverse, untitled. This was supposed to turn into the Stella/Stella/Stella, but the thought of writing that made my brain die a little bit. Anyway. Major Stella Bonasera, the night before the team goes out looking for Mac and Danny.
Stella picked a hell of a time to break up with Flack.
She's always horny before missions, especially she's got a greater than average chance of not coming back alive. Tomorrow will be worse than usual -- the odds are a thousand to one all of the team going in will make it out alive. None of the MVC teams have ever been to the Inhuman home dimension -- VRC-666, that's the designation. Some officer had a hell of a good time with that one.
Oh, wait -- that was Flack. Her fingers brush the empty spot on her ring finger before she can stop herself. She broke up with Flack on the wrong day. Now she's all hot and bothered, there's no chance she'll get the sleep she needs without getting sated first. And she needs sleep, damnit, going into a a combat situation -- especially a special forces op -- without enough sleep is a death sentence.
Stella tangles her fingers in her tags and draws her free hand up her thigh, her touch light through the rough fabric of her BDUs. The job never stops -- she got sick of being dragged out of bed in her lingerie every time someone activated a MVC mirror and started to sleep in the dress down form of her uniform. Started keeping her Elon 550 pistol (first edition Army Research and Inventions Department prototype) under her pillow too, and extra clips next to her bed. When your dimension can be invaded at any moment by hostile gen-en soldiers, being a little jumpy doesn't hurt anyone.
She doesn't think of Flack. Instead she thinks of the two other Stellas one floor up. The Detective and the Thief. A pair of more different alternate versions of herself she's never seen. She's never seen herself going either way. She has a doctorate in quantum physics, for fuck's sake. She doesn't do grunt work.
Stella picked a hell of a time to break up with Flack.
She's always horny before missions, especially she's got a greater than average chance of not coming back alive. Tomorrow will be worse than usual -- the odds are a thousand to one all of the team going in will make it out alive. None of the MVC teams have ever been to the Inhuman home dimension -- VRC-666, that's the designation. Some officer had a hell of a good time with that one.
Oh, wait -- that was Flack. Her fingers brush the empty spot on her ring finger before she can stop herself. She broke up with Flack on the wrong day. Now she's all hot and bothered, there's no chance she'll get the sleep she needs without getting sated first. And she needs sleep, damnit, going into a a combat situation -- especially a special forces op -- without enough sleep is a death sentence.
Stella tangles her fingers in her tags and draws her free hand up her thigh, her touch light through the rough fabric of her BDUs. The job never stops -- she got sick of being dragged out of bed in her lingerie every time someone activated a MVC mirror and started to sleep in the dress down form of her uniform. Started keeping her Elon 550 pistol (first edition Army Research and Inventions Department prototype) under her pillow too, and extra clips next to her bed. When your dimension can be invaded at any moment by hostile gen-en soldiers, being a little jumpy doesn't hurt anyone.
She doesn't think of Flack. Instead she thinks of the two other Stellas one floor up. The Detective and the Thief. A pair of more different alternate versions of herself she's never seen. She's never seen herself going either way. She has a doctorate in quantum physics, for fuck's sake. She doesn't do grunt work.