All Those Little Moments 23, 50, 70, 43

[coffeebuddha]

Title: All Those Little Moments Are What Make A Life
Author: coffeebuddha
Rating: R/FRT (overall)
Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me.
Summary: A collection of drabbles and shorts for a 100 Themes Challenge. Contains various genres, characters, and ships-mostly Shassie with some Shules, Gules, and misc.

***

 

23. Cat

When he was younger, Shawn had wanted a dog. There was no deep, meaningful reason for it; he was a kid and it was normal to want a pet. It hadn't happened, but he'd always kept the idea in the back of his mind. He'd always assumed that he'd finally get his dog after he moved out.

It wouldn't have been fair. He liked the way he lived, able to pick up and leave with barely a moment's notice. Everything he really needed could be tossed in a duffle bag and strapped to his bike. It wasn't safe to transport an animal on a motorcycle and he just couldn't see himself with a car. He couldn't see himself with a yard or staying in one place long enough to find a good vet or having a stable enough schedule to guarantee a few walks a day...

If he was being honest with himself, a pet would have been too much commitment.

Yes, he had signed the lease for the office, but that was different. There were ways to get out of a lease. Shawn had done it so many times that he'd lost count. But a pet? An actual living, breathing creature that would be depending on him?

No.

No matter how much he might want it, it wasn't a good idea. This was just temporary. He'd get rid of him.

He would.

Shawn pressed his face against Little Boy Cat's side, enjoying the soft warmth of his fur and the soothing vibrations of his purr.

Just as soon as this case was over.

*

50. Breaking the Rules

"Buzz has a surprisingly nice wine collection for someone on a cop's salary," Gus said as he studied the label on a bottle he'd opened a few minutes ago.

Juliet sat on the kitchen counter and swung her legs back and forth, hard enough to make a satisfying thunk, but not enough to dent the cabinet door. Buzz and Francine's house warming party was going on in the living room, but here in the kitchen there was a nearly full bottle of wine, a fake granite top counter, and Gus, so she stayed where she was and thunked happily against not really solid oak doors. She had easily passed from tipsy to drunk about an hour ago-the nearly full bottle of wine wasn't the first of the night-and she pitched forward a little bit after a particularly enthusiastic swing. Gus' hand was warm and steadying on her arm, and he peered up at her, his deep brown eyes concerned.

She smiled, her cheeks flushed from the wine and her lips soft and inviting, and Gus blinked and thought, Damn, she's pretty, and forgot to ask if she was okay. Juliet leaned back on her palms, her expression turning drunkenly thoughtful.

"Did I ever tell you that I have a tattoo?"

Gus blinked again, thrown by the sudden non sequitur. "Uh, no, I don't think you have. I thought that tattoos were discouraged in law enforcement."

Juliet giggled and patted the air near his cheek, only the tips of her fingers brushing his skin, which made her giggle harder. "They aren't. Or they are. Not allowed." She lifted a finger to her lips and made a shushing noise. "It's preezisi...preexis...from before I entered the academy. Spring break of sophomore year. Also, it's hidden. Wanna see it?"

"Yeah, sure," Gus said, because that's what you say when a beautiful, drunk woman offers to show you her hidden tattoo. Juliet took Gus' hand to help keep herself steady and lifted the bottom of her shirt to just below her bra. The bright red cardinal, it's wings spread across her right ribcage in midflight, was vibrant against the creamy skin of her torso.

"The guy said cardinals are spunky." Juliet smiled and swayed, her eyes half closed. "I liked the sound of that."

"It's nice. It looks very...accurate," Gus said thickly and tried to pretend that he wasn't noticing how smooth and warm her skin looked. Or how very, very much of it there was to not notice, for that matter.

"You can touch it, if you want," Juliet said. There was a mischievous glint in her eyes as she pulled the hand that she was holding toward the tattoo.

Gus' fingers skimmed lightly down her ribcage, barely caressing the bird, before he splayed them, warm and solid, across the tattoo. Juliet's breath hitched and she pressed into the touch, her hand sliding up his arm to clutch his shoulder and tug him closer. She leaned forward, her pupils huge, and licked her lips, and Gus stopped even trying to pretend that he had a coherent train of thought going on in his head.

"You want me."

"You're drunk," Gus said. He was just sober enough to know that that mattered, but drunk enough that he wasn't entirely sure why.

"Yeah, a little, but I don't think I'm wrong about that," she murmured, her lips not even a whisper way from his, "but stop me if I am."

*

70. 67%

Wherever you are, whenever it's right, you'll come out of nowhere and into my life.

"Did you know that 67.5% of men wear briefs?"

Carlton looked up from his paper and didn't even try to keep the confusion off his face. "Excuse me?"

"All the other tables are full. Do you mind," the woman asked, gesturing toward the empty chair at his table with her coffee cup. Carlton shook his head, trying to get a grasp on what was happening, and she must have taken that as assent because she plopped down across from him and flashed him a wide, easy smile. "Thanks."

"I...wait." Carlton said as the woman helped herself to the Lifestyle section of his paper. He frowned and snatched it back, tucking it under his empty plate. "That's mine."

"And grabbing is rude," she pointed out, as if she thought trying to steal his paper wasn't rude. "What's your point?"

"Do I know you?" He asked suspiciously.

"Not yet, but the place is full and you looked all lonely over here by yourself, so I thought I'd come join you." She twirled her coffee stirrer between her fingers, looking more amused than she had any right to.

"And you thought it would be appropriate to talk about underwear as an icebreaker, because..."

She sipped at her coffee, her foot tapping an uneven beat against the table leg. "Oh, I just like spreading knowledge. Plus, you look like the sort of guy who'd be fun to fluster." The woman grinned, and her cherubic face suddenly looked a lot less innocent. "You don't disappoint."

Carlton glared at her. Her smile brightened.

"I'm Deirdre."

He kept glaring at her. Her eyes shone.

"This is usually the point where you tell me your name."

Just for good measure, he glared some more. She laughed outright.

~

"Did you know that about one in every three murders goes unsolved?"

Carlton hooked his foot around the chair across from him and kept his eyes on his paper. Deirdre tugged on the chair and frowned for a second when it didn't move, before turning and pulling over a chair from another table.

"What am I saying? Of course you knew that, what with being a cop and all."

If he ignored her, maybe she'd go away.

~

"Did you know that the Sanskrit word for 'war' means 'desire for more cows'?"

"I can honestly say that I don't care." Maybe he could find a new coffee shop?

~

"Did you know that every year a hundred people die from choking on ball point pens?"

"Are you really incapable of saying 'hello' like a normal person?"

"I'm doing a public service. I could be saving your life right now."

Carlton snorted and nudged her chair out with his foot. "Just sit down."

~

"Did you know that the saying 'it's so cold out there it could freeze the balls off a brass monkey' originated when people used old cannons like the ones used in the Civil War? The cannonballs were stacked in a pyramid, called a brass monkey, and when it got too cold outside they would crack and break off."

"That a new one for me. You're kind of late this morning, Carlton."

"Bad night. You'll never believe what that jackass Spencer's trying to pull now."

~

Deirdre dropped gracelessly into her seat, her coffee already half gone just from the short walk from the counter to their table, and fidgeted with the rosebud vase on the table, gingerly flicking at the rose's light purple petals. Carlton folded his paper and watched her. Something was off.

"No random facts or statistics today?"

She made a small huffing noise and frowned, pinching a petal until it bruised under her fingertips. His brow furrowed in concern.

"Deirdre?"

"It's...nothing. Stupid, really." Her gaze flitted around the room. She looked on edge. Nervous. "Did you know that lavender roses are traditionally used to represent enchantment or love at first sight?"

Carlton stilled, his eyes widening slightly, and he took a sip of his coffee just for something to do. Deirdre didn't move, which was downright unnatural. The corners of Carlton's mouth quirked up in a small smile. "Is that so?"

Deirdre glanced up at him through her eyelashes, and after a long moment the tension went out of her shoulders and her lips curved in an answering smile. "Yeah."

~

"Did you know that only about one in five men still get down on one knee to propose?"

"Is that a yes or not?"

"Yes."

*

43. Dying

Her lips are stained red, partially from her fading lipstick. Mostly from the blood welling up between them.

Lassiter's somewhere, running through the labyrinth of alleys and backstreets that crisscross the seedier side of Santa Barbara, chasing the perp. They'd been on a stakeout when Juliet had noticed the hooker-more girl than woman, really-leading a john into a dark alley. It made her stomach turn, like always, until she noticed the metallic glint in the man's hand. Then her stomach had clenched, and she was pulling Lassiter out of the car and sprinting across the street, her gun half drawn.

Something she doesn't want to think about is soaking her pant knees and no amount of dry cleaning will ever get the blood stains out of her jacket now that she's used it to try and slow the bleeding from the girl's gaping stomach wound. Juliet feels a little disgusted with herself for worrying about her laundry, and slips an arm under the girl's shoulder, cushioning her head in the crook of her elbow, keeping low to the ground so that she won't make things worse.

The girl-there's no way she's older than sixteen-clutches at her hand where it's pressing down against the ruined jacket, squeezing almost painfully tight, her long, fake nails digging into her skin.

Juliet can hear the ambulance sirens in the distance and she knows, just knows, they won't make it in time. Her grip around the girl tightens and she tries to keep her face calm and reassuring. The girl-God, she's so young-tries to talk, but can only manage a faint gurgle, bringing up more blood that leaks between the corners of her mouth and down her face, into her ears, over her chin.

Juliet smooths her limp, greasy hair away from her face and offers soft, soothing words. Her eyes are feverish, glassy, pleading, then dim as her body goes limp and heavy in Juliet's arms.

Later that night, when she's alone in her apartment in her pajamas with a mug of tea and a cat curled up in her lap, she'll uncompartmentalize, let herself cry, and remind herself that she's human. But for now, she stands to the side as the girl's body is loaded into the coroner's van, makes mental notes for the report she'll have to make, examines her pants to see if they're salvageable, and nods at Lassiter as he strong arms the girl's murderer into the back of a police car.