I am not making any money from these characters. I merely asked if they'd be willing to come out and play for a bit while I practice brevity in my writing. Surprisingly, they said yes. Thanks, guys!
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Drabble 1 (Kurt Weller): "No. I've never seen that woman before in my life."
I am telling the truth. That woman's face is not familiar to me. It's not. And yet there is… something.
Her head lolls to the right and there is the tip of her nose, the curve of her cheek, a glint of her eye. It starts a tickle: a whisper of anxiety over a lost thought, maybe, or a song just at the edge of hearing. I can't ignore my gut, not when my name – MINE – is inked on her back. It means something. She… she means something.
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Drabble 2 (Kurt Weller): Sass
Damn it! I hate eating crow. Even though I was right – I WAS RIGHT – to proceed cautiously when saddled by a civilian. I open the car door.
"Forget something?"
I sigh and fight the urge to roll my eyes. I probably don't succeed. "Can you please come up stairs with me for a minute, ma'am?"
"Since you asked so nicely." Her expression of triumph tinged with amusement stings. Still, it's another sign that she hasn't been broken yet – not completely. Why bother fighting the wry smile that quirks my lips. First stubbornness and now sass. Oh, joy.
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Drabble 3 (Jane Doe): "It's Fine"
Weller is pissed. I am trying to be clear, but my words are tumbling over each other. He looks confused as hell with my reasoning, but what else could I do? She needed help.
He is looking at my hands and suddenly I am, too. What the hell have I done? Weller's expression shifts to one of concern now and he tells me that it's fine. It's fine.
He's wrong. None of this is fine.
I'm grateful that he gives me something else to focus on. Find Chao and his bomb and, maybe, find some answers.
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Drabble 4 (Kurt Weller): Sense
I need to check on Jane, won't be able to rest until I do.
This woman has caused me more panic today than anyone in my life: my name on her back (not her fault), the impromptu sparring match with the apartment super (her fault), the bullet wound at Liberty Island (my fault).
Her teary eyes get me. Grudgingly, I pull her in for a hug. She clings to me and I endure until I notice the scar.
Oh god.
Nothing makes sense except the immediate connection I'd felt when I first saw her.
She's my Taylor.
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