Disclaimer: No ownership; no profits; just for fun. Who does own DA now? All I know is a) it's not me, and b) they're not doing nearly enough with their property.
A/N: This is in response to a challenge, I suppose, but the challenge is elsewhere, for NCIS fic. I decided to do my own little DA version of a response here, just some tidbits, just for fun:
The one word challenge was "Influence." Set in early to mid S1, whenever you like, just as each is starting to get under the other's skin. Sort of UST, I guess, but... you know...
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Under the Influence: A Day in the Life
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She got in to work ten minutes early. It was so much easier getting a full hour off the clock for lunch when she was up and running the moment Normal had something to go as they opened for the day... she grinned as he shook his head in dismay yet again, wondering what had gotten into her reprobate head...
He awoke to see the sun streaming in his windows, curtains left wide the night before after she'd said the night was so clear. He'd watched the stars before he fell deeply asleep, dozing at times the first hour or so with his glasses still perched on his nose as he gazed at the twinkling lights, spread across the night sky...
She rode alongside the farmer's market as the venders opened up for their mid-week sales, and pulled up to one of the curly-haired Giovanni brothers still unpacking their tomatoes. Mickey called hello to her by name and asked if Logan would be coming by that day; when she told him he would, Mickey promised he'd save his best half dozen for him. Max promised she'd be back to pick them up if Logan couldn't make it...
He started his day as he did now, new habits taking shape that recalled the old ones, pre-injury, even pre-Pulse, reflecting his awareness that he would not spend his entire day alone at the computer. Of course, Bling had been a daily visitor for a while now, but Bling was another male. Whether or not he'd always approved, he'd understood. But each morning now, Logan rose, checked e-mail, messages and news headlines quickly, assessing the day while the coffee brewed. By the time it was ready, this overview was usually complete, and he and his coffee would head back for a shower and clothes not slept in ... and although it wasn't done with Bling in mind, the trainer/therapist certainly understood ... and clearly approved...
She went to the door to make a delivery and found that the elderly woman who answered the door seemed a little disoriented and confused. But she'd signed her name, took her package, and Max started to turn away to go. Still ... a sense that something wasn't quite right picked at her, a concern that the woman might need help – medical, psychological ... maybe just a social worker – so Max went back. And ten minutes later, after a call to Bling assured her that help would be on the way, and her own words promised the woman that those coming would be "friends," she again turned to go. But this time, her smile lingered on as she remembered Bling's words, offering his prediction that her intervention guaranteed her a field promotion in Eyes Only's battle for the downtrodden...
He was focused, staring intently at the computer screen, stomach rumbling with his lack of food, his fourth cup of coffee that morning cooling. But the grumble was cue, and he glanced at the time. Maybe he could work through without eating, but not everyone could ... or would, the point noted with some humor. He pulled away from the computer screen and government kick-backs, to head for the kitchen and vegetables that would go into the omelettes they would have for lunch. In the change of scenery, he mentally replayed all the files he'd reviewed that morning in a more relaxed approach, letting one thought stray to the next in a private brainstorming session. A couple new thoughts came to him, and he leaned over to grab a pen and scribble a few fast notes on the pad he'd started keeping there by the workbench, for just such a moment, so he wouldn't be driven to drop things and go make his notes in his computer. These thoughts would wait through lunch, as they almost always could, when a certain genetically-enhanced tummy wouldn't. Besides ... he'd learned to prioritize...
Original Cindy, Sketchy and the others started up again about the evening ahead at Crash, the impromptu, week-long pool tournament that had money changing hands each night, that had morphed into a team competition that would be so great if Max would join them, that became territorial and would seal the honor of all Jam Pony employees for weeks to come. Max shook her head yet again as she begged off with an expression that she hoped showed her regret, imagining instead an evening of soft music, wine, dimmed lights and chess with someone who never tired of her winning their games...
At the market, he'd found a few nice vegetables, a chicken, and fresh garlic bulbs before seeing that they'd managed, for the first time in over a year, some small packets of yeast. It had been a long time since he'd seen any available, longer since he'd tried using it. Still ... he wondered if she'd ever known the intoxication of entering a home, greeted by the scent of bread baking, and fished out his money to buy several of the rare packets...
Despite the rain, she'd taken the package for Sector Nine without a word. Normal hoped that this would continue, because it made his life easier. Less griping, faster service, at least for one part of the city and areas close by, and surprisingly, not too much down time. He never said a word in recognition, for fear of jinxing it. Better delivery service and less attitude – it sure worked for him...
He came to a good stopping point in his work and stretched a bit, closing out his current project to open her ongoing one. He'd promised himself that, short of national emergency, every day he'd put in at least an hour toward the research he was doing to build her a file on Manticore. Usually, he spent longer. He doubted that she knew how dogged and regular these sessions were, but that was okay; most days he had only tidbits to show for it. But it was all adding up and he might soon have another two or three major missing pieces to offer her about her beginnings, her family. And oddly enough, the work didn't wear him down. If anything, it seemed to give him a boost – he could often go back to his own projects with fresh eyes, a clear mind. Maybe just the break, he'd muse... but never really understood the lift it gave him...
She'd stood in line for thirty minutes, wondering if he'd think it was funny or depressing that it took less time to score – legitimately – tickets to a gallery opening than the gas to get there. But she'd saved up since she'd overheard them talking, when she walked in to hear Logan telling Bling about the small gallery reopening for the first time since the Pulse, voicing his trumped-up reasons why he probably wouldn't make it. She had even managed a late-night, unauthorized peek around the place to be certain that the architecture would allow him ready access before blowing her cash on tickets that would be worthless if it didn't. And now at the small window, she handed over her money and smiled in satisfaction as the two passes were handed to her in return. Walking away from the window, her smile widened even further to see they'd included a card with the names and brief blurbs about the artists they'd be seeing. Enough time for a bit of homework on the Internet, she grinned to herself, before he'd even know she'd planned this for him. She'd show him what enhanced DNA could do to keep her up with him in the art world...
He heard the door and felt his mouth crease up into a smile. These days, too, the smile was accompanied by a funny tug in his chest, a flush of heat on his face like the first sip of wine over the line into 'too many.' A last glance around the kitchen assured him that this dinner would be a good one, even if just another one of their regular evening meals. Anticipation, even for this commonplace evening, fed his smile, and he turned to go see his guest...
His voice was soothing, velvet, softened with the lowered lights and wine, with the spectacular meal and coffee laced with a rare liqueur... His words told of happier times and sweeter memories than most he held; her words to him echoed the atmosphere around them, echoed his efforts to find pieces of joy from times cold and grueling. She did this so often now, she reflected, followed his way, trusting his lead. 'How jealous would Zack be, to see me follow him so blindly,' she'd amuse herself. 'Almost like finding another CO.' But his gaze touched something so deep she barely recognized it, his voice holding an intoxicant just starting its work. The remnants of Manticore tried to sound a warning in her, that it was dangerous, that she must escape and evade, now. But Manticore had also given her the intelligence to examine the signs... and had failed to eradicate her humanity. What that humanity now registered was a yielding to exhaustion in tiring eyes and a further gentling of the voice... and escape and evade became protect and defend. Or... something like that...
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