thank you, my grannies, for the get-well-and-such wishes. I returned to school today, so I suppose (in some twisted way) that is a good thing. unfortunately, a mildly pleasant ski race followed, leaving my throat in flames, and a surly mood for those around me. the only good part was the invention of "the dirty game", a game in which players reveal their ultimately dirtiest thoughts in no time at all. we soon had dozens of girls screaming about the male apparatus by the end of the day, and were hurried out of the main lodge by caring fellow students before someone official ordered us out.
other (twisted, yes I know) good news. I have begun middle-ground work on non-fanfiction fiction. if any of you are interested in reading this, contact me by way of PM, or visit my LJ (aka my homepage) and politely wait for me to post it there. I have two currently: a fantasy in imperial Russian-like setting involving warrior monk and the woman he guards, the tsarina (hem-hem, cue hanky-panky forbidden love storyline) and a current sort of teenage fiction called 'Liar.' about growing up and how it sucks. booyah.
today's frustrations: anyone else miss abby/carter on e.r.? luka is cute, yes, but he is not carter. abby/carter was fun. abby/carter was good. abby/carter made me watch e.r. even when george Clooney had scarred it with his large ego-ness. but now…very discouraging.
today's opportunistic hope seeds: currently reading 'Founding Hogwarts' at fictionalley. absolutely brilliant. it's about the twenty-something Hogwarts founders attempting to...well…found the place. only Godric is a bit of a dumb jock, and Helga has a horrid crush on him, Salazar is a rich (very sexy) git, and Rowena is having far too much fun maintaining lots of sexual tension with him. including encountering each other while half-naked, lots of angry dueling on future-Hogwarts grounds, avoiding each other to the point of physical pain, and then getting wasted and having a 'ripe old time' over holidays. it's really really great stuff, especially since I am a very big Rowena Ravenclaw fan. (does her Ravenclaw cheer)
today's questionable wonderings: is elliot's son dickie named for dick wolf? I bet he is. that egotistical maniac probably slathered his name and his friends' names all over the damned shows.
today's random fact: the guiness book of world records holds the record for the book stolen the most times from the library.
yes, your day is truly complete now that you have that brilliant piece of information.
no one panic. I changed my toothbrush. what would my sanitary state be like without you guys?
fly my pretties, fly! (oh…and read…)
P.S.- I am gathering a large amount of people who like my author's notes. well, if you like them so very durned much, I would recommend reading my livejournal (its mah homepage in mah profile, dawgs). it is pretty much the same thing as my author's notes, only slightly more interesting. (and humorous!) yes, these do include my menstrual rants (only once a month, lucky for you) my emotional breakdowns, and my sarcasm (cue trademark copyright) but I need a flist. you all seem like you'd make a good flist. join livejournal if you want, or just read my lj. you will not regret it. you will get to laugh at least four times a week and not when reading this story (which is about to get very dark and moody anyway…MUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! POWER TO THE TEENAGE-ANGST-RIDDEN AUTHOR!)
Wool. All over him.
It was his first sensation after what seemed like three very long years in a painfully swirling vortex of drunken darkness.
Sheep. They've invaded and are now attaching themselves to my body.
And banging metallic objects with silver spoons in my ears, and hitting my forehead with cannons, and making the world spin.
He sighed, his hand going over his throbbing eyes. Or I'm just having a pleasant little hangover.
Yes, it was definitely the latter.
He'd gone to the bar. That he knew for certain. He had somehow stumbled home, and ended up back here in the hotel room.
Which would mean he drove home while utterly intoxicated. Not a good idea, even for a cop.
He remembered hitting the couch like a rock and sort of sprawling across its length before shutting his eyes.
He remembered falling deeply asleep despite the pain in his head.
But he could not remember moving from the couch to the bed. Nor losing his clothes.
OH MY FUCKING GOD! MY CLOTHES!
Jesus fucking Christ! Where were his clothes? Why had he removed them? And worst of all…
Where was Olivia?
Oh shit, this is NOT good.
He sat up immediately, though he soon regretted it.
"Damn…headache…" Puking in the bathtub sounded really nice right now.
What had he done at the bar? Oh no… He'd said he loved her. He'd said he'd loved Olivia. And then he'd fallen into the drunken stupor that only comes from really REALLY trying.
But what had happened after? Why had he come back? Who had taken him back?
AND WHERE THE HELL ARE MY CLOTHES?
As long as they hadn't…hadn't…oh jesus.
He couldn't go off having sex with Olivia. They were partners. Sure, they were close. He would do a lot of things for her, including put his life on the line for her sake. But that came from a long relationship, er, friendship, not a romantic thing.
There is no way we did it.
How could there be? He didn't love her. Not like that, at least.
But I said it.
Did I mean it?
Did I…
Do I…
Oh hell…
He tried to open his eyes again. Despite the blinding effect, he searched the room for any signs of discarded clothing.
My clothing is nowhere to be seen.
And neither is hers.
This didn't mean they did anything…different.
It just meant he came home, completely undressed himself, fell into a drunken sleep, and woke up here. And Olivia had not come back yet from her…well…whatever it was she was doing.
Yeah, that was plausible.
Oh hell, who am I kidding?
All it takes is one time. One time, and then your whole relationship goes down the drain. You can't be partners anymore. You can't interact the same way. You can't look at her without seeing a bare body against your own, and you can't help but be awkward. Even Huang, who was as sexual as…well…a rock, would notice the tension there.
And then they'd send one of them away.
It was the law. He couldn't break the law.
Alaska sounds nice this time of year. I could really go for Alaska.
Or Hawaii.
Or Thailand, maybe.
But then you'd remember her. And you wouldn't be able to live without her.
Jesus, why did it have to be this way?
But wait. What was he saying? There was no proof yet. He had no way of knowing they actually did something, if anything. He was jumping to conclusions.
He was just in the middle of a massive hangover.
Olivia had not seen him since this morning.
He did not remove his clothes for any sexual relations.
So why did he remove his clothes?
I am so confused.
Well, no matter what the situation, he did need to put something on his body before he gave a chambermaid a heart attack. A bathrobe lay across the end of the bed, so he pulled it over his shoulder, shivering in the cold that hit him once he stood up.
Headache, headache, headache.
He groaned in pain, barely reaching the door.
I am such a moron. Why do I bring this upon myself?
Why do I bring anything like this on myself?
He opened the door. She was there on the couch, reading the paper.
Everything I've done…it's been for that woman.
"Good morning, sunshine." She grinned up at him. "Are you out of the shower yet?"
"Shower?" He squinted in the daylight streaming through the windows behind her.
"Yes, shower. That's what you were doing when I came back."
He felt his hair, what little of it he had left. Wet.
He felt his skin. Damp.
Thus the lack of clothes.
Thank you god…
"Oh…" He tried not to smile too widely. For one thing, he would look like an idiot. For another, his face hurt like hell. "Yeah. I'm out of the shower."
"So are we ready to go then?"
"Go where?"
"We have a massage in five minutes. I told you this like a half hour ago."
"Was I passed out on the couch at the time?"
"No, you were wide awake, and I told you to take a shower."
"And I obeyed?"
"You always do. You're my man-slave, recall?" She raised a playful eyebrow, grinning at his choice for attire. "So you're just going to wear the robe?"
"It's a massage, right? I thought you went commando anyway."
"I suppose…"
What does she find so amusing about all of this?
"Well, let's go then. I need to lie down, and very soon." Because if I don't, my head will split in two and my stomach will empty itself on our nice green carpet.
…
She stepped into the sweet smelling water, thrilled by the warmth against her skin, smiling at the fragrance entering her nostrils. When was the last time she had taken a relaxing bath?
Months? Years?
Not since I took the job.
A very long time.
And after everything that had happened this morning, the best thing for her right now was something relaxing. Had she been at home, a long nap and cupboard foraging would do, but this was a much better alternative.
Elliot had apparently found his own method for stress relief. He was absolutely drunk when she came back to the room, and completely drunk until she forced him to take a shower. He had complied, more willingly than had he been sober.
Showers will cure the more rotten effects of a hangover, as long as they are cold. This she knew from experience.
She'd washed all of the dishes that she could find twice while he was in there.
But what he had said to her, raving drunk as he was…
Olivia?
Get up, Elliot. You need to get yourself into the shower.
Olivia, I…I think I have to say something to you.
Not with all the alcohol on your breath, buddy.
No, really…I…I wanted to tell you…
She'd shoved him into the bedroom, but he'd turned around and grabbed her arm. His touch was so strong, but so tender…
Olivia, I have not been completely honest with you.
She said nothing. There was no longer the look of a drunken man in his eyes.
I want it to change between us. I want something more…
And then he'd gone back to talking about flamingos and the very loud music.
But she'd remembered, even if he hadn't.
She'd remembered that look in his eyes.
Pull yourself together, Olivia. He's not technically divorced yet. He's your business partner. He's not interested.
And he was not sober.
But she remembered his eyes.
Oh well…
She looked around her, at the water bubbling gently in the bath, built into the marble floor. Large windows before her overlooked a frozen pond, snow falling gently on it. The rain had given up and the snow had returned, slowly but surely.
Her bare legs rose up through the water, and she rested her hands on them, sighing. The woman had offered a warm trip in the spa baths before the massage, and she had gladly taken her up on it. But if Elliot should come along…
They thought he was her husband. Husbands must be pretty well accustomed to seeing their wives naked. But the exchange of glances between one nude cop to the other was not always a romantic thing. Nor appropriate. Nor legal, really.
No, she was glad he'd showered before.
Or maybe I'm not…maybe it'd be better if he-
She stopped herself with a sharp intake of breath.
OH GOD OLIVIA! DO NOT THINK OF THIS MAN AS SITTING HERE NAKED IN A HOT TUB WITH YOU!
That was all she needed. That in her head for the rest of her life. Him…like that…beside her…
The little voice inside her head, the one that normally said 'DON'T DO DECAF!' when she got up in the morning, was now screaming 'HE MUST BE REALLY RIPPED AFTER ALL THAT WORKING OUT!'
She ignored it and willed herself to listen to the modesty voice instead.
We're not like that.
We're not married.
This is all just a job.
It's only pretend, after all.
Only…pretend.
She stared at the snow, wishing she were laying out in it. Wishing it could hide her from the rest of the world.
Elliot was not the only one she feared seeing her in this guise.
…
They'd separated him from her when they'd entered, a male masseuse taking him one way, and a woman taking her the other. He wanted to be with her somehow.
He didn't even know why.
But he'd felt horrible when she'd left.
Enough of this, El. Pull your brainless bonehead together.
The masseuse's name was Raquel. Elliot had spent all of his life thinking that was a girl's name.
But it apparently worked for masseuses, too.
"So, is your honeymoon going well?" Raquel was extremely friendly. Unfortunately.
"Yeah, it's going great."
"Done anything romantic?"
"Beside the whole…" I can't believe I'm going to say this… " ' wedding night thing', not really."
"Today is your lucky day, Mr. Tracy. All of our honeymooning couples have agreed that the most romantic part of their stay here was the couples massage."
…the HELL?
"Excuse me, did you say 'couples massage'?"
"What else would it be?"
"I thought couples massages were for like…sex and stuff."
"The experience is very romantic and aesthetic, but not overly erotic. We allow most of the partners to do the massaging themselves."
He swallowed hard. "So I massage myself?"
Please don't say what I think you're going to say.
Raquel laughed like a girl. Elliot now suspected Raquel-girly-name-man was gay.
"You massage your wife, Mr. Tracy!" Raquel let out a small sigh, as though completely exasperated with Elliot. "Don't worry, we'll show you how to do it. And we'll leave once things start getting underway. You'll be in our Spa Pavilion, and if you ring for the staff you can have a bath drawn for the two of you anytime."
Me and Olivia, naked in a bathtub together. Massaging each other. Getting 'aesthetically erotic.'
RIGHT.
Fat chance, Raquel. I am not flashing the family jewels in front of her, no matter how involved our massaging becomes.
They stopped, and Elliot managed to bite his lip and remove his nervous smile before Raquel spoke again.
"There she is." He said, a hand sweeping towards the doors.
Elliot turned.
And saw her.
And did not have time to prevent his jaw from dropping.
There were her brown locks, falling down behind her ears; he saw a cream colored neck, graceful as a swan's, peering out shyly beneath. He stared at her shoulders, her back, wondering at the long lines of her spine, the gentle curves of her outline. He could see nothing of embarrassment, nothing she would find offensive.
Only beauty.
"She's gorgeous, Mr. Tracy." Raquel grinned knowingly. "You are a very lucky man." Elliot could have smashed his face in.
"I know." His eyes were on her arms, now reaching behind her, dropping water down her back. So smooth and perfect. And they must have been so warm…
"Are you ready to join her?"
He reached for the sleeve of his robe, pulling it down his shoulders. Every inch of him craved her, wanted desperately to reach out to that skin glowing before him.
But then he heard the voice in his head
Reminded himself of who he was.
Who she was.
What they were.
Not what he wanted. Not what could ever be.
He pulled the robe back up his shoulder, his body aching as he stepped back from the doors.
Guess I'm still a little woozy. I need my common sense.
He took a step down the hall, holding in the sigh he longed to let out.
"I already showered."
author's note: I have never had a hangover. I have never had a drop of really strong alcohol in my life, thus I don't know what a hangover would be like. so I asked the king of hangovers, my dearest B.G., and he described what his feel like. he says he typically does not vomit, so anyone who is upset because there was no puke can just talk to B.G. he's been there, man. I have not. yadda yadda yadda, yoda.