Firefly Fic, Prompt: "Life is life, fight for it." Mother Teresa

I had a fantastic time writing for jossverse_las and I'm looking forward to reading the entries from the rest of the challenges. I'd definitely do it again, even if I did get voted out after 4 stories!

Story Title: Life; Bloody, Real and Warm
Character/Relationships: Simon Tam
Rating: PG
Warnings: Pre-series

This was the moment he’d been working for. This was what he’d been imagining ever since he saw that proud smile when he told his father he wanted to go into medicine. Years of study, years of dedication, years of avoiding distractions, years of watching his old friends go out to parties and come home with girls, all of it was for this moment.

He was pleased to see that his hands didn’t shake. Why should they? He knew exactly what he had to do, knew exactly what to expect. He’d done this on the simulator hundreds of times. His hands didn’t shake, and yet his heart pounded with excitement.

It was the heat. He could feel the warmth of the body right through his protective gloves. Could see the chest rising and falling despite the surgical drapes that hid most of the patient from view. This was a real live human being, not some simulator dragged out to practice on. Not some corpse lying cold and nude to examine and learn from.

This was life; bloody, real, and warm. This was the moment that would tell him whether he’d made the right choice all those years ago, that would confirm his father’s pride.

And still his hands didn’t shake.

Steady and sure, he cut through skin and tissue, cut out the diseased flesh. His eyes took in everything he saw, his mind analyzed, looking for any hidden problems, anything that could make this surgery less than perfect. Delicate and economical, he sutured the wounds, clean and straight. He gently taped a bandage over the sutures, unwilling to leave even that to the surgical nurse. He needed this moment to be his, to see this through to the end.

Even after the surgery was over, he trailed after the recovery nurses and waited until he saw the patient begin to rouse. Only then could he bring himself to change out of his scrubs.

Off in the corner of the change room reserved for medical students, he was alone and mostly hidden from the rest of the room. His classmates had told him they’d overheard interesting gossip in the change room, but he’d never approved of eavesdropping. He couldn’t help but listen in when he heard his own name.

“Did you observe Tam’s first surgery today? Lovely bit of work.” Simon bit his lip to suppress a smile.

“Yes indeed, he seems to have an instinct for the job. Highly focused and with a near genius ability to find and fix the problem. He appears a bit… serious though.”

“Yes, he’s a bit idealistic. Lots of spouting that every life is worth fighting for. Ah, he’ll learn that some people simply aren’t worth saving.”

“Or we’ll have more time for golf as he tries to save the world.”

The doors closed on their laughter.

Simon found his hands were clenched into fists. He forced himself to open them, to relax his shoulders. How did someone hold a life in their hands, and decide it wasn’t worth saving? How did someone choose golf over the infinite potential of a human being?

He dropped his wallet, and looked down in surprise.

Now, his hands had begun to shake.

BtVS Fic Prompt: Luggage

Shows: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Story Title: Baggage
Character/Relationships: Rupert Giles
Rating: PG
Warnings: Canon character deaths

He arrived with a suitcase, a trunk and a chip on his shoulder.

The suitcase had belonged to his father, the father who had spent so much of Rupert’s youth away from home. One of his first memories was of climbing up on the bed to watch Father packing. Mama had busied herself in the kitchen, making all Father’s favourite foods. He knew now how worried Mama had been, her eyes red from crying, her hands shaking from the fear that Father might not come home.

Mama hardly cried at all when Father’s broken hip meant he got pulled from field duty permanently.

The trunk was his great-great aunt’s, the only Slayer in a family of Watchers. He’d found it in the attic, in a dark corner where he’d hide from his father’s high expectations, his mother’s relentless optimism. A dark corner where he was far enough out of sight that neither of his parents would think of him for hours at a time. Just like his great-great aunt, apparently. He’d certainly never heard his parents speak of her, and based on the unlaundered clothing he finds tumbled about in the trunk, even her own parents had just shoved her things in this corner and forgotten about her. He emptied it out, and dragged it down to his room to store books in.

He didn’t know it at the time, but that’s when he decided to become a Watcher, just so he could read the diaries about Great-great Aunt Edith.

Every Watcher wanted a Slayer, but he hadn’t wanted this one. An untrained teenager brought up by her parents was not the dream. Especially an untrained teenager who’d already cost one Watcher his life. And California! Her parents were probably rich and stupid, with a spoiled and stupid child. There was little hope of her lasting the year.

But he’d do his best with her, try to keep her alive long enough to make some inroads into the vampire population. Surely she was capable of at least that much.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

He went home with a suitcase, a trunk, and a broken heart.

The suitcase was new. He’d found a drop of blood on his old suitcase, and remembered a beautiful woman cold and lifeless in his bed.

He’d burned his father’s suitcase and hadn’t regretted it for a moment.

The trunk was filled with the books he couldn’t bear to leave behind. Grimoires and demonologies were tumbled together with the cheap paperbacks he hid in the bottom of his desk drawer. Only Spike had ever found them, hunting for a drop of ‘the good stuff’.

Tucked into the corner was a stake, wrapped in a silk handkerchief. He told himself it was for protection, but he remembered her whittling this one in the RV, desperate to find something, anything useful to do.

He hadn’t expected to be in California this long. He’d assumed that lack of training and lack of discipline would doom her to a brief lifespan. He hoped to keep her alive for at least six months, maybe as long as a year. He hoped to list few dozen vampires dead at her hands. That would let him go home respectably, get him a placement with a young potential somewhere in Europe; a girl he could inspire and mould into a great Slayer.

He hadn’t expected her intuition. He hadn’t understood what an asset improvisation could be. He had no idea that more than simple strength and speed could be used against the demons and vampires that stalked the night.

He’d never realized how much it would hurt when she was gone.

Angel Fic, Prompt: At the Movies

Shows: Angel
Story Title: Graumann's Chinese Theatre
Character/Relationships: Cordelia Chase
Rating: PG
Warnings: None

The breeze down Hollywood Boulevard was crisp and sharp. She didn't remember it ever being cold in Sunnydale, no matter what she wore and no matter what time of year it was. Didn't matter; there wasn't anything she could do about it now. She just smiled wider and willed the goosebumps away through sheer mental focus.

She looked awesome, at least she was confident of that. She'd put her hair up in a ponytail in a defense against the wind; that was a risk, a little too casual. But it showed off her neck and at least she wasn't pushing tangled curls out of her face every ten seconds like the blond beside her. She'd almost worn a white shirt, thinking it would stand out in the darkness. But her tan wasn't as perfect as it should be, and she'd looked washed out when she tried it on. She'd made the right choice with a short sleeved burgundy knit dress, shot with hints of metallic thread. The lights for the red carpet made everything look like daylight, and caught the metallics without making her look like a disco ball, like the red-head three down. And there'd been no question about the boots; no matter how badly her feet hurt, the knee highs with four inch heels were the only choice.

The cars started to arrive. Just town cars at first; people with bit parts and crew. Most of the girls around her were slouching, bitching about the cold, but Cordelia kept the smile on her face, kept her back straight and made sure she caught the eye of everyone who looked her way. It was good practice, and you never knew who'd go from nothing to something.

Finally, finally the limos pulled up. Girls adjusted bras, swiped fingers over teeth and tried to tame their tangled hair, but Cordelia was ready. She smiled, trying on a different smile for each person so they could see how versatile she was. Shy for the producers, sweet for the director, her old Queen C bitch smile for the female lead, and welcoming for the male lead.

The doors closed, the lights abruptly flicked off. It was dark and cold on Hollywood Boulevard, and there was no limo waiting to take her home, no photographer asking for one more shot. She turned away and walked down the street to the nearest bus stop, head still high, back still straight.

Next time, she'd be the one walking the red carpet.

Firefly Fic, Prompt: faces thier greatest fear

Shows: Firefly
Story Title: Dying Alone
Character/Relationships: Malcolm Reynolds
Rating: PG
Warnings: None

There’s nothing so deafening as silence when you rely on the constant whirr of engines for the basic necessities of life.

There’s nothing so lonely as emptiness when your crew flies off into the Black on a half tank of gas and a whisper of hope.

There’s nothing so bitter as cold when you close the doors behind you and know you’ll never see them opened again.

There’s nothing so helpless as a man when he’s alone in a dying ship, without a hand to hold as his breath turns shallow and his fingers turn to ice.

There’s nothing so frightened as a captain, going down with his ship.