Other People's Sandboxes

Title: Narration
Fandom/Character: Little Women/Beth
Rating: G
Word Count: 250

Written for comment fic at littlewomen_fic

--

She always knew she was different than her sisters. They all seemed to want to do things. Jo was the very definition of action, and Amy had her grand dreams of Europe and art. Even Meg,though more conservative in her dreams than her sisters, still had ambitions of a home and family.

But not Beth. She was content to watch and listen and observe. Her own role eluded her until one day when Jo was reading one of her stories out loud.

Somewhere in the midst of Edward valiantly wooing Charlotte, Beth realized where she fit in. She was the narrator, of course, overseeing the stories of her sisters' lives. She knew everything that went on, of course, and watched it all with a sort of detachment. It wasn't her story, she had no need for a story. But she loved keeping up with her sisters'.

Relief that she truly had a place, a purpose, filled her and nearly caused her to laugh out loud in a most inappropriate place in Jo's tale. She smothered her laughter in her sewing, drawing a scowl from Amy and a curious look from Jo.

Beth shook her head, schooling her expression into an appropriately solemn one, as was befitting the ordeal that Edward was going through (five tasks, each progressively more difficult, to prove his love).

Perhaps she would explain it to Jo some day. Of anyone, her authorial sister might understand. But not right away. The narrator didn't intrude on the story, after all.

Title: Q is for Questionable
Fandom/Characters: West Wing, Jed, Charlie & Abbey
Rating: G
Words: 100

--

"You really should eat it, sir."

"And why, exactly, should I do that?"

"Because if you don't, sir, then the First Lady is going to yell at me, and quite frankly, sir, she's scarier than you are."

"Are you sure this is creamed spinach? Because from where I'm sitting it doesn't look like creamed spinach."

"I promise, sir. I'll even try some to confirm, if it would make you feel better."

"You can have the whole thing if you want. I won't tell Abbey if you won't."

"Won't tell me what? Good evening, Charlie. Eat your spinach, Jed."

"Yes, dear."

Title: S is for Spit-Take
Fandom/Characters: NCIS, Kate & Tony
Rating: G
Words: 100

--

She timed her statement carefully, casually leaning back and slightly to the side as she said "Oh, by the way, Mandy says hi."

As expected, a spray of fine coffee-flavored mist flew through the space she had occupied moments before.

"Mandy?" Tony's voice squeaked in a most undignified manner. He cleared his throat. "Mandy? Mandy Tonkin? Mandy, as in the girl I dated in Baltimore?" His voice had risen again by the end.

Kate grinned at him unabashedly. "Mandy, Mandy Tonkin, the girl who dumped you two days before your birthday, Mandy Tonkin, my college roommate."

"I am so doomed."

Title: P is for Penguin
Fandom/Characters: Star Trek: TNG, Worf & Riker
Rating: G
Words: 200

--

Worf looked back and forth between the small piece of fabric resting on the table and the First Officer who had placed it there.

"What, exactly, is that?" he asked in a tone that suggested he would quickly go from mild-mannered Starfleet officer to raging Klingon warrior if he didn't like the answer.

"A hat." Riker's answer was solemn, but even Worf could hear the laughter in his voice.

"And what is that?" he asked again, this time pointing at the design on the supposed hat.

"A penguin." Now Riker looked slightly puzzled. "A flightless aquatic - Wait. I thought you spent some time on Earth while growing up ? Surely you know what a penguin is."

Worf sighed in exasperation. "Of course I know what a penguin is. This conversation is not proceeding as I had hoped. Let us try again." He paused and then picked up the offending piece of fabric.

"Commander Riker, what exactly do you intend for me to do with this hat that bears the image of a dancing penguin?"

"I intend for you to wear it, Lieutenant."

"That," Worf replied in a resigned tone, "is what I was afraid you were going to say."

Title: J is for Jam
Fandom/Characters: NCIS, Ducky
Rating: G
Words: 200

--

"DiNozzo." Tony's voice was tinny across the cellphone connection.

"Ah, good, Tony. Would you please let Jethro know that I shall be a little tardy in arriving?"

"Sure, Ducky. Is everything okay?"

"Yes, well. I'm in a little bit of a jam here."

"Traffic jam?"

"No, strawberry," Ducky snapped, trying to prevent an SUV from cutting him off.

Across the phone connection, he faintly heard Gibbs ask what was going on and Tony responding something about Ducky being in a terrible accident involving strawberry jam. Louder, Ducky heard Gibbs snap "Gimme that."

"What's going on, Duck?" Gibbs asked clearly into the phone.

"Anthony is suffering from a critical lack of sarcasm comprehension, apparently," Ducky replied, some of his good humor returning. "I'm on the Belt and traffic is a nightmare. I'm afraid I shall be a bit late arriving to your party."

"That's alright, Petty Officer Castiglione isn't going anywhere. See you when you get here."

The abrupt dial tone proved that Gibbs had hung up with his usual efficiency, and Ducky smiled. He turned the radio up and crept his car another few inches forward. Patience and a good radio station were the only way to survive Beltway traffic.

Title: H is for Headsails
Fandom/Characters: Pirates, Jack
Rating: G
Words: 200

--

There were those who said (sometimes with admiration, sometimes with derision) that Jack Sparrow could sail a washtub.

He had never actually tested that claim, although given his current circumstances, he would be tempted to try. He hated sailing under someone else. But Barbossa had cheated his way - erm, make that won fair and square - the right to wear the captain's hat (metaphorical, of course. No one touched his hat.) until the next port.

So Jack sighed and went back to resetting the rigging on the headsails, even though he knew (and had told Barbossa) that he'd just be up here re-resetting them as soon as the storm on the horizon blew in. But Barbossa was captain and therefore, by definition, knew best. Right.

Several hours later, the washtub was sounding better and better, if only because it would be his very own washtub. He was, as predicted, re-resetting the headsails, soaked to the bone, and utterly miserable. Even the promise of warm rum in a dry cabin did little to improve his mood.

"And I could sail the damned tub too," he growled at Barbossa as he dropped to the deck and stalked off to the cabin.

Title: F is for Fan
Fandom/Character: Pirates, Jack
Rating: G
Words: 100

--

It wasn't that he minded the adoration. Having women - and men - fall all over themselves to get to him everytime he entered a port certainly had its advantages. Some would even say he reveled in - or possibly wallowed in - the attention. But it did, occasionally, get tiring. Especially that high pitch keening sound that the girls would sometimes make. He shuddered at the memory. Dreadful.

Perhaps that was why he, almost in spite of himself, began to chase after James Norrington. There was something refreshing, Jack decided, about someone who didn't throw themselves at his feet.

Title: C is for Cooking
Fandom/Characters: NCIS, teamfic
Rating: G
Words: 200

--

He stands in the doorway of Abby's tiny kitchen and observes the chaos for a moment. Ziva has her hands buried in a bowl of something, but is still managing to fend off Tony's "help". Ducky is examining the carving knife with a consideration that he usually gives his surgical tools. Tim has a frown of concentration on his face as his slices vegetables, and Abby is flitting around, looking like she's trying to be everywhere at once.

"Abs," he says, catching her attention. "What do you need me to do?"

"Here, catch," she says, and tosses him a plastic-wrapped ball of dough. "Ziva's doing the filling."

"Solid top or lattice?" he asks as he flours the marble slab he found on the counter.

He looks up to find everyone staring at him. "What? You've never seen a guy roll out a pie crust before? Back to work people," he snaps, and their conditioning takes over, sending them back to their tasks.

"Uh, lattice if you don't mind," Abby finally responds, after giving him a considering look. She watches him work for a moment, and then comes over and gives him a kiss on the cheek.

"You're the best, Gibbs."

Title: Confessions of an Inanimate Object (The IKEA Remix)
Characters or pairing: mentions of Charles/Erik, Scott/Jean
Rating: G
Original Fic: Moving Furniture, by penknife
Written for: Round 6 of remixthedrabble
---------------

If the couch had a nose, it would have sniffed. “Foisted” off on someone else, indeed. He was a couch with a proud history!

First he had belonged to Charles. Then they had been joined by Erik, in a small apartment in New York. When they had moved to a much larger house he had been relegated to a sitting room, occupied by children. Most recently he had gone to another young couple who lived in the house.

“Foisted” indeed.

Oh well. At least he hadn’t come out of a box like that coffee table with the strange Scandinavian name.

Title: Speak with the Dead
Fandom: NCIS
Characters: Ziva
Word Count: 247
Rating: G
Spoilers/Warnings: er, I guess technically I should warn for canon death...
Notes: Written for shogunsquirrel's 2010 fandom_stocking.
----

It is strange, she realizes, to consider a dead woman a friend. Especially a dead woman whom she never met in life.

And yet, she does.

Perhaps it is guilt, a way to assuage the familial responsibility she bears. Perhaps it is it is a way to fit in. For the first six months after she arrives, she learns more about this dead woman than she does about her living team mates. Perhaps it is an automatic affinity to another woman in this man's world.

Perhaps it is all of that. Perhaps it is none. Whatever it is, it drives her, twice a year, to take a half day off of work.

As she packs her bag at her desk, Tony saunters over. "Hey, where are you running off to?"

"To catch a plane," she replies, although she doesn't really expect that answer to satisfy.

"Where to?"

"Indiana."

"Didn't know you had friends in Indiana," Tony says, obviously fishing for more information.

"Just one," she replies with a small smile.

Three hours later, there are flowers on the grave, and Ziva feels unburdened. It's not much, she knows, but somehow keeping Kate up to date on the team's exploits brings Ziva a sense of peace.

She touches the grave lightly. "I'll be back in a few months, Kate. Sooner if anything else happens. Be good. And keep watch over Tony, will you? I can use all the help I can get."