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well, that doesn't usually happen.
So, tonight at Write Club, I... wrote. Numb3rs. Numb3rs het. Er. Mostly het. There could possibly be some non-het subtext of some kind. I dunno. Anyway. Don/Terry, G-rated.
He was only sure it was okay to touch her when her hair was down.
Locks
He noticed her right away; there weren't that many women in the classes, and she was a couple of inches shorter than Don and arguing with a guy who towered over them both. Don restrained the impulse to try to rescue her from the guy, sitting back in his desk and listening to her verbally dismember him instead. She glanced his way when it was over, and he smiled. She smiled back, leaned across the aisle to offer her hand, and as he shook it, she said, "Terry Lake."
He said, "Don Eppes," and even though he was back in school again, it wasn't hard at all to remember not to say the "Charlie's brother," part. Charlie was three thousand miles away in a whole different world from Don and Quantico and Terry Lake.
Terry's hair was pulled back tightly that first day, but two days later when they went out together for laundry, pizza, and a lengthy debate over whether this could possibly constitute a date, her dark hair was down, curls tucked behind her ears and massed against the back of her neck. It was pretty--so different from the stern soon-to-be-Agent Lake of the classroom--and Don sunk his fingers into it as a long, slightly spicy, kiss over the spin cycle settled the whole date question decisively in his favor.
Terry accused him of having some kind of deviant attachment to her hair--teased him with textbook citations about fetishists--but the truth was that he was only sure it was okay to touch her when her hair was down, and he loved the silky feel of it, curling over his fingers. Even if they were just watching TV together, too exhausted after a long day's training to do anything else, he'd wind his fingers through it. He knew she didn't mean it about his deviant tendencies, because she would tip her head onto his shoulder. When he rubbed his fingertips against her scalp, where her hair pulled when it was tied back, she made little pleased sounds, and then sometimes it turned out they weren't that tired after all.
Two weeks before graduation, Terry showed up to class with her hair in a ponytail, dyed blonde and ironed straight. Most of the guys knew better than to try saying anything to her about it at all, and when she arched an eyebrow at Don, he smiled gamely back. He heard her talking to some of the other female students, later, all of them agreeing that her hair looked so much more professional this way and she'd be taken much more seriously. That night she asked him if he liked it, and he said of course he did, but when he ran his fingers through it, the pale straight strands of her hair slipped right past.
It wasn't much of a surprise when they were posted to cities a thousand miles apart. They didn't even bother with one last night--just one last trip to the laundromat, sorting out their stuff that had gotten mixed up over the past few months and getting it all washed to pack. They parted with a handshake, just as they'd begun, and Don went home for a few days' visit before he got started at the Houston office.
He sat up late watching TV, his first day back in Pasadena, jet-lagged and fighting the surreal feeling of being back in his parents' house again. Charlie wandered in, hours after their parents had gone to bed, and stood a moment, blinking at Don. "Hey," he finally said, with a small sheepish smile. "I guess today is the 27th, huh?"
Don nodded, smiling. Trust Charlie to remember which day Don was coming to visit, but not know that that day was today. "Come on, sit down." Don waved at the TV. "We got zombies."
Charlie grinned and plopped himself down in the middle seat on the couch that had always been his, ever since he was a baby and had to sit in the middle to make sure he didn't fall off. He curled himself up small, wrapping his arms around his legs and propping his chin on his knees, and they sat in silence, watching the terrible late-night movie together. After a while, without thought, Don reached out, his fingers wrapping themselves in the heavy dark curls that lay against Charlie's neck, and in the flickering light of the TV, he saw the corner of Charlie's smile.
He was only sure it was okay to touch her when her hair was down.
Locks
He noticed her right away; there weren't that many women in the classes, and she was a couple of inches shorter than Don and arguing with a guy who towered over them both. Don restrained the impulse to try to rescue her from the guy, sitting back in his desk and listening to her verbally dismember him instead. She glanced his way when it was over, and he smiled. She smiled back, leaned across the aisle to offer her hand, and as he shook it, she said, "Terry Lake."
He said, "Don Eppes," and even though he was back in school again, it wasn't hard at all to remember not to say the "Charlie's brother," part. Charlie was three thousand miles away in a whole different world from Don and Quantico and Terry Lake.
Terry's hair was pulled back tightly that first day, but two days later when they went out together for laundry, pizza, and a lengthy debate over whether this could possibly constitute a date, her dark hair was down, curls tucked behind her ears and massed against the back of her neck. It was pretty--so different from the stern soon-to-be-Agent Lake of the classroom--and Don sunk his fingers into it as a long, slightly spicy, kiss over the spin cycle settled the whole date question decisively in his favor.
Terry accused him of having some kind of deviant attachment to her hair--teased him with textbook citations about fetishists--but the truth was that he was only sure it was okay to touch her when her hair was down, and he loved the silky feel of it, curling over his fingers. Even if they were just watching TV together, too exhausted after a long day's training to do anything else, he'd wind his fingers through it. He knew she didn't mean it about his deviant tendencies, because she would tip her head onto his shoulder. When he rubbed his fingertips against her scalp, where her hair pulled when it was tied back, she made little pleased sounds, and then sometimes it turned out they weren't that tired after all.
Two weeks before graduation, Terry showed up to class with her hair in a ponytail, dyed blonde and ironed straight. Most of the guys knew better than to try saying anything to her about it at all, and when she arched an eyebrow at Don, he smiled gamely back. He heard her talking to some of the other female students, later, all of them agreeing that her hair looked so much more professional this way and she'd be taken much more seriously. That night she asked him if he liked it, and he said of course he did, but when he ran his fingers through it, the pale straight strands of her hair slipped right past.
It wasn't much of a surprise when they were posted to cities a thousand miles apart. They didn't even bother with one last night--just one last trip to the laundromat, sorting out their stuff that had gotten mixed up over the past few months and getting it all washed to pack. They parted with a handshake, just as they'd begun, and Don went home for a few days' visit before he got started at the Houston office.
He sat up late watching TV, his first day back in Pasadena, jet-lagged and fighting the surreal feeling of being back in his parents' house again. Charlie wandered in, hours after their parents had gone to bed, and stood a moment, blinking at Don. "Hey," he finally said, with a small sheepish smile. "I guess today is the 27th, huh?"
Don nodded, smiling. Trust Charlie to remember which day Don was coming to visit, but not know that that day was today. "Come on, sit down." Don waved at the TV. "We got zombies."
Charlie grinned and plopped himself down in the middle seat on the couch that had always been his, ever since he was a baby and had to sit in the middle to make sure he didn't fall off. He curled himself up small, wrapping his arms around his legs and propping his chin on his knees, and they sat in silence, watching the terrible late-night movie together. After a while, without thought, Don reached out, his fingers wrapping themselves in the heavy dark curls that lay against Charlie's neck, and in the flickering light of the TV, he saw the corner of Charlie's smile.