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browngirlTitle: Pleasure of a Scar
Fandom: Numb3rs
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: Amita/OMC, Amita/OFC, Charlie/Amita
Summary: Four moments from four dates.
Warnings/Spoilers: Vaguely for Ep 5.07, Conspiracy Theory
Acknowledgements:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lomedet, and sageness for the titular poem. Written for the Sept 2008 ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
numb3rs100 Rewind: Midnight, Naked, Handcuffs, Fantasy.
Disclaimer: Amita, Charlie, and their settings don't belong to me.
Title from "The Cinnamon Peeler" by Michael Ondaatje
Bodies Remained Free
Around midnight, Amita sat up, finger-combing her hair with nervous energy, still quivering with anger despite Tyrone's efforts. Which had been extended and wonderful, and she smiled at him asleep, one broad hand tossed over his head.
It wasn't Tyrone's fault her parents expected her to marry that Goan ass, that they really still thought she'd spend four years of college in some kind of chastity for a jerk she'd never liked and wouldn't marry. It wasn't his fault her parents wouldn't listen, and when she'd run to Tyrone he'd distracted her very nicely all evening.
Her parents had probably called after she left. For a moment, Amita guiltily imagined her phone ringing beside her empty bed; then she shook her head and snuggled in, kissing Tyrone's cheek and smiling when he shifted his arm around her. What her parents didn't know wouldn't hurt them. And she wasn't marrying that ass.
Dust on Your Pillow
Halfway out of bed, Amita guiltily glanced back. Karen lay asleep, honey-brown hair spilled over the pillow, mouth vulnerably open, and she really was so pretty naked. Amita looked at Karen's freckled arm on the empty mattress and thought all over again about why she'd returned Karen's kiss, why she'd tangled their fingers and let Karen lead her back here.
But Amita looked down at her clothes on the floor, at her bookbag, and thought about the little cool place within her that should've been molten, about how her skin felt constricted beneath Karen's arm around her waist and how Karen's pleased hum had fallen hollowly on her ear.
Still, she couldn't just sneak away and run off, couldn't do that and call herself a friend. Amita pulled on her clothes and began her Schopenhauer reading, philosophy in the small hours while she waited for Karen to wake up.
If Not Spoken To
Amita sat heavily, cradling her wrist in shock rather than actual injury. When she'd screamed Jerry let go; when she'd told him to leave, he went, and the door had thudded satisfyingly behind him. She'd locked it with shaking hands, expecting any moment to start crying, but so far she'd just curled up, rubbing her wrist where he'd grabbed her.
But he let go.
But what if he hadn't?
Amita's headshake continued into a full-body tremor. She wasn't going to think about it, she ordered herself. She'd pick up the books, wash her face and go to bed. She wouldn't remember Jerry's stupid, obnoxious joke about the Kama Sutra and handcuffs, his sudden pushiness, his hand tight around her wrist and her back hitting the bookcase. When she'd screamed he let go. So she wasn't going to think about it.
She sobbed once, drawing a deep whooping breath, then uncurled and stood up.
Pleasure of a Scar
If Charlie had taken Amita's offered diary, about halfway through he would've found her adolescent fantasy of her future husband. Admittedly, she was relieved when he turned it down, and she would've all but died of embarassment to hear him reading the list aloud, detailing her theoretical spouse's background, education and accomplishments -- Marshall Penfield had nothing in smirkiness on a cocky Charlie.
However, he would've seen 'curly hair' and 'must love computers' and 'hopefully won't mind that I'm smart', and maybe he would've understood a little more of his impact on her. Amita looked from the diary, back on her bookcase, to Charlie asleep beside her, his arm across her lap, his face half-sunk in the pillow. Trailing fingers over his cheek, she smiled when he murmured indistinctly, pushing into her touch. Charlie was the one she wanted, and sooner or later she'd get that through to him.
Fandom: Numb3rs
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: Amita/OMC, Amita/OFC, Charlie/Amita
Summary: Four moments from four dates.
Warnings/Spoilers: Vaguely for Ep 5.07, Conspiracy Theory
Acknowledgements:
lomedet, and sageness for the titular poem. Written for the Sept 2008 numb3rs100 Rewind: Midnight, Naked, Handcuffs, Fantasy.Disclaimer: Amita, Charlie, and their settings don't belong to me.
Title from "The Cinnamon Peeler" by Michael Ondaatje
Bodies Remained Free
Around midnight, Amita sat up, finger-combing her hair with nervous energy, still quivering with anger despite Tyrone's efforts. Which had been extended and wonderful, and she smiled at him asleep, one broad hand tossed over his head.
It wasn't Tyrone's fault her parents expected her to marry that Goan ass, that they really still thought she'd spend four years of college in some kind of chastity for a jerk she'd never liked and wouldn't marry. It wasn't his fault her parents wouldn't listen, and when she'd run to Tyrone he'd distracted her very nicely all evening.
Her parents had probably called after she left. For a moment, Amita guiltily imagined her phone ringing beside her empty bed; then she shook her head and snuggled in, kissing Tyrone's cheek and smiling when he shifted his arm around her. What her parents didn't know wouldn't hurt them. And she wasn't marrying that ass.
Dust on Your Pillow
Halfway out of bed, Amita guiltily glanced back. Karen lay asleep, honey-brown hair spilled over the pillow, mouth vulnerably open, and she really was so pretty naked. Amita looked at Karen's freckled arm on the empty mattress and thought all over again about why she'd returned Karen's kiss, why she'd tangled their fingers and let Karen lead her back here.
But Amita looked down at her clothes on the floor, at her bookbag, and thought about the little cool place within her that should've been molten, about how her skin felt constricted beneath Karen's arm around her waist and how Karen's pleased hum had fallen hollowly on her ear.
Still, she couldn't just sneak away and run off, couldn't do that and call herself a friend. Amita pulled on her clothes and began her Schopenhauer reading, philosophy in the small hours while she waited for Karen to wake up.
If Not Spoken To
Amita sat heavily, cradling her wrist in shock rather than actual injury. When she'd screamed Jerry let go; when she'd told him to leave, he went, and the door had thudded satisfyingly behind him. She'd locked it with shaking hands, expecting any moment to start crying, but so far she'd just curled up, rubbing her wrist where he'd grabbed her.
But he let go.
But what if he hadn't?
Amita's headshake continued into a full-body tremor. She wasn't going to think about it, she ordered herself. She'd pick up the books, wash her face and go to bed. She wouldn't remember Jerry's stupid, obnoxious joke about the Kama Sutra and handcuffs, his sudden pushiness, his hand tight around her wrist and her back hitting the bookcase. When she'd screamed he let go. So she wasn't going to think about it.
She sobbed once, drawing a deep whooping breath, then uncurled and stood up.
Pleasure of a Scar
If Charlie had taken Amita's offered diary, about halfway through he would've found her adolescent fantasy of her future husband. Admittedly, she was relieved when he turned it down, and she would've all but died of embarassment to hear him reading the list aloud, detailing her theoretical spouse's background, education and accomplishments -- Marshall Penfield had nothing in smirkiness on a cocky Charlie.
However, he would've seen 'curly hair' and 'must love computers' and 'hopefully won't mind that I'm smart', and maybe he would've understood a little more of his impact on her. Amita looked from the diary, back on her bookcase, to Charlie asleep beside her, his arm across her lap, his face half-sunk in the pillow. Trailing fingers over his cheek, she smiled when he murmured indistinctly, pushing into her touch. Charlie was the one she wanted, and sooner or later she'd get that through to him.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2009-05-13 12:03 pm (UTC)"hopefully won't mind I'm smart" - how long, how long till women can say "a brain to match mine" instead?
no subject
Date: 2009-05-14 12:21 pm (UTC)More seriously, yeah. I put that in because when I thought of it I winced.
no subject
Date: 2009-05-13 12:50 pm (UTC)Really a lot.
no subject
Date: 2009-05-14 12:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-13 01:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-14 12:23 pm (UTC)And I'm really glad you liked this.
no subject
Date: 2009-05-14 04:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-15 02:17 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-15 07:51 am (UTC)I submitted prompts today for
♥
no subject
Date: 2009-05-15 02:26 pm (UTC)I was already really looking forward to spending my summer writing for
no subject
Date: 2009-05-15 09:24 pm (UTC)Oh, Amita. That's one of the things I love about their relationship, the way that he takes it as read that she's geeky and brilliant and will achieve whatever she wants to.
And I loved the image of Charlie smirking his way through Amita's husband requirements.
no subject
Date: 2009-05-17 02:53 pm (UTC)I'm really glad you like this. And also, I wanted to thank you. I know "Calculations" was rather a spicier dish than is to your taste, so I feel a little weird but also very grateful that it was inspired by your lovely story of Charlie in Cambridge, with his doctorate at 20 and the world before him. I have more to say about that period in his life, inspired by your lovely story, and I'll try to keep the rating non-extreme next time. :D
no subject
Date: 2009-05-19 02:37 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-27 01:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-28 11:30 pm (UTC)