Fanfic Recs by coprime

On Holiday (McKay/Zelenka | NC17 | 10,787 words): Rodney and Radek attend a conference in Las Vegas on vacation and run into Ba'al. Aww, they're so awkward around each other and yet so cute. And I like the cameo by SG-1.

Excerpt:
"C'mon," he said. "You're not going to win." Radek ignored him, hitting the button, waiting, and hitting the button again. There was a strange hypnotic rhythm to it, and Rodney found himself captivated, watching the flow of Radek's hands, the graceful movement of his fingers. It seemed more acceptable, less taboo to do so here than in the labs of Atlantis. Rodney breathed in, feeling constricted in the little casino, surrounded by smoke and the din of the machines as they ran, Radek's movements never slowing.

When the machine lit up and started blaring, Rodney started, gaping at the display. He glanced down at the payouts, grinning widely. "You just won $800!"

Radek was frowning at the payout. "No, I just lost the Jag." He pointed, to where he was one tick off from the winning payout for the car.

Rodney shook his head. "Is the glass perpetually half-empty in your world? We're on vacation, and for a nominal investment, you just won $800. Why not take your winnings and enjoy? We're even in a state where all kinds of enjoyment is legal." Rodney ignored the heaviness in his stomach at the thought of Radek ditching him to go off to partake of such enjoyment, or worse yet, asking him to come along.

Radek merely rolled his eyes.

The Perfect Trap (Kakashi/Iruka | PG13 | 10,078 words): Kakashi's stuck hanging from a tree and asks Iruka to help get him down. Oh, it's funny. Kakashi's sneaky; the ninja trap is cool; overall, everything is shiny and fun.

Excerpt:
"Can't you cut it?" Iruka wondered out loud, still a bit too annoyed to be as polite as he usually was with the Jounin.

"If I could cut the rope, do you think either of us would be here?" Kakashi answered sardonically. "My blades won't even nick it. I doubt the rope has anything to do with it anyway. The essence of a good trap is misdirection."

"Yes, that's what I teach my six-year-olds."

That damned bird chirped again, taking the sudden silence for a challenge to its singing abilities.

Kakashi must have decided that getting insulted wouldn't get him down any faster, since he continued as if Iruka hadn't said anything

"If I do manage to cut the rope, something worse will happen."

"You can't be sure of that," Iruka countered automatically.

"No, I can't be sure of it, but that's how I'd set it up. I'm a devious bastard, didn't you know?"

The single visible eye was creased into what might have been a pleasant, harmless expression if it'd been right side up, but as it were- Iruka swallowed and resisted the urge to edge back.

"I didn't mean cut the rope, I meant the root," he corrected quickly. "You should be able to weaken it with a couple of kunai throws; it'd crack under your weight. The wood can't have been tampered with. It should be safer than the rope."

Paradox (Richie, Virgil/Richie | PG13 | 12,427 words) is about what Richie did in the episode where Virgil was sent to the future. This has a fantastic Richie characterization, and I love all the realistic touches about Virgil and Richie's lives. There are so many details and connections and consequences of things that are all so well thought out.

Excerpt:
Richie sighed. "To put it simply, the math is bad, we can't retrieve him using the same formulas that sent him to the future in the first place, and this machine," Richie thumped it for emphasis, "was never designed to actually bring people back. It's a one-way ticket."

The room became deathly silent, Richie final words echoing off into the distance. Robin slumped down in his chair, looking distinctly unhappy. Batman, however, stared intently at Richie.

"Can you fix it?" he asked, his voice breaking the heavy silence around them.

Richie closed his eyes, letting himself dive fully into the math. He calculated future probabilities, using theoretical math barely touched upon by any of the most advanced researchers in the world. The numbers felt chaotic at first, then, slowly they resolved themselves. After several minutes, Richie opened his eyes, looking seriously at Batman.

"I can," he said, "but I need a few things." He stood up, stretching briefly, then put a hand on his hip. "Do you think Radio Shack is still open?"

Men of Our Word (Norrington/Jack | PG13 | 17,292 words) has Norrington attending Elizabeth and Will's engagement party and eventually meeting up with Jack. This story made me give Norrington a second look, and I found I really liked him. Will and Elizabeth are nicely adult in this, and they make a cute couple.

Excerpt:
"Sparrow, I find you cause trouble simply by breathing. How can you -not- be here to wreak havoc? It is your modus operandi." I gesture him over to the corner. "However, this time you've taken it a step too far, breaking into the personal office of the Royal Governor while the entirety of Port Royale is here ..."

"...To celebrate the engagement of the lovely Miss Elizabeth Swann, to the fine upstanding pirate - I mean, blacksmith Will Turner. I know, mate. I was invited." Sparrow says, lifting one eyebrow.

I give him a disbelieving look. "You ...were invited."

"Oh yes." He says easily, leaning back against one of the sofas.

"You have an -invitation- ... to -this- party." I hope he is noting my skepticism.

By the extremely -dirty- look I am now receiving, I am suspecting so. "Ye-es, but if I reach into my pocket to get it , you'll -probably- stab me with your pretty blade."

"Indubitably." Although he is sparking my curiosity, which is always a bad thing to occur around Sparrow. Perhaps he does have an invitation, but the moment you let him know you're intrigued, he has you. Then you are doing the most -ridiculous- things imaginable, ie letting him take a boat, alone, into a cavern filled with pirates such as himself to negotiate terms, and so on.

"So, looks like we've found ourselves at a bit of an impasse then, mate ...Wait!" He flashes me a lazy smile, and then he starts to lift up his shirt. I heft my sword, but he isn't wearing a pistol in his sash, as pirates are apt to do. He continues speaking, as his hands go to his waistline. "I have... an -idea-."

A minute later, I find myself holding Sparrow's pants.

American Way (Fraser/RayK | NC17 | 18,227 words) has Fraser pretending to be American for the sake of a case. An American Fraser makes a delectable picture, one that neither I nor RayK misses noticing. The case is pretty good too.

Excerpt:
Fraser looked sheepish as they walked out onto the sidewalk. "I'm afraid I'm not doing very well."

"Well, it's no wonder, when you got so many coaches," Ray said. "Look, you got any experience at all with impersonation?"

"I'm afraid not, Ray. I was cast in the role of Alfie Doolittle for our high school production of 'My Fair Lady,' but on the night of the performance, the auditorium had to be closed due to the migration of ... it's not important."

"Yeah, well, I never been onstage, but I done a little undercover work here and there. And the thing I learned, you can't be generic. You gotta be specific." They waited for the light, then started across the street. "I mean, you can't go to a meet thinking, Small-time runner looking to make big. You gotta have somebody in particular in mind, somebody you can think about and sorta get in the state of mind. See, you been trying to be some generic American, but that won't work. You gotta be somebody in particular." Ray steered them into the shade of a bank's awning. "You got it?"

Fraser gave him a serious look. "I -- think so." His thumb came up in the direction of his eyebrow, and then he seemed to catch himself, and his hand stopped halfway to his face.

"Yeah, you can't do all that fussy little fidget stuff there, Fraser. Shake it out." Ray shook out his arms encouragingly.

Fraser began to follow his lead, shaking -- hands, arms, shoulders. Rolling his head on his neck, rolling his shoulders, and shaking, shaking.

With every shake his shoulders got looser, his movements more fluid.

Until at last he bent his head, leaned his shoulders against the bank's brick wall, stuck three fingers in his jeans pocket, and looked up at Ray through his eyelashes.

Jesus. He looked like sex on a stick over there.

"Who," Ray said a little hoarsely, "who the hell are you supposed to be?"

Fraser raised his eyebrows and gave Ray an open-mouthed grin.

"You, Ray."

Go Thy Way, Daniel (Dan-Casey | PG13 | 13,056 words) is Dan in a downward spiral after Sports Night ended. When Sports Night did angst, it did it really well. This story does it better. It made me cry in several places, but thankfully the end doesn't make me cry.

Excerpt:
It was neither first time nor the first day that Dan had been moody and unreasonable, and Casey's annoyance was simmering, refining itself into anxiety. Taking his seat at the desk with a deep sigh, Casey typed a few sentences at the keyboard while stealing glances at his partner. Dan, for his part, was drawing concentric circles on the paper and filling in alternate layers with the side of the pencil lead.

Somewhere, in the midst of the rebirth of CSC, Dan had disappeared. Not the physical presence of the man, but his soul, the joie de vivre that made working with him for thirteen-hour days a delight.

All that was left of Dan was...this shell.

"Danny?" Casey said softly. An opening.

"Let it go." Terse. Morose. "It's fine. I'll have my segments before the 6:00 rundown. I just need..."

Tell me what you need. Please. Please, Danny, anything but this silence and this anger. But Casey couldn't say it aloud. Instead, he sat with his hands folded on the desk, watching as Dan worked through whatever was going on in his head.

"I need some air," Dan said at last. His mouth formed a pale ghost of his usual smile. "Stretch my legs."

The Vivian Johnstone Higginsbottoms Affair (Napoleon/Illya, OC | R | 11,884 words) is slightly similar to The Drunken Bet Affair in that both have a Sue-ish OC. Here, Napoleon and Illya have parted ways after the end of the series. Vivian Higginsbottoms is set to marry Napoleon, but something's bothering him and Vivian decides to investigate. Vivian's a fun character, she really is. And matchmaking can be a lot of fun as well. The story's got just the right amount of angst too.

Excerpt:
Vivian flounced back on the bed. "Come on, Napoleon. How bad could it have been? So he made a pass at you. Time to get over it and move on."

Napoleon started to cough.

She sat up and pounded him on his back. "Are you all right?"

He nodded, still coughing. He choked out a few words, "Fine, just breathed wrong."

Vivian frowned at him. This whole thing was so unlike him. First his drinking, then his unwillingness to talk about whatever these ghosts of his were, and now his unwillingness to talk about Illya. Her brain worked furiously connecting the dots. Then her jaw dropped.

Napoleon sighed and dropped his face into his hands.

She had to know. "Did he make a pass at you?"

Loserville (Xander/Spike | NC17 | 16,437 words) is Xander/Spike, set during whatever season Buffy and Willow were college freshmen. The story's fun, and it's cute. Wonderful portrayal of all the characters. I really liked Anya in this, and Buffy is kind of heartless like she was in that season but isn't villified. And it shows how Xander's being left behind and alone by his friends. And Spike and Xander don't immediately fall into bed together, which I like.

Excerpt:
He kept working his way through the admittedly short list of people he wanted to spend time with voluntarily. He stooped to calling up one of his fellow pizza slingers, but even Smelly Andy, who used to peel and eat paint chips off the wall in 9th grade English, had something else to do today.

Apparently, everyone had a life but him. How spiffy.

But damn it, Xander had gotten enough sleep, he had the whole day off, and he felt the need to take advantage of the free-movieness of his job, because it was the only perk he'd ever gotten that didn't consist of free food. And since he was standing there in the middle of the basement wearing his last pair of clean pants and holey socks half off his feet, he saw that there was still one person he hadn't invited yet.

Desperate times called for desperate measures, and asking one of his mortal enemies to hang out was just adding insult to incredible lameness. What else was new?

Spike sat sprawled on Xander's ratty armchair, reading yesterday's newspaper and drinking fruit punch. God, he was annoying.

"Hey, Spike," Xander called out.

Spike peered over the top of the newspaper, one eyebrow raised. "What?"

"Wanna catch a movie after the sun goes down?"

Spike didn't even blink before he went back to reading the paper. "No."

"C'mon," Xander wheedled.

"Sod off," Spike said, sounding bored.

"Please?"

Spike raised his hand and flipped Xander the British bird. He had dark smudges on his fingers from the newsprint.

"Did I mention that I can get us in for free?"

Immediately, Spike said, "When's it start?"

Spontaneous Combustion (Peter/Egon) is Peter and Egon in college. The story shows these two's developing friendship and the love that blossoms from it. Very cute, and Egon and Peter's voices are wonderfully done. This is a wonderful pick-me-up sort of fic with a bit of angst but not too much. And a good many bits to put a smile on one's face.

Excerpt:
He looked at me, his gaze now level and serious. "Psychology asks 'Why?' It has an effect, and it looks for a cause. Physics is the same. All the other sciences ask 'What?' I figure...." He hesitated, and then spoke with an earnestness that was evident in voice and motion of his hands. "If psychology is a study of how the mind interacts with itself and others, and physics is a study of how everything reacts to itself and others, then they're similar fields. Hell, I've applied some of my work in each course to the other. The profs think it's a revelation, but it's just because the two fields don't interact. I'm thinking..." He shrugged, gazing off into the distance, and I suspect it was because he was suddenly aware of his enthusiasm and was embarrassed by it. "I'm thinking about doubling. Getting a degree in Parapsych. A lot of people think it's nonsense. I don't even believe most of the gobbledygook that they usually teach. But it seems to be a way to mesh my interests..."

He fell silent and became fascinated with his feet.

I must admit, I was astonished. I cleared my throat. "Peter...the reason why I came to Columbia was because I wished to study parapsychology." His head shot up, and he gaped at me. I nodded at him. "I feel that there is more to this universe than simple equations or a vast theorem that will cover everything. I too believe that my chosen field alone cannot unbend itself enough to truly ask and discover 'why?'...and I want to find out."

It was from that moment that our daily meetings changed. While going to new dining establishments remained part of the routine, we began to frequent both the Butler Library on campus and the New York Public library downtown. We spent much of our time arguing, so vastly different were our opinions on parapsychology. He was convinced that much of it was a sham, a con job performed by trickery upon the gullible. I, on the other hand, believed that these things existed, but merely required scientific evidence. It was much like playing Sir Arthur Conan Doyle to his Houdini.

It's part of a series here, though I haven't had the chance to read the rest of the series yet.

The Louis Armstrong Affair (Napoleon/Illya | NC17 | 11,127 words) is about Napoleon and Illya discovering what it means to be a couple (as opposed to friends) while still staying themselves. It made me go "awww" at some places and laugh at others; it's a story about the relationship without all the angst that so many stories thrive on. Not that this doesn't deal with angsty issues, but it deals with them in a way that allows Napoleon and Illya to stay the grown men and international spies that they are.

Excerpt:
"What are you doing?"

Napoleon tossed his shoes well away from the water's edge before kneeling down on one knee to roll up the hems of his pants. "Isn't obvious?"

Regarding him through narrowed eyes, Illya made his assessment. "You look as though you are about to frolic in the sea water."

"Why, Illya, one would think you didn't approve of frolicking." Napoleon then did promptly that, dashing into the cold water and then backing out quickly, making sure to send a small torrent of water Illya's way on his retreat.

"UNCLE agents do not frolic," Illya replied frostily, bearing the droplets of water on his face with resigned stoicism, although he knew the gleam in his eyes betrayed him. "Neither do they revel, carouse, caper or cavort."

Napoleon kicked another wave of muddy froth in Illya's direction. "We're not UNCLE agents here, you know. We're - " He shrugged and grinned, apparently as unprepared as Illya to put a name to what they'd become.