Reasons to do this: it will bring both you AND I joy

[cherry]

Guys! I am informed that it is some sort of day dedicated to spreading joy. I am all for this. (Some of you from waaaaay back in my #subcafe days may remember my inaugural "tell people that they rock," day.)

In this spirit, and knowing that everyone is best pleased by different things, I am offering a virtual cornucopia of things designed to bring joy. By commenting, you can have any combination of the following a la carte options:

1) A drabble. (Doctor Who, Dexter, Avatar: the Last Airbender, Life on Mars, Due South, Ocean's 11, Firefly, Dead Like Me, BSG, assorted comics (X-Men, Gen-X, Runaways, Y: The Last Man, etc.), Dogma, House, Dark is Rising, Narnia, Heroes, Harry Potter, Torchwood, or things you won't know about until you ask.)
2) An icon.
3) A reason I think you rock.

Comments

[ella-bee.livejournal.com]

You write Dexter?!? Duuuude.

(PS: Now that I'm all graduated I'm at home this weekend and it feels weeeeeeiiiiiiiirrrrrrrrdddddd.)

[cherryice.livejournal.com]

I haven't yet, but I adore the show, and I'm willing to try.

(PS: I'm not there, either. :( I've actually moved into an advisory-type role this year, and it turns out my assumption I was going was a misconception. I found out last week that there were already plans made, and no one even bothered to tell me that I wasn't invited. I was a bit perturbed.)


Maria takes a vacation after Jame's funeral. Actually, she shows up to work early the next morning, bullpen deserted, and sits behind her desk with her eyes dry and fingers white where they grip her pen. She hears muted whispers as her people drift in, compared to the usual chaos, it's like she's separated from everyone else by fifteen feet of ice.

At nine, Angel knocks at her door, fedora grasped uneasily in one hand. "Yes?" she asks, scratching strings of letter across the paper before her. He doesn't say anything, which is good, because if he does she thinks she'll scream. After a minute, he steps into her office, standing silently in front of her desk, hands twisting at the brim of his hat. After another moment, he reaches out and drops a hand to her shoulder, soft, and turns and walks away. She's writing nothing more than random strings of letters, I'm so sorry, blurring before her eys.

At ten, Matthews walks in to her office, and escorts her to the door.

So, Maria takes a vacation. She's moved since she and James were lovers, but they've always stayed friends, so there are bits of him all over her home. She sees them in the Keys as well, and realizes only then that he's something she's carrying with her. 'You sell yourself short,' James used to tell her, 'and you let others sell you short, too.' Yelled, that last time, when it ended for good. 'I am so fucking sick and tired of you undercutting yourself,' he yelled, his hands tight around her arms. 'You're hurting me,' she said, voice tight and controlled, and tried not to be afraid.

She's carrying him with her, and there are probably better people to keep her company -- less angry, less damaged, less dangerous, less honest. She knows him, though, knew him, and he wasn't capable of being the Bay Harbour Butcher. That guy, that guy is still out there, and he's one of hers. It's something that she knows in her bones. Watching the waves come in, eyes dry, she tilts her face to the sun, and knows what she has to do.

It's not just about James from here on out. There's a lion in with the lambs, and it's not going to lay down with them. There's a monster in the fold, and it looks and acts like one of her people, but it's not. 'You sell yourself short,' James used to tell her.

She thinks she's just about done.