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skins drabbles
Will this bus ride never end? On the upside, this bus has wireless! So, here are the promised Skins drabbles.
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lazaefair, Anwar and Maxxie directly after the series 2 finale.
Maxxie supposed it wouldn't be horrible without Anwar. It just wouldn't be the same. He could hear James's reply to that in his head: "Isn't that the point of all this? To change?"
Anwar was prone to grand gestures and rash decisions, and Maxxie would be lying if he didn't admit that he sort of used that against Anwar a little. It was just that -- well, what would he do without Anwar? Maxxie was already losing the lot of them, for fuck's sake, so he might as well fight to keep his best friend. And he did, and he won, 'cos here was Anwar sitting beside him on the bus while James was relegated to the seat behind them.
They were negotiating the clothing situation -- "Some of James's trousers would fit you, but what about underwear?" "Don’t need it. Keep it real for the ladies, yeah?" -- when Anwar's pocket started buzzing and emitting a tinny version of some hip-hop song.
"It's my mum," Anwar said after taking his mobile out and checking the call screen. When he looked back up at Maxxie, his whole demeanor had changed. It was never difficult to read Anwar, who wore his heart on his sleeve, and easier still when he tried to disguise it as nonchalance.
"You all right, mate?" Maxxie asked.
"Yeah," Anwar lied.
"You going to answer that?"
"I'll ring her back later."
Maxxie nodded. "Cool."
Anwar silenced his mobile, slipped it back in his pocket, and said, "London will be wild."
Maxxie smiled. "It'll be insane. I'm glad you'll be there."
"Yeah," Anwar said, and his smile was a shaky one, but at least it was a smile. "Insane. Me too."
And all the rest are forsilentsighs, who left a bunch of prompts.
Michelle/Effy, between series 1 and 2
"Aren't you going in?" said a voice behind her, and Michelle nearly had a coronary. She shrieked and whirled around, and faced the disapproving frowns of the nurses and Effy's blank stare. Effy, who lived as comfortably in her cloud of silence as Chris did in his haze of spliff smoke.
"What?" said Michelle.
Effy gestured at Tony's room with a facial expression -- something with the raising of the eyebrows and a tilt of the head -- and said, "Are you going in?"
Through the doorway they could see Tony, startled from sleep, and something clenched in Michelle's gut. There was that same almost-nausea that she felt now whenever she thought about Tony and all the things he wasn't anymore.
"Sid was here earlier," said Effy. "He read Tony chapter eight of Around the World in Eighty Days."
"The Time Machine was better," Michelle managed. When Effy's impassiveness took on a more condescending quality, Michelle added, "I don't have any books."
Effy rolled her eyes. She took Michelle's hand and began leading her to Tony's room.
"Wait," Michelle said. "Effy, wait. I can't."
A groaning noise came from the bed and Michelle looked up, and wished she hadn't. The familiarity of his eyes only emphasized the distance. There was no recognition in there, no... Tony. She didn't see herself reflected in Tony's gaze, no affection or even derision, there was nothing. Effy kept on walking, tightening her grip on Michelle's hand.
"Effy, please." Michelle tried to tug her hand away. "Effy, I can't," as the heat rose to her cheeks and pinpricks of tears blurred her vision. “Effy!”
She felt rather than saw Effy hesitate, and let Michelle's hand go.
"I'm sorry," Michelle blubbered. She dabbed at her eyes so her make-up wouldn't smudge too much. "I'm sorry--"
"For who?" Effy asked.
Michelle opened her mouth to answer and found that she had none.
Effy stepped closer, and said, "This is from Tony." And she kissed Michelle, a soft and decisive gesture that disarmed Michelle and made her stomach twist. Michelle kissed back a bit for no reason she would be able to explain later, and then stepped away, her surprise arriving just a few seconds too late.
Behind Effy, Tony stared at them uncomprehendingly from his bed. Tony, who had been robbed of his words, and Effy who had never needed words to communicate. Their newfound shared silence only highlighted what had changed. It was too much, too strange. (And the feeling of Effy's lips, warm against hers.)
"I have to go," Michelle mumbled, and Effy just gave her a look and went to sit with Tony as if she had expected Michelle to say that all along. "I'll come back, I promise.”
Effy, of course, didn’t reply.
Chris being Chris, maybe Chris/Jal
Curled up on his sofa under a blanket, Jal said, "I'm cold."
"Nah," Chris replied. "It's just the shrooms, mate. Your body temperature goes up. It's a mind thing."
"If my body temperature goes up, it's a body thing.”
"This," Chris threw open his arms, presenting the grandeur of his living room, "is the warmest room in the house. It's a mind thing."
"Body thing."
“Yeah.”
Jal glared at him, but the oven mitts she wore somewhat diluted the effect. (She had been freaked out by her hands -- the whorls looked like eyes, she said, they were almost watching her -- and Chris, ever the gentleman, had gone into the kitchen and returned with oven mitts. One was gingham, the other paisley, and he said to her, "We don't have a matching pair, but these should stop them spying on us.")
"I have it," Chris said. "I have just the thing. Don't go anywhere."
"Where would I go?"
So off Chris went to get the thing (plus a short detour to examine the wallpaper in the corridor -- Chris wasn't a fan of floral motifs, but he a fan of floral motifs that danced), and when he returned, Jal frowned and asked, “What’s that?”
Chris responded by holding the Christmas lights triumphantly aloft. “Don’t trip without one!”
“Should I even ask what you’re doing?” Jal asked when Chris started arranging the lights over the blanket.
“Warming you up.”
“Really?”
When the lights were arranged to his satisfaction, Chris slipped under the blanket next to her and said, “Prepare yourself.” And plugged them in.
They blinked at the sudden brightness and the golden afterimages the lights printed in the air. The little bulbs hummed and wavered, approximating stars and city lights, and, to his satisfaction, Jal laughed delightedly – a joyful ringing sound – and she reached out to touch the stars, the lights, tangling her fingers in them.
“Didn’t I tell you it was worth it?” Chris said.
“No. But it is.”
“We don’t have electric blankets, but we do have this. Merry Christmas, Jal.”
She giggled. “It’s September, Chris.”
“Merry Christmas,” he insisted.
Jal leaned in closer and rested her head on his shoulder. “Merry Christmas.”
And together they watched the lights dance.
Tony and Sid codependency, post-series 2 finale.
Driving back from the airport, Tony said, “That was the best thing I ever did for him.”
When Michelle said, “Yeah,” he tightened his grip on the steering wheel. He hadn’t realized he didn’t want her to agree.
“New York is fucking huge,” he said. “He’ll never find her.”
“He might.”
“He just needs to get it out of his system.”
Michelle just put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed, and Tony didn’t know whether he should feel comforted or belittled by it. He covered her hand with his own, and they laced their fingers together and let their hands drop between them. He drove like that for a bit, one hand on the wheel, the other holding Michelle’s, his mind over the Atlantic with a boy who was in love with a girl who never stayed.
For
lazaefair, Anwar and Maxxie directly after the series 2 finale.Maxxie supposed it wouldn't be horrible without Anwar. It just wouldn't be the same. He could hear James's reply to that in his head: "Isn't that the point of all this? To change?"
Anwar was prone to grand gestures and rash decisions, and Maxxie would be lying if he didn't admit that he sort of used that against Anwar a little. It was just that -- well, what would he do without Anwar? Maxxie was already losing the lot of them, for fuck's sake, so he might as well fight to keep his best friend. And he did, and he won, 'cos here was Anwar sitting beside him on the bus while James was relegated to the seat behind them.
They were negotiating the clothing situation -- "Some of James's trousers would fit you, but what about underwear?" "Don’t need it. Keep it real for the ladies, yeah?" -- when Anwar's pocket started buzzing and emitting a tinny version of some hip-hop song.
"It's my mum," Anwar said after taking his mobile out and checking the call screen. When he looked back up at Maxxie, his whole demeanor had changed. It was never difficult to read Anwar, who wore his heart on his sleeve, and easier still when he tried to disguise it as nonchalance.
"You all right, mate?" Maxxie asked.
"Yeah," Anwar lied.
"You going to answer that?"
"I'll ring her back later."
Maxxie nodded. "Cool."
Anwar silenced his mobile, slipped it back in his pocket, and said, "London will be wild."
Maxxie smiled. "It'll be insane. I'm glad you'll be there."
"Yeah," Anwar said, and his smile was a shaky one, but at least it was a smile. "Insane. Me too."
And all the rest are for
silentsighs, who left a bunch of prompts.Michelle/Effy, between series 1 and 2
"Aren't you going in?" said a voice behind her, and Michelle nearly had a coronary. She shrieked and whirled around, and faced the disapproving frowns of the nurses and Effy's blank stare. Effy, who lived as comfortably in her cloud of silence as Chris did in his haze of spliff smoke.
"What?" said Michelle.
Effy gestured at Tony's room with a facial expression -- something with the raising of the eyebrows and a tilt of the head -- and said, "Are you going in?"
Through the doorway they could see Tony, startled from sleep, and something clenched in Michelle's gut. There was that same almost-nausea that she felt now whenever she thought about Tony and all the things he wasn't anymore.
"Sid was here earlier," said Effy. "He read Tony chapter eight of Around the World in Eighty Days."
"The Time Machine was better," Michelle managed. When Effy's impassiveness took on a more condescending quality, Michelle added, "I don't have any books."
Effy rolled her eyes. She took Michelle's hand and began leading her to Tony's room.
"Wait," Michelle said. "Effy, wait. I can't."
A groaning noise came from the bed and Michelle looked up, and wished she hadn't. The familiarity of his eyes only emphasized the distance. There was no recognition in there, no... Tony. She didn't see herself reflected in Tony's gaze, no affection or even derision, there was nothing. Effy kept on walking, tightening her grip on Michelle's hand.
"Effy, please." Michelle tried to tug her hand away. "Effy, I can't," as the heat rose to her cheeks and pinpricks of tears blurred her vision. “Effy!”
She felt rather than saw Effy hesitate, and let Michelle's hand go.
"I'm sorry," Michelle blubbered. She dabbed at her eyes so her make-up wouldn't smudge too much. "I'm sorry--"
"For who?" Effy asked.
Michelle opened her mouth to answer and found that she had none.
Effy stepped closer, and said, "This is from Tony." And she kissed Michelle, a soft and decisive gesture that disarmed Michelle and made her stomach twist. Michelle kissed back a bit for no reason she would be able to explain later, and then stepped away, her surprise arriving just a few seconds too late.
Behind Effy, Tony stared at them uncomprehendingly from his bed. Tony, who had been robbed of his words, and Effy who had never needed words to communicate. Their newfound shared silence only highlighted what had changed. It was too much, too strange. (And the feeling of Effy's lips, warm against hers.)
"I have to go," Michelle mumbled, and Effy just gave her a look and went to sit with Tony as if she had expected Michelle to say that all along. "I'll come back, I promise.”
Effy, of course, didn’t reply.
Chris being Chris, maybe Chris/Jal
Curled up on his sofa under a blanket, Jal said, "I'm cold."
"Nah," Chris replied. "It's just the shrooms, mate. Your body temperature goes up. It's a mind thing."
"If my body temperature goes up, it's a body thing.”
"This," Chris threw open his arms, presenting the grandeur of his living room, "is the warmest room in the house. It's a mind thing."
"Body thing."
“Yeah.”
Jal glared at him, but the oven mitts she wore somewhat diluted the effect. (She had been freaked out by her hands -- the whorls looked like eyes, she said, they were almost watching her -- and Chris, ever the gentleman, had gone into the kitchen and returned with oven mitts. One was gingham, the other paisley, and he said to her, "We don't have a matching pair, but these should stop them spying on us.")
"I have it," Chris said. "I have just the thing. Don't go anywhere."
"Where would I go?"
So off Chris went to get the thing (plus a short detour to examine the wallpaper in the corridor -- Chris wasn't a fan of floral motifs, but he a fan of floral motifs that danced), and when he returned, Jal frowned and asked, “What’s that?”
Chris responded by holding the Christmas lights triumphantly aloft. “Don’t trip without one!”
“Should I even ask what you’re doing?” Jal asked when Chris started arranging the lights over the blanket.
“Warming you up.”
“Really?”
When the lights were arranged to his satisfaction, Chris slipped under the blanket next to her and said, “Prepare yourself.” And plugged them in.
They blinked at the sudden brightness and the golden afterimages the lights printed in the air. The little bulbs hummed and wavered, approximating stars and city lights, and, to his satisfaction, Jal laughed delightedly – a joyful ringing sound – and she reached out to touch the stars, the lights, tangling her fingers in them.
“Didn’t I tell you it was worth it?” Chris said.
“No. But it is.”
“We don’t have electric blankets, but we do have this. Merry Christmas, Jal.”
She giggled. “It’s September, Chris.”
“Merry Christmas,” he insisted.
Jal leaned in closer and rested her head on his shoulder. “Merry Christmas.”
And together they watched the lights dance.
Tony and Sid codependency, post-series 2 finale.
Driving back from the airport, Tony said, “That was the best thing I ever did for him.”
When Michelle said, “Yeah,” he tightened his grip on the steering wheel. He hadn’t realized he didn’t want her to agree.
“New York is fucking huge,” he said. “He’ll never find her.”
“He might.”
“He just needs to get it out of his system.”
Michelle just put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed, and Tony didn’t know whether he should feel comforted or belittled by it. He covered her hand with his own, and they laced their fingers together and let their hands drop between them. He drove like that for a bit, one hand on the wheel, the other holding Michelle’s, his mind over the Atlantic with a boy who was in love with a girl who never stayed.