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Papa was a rodeo (Mama was a rock n' roll band) (NCIS crossover with many others)
Sometimes, when I'm in the middle of a very long fic (NCIS/SGA at 32,000 words 4srsktnx), I like to try a little writing exercise. Today's exercise is a set of ascending drabbles (100 words, then 200 words, etc.) on a character I've never ficced before. Results are:
Papa was a rodeo (Mama was a rock n' roll band)
The five stages of grief of Dr. Jeanne Benoit
five NCIS crossovers
~~~
Denial
Bones (Cam Saroyan)
one hundred
The dark-haired woman didn't say much about why Jeanne was not on the short-list for medical examiner internship at the Jeffersonian. Words bounced around the room, words like family background and security risk and making a false FBI report.
Jeanne walked out of the office with her head held high. It wasn't her fault, none of it. It was Tony DiNozzo's fault for lying to her; her father's fault for making her entire life a lie.
Doors were closed to her all across DC now. No one would hire the daughter of a dead arms dealer.
This couldn't be happening.
~~~
Anger
Highlander (Methos)
two hundred
Jeanne slumped against the alley wall, blood coating her hands. She'd tried. Only the machete gash in the man's chest had been too deep. He'd died choking on his own blood, eyes wide and oddly resigned as death took him.
Jeanne didn't even have a phone to call for help.
The Seacouver rain pounded softly down, washing the man's blood into the drain. Jeanne couldn't even care that the man's attacker might return.
When the corpse bolted upright, Jeanne fell back so fast she hit the wall. "What?"
The no-longer-dead corpse staggered to his feet. "Did you call an ambulance?" he demanded, spitting blood to the ground.
"No, I didn't..." Jean backed away, anger replacing her panic. "Why aren't you dead?"
"Trick of the light," he said, staggering away.
"Stop!" Jeanne ran after the man. His chest was completely healed under his torn shirt. "You were dead and now..."
The man turned to glare at Jeanne. "Bad luck of the draw, that's all," he said in a sharp British accent. "Go. Away."
Jeanne watched the man walk away.
He was alive, while Jeanne's father was dead. He came back, while Jeanne's father did not.
Why was this happening to her?
~~~
Bargaining
Supernatural (Bobby Singer)
three hundred
He found her in Tennessee, three a.m. in the only truck-stop for miles. He slid into the seat across from Jeanne and waited for her to look up.
He was older, tired and scruffy, but something about his manner set off every alarm bell in her head.
"Jeanne Benoit?" He even pronounced it right.
Jeanne finished her last fry before answering. "Why?"
The man shrugged. "I used to do business with your old man, back in the day. Name's Bobby."
Instincts flared to panic. "I have to go."
"It's not like that," Bobby said. "We worked the other side of Rene's... field of interests."
Jeanne felt the burn of betrayal in her gut. "You mean outside arms dealing?" she demanded.
"Yeah." Bobby's expression never changed. "Word is you inherited his... antiques."
Jeanne just stared. The last time Jeanne was in DC she'd picked up the few pieces of her father's life she wanted to keep. "So?"
Bobby held out a photograph. "Seen this?"
The small wooden talisman in the picture was at the bottom of Jeanne's backpack, a lovingly carved piece that made Jeanne feel happy. "No."
Bobby pocketed the picture. "If you find it, do yourself a favor. Get rid of it. Immediately."
"Why?"
Bobby stood. "The ones who made it, they're coming back for it."
"What does that mean?"
Bobby stared at her for a long minute. "Your dad and me, we weren't friends, but I owe him. I'm trying to help you out."
Jeanne remained pointedly silent until the man shuffled out of the diner and into the night.
Three days later, running for her life in the woods of Kentucky from things just too wrong to be allowed, Jeanne let out a fevered prayer.
If she got out of this alive, she'd change. She really would.
~~~
Depression
Pretender (Jarod)
four hundred
"We'll get out."
Jeanne looked at the dark-eyed man across the bank vault. He sounded sincere, but the men in her life always did. Tony, her father, all of them.
In the end, it was just lies.
"How do you know?" Jeanne asked, leaning against the wall. "We're locked in a time-release vault with no way phone and little oxygen. We'll likely suffocate before the authorities know we're being held hostage in here."
The man quirked an eyebrow. "There's no need for pessimism."
Jeanne stood straight, wincing at the pull on her healing knee. The man caught her reaction.
"Are you hurt?"
"Old injury," Jeanne lied. She still woke from nightmares of being chased by those creatures.
"Are you sure you don't need help?"
"Why?" Jeanne demanded. The man was a security guard, for heaven's sake. "What would you do about it?"
The man didn't back down in the face of her irritation. "I have a medical background," he said.
"Really? What a coincidence. So do I." Jeanne left it at that.
"Really, ma'am, I can help you." He smiled. "My name's Jarod."
She wondered if the low oxygen was already affecting her. "Jeanne."
"It's nice to meet you." He began to poke at the vault door. "Let's see if I can get us out of here."
"Don't... just don't do that, okay?"
"Do what?"
"Don't lie and pretend it's okay. It's not okay. It's really not okay. Don't lie to me like it is." Jeanne pushed her hair out of her face with cold fingers. "I'm sick of men lying to me all the time."
Jarod looked at Jeanne. "I'm not lying," he said. He suddenly sounded like someone that Jeanne could believe in. "I'm going to do everything I can to get us out of here."
Jeanne sighed. "There's a difference between trying and doing. Besides," she said in an undertone, "I'm not sure I care if you do."
A pause. Then, "Really?"
Jeanne wanted to say yes. She wanted to close her eyes and have the pain of a life of betrayal stop.
But thinking and doing were different things. Jeanne imagined suffocating in the vault, of never seeing her mom or sunshine or sky again.
She let out a breath and with surprising speed, stood straight on her creaky leg. "So," she said conversationally. "How are we going to get ourselves out of here?"
Jarod smiled.
~~~
Acceptance
Gilmore Girls (the town)
five hundred
Time didn't heal all wounds. All time did was cover wounds with scar tissue to dull the sensation.
But it was enough.
Over a year since Jeanne's life collapsed, and somehow she'd woken up one day to find she could think of her father without the pain.
She'd washed up in Stars Hollow, waiting in the park for a tire replacement, when a toddler fell from the slide. Jeanne had stabilized her for the ambulance ride while her parents freaked out. The girl's uncle insisted on giving Jeanne a free lunch at the diner. By the end of the meal Jeanne knew everything about the town, including that the place's sole GP was retiring.
So Jeanne bought his practice. She justified it as putting her father's money into something good, but really, she wanted out. Out of the race for internships, away from games with research and drug companies, out of a life as an arms dealer's daughter.
Her priorities had changed.
Entering examination room two, Jeanne smiled. "Good morning, Lane."
"Hi Doc." Lane nudged at the boy who lay slumped against her shoulder. "Can you say hi to Dr. Jeanne?"
"Hi," Kwan lisped.
"Has the fever come down?" Jeanne motioned Lane to put the boy on the exam table.
"A little," Lane said anxiously. "He doesn't want to drink anything."
Jeanne relieved to see the boy's temperature was cooler than the previous evening. "At this point, try anything. Ginger ale, anything without caffeine. He needs to stay hydrated. Worry about food value tomorrow. How's his twin?"
"Steve's with my mom," Lane explained. "He's fine."
"These things happen in childhood." Jeanne continued her examination. "If his temperature continues down, try to get him to eat."
"If it goes back up?" Lane asked.
"If it goes above 102, take him to the ER and call me." Jeanne tickled Kwan's belly, making him smile. "But all the signs point at recovery."
"Good." Lane let out a sigh. "Thanks, Doc."
After Lane left, Jeanne stepped over to Luke's diner for lunch, townsfolk calling greetings to her. Here, everybody knew her name. So different from DC, from everything Jeanne had thought she wanted.
But it worked.
Over lunch, she shamelessly eavesdropped on Lorelai and Sookie planning Luke and Lorelai's upcoming wedding, including ways Lorelai would torment her mother at the stagette. Luke slipped Jeanne a free milkshake, and even little Doula brought Jeanne a crayon drawing.
Jeanne wondered what her father would think, seeing his brilliant daughter as GP in a tiny town. He might be disappointed, or happy that she'd found some peace.
Her thoughts were interrupted when Kirk arrived, claiming to be suffering from a sudden sunlight allergy, and Jeanne had to go back to work.
In the end, it didn't matter what her father might have thought. He was dead, and all that mattered was that Jeanne was happy.
Whatever came next, Jeanne was ready for it. She was alive and she was happy and she'd found a place for herself.
The five stages of grief of Dr. Jeanne Benoit
five NCIS crossovers
Bones (Cam Saroyan)
one hundred
The dark-haired woman didn't say much about why Jeanne was not on the short-list for medical examiner internship at the Jeffersonian. Words bounced around the room, words like family background and security risk and making a false FBI report.
Jeanne walked out of the office with her head held high. It wasn't her fault, none of it. It was Tony DiNozzo's fault for lying to her; her father's fault for making her entire life a lie.
Doors were closed to her all across DC now. No one would hire the daughter of a dead arms dealer.
This couldn't be happening.
Highlander (Methos)
two hundred
Jeanne slumped against the alley wall, blood coating her hands. She'd tried. Only the machete gash in the man's chest had been too deep. He'd died choking on his own blood, eyes wide and oddly resigned as death took him.
Jeanne didn't even have a phone to call for help.
The Seacouver rain pounded softly down, washing the man's blood into the drain. Jeanne couldn't even care that the man's attacker might return.
When the corpse bolted upright, Jeanne fell back so fast she hit the wall. "What?"
The no-longer-dead corpse staggered to his feet. "Did you call an ambulance?" he demanded, spitting blood to the ground.
"No, I didn't..." Jean backed away, anger replacing her panic. "Why aren't you dead?"
"Trick of the light," he said, staggering away.
"Stop!" Jeanne ran after the man. His chest was completely healed under his torn shirt. "You were dead and now..."
The man turned to glare at Jeanne. "Bad luck of the draw, that's all," he said in a sharp British accent. "Go. Away."
Jeanne watched the man walk away.
He was alive, while Jeanne's father was dead. He came back, while Jeanne's father did not.
Why was this happening to her?
Supernatural (Bobby Singer)
three hundred
He found her in Tennessee, three a.m. in the only truck-stop for miles. He slid into the seat across from Jeanne and waited for her to look up.
He was older, tired and scruffy, but something about his manner set off every alarm bell in her head.
"Jeanne Benoit?" He even pronounced it right.
Jeanne finished her last fry before answering. "Why?"
The man shrugged. "I used to do business with your old man, back in the day. Name's Bobby."
Instincts flared to panic. "I have to go."
"It's not like that," Bobby said. "We worked the other side of Rene's... field of interests."
Jeanne felt the burn of betrayal in her gut. "You mean outside arms dealing?" she demanded.
"Yeah." Bobby's expression never changed. "Word is you inherited his... antiques."
Jeanne just stared. The last time Jeanne was in DC she'd picked up the few pieces of her father's life she wanted to keep. "So?"
Bobby held out a photograph. "Seen this?"
The small wooden talisman in the picture was at the bottom of Jeanne's backpack, a lovingly carved piece that made Jeanne feel happy. "No."
Bobby pocketed the picture. "If you find it, do yourself a favor. Get rid of it. Immediately."
"Why?"
Bobby stood. "The ones who made it, they're coming back for it."
"What does that mean?"
Bobby stared at her for a long minute. "Your dad and me, we weren't friends, but I owe him. I'm trying to help you out."
Jeanne remained pointedly silent until the man shuffled out of the diner and into the night.
Three days later, running for her life in the woods of Kentucky from things just too wrong to be allowed, Jeanne let out a fevered prayer.
If she got out of this alive, she'd change. She really would.
Pretender (Jarod)
four hundred
"We'll get out."
Jeanne looked at the dark-eyed man across the bank vault. He sounded sincere, but the men in her life always did. Tony, her father, all of them.
In the end, it was just lies.
"How do you know?" Jeanne asked, leaning against the wall. "We're locked in a time-release vault with no way phone and little oxygen. We'll likely suffocate before the authorities know we're being held hostage in here."
The man quirked an eyebrow. "There's no need for pessimism."
Jeanne stood straight, wincing at the pull on her healing knee. The man caught her reaction.
"Are you hurt?"
"Old injury," Jeanne lied. She still woke from nightmares of being chased by those creatures.
"Are you sure you don't need help?"
"Why?" Jeanne demanded. The man was a security guard, for heaven's sake. "What would you do about it?"
The man didn't back down in the face of her irritation. "I have a medical background," he said.
"Really? What a coincidence. So do I." Jeanne left it at that.
"Really, ma'am, I can help you." He smiled. "My name's Jarod."
She wondered if the low oxygen was already affecting her. "Jeanne."
"It's nice to meet you." He began to poke at the vault door. "Let's see if I can get us out of here."
"Don't... just don't do that, okay?"
"Do what?"
"Don't lie and pretend it's okay. It's not okay. It's really not okay. Don't lie to me like it is." Jeanne pushed her hair out of her face with cold fingers. "I'm sick of men lying to me all the time."
Jarod looked at Jeanne. "I'm not lying," he said. He suddenly sounded like someone that Jeanne could believe in. "I'm going to do everything I can to get us out of here."
Jeanne sighed. "There's a difference between trying and doing. Besides," she said in an undertone, "I'm not sure I care if you do."
A pause. Then, "Really?"
Jeanne wanted to say yes. She wanted to close her eyes and have the pain of a life of betrayal stop.
But thinking and doing were different things. Jeanne imagined suffocating in the vault, of never seeing her mom or sunshine or sky again.
She let out a breath and with surprising speed, stood straight on her creaky leg. "So," she said conversationally. "How are we going to get ourselves out of here?"
Jarod smiled.
Gilmore Girls (the town)
five hundred
Time didn't heal all wounds. All time did was cover wounds with scar tissue to dull the sensation.
But it was enough.
Over a year since Jeanne's life collapsed, and somehow she'd woken up one day to find she could think of her father without the pain.
She'd washed up in Stars Hollow, waiting in the park for a tire replacement, when a toddler fell from the slide. Jeanne had stabilized her for the ambulance ride while her parents freaked out. The girl's uncle insisted on giving Jeanne a free lunch at the diner. By the end of the meal Jeanne knew everything about the town, including that the place's sole GP was retiring.
So Jeanne bought his practice. She justified it as putting her father's money into something good, but really, she wanted out. Out of the race for internships, away from games with research and drug companies, out of a life as an arms dealer's daughter.
Her priorities had changed.
Entering examination room two, Jeanne smiled. "Good morning, Lane."
"Hi Doc." Lane nudged at the boy who lay slumped against her shoulder. "Can you say hi to Dr. Jeanne?"
"Hi," Kwan lisped.
"Has the fever come down?" Jeanne motioned Lane to put the boy on the exam table.
"A little," Lane said anxiously. "He doesn't want to drink anything."
Jeanne relieved to see the boy's temperature was cooler than the previous evening. "At this point, try anything. Ginger ale, anything without caffeine. He needs to stay hydrated. Worry about food value tomorrow. How's his twin?"
"Steve's with my mom," Lane explained. "He's fine."
"These things happen in childhood." Jeanne continued her examination. "If his temperature continues down, try to get him to eat."
"If it goes back up?" Lane asked.
"If it goes above 102, take him to the ER and call me." Jeanne tickled Kwan's belly, making him smile. "But all the signs point at recovery."
"Good." Lane let out a sigh. "Thanks, Doc."
After Lane left, Jeanne stepped over to Luke's diner for lunch, townsfolk calling greetings to her. Here, everybody knew her name. So different from DC, from everything Jeanne had thought she wanted.
But it worked.
Over lunch, she shamelessly eavesdropped on Lorelai and Sookie planning Luke and Lorelai's upcoming wedding, including ways Lorelai would torment her mother at the stagette. Luke slipped Jeanne a free milkshake, and even little Doula brought Jeanne a crayon drawing.
Jeanne wondered what her father would think, seeing his brilliant daughter as GP in a tiny town. He might be disappointed, or happy that she'd found some peace.
Her thoughts were interrupted when Kirk arrived, claiming to be suffering from a sudden sunlight allergy, and Jeanne had to go back to work.
In the end, it didn't matter what her father might have thought. He was dead, and all that mattered was that Jeanne was happy.
Whatever came next, Jeanne was ready for it. She was alive and she was happy and she'd found a place for herself.
end
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...and now I want to read your crossover. :-)
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And the crossover is going to be good, if I may say so. It's a good read. Hopefully I'll be done before Friday so I don't have to re-write for the SGA ep :P
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... ditto on the wanting of the crossover. :)
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And the crossover hopefully before Friday so I don't have to retcon any new SGA canon ;)
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:-)
Jeanne is interesting to play with and at times hard too...
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And I hear you on it being hard to write Jeanne - she was really only presented through Tony's eyes and that's not an easy place to be.
I love the scene in your icon. That whole episode was inspired.
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In other news, I am now officially SGA versed. I have watched all the seasons and caught up on the eps for the new season I had recorded on DVR until I got caught up. :-)
I love my Tony... therefore, I love my Tony icons! :-)
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Tony is made of love. Poor boy never catches a break. I sure hope he's back next season. I'm carefully avoiding spoilers because I don't want to know, just to see the episodes!
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Also, great writing trick. Clever way to stretch the writing muscles, get the mind in another gear and still sharpen your skills. Wow! :)
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I will need to keep this in mind for the next time I'm in a writing rut.
And I'm glad you enjoyed!
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Speaking of slightly random crossovers, I've been following a BtVS/NCIS WIP the past few months that I think you might enjoy. It's kind of a drabble/chapter-fic, if that makes sense. Each chapter is a drabble, but they all connect to make one story, and it starts mid-season two for NCIS and mid-season 4 for BtVS. It's well-written, well-characterized, and it's the fic that got me into NCIS in the first place. Here's the link to all the chapters, if you want to check it out:
http://lyl-devil.livejournal.com/7292.html#cutid1
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Lovely device with the five stages of grief and the escalating word counts, but I have to especially give you 'props' for letting Jeanne end up in Stars Hollow for the Acceptance stage: so good to think of her caring for Lane's boys and the rest of the town, and to get a glimpse of the continuing life of Luke and Lorelai and the rest through her eyes.
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These exercises of yours benefit us tremendously. *grin*