The amazing, genre-spanning Unfinished Fic Meme

[urbandruid]

Computer problems solved after several hours of downloading what's probably the most popular file on the internet just now- yep, it's the new worm making the rounds. I need to pay more attention to these things, though it was on the national and local news tonight. Yeah. Thanks so much, guys. A bit too late.

But it's fixed now, and I'm going to break down and renew my Norton subscription like a good girl so that in theory this doesn't happen again.

Unfinished fics meme, swiped from jenavira



Taking this somewhat in alphabetical order from the files which, in theory, my fics are organized in-

Alias, untitled, working towards Jack/OC

He'd like a beer or a glass of bourbon- always his brand of poison- but he'll settle for a soda and a bit of quiet time. As Jack rummages around in the fridge- past a case of Crystal Pepsi which *someone*, God knows who, has been drinking- the Mountain Dew that the techs swear by, and, of all things, Diet Lemon Coke- the woman at the bar moves in his direction. He is aware of a slight limp as she moves; not something most people would have noticed, perhaps, but something *he* does notice. Jack notices everything about people- but sometimes nothing at all.

Mostly plotless, but it has a good bit of scenery going for it, or a very lame one; can't decide. A secret after-hours hangout for the older generation of CIA agents in LA, called Ryan's, after the Tom Clancy character.

Alias, Waiting the Dawn, sequel to Ice and Glass

The hour ends all too soon; she is called, sternly, to return to her room of glass. Before they come to her she grasps at my hand. And she whispers.

"Have faith, Jack."

I wish I could ask, in what? But she cannot answer, even if she wants to; the guards return with her chains.

And somehow she dons these again with that air of majesty. She is right; she could be free of this at any time. She tolerates this, the guards and her mantle of steel, humors them because they do not, they cannot, understand.

I think that this amuses her- that this must be the reason for the smile that comes to her lips. The smile that turns sardonic the moment her guards take note of it.

This is nearly finished; one or two scenes should do it.

Babylon 5, untitled, Anna Sheridan and the technomages

A woman taken by Shadows, twisted by Shadows. A woman many believed would never be whole again. A woman loved, lost, found and lost again, who should have died in the fires that took Z'ha'dum, the Shadow world. A woman who had survived instead, through the intercession of a being older than time itself- even among First Ones, the First.

A woman who had been reborn through the tech, who had become a mage to recover what she had been, and had discovered herself again- as she was, a partner with her tech.

I want to play with this idea some more; I'm strangly fond of it, and writing it has been fun.

Babylon 5, untitled; Ivanova POV during 'War Without End'

Later I listen to your explanation, and I know, deep down, that it makes sense. I know that you're right- and that now, it's even more important that you go. I know that. But I still hate it, and half of me wants to burst into tears while the other wants to beat you up.

Except I don't want to end up sobbing in some corner, and I don't want to end up a bloody wreck on the floor. No, I'm not fooled by this monk-like attitude of yours. No way. I've hung around Marcus a little too long not to know the way you hold that pike means you're damned good with it.

But I can't process this. "My best friend is Valen," is what I keep thinking, and finally I've said it.

I forgot this one existed at all untill I started going through files. May or may not do something with it.

Babylon 5, Never To Be Alone in the Dark, Marcus/Ivanova, mulitchapter

Darkness surrounded her, and silence, and for a time she knew nothing else, until the darkness gave way to light, and she seemed to hover there at the edge of a doorway, in the grey space between life and death. Somewhere very far away she thought she heard a familiar voice scream her name. With that recognition an image formed in her mind's eye; A face she'd always tried to keep from her thoughts...and a name, a name she wished she could keep from thinking.

Work in progress, with actual chapters posted and stuff. I need to dust off the outline for this.

Buffy the Vampire Slayer, untitled, Giles

He doesn't know when it happened, when he stopped thinking of her as simply the Slayer, and began thinking of her, instead, as *his* Slayer. He doesn't know a thing about how it happened. He only knows that it did. That to him she is more now than simply the latest called, more than simply another girl.

No idea where this is going. Like it, though.

Crusade, untitled, humor; the Crusade cast vs TNT

"You didn't seem too surprised to learn about this thing," Gideon said as he lifted the Apocalypse Box out of the closet.

"Not really, no." Galen shook his head. "I knew you had some sort of edge, and knowing you as I do, it didn't seem unreasonable that if one of these came into your hands, you'd take the chance of using it in order to have that edge. But I think it's well past time to let it go. They have to want it, you know- that's the trick to ridding yourself of it. And the box has to want them. It has to sense the presence of someone who wants it, but has no real idea of what it is or what it can do."

"TNT," said Gideon.

"Exactly. And because I am here, because I know something of these wretched objects, you are safe in the letting go- it won't harm you. As for them, though..."

Gideon nodded. "But, Galen, why-?"

"Do you think that I saved your life all those years ago only so that some silly glowing box that speaks like either a bad fortune cookie or a delusional Vorlon could come along and kill you out of sheer boredom? Matthew, I think *not*, really."

This needs some work, but I thought it was funny. Parts of it anyway.

Dragonlance, Paladine's Chosen; AU, leading towards Raistlin/Crysania

Raistlin Majere wasn't the kind of boy she probably would have noticed if he hadn't been sitting here speaking to her; he had dark hair that he wore long, waving over his face so as to cast most of his features into shadow. He wasn't handsome, or plain, but there was something about him-

I like this idea, I really do. Now if only I could write it so that it didn't end up sucking. See, I had this lovely idea for modern-day Dragonlance. The clerics and mages are pagans who meet up by chance at a festival, with Paladine-as-Fizban pulling strings behind the scenes, first to get them together, then to put them on the right path... It all sounds good, but somehow the writing comes out, like, well... like that. *points up* And that's one of the better passages, really.

The Gap Cycle, untitled

If going to work for Warden Dios was her first mistake, then joining her boss in a silent, star-spanning conspiracy to bring down the most powerful man in known space was definitely the second. But if these actions were mistakes, they were mistakes she made with her eyes wide open.

The totally obscure Gap fic. POV is Min Donner's.

Gundam Wing, untitled, Dorothy, leading towards femmeslash, Dorothy/Catherine

A different year, a different life. If they saw her today, would they recognize her? They might. The same long platinum hair, her vanity, long and silky, and she can't stand to cut it, hadn't even messed with it since the last highlights faded. The same blue eyes, perpetually narrowed, the long brows, sharp and curved, like the knife she carries now- carries and sometimes uses.

Dorothy Catalonia. A name that still meant something, somewhere. Maybe the last duchess of Romafeller, with her grandfather and cousin dead in the war. But no. Too long ago and too far gone, and she wants no part of that world anymore. Too many memories, too much pain. Too much of some things, not enough of others.

Dorothy/Catherine is a really uncommon pairing that I've fallen in love with. I should really finish this fic someday.

Gundam Wing, Ghost Knight; AU, supernatural weirdness, Treize/Une

He sat beside the Well of Souls, legs folded beneath him, gazing downward into the crystal waters of the pool as he had time and time again. The world grew and changed, and he saw it all from this cruel window- able to look, but not to touch. And though his child grew, and the years took their toll upon the woman he loved, he did not know how long it had truly been. That knowledge, like so much more, was forbidden him here.

Another work in progress with posted chapters. Moving along at a pretty good clip considering that it has no outline, and I rarely do anything with it. Could probably benefit from an outline.

Harry Potter, Lost Bastion

The fools still though that they could win. And for once, the man who had mocked them all, forced them to endure his ridicule and cynicism, who had let them believe that he hated all of them because it was easier than letting them care- for once in his life that man wished very much that they could have been *right* instead of wrong.

Work in progress, with chapters.

Harry Potter, Standing Stones

Strict but fair. Stern, steady. This is how they see me, how they have always seen me. But there are things they don't know, things they will never know. The things we saw, what we learned in those dark days when Voldemort was rising- and how it was, how it *really* was.

They don't know that I had to become what I am, simply to survive. They don't understand that if I hadn't learned how to close it off, compartmentalize all of the pain and anger, I would not have been able to go on. If I hadn't become steady Minerva, Dumbledore's rock, Severus', anchor- I would not have been anything at all. I had to be their strong and steady one, and so I could not break. Because they needed me, needed my steady hand, my steady heart.

Work in progress, chaptered. Severus/Minerva, but then, what isn't?

Harry Potter, untitled Ginny fic

There was a darkness in Ginny's past, so recent she felt she could turn 'round and it would be right behind her. That darkness was Tom Riddle, who had fooled her and tricked her and finally simply used her.

She still thinks about him. There are days she thinks about him a lot. Oh, she knows who he is, of course, who he grew up to become and the things he has done. But a part of her still remembers the boy who seemed so kind, so handsome when he took her into his memories and showed her great and terrible things... the boy she went half-willingly to in the Chamber, even with her suspicions and her sense of danger looming.

She thinks about him quite a bit now that he has returned. Now that he is back, every bit as alive as he was all those years ago.

She wonders if he remembers her, or if Ginny Weasley was something that fell by the wayside between the memory-that-wasn't of the diary, and his own resurrection.

This is post-OotP Ginny, who I think is very cool. This went from being a little bit of character study to something with a plot, which I at some point will finish fleshing out and write. Really.

Harry Potter, untitled, Severus/Minerva, immediatly post-GoF

"I know it seems difficult, Minerva, but we will manage," Dumbledore says.

"We'll have to," Moody says. "And don't forget Severus."

She smiles wryly. "How could I? Our secret weapon." And she can't quite keep the bitterness from her voice. All these years, all the pain and the separation, the loss of every one of her dreams- and all she had ever wanted was what anyone wanted, a chance to live and be happy, to exist in a world where she could love as she chose, without fear- It had never seemed so much to ask.

"His choice, girl," Moody says, softly.

"I know!" she snaps. "But how much of it is really choice, and how much the simple fact that there's no one else to do it, and he knows it?" Neither of the men replies to this. "He feels as if he owes it to you, you know. Damn him for that- and damn *you* for not being above using him-"

I think I have way too many of these 'planning the war against Voldemort and angsting about it all' fics. Way too many. I like this, though.

Harry Potter, Minerva, post-OotP

She doesn't believe it when she is told. Doesn't believe it though he sits beside her bed, takes her hand, speaks softly, refuses to meet her eyes. She doesn't believe it even when he smoothes back her hair, kisses her forehead, whispers that he is sorry.

Why would he be sorry? He hated Sirius, and Sirius hated him, and he can't be dead, because Severus would never be sorry. He has never apologized for anything.

It can't be true, it can't be. Not Sirius with his name uncleared, unredeemed in the eyes of the world. Not Sirius, not before the man who'd famed him had been caught and punished...

Because somebody had to tell Minerva he was dead. Because in my universe that person will always be Severus. This is close to done, believe it or not.

Harry Potter, Merlin's Oath

Voldemort smiles. "He is not yours, you can't protect him."

"You're wrong," she whispers, and smiles.

Lily sees the wand lifted up, hears the curse-

She dies, suddenly and without pain. But she lingers long enough to see Voldemort cast the curse upon the boy-

And hears his scream of agony as he is ripped away from his mortal shell, and cast- elsewhere.

"Merlin's oath," Lily whispers. "We won, Minerva."

And she fades.

The totally strange, very AU, Harry's parents are Snape and McGonagall, fic. Haven't decided if I'll ever finish this or not.

Harry Potter, Severus/Minerva, 'Secret Hours' universe, Prisoner of Azkaban

He shut the door behind him, and settled himself into a chair. "Now then. You were saying?"

"You just had to do it, didn't you? You couldn't leave well enough alone."

"They had a right to know," he said, the same words he had spoken to his Slytherins.

"Maybe, but that's not why you told them. You did it because you could- because you wanted to hurt him." She paused, threw herself into another chair, crossed her arms again. "Because you're still hacked off about Sirius, and Remus was the one of them you could still reach, still hurt."

So close to done that I can taste it; needs maybe one or two more paragraphs to finish it up, and a title. Am strongly resisting the urge to call it 'Secrets of Azkaban'.

seaQuest DSV, untitled, Bridger POV

He thought of it as a day in May, though he didn't really keep track of dates anymore. The weather, which was all he had to judge by with the calendars thrown away, certainly felt like May- warm and light, spring considering the turn to summer at last.

A day in May. The day his protege, his best student- his only hope for the future, after the death of his son- went quietly crazy. Not quiet in the sense that her madness was a small thing, for it was not; only quiet because no one knew of it until it was nearly too late. An overachiever even in this, it seemed.

It's been ages since I've written Bridger, another lifetime of fic writing. Back when I honestly truly did suck. Junior high school and Mary Sues- a Bad Place. I'm not sure how well I'm doing here, but this is a fic I have always wanted to write. It really annoys me that we never saw Bridger's reaction to Stark's...er, issues. Even in the crappy episode novelization, there's no mention of what he thought about that whole 'my ex-star student tried to start World War III'. And he must have thought something. So, yeah.

seaQuest DSV, untitled, immediatly post-"To Be or Not to Be"

"Captain Bridger?" asked the pirate.

"Yes. And you are?"

"Maxwell. I would like to see Captain Stark."

Bridger sighed. *So would I.* "And I would like to let you, but there's one small problem. She's not here."

Maxwell paled. "She- Damn her! She said she'd be right behind me, she just turned back for a second to grab Pollack. God knows why. Everything that idiot tired to pull on her, and she saved his life. Said it was something about being loyal to her crews, even if they were never going to be loyal to her."

Kind of pointless, and a bit on the crappy side besides.

SeaQuest DSV, side of Hunt for Red October crossover, immediatly post-season one. Rebuilding the Dream

"What is it?" So many years of command, of having worlds of knowledge at her fingertips, so many reports at her call... She must have meant the question to come out militarily sharp, the old Captain asking where she shouldn't have had to. But Marilyn Stark couldn't hold that sharp tone; it brought back too many memories, of what she had been. What she had lost.

She no longer thought of seaQuest as hers- and yet she did still, now only in the way of a ship's first captain. It was hers the way the Red October was still his, and his alone.

"They fear," he told her, "she was lost."

"All hands?" she asked, deathly pale. So like the ice they had thought her, and yet he could see that ice cracking...

"No." Oh, to have died before having to tell her this... "Only one."

"Bridger." Of course, she would have known that.

He could only nod. He had never met the man, only fought him, outsmarted him, been outsmarted by him. Ramius had the old adversary's respect for Nathan Bridger. And he knew Stark loved her old teacher, as he had loved the man who had taught him passion for the sea.

Even by my standards, a strange pairing. I may pull the crossover out of this and write it as straight SQ. Or replace Remius with Maxwell. The beauty of it is that I can do that with very little effort; Maxwell, poor guy, had almost no personality.

seaQuest DSV/Hunt for Red October crossover, untitled

"Ramius is defecting to the United States, Captain Stark. We'd really like to help him do that."

"Ryan *thinks* he's defecting," Mancuso put in. "Some of us aren't quite sure of that yet, but we know he's out there, and he's heading west. Only he knows why."

Stark looked down at the folder, opened it. "One missile sub's basically like any other if you blast it into small enough fragments..." she mused. "The Allen?"

Mancuso nodded. "So they tell me. If Ryan's right about this guy."

The original seaQuest/Red October crossover. During the writing of which I've learned that Tom Clancy's style is not mine, isn't ever going to be... you get the idea. Crossover is with the book version, if anyone actually cares.

seaQuest DSV, untitled

"Maxwell," she whispered. The only one of the old seaQuest crew who had cared enough, been *loyal* enough, to come looking for her. The only one who had the courage to join her, he had become her right hand. Not her *trusted* right hand- for she did learn from her mistakes- but her right hand nonetheless. He would be her right hand again; he would help her now as he had helped her before.

But he did not come. Perhaps he hadn't heard?

"Maxwell!"

She raised her head enough to see him, standing beside the hatch. His back to her. Leaving. He looked back over his shoulder. Said nothing, did nothing else. Simply looked at her for the briefest moment- and turned away.

But then, no words were really necessary, were they? Not for this last betrayal. He would save himself, if he could. The true mercenary.

More Starkfic. Since no one else is writing it...

seaQuest DSV, untitled

She stood there upon the dock, and her first thought was one of fury, that this day dared to begin so brightly. With the sun shining down upon San Francisco, with late-spring tourists and off-duty naval officers and NCOs clogging the network of piers and boardwalks in the Harbor, it hardly seemed a time and place that would mark the end of an era.

But it did, and it was, at least for her. For that one woman standing still and unmoving, wearing civilian dress as if it were funeral attire, it was the end of an era. Perhaps, even, the end of a life.

Mid-morning, 0900 by the ship's clock, 9:00 a.m. by the civilian model, and she, Marilyn Stark, Captain of NPS seaQuest DSV 4600, who held the rank of Captain still only by the grace of an Admiralty that had not yet gotten around to discharging her, honorably or otherwise- was going home. Not to the home that she'd come to know better than the depths of her own mind; not there, ever again, to the captain's quarters onboard seaQuest, but to a place that was darker and far more desperate.

And yet still more Stark fic. In which Stark goes back home to her extensive, dysfuntional family.

Star Wars, untitled, TPM, Palpatine POV

I pay less attention to my words now than is my custom; I know that it is not Amidala walking beside me, truly, but her decoy, a girl I believe is called Sabe. The Queen herself walks somewhat back, with the handmaidens- but not far enough back so as to be unable to hear our conversation- and will answer now, so long as she wears that garb, to the name of Padme.

Nodding slightly to something the decoy is saying, I glance ever so slightly back over my shoulder, at the others- at the true Queen, and her escort of handmaidens and Jedi. Amidala- Padme -catches my eye and for a moment a panic-stricken look crosses her face, and I hear her thoughts as clearly as if they were written on a screen before me. *What is the old man thinking? If he gives away my secret...*

Not by word or look or deed, Your Highness. Not yet. So long as you are useful to me, your secrets are safe in my keeping.

I will protect her, if not for the reasons she might think. I brought her to power, and I did so for a reason. In her own way she is as much mine as Maul, and I jealously guard what belongs to me.

Palpatine manipulates Amidala. Probably never going to be finished because TPM annoys me just a little too much.

Star Wars, The Emperor's Heir, AU

Daren's name, which she had not bothered trying to hide in many years, connected her to the Emperor in ways even a fool couldn't fail to miss, and many was the Star Destroyer captain who thought she'd received the plum assignment as Darth Vader's second in the Endor order of battle by virtue of her royal blood.

And in a way she had. But it was not the prize they thought it was, and of all the high-ranked officers and court lackeys assembled for the Rebels' grand finale, only Darth Vader himself seemed to know that simple bit of truth.

That she'd been placed where she was because her father did not trust her. Had not trusted her, in fact, since the Imperial Command- not at his direct orders, but certainly not without his approval- had chosen to tear her from her wings and squadrons and settle her firmly upon the path to a Star Destroyer's command chair.

Of course, Emperor Palpatine trusted no one who carried his name or shared his blood; in that, Daren was hardly unique. Each of his children, whether born in a cloning cylinder from an altered sample of his own tissue, or born of any of the women chosen for specific traits, had been raised, taught, and shaped towards a single end, a single purpose.

Few of them knew what the others were intended for. But Daren's purpose, it had always been clear, was a military one. She was not to lead the fleet, nor even to command a significant portion of it. But she was to be there, not set apart by great skill or a great lack of it, but by the simple truth of what she was. What she had always been.

The Emperor's eyes amongst the Imperial fleet. The Emperor's eldest daughter, sent to look after his interests, insure the loyalty of those who served under her...and to report back, of course. Everything she saw and heard, everything she did. And, by those actions, to bring the Empire's military might that much more firmly under the Emperor's control.

This may be the only SW story I actually intend to finish.