Post by Seek on May 29, 2011 6:55:35 GMT 10
Title: Height
Rating: G
Word count: 365
Pairing: Clary/Mattes
Round/Fight: 4/A
Summary: Clary is shorter than Mattes. Or Mattes is taller than Clary. And he loves to rub it in. Set in the DeadAlive universe, where Clary and Mattes are FBI agents. Based on an X-Files quote.
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We reach the car at about the same time.
“Let me drive,” Mattes says, as he heads for the driver seat. I am about to snap; the last thing I need is a partner who thinks I’m working with him because I’ve pulled strings to end up working in Violent Crimes. I used to play fast and loose; not anymore. I keep my promises, and I’ve learned the hard way – plus a few internal investigations and disciplinary hearings – that being crooked isn’t a great idea.
I don’t need Mattes to pull the chivalry card on me. I don’t need to think of Tom right now either. I rub absently at where the wedding ring used to sit on my hand.
“I’m driving,” I tell him curtly, and shoulder at him. He stands firm.
“Clary, it’s not what you think – “
It could go further from here. Could go. We could start talking about things that we have an unspoken agreement never to mention. That we can’t mention, because we’re partners. And there’s all there is to it.
“I didn’t see anything, anyway,” I say. No, nothing of Mattes hitting on the dumb redhead detective.
“Will you let me drive?!” he almost shouts in frustration. I blink dumbly. It’s the first time I’ve ever heard Mattes raise his voice. It’s the first time I’m the target.
Stunned, I blurt out, “I’m driv – why do you always have to drive? Because you’re the guy? Because you’re the big macho-man?”
If he’s the big macho-man, then I’m the woman. But I can’t be the woman here. I have to be Agent Goodwin. And he has to be Agent Tunstall. No further contact. Nothing. And I’m tired of men opening doors. I don’t want to think of being a woman. I don’t want to think of Tom.
In that moment of hesitation, Mattes gets his composure back. “No, I was just never sure your little feet could reach the pedals,” he jokes. And then he’s Mattes again, his deflecting shield of humour back in place.
I give up. I shove the keys at him and head for the passenger seat. And in the meanwhile, we’ve gotten nowhere at all.
Rating: G
Word count: 365
Pairing: Clary/Mattes
Round/Fight: 4/A
Summary: Clary is shorter than Mattes. Or Mattes is taller than Clary. And he loves to rub it in. Set in the DeadAlive universe, where Clary and Mattes are FBI agents. Based on an X-Files quote.
-
We reach the car at about the same time.
“Let me drive,” Mattes says, as he heads for the driver seat. I am about to snap; the last thing I need is a partner who thinks I’m working with him because I’ve pulled strings to end up working in Violent Crimes. I used to play fast and loose; not anymore. I keep my promises, and I’ve learned the hard way – plus a few internal investigations and disciplinary hearings – that being crooked isn’t a great idea.
I don’t need Mattes to pull the chivalry card on me. I don’t need to think of Tom right now either. I rub absently at where the wedding ring used to sit on my hand.
“I’m driving,” I tell him curtly, and shoulder at him. He stands firm.
“Clary, it’s not what you think – “
It could go further from here. Could go. We could start talking about things that we have an unspoken agreement never to mention. That we can’t mention, because we’re partners. And there’s all there is to it.
“I didn’t see anything, anyway,” I say. No, nothing of Mattes hitting on the dumb redhead detective.
“Will you let me drive?!” he almost shouts in frustration. I blink dumbly. It’s the first time I’ve ever heard Mattes raise his voice. It’s the first time I’m the target.
Stunned, I blurt out, “I’m driv – why do you always have to drive? Because you’re the guy? Because you’re the big macho-man?”
If he’s the big macho-man, then I’m the woman. But I can’t be the woman here. I have to be Agent Goodwin. And he has to be Agent Tunstall. No further contact. Nothing. And I’m tired of men opening doors. I don’t want to think of being a woman. I don’t want to think of Tom.
In that moment of hesitation, Mattes gets his composure back. “No, I was just never sure your little feet could reach the pedals,” he jokes. And then he’s Mattes again, his deflecting shield of humour back in place.
I give up. I shove the keys at him and head for the passenger seat. And in the meanwhile, we’ve gotten nowhere at all.