Amihan (ə-'mi-hən) (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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greenstickered2012-11-02 12:57 am
camalyng) wrote in greenstickered2012-11-02 12:57 am
Entry tags:
Uncharted: Candyman
Title: Candyman
What: Uncharted fanfic - short story
Rating: PG (sexy costumes discussed)
Words: ~1100
Summary: Chloe brings a holiday to Nate's doorstep. Nate is not prepared.
Alternate links: Archive of Our Own; Tumblr rebloggable link here
Notes: Inspired bywhatshisface's answer to a my character trick or treats to your character's place, WHAT DO meme on Plurk, but took a very different turn. Between 2 and 3, after the Elate split.
Related works: "Stars and Stripes"
You weren't expecting anyone this evening, so when your doorbell rings, you're a little suspicious. (It doesn't really help that it's used so infrequently you tend to forget you have a doorbell.) Still, you only check a gun's nearby rather than putting one in your holster before you open the door.
And then your brain stops for a second, because Chloe's standing on your doorstep in some kind of black jumpsuit that clings in all the right places.
"Trick or treat," she says.
It takes you a moment before you can ask, "What?"
Chloe rolls her eyes, and now you register a short red wig, a backpack with some circular thing on the back, and boots.
"Trick or treat," she repeats, as if this should be obvious. "I thought this was an American tradition."
For emphasis, she holds out a basket; candy already lines the bottom.
"Is it that time of year already?" you say dumbly, because you have genuinely lost track of the date.
"October thirty-first, yes."
"I don't have any candy to give -"
"Nate, I still expect something. I dressed up!"
"And you call me unprofessional," you reply, heading into your kitchen in case you have something; she just follows, and god, she's not going to leave until you give her something, is she.
"If I were any more professional as a trick or treater, I would be crying right now," she informs you. "I may still do it."
"Please don't."
Nothing useful in the fridge unless she'll accept beer. You glance back at her as you head to the pantry. Besides the backpack and beyond that red wig really not working with her coloring, the costume looks vaguely familiar.
"What are you dressed up as, anyway?"
"The Black Widow," she says, and you're about to ask 'the spider?' when she adds, "Avengers. We watched it on the plane a couple of months ago, remember?"
"Oh, yeah! I didn't think you'd enjoyed it that much."
"This was the only costume I could find in my size that wasn't a dress and/or Sexy Whatever," she says, with a sigh. "I don't know what it says about this holiday that I had to resort to the Disney Store for a non-Sexy Something costume."
That jumpsuit is plenty sexy on its own even though everything's covered, but you think it would be in your best interests not to mention this.
"Seriously, I don't have anything," you say instead.
"Are you sure?"
Turning around out of the kitchen, she goes straight to a huge jar you picked up in a Peruvian microbrewery some years back (you were keeping it for umbrellas, except you lost your last umbrella in Cambodia and haven't gotten around to replacing it yet) and crouches to look inside it.
"Damn," she says, sounding genuinely disappointed.
"What were you even looking for in there?"
Chloe looks away. This is the only warning you get before she mutters, "Elena's chocolate stash," and you feel like you've been punched in the gut.
(You didn't even know Elena had a chocolate stash in there.)
Without a word, you go to a shelf and grab what turns out to be that jaguar goblet from Colombia; you hold it out to her.
"Does that work?"
Anything to get rid of her. You were working on a translation before she showed up on your door and demanded candy you don't even have and brought up your estranged wife.
Chloe pauses to consider it, then shakes her head.
"Tempting, but no. This is ridiculous: You can't hand out random antiques to every small child who knocks on your door. They won't appreciate it like I would."
"Are you saying I need to go to the store and buy candy?"
As if that's any less ridiculous. You put the goblet back on the shelf.
"No," she says, setting down and opening her backpack. "I have a better idea."
You watch her, bemused, and after a moment of rifling through her bag, she pulls out a Disney Store bag and holds it out to you.
"Get changed."
"What," you say again; truthfully, you don't feel like it's been said enough this evening.
"I won't look!"
She shakes the bag pointedly. You catch a glimpse of red, white, and blue inside, and you have to take it to confirm your suspicions.
"Captain America?"
"I had to guess your size," she says, as if that's the only problem here.
"Chloe," you say, thoughts only half-formed, and you decide to go with, "I didn't even trick or treat when I was a kid."
"Neither did I," she points out. "All the more reason to go, I reckon: I get to experience this peculiar piece of American culture, and you get to experience what your childhood was lacking."
You open your mouth to reply, but she lifts a hand to your cheek and for the first time tonight, she looks entirely serious and honest.
"You need to take a break," she says gently. "This decoder thing is taking you over. Nate, please; I promise one night off isn't going to leave you in the dust."
You take a deep breath. You could argue this, should argue this: Tell her you have taken a break (recite the plot of a bad movie that was on TV at three in the morning), tell her it's not taking you over, tell her you want it to take you over because you've let it go too long, tell her 'this decoder thing' is easier than marriage (is it?), tell her of all the things in your childhood that scarred you, never trick or treating wasn't one of them, tell her you don't even like Captain America.
But you're tired of this argument, and you haven't even had it in four months. (Not since Elena left.)
And maybe, just maybe, she's right.
(Maybe they both are.)
One night off won't hurt.
(And you did like the first Captain America movie, even if The Avengers was crap.)
You let the breath go.
"Fine," you say instead, and she beams in delight and pats your cheek.
"It'll be fun, I promise!" she calls, as you retreat to your room to change.
The costume fits.
Chloe unstraps the matching shield from her backpack and hands it to you.
"Captain."
"Agent Romanoff."
"Thank you for your cooperation."
What: Uncharted fanfic - short story
Rating: PG (sexy costumes discussed)
Words: ~1100
Summary: Chloe brings a holiday to Nate's doorstep. Nate is not prepared.
Alternate links: Archive of Our Own; Tumblr rebloggable link here
Notes: Inspired by
whatshisface's answer to a my character trick or treats to your character's place, WHAT DO meme on Plurk, but took a very different turn. Between 2 and 3, after the Elate split.Related works: "Stars and Stripes"
You weren't expecting anyone this evening, so when your doorbell rings, you're a little suspicious. (It doesn't really help that it's used so infrequently you tend to forget you have a doorbell.) Still, you only check a gun's nearby rather than putting one in your holster before you open the door.
And then your brain stops for a second, because Chloe's standing on your doorstep in some kind of black jumpsuit that clings in all the right places.
"Trick or treat," she says.
It takes you a moment before you can ask, "What?"
Chloe rolls her eyes, and now you register a short red wig, a backpack with some circular thing on the back, and boots.
"Trick or treat," she repeats, as if this should be obvious. "I thought this was an American tradition."
For emphasis, she holds out a basket; candy already lines the bottom.
"Is it that time of year already?" you say dumbly, because you have genuinely lost track of the date.
"October thirty-first, yes."
"I don't have any candy to give -"
"Nate, I still expect something. I dressed up!"
"And you call me unprofessional," you reply, heading into your kitchen in case you have something; she just follows, and god, she's not going to leave until you give her something, is she.
"If I were any more professional as a trick or treater, I would be crying right now," she informs you. "I may still do it."
"Please don't."
Nothing useful in the fridge unless she'll accept beer. You glance back at her as you head to the pantry. Besides the backpack and beyond that red wig really not working with her coloring, the costume looks vaguely familiar.
"What are you dressed up as, anyway?"
"The Black Widow," she says, and you're about to ask 'the spider?' when she adds, "Avengers. We watched it on the plane a couple of months ago, remember?"
"Oh, yeah! I didn't think you'd enjoyed it that much."
"This was the only costume I could find in my size that wasn't a dress and/or Sexy Whatever," she says, with a sigh. "I don't know what it says about this holiday that I had to resort to the Disney Store for a non-Sexy Something costume."
That jumpsuit is plenty sexy on its own even though everything's covered, but you think it would be in your best interests not to mention this.
"Seriously, I don't have anything," you say instead.
"Are you sure?"
Turning around out of the kitchen, she goes straight to a huge jar you picked up in a Peruvian microbrewery some years back (you were keeping it for umbrellas, except you lost your last umbrella in Cambodia and haven't gotten around to replacing it yet) and crouches to look inside it.
"Damn," she says, sounding genuinely disappointed.
"What were you even looking for in there?"
Chloe looks away. This is the only warning you get before she mutters, "Elena's chocolate stash," and you feel like you've been punched in the gut.
(You didn't even know Elena had a chocolate stash in there.)
Without a word, you go to a shelf and grab what turns out to be that jaguar goblet from Colombia; you hold it out to her.
"Does that work?"
Anything to get rid of her. You were working on a translation before she showed up on your door and demanded candy you don't even have and brought up your estranged wife.
Chloe pauses to consider it, then shakes her head.
"Tempting, but no. This is ridiculous: You can't hand out random antiques to every small child who knocks on your door. They won't appreciate it like I would."
"Are you saying I need to go to the store and buy candy?"
As if that's any less ridiculous. You put the goblet back on the shelf.
"No," she says, setting down and opening her backpack. "I have a better idea."
You watch her, bemused, and after a moment of rifling through her bag, she pulls out a Disney Store bag and holds it out to you.
"Get changed."
"What," you say again; truthfully, you don't feel like it's been said enough this evening.
"I won't look!"
She shakes the bag pointedly. You catch a glimpse of red, white, and blue inside, and you have to take it to confirm your suspicions.
"Captain America?"
"I had to guess your size," she says, as if that's the only problem here.
"Chloe," you say, thoughts only half-formed, and you decide to go with, "I didn't even trick or treat when I was a kid."
"Neither did I," she points out. "All the more reason to go, I reckon: I get to experience this peculiar piece of American culture, and you get to experience what your childhood was lacking."
You open your mouth to reply, but she lifts a hand to your cheek and for the first time tonight, she looks entirely serious and honest.
"You need to take a break," she says gently. "This decoder thing is taking you over. Nate, please; I promise one night off isn't going to leave you in the dust."
You take a deep breath. You could argue this, should argue this: Tell her you have taken a break (recite the plot of a bad movie that was on TV at three in the morning), tell her it's not taking you over, tell her you want it to take you over because you've let it go too long, tell her 'this decoder thing' is easier than marriage (is it?), tell her of all the things in your childhood that scarred you, never trick or treating wasn't one of them, tell her you don't even like Captain America.
But you're tired of this argument, and you haven't even had it in four months. (Not since Elena left.)
And maybe, just maybe, she's right.
(Maybe they both are.)
One night off won't hurt.
(And you did like the first Captain America movie, even if The Avengers was crap.)
You let the breath go.
"Fine," you say instead, and she beams in delight and pats your cheek.
"It'll be fun, I promise!" she calls, as you retreat to your room to change.
The costume fits.
Chloe unstraps the matching shield from her backpack and hands it to you.
"Captain."
"Agent Romanoff."
"Thank you for your cooperation."
Chloe (US) hey
thx again 4 last nite
it was fun
I told you so :)want 2 do lunch? i'll buy
seeing as u bought the costume
Ta but no
I'm actually on my way 2 airport
Meeting a potential client in nmnm?? y wer u in fl?
Can't i take a detour to check in on my cowboy?thanks, chloe.
Full words instead of txt speak u must b srs
Don't mention it
no subject