Fic: Can't Fight Gravity
Feb. 7th, 2015 11:57 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
s2309Title: Can't Fight Gravity
Characters (Pairings): Rachel Turner (background Rachel/Neal)
Rating: PG
Word Count: 466
Spoilers: Till 6x01
Disclaimer: White Collar is Jeff Eastin's brainchild. Not mine.
Warnings: Suicidal thoughts.
Summary: Rachel's second time in prison is less eventful than her first.
Author's Note: For Day 5 of![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
halfamoon, for the prompt Transformation, Rachel's transformation in prison. Title from Falling Is Like This by Ani DiFranco.
Her favourite hobby now is lying on the floor with her head resting on her arms and her eyes half-closed, thinking about nothing, slowly emptying out her mind, taking in the sounds, smells and some of the sights and doing not much else. It's a good hobby. She has nothing left to look forward to.
The thing about lying on the floor is it emphasises how far she's fallen. She expected prison the first time, planned for it, knew approximately when she'd go in, when she'd be out, what she'd do before, after, in between. She always had plans. The best thing about plans was once they were foiled, you had to find some other way of getting what you wanted. And she had backup plans. She had backup plans for her backup plans, failsafes and what-ifs and boltholes all neatly laid out, none of which took into account her actually falling for Neal Caffrey.
(Truth be told, she'd been convinced (or she'd convinced herself) that she'd be able to kill him, if it came to that. She thought she'd be able to move that one finger half an inch and watch his beautiful dead body fall to the ground and not care too much. Maybe, maybe if he'd had the diamond, maybe then. She'd almost shot him anyway, but she hadn't counted on being so damn close to his eyes. Those eyes did her in. In the beginning, and in the end. Circle of life. In more than one way.)
Now all she's got is one single plan that mostly involves waiting for the right moment. And not reflecting on the past few months of her life. Especially not those months.
She quiets her thoughts again, tries to go back to thinking of nothing
She's switching off almost completely when the guard taps a nightstick against the bars of her cage. She assumes it's food and doesn't move. The tapping continues, becomes less pleasant (as if it ever was pleasant to begin with). She gets to her feet, moves to the wall, stays there and does nothing till she feels herself being secured, not just with handcuffs, but the whole works.
"You scored a field trip," one of them says.
This is exactly what she's been waiting for.
She's almost tempted to grab the first gun she can feasibly get her hands on, but she decides to wait, see where they're taking her, see if she can bargain her way into something that'll make her want to do more than wait. She lets herself plan again, plans so broad that they're barely plans, but it's something to get the rusty gears moving again, which she'll need if she's going to try to make her way out of this.
She's not very hopeful on that front.
Characters (Pairings): Rachel Turner (background Rachel/Neal)
Rating: PG
Word Count: 466
Spoilers: Till 6x01
Disclaimer: White Collar is Jeff Eastin's brainchild. Not mine.
Warnings: Suicidal thoughts.
Summary: Rachel's second time in prison is less eventful than her first.
Author's Note: For Day 5 of
halfamoon, for the prompt Transformation, Rachel's transformation in prison. Title from Falling Is Like This by Ani DiFranco.Her favourite hobby now is lying on the floor with her head resting on her arms and her eyes half-closed, thinking about nothing, slowly emptying out her mind, taking in the sounds, smells and some of the sights and doing not much else. It's a good hobby. She has nothing left to look forward to.
The thing about lying on the floor is it emphasises how far she's fallen. She expected prison the first time, planned for it, knew approximately when she'd go in, when she'd be out, what she'd do before, after, in between. She always had plans. The best thing about plans was once they were foiled, you had to find some other way of getting what you wanted. And she had backup plans. She had backup plans for her backup plans, failsafes and what-ifs and boltholes all neatly laid out, none of which took into account her actually falling for Neal Caffrey.
(Truth be told, she'd been convinced (or she'd convinced herself) that she'd be able to kill him, if it came to that. She thought she'd be able to move that one finger half an inch and watch his beautiful dead body fall to the ground and not care too much. Maybe, maybe if he'd had the diamond, maybe then. She'd almost shot him anyway, but she hadn't counted on being so damn close to his eyes. Those eyes did her in. In the beginning, and in the end. Circle of life. In more than one way.)
Now all she's got is one single plan that mostly involves waiting for the right moment. And not reflecting on the past few months of her life. Especially not those months.
She quiets her thoughts again, tries to go back to thinking of nothing
She's switching off almost completely when the guard taps a nightstick against the bars of her cage. She assumes it's food and doesn't move. The tapping continues, becomes less pleasant (as if it ever was pleasant to begin with). She gets to her feet, moves to the wall, stays there and does nothing till she feels herself being secured, not just with handcuffs, but the whole works.
"You scored a field trip," one of them says.
This is exactly what she's been waiting for.
She's almost tempted to grab the first gun she can feasibly get her hands on, but she decides to wait, see where they're taking her, see if she can bargain her way into something that'll make her want to do more than wait. She lets herself plan again, plans so broad that they're barely plans, but it's something to get the rusty gears moving again, which she'll need if she's going to try to make her way out of this.
She's not very hopeful on that front.
