jmtorres.livejournal.com (
jmtorres.livejournal.com) wrote in
crack_van2007-12-07 08:00 am
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Reciprocity by raucousraven (rated P for Plotty; probably about PG-13 for action/violence)
Fandom: NUMB3RS
Pairing: none
Author on LJ:
raucousraven
Author Website: not that I can tell? LJ tag for Numb3rs fic on her journal
Why this must be read:
This story takes hints the show gave us about Charlie's classified consulting work for the NSA and weaves them into this tightly-packed narrative, dense with imagery. Charlie was given combat training by the NSA, and a jealous rival from that program is taking out people Charlie loves to get his attention. And even though it's shattering to him, terrifying and not the kind of person Charlie wants to be, Charlie steps up and fights back, because he'd do anything for his family.
raucousraven classifies this as an AU, but I find it so, so plausible.
Reciprocity
Pairing: none
Author on LJ:
![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
Author Website: not that I can tell? LJ tag for Numb3rs fic on her journal
Why this must be read:
This story takes hints the show gave us about Charlie's classified consulting work for the NSA and weaves them into this tightly-packed narrative, dense with imagery. Charlie was given combat training by the NSA, and a jealous rival from that program is taking out people Charlie loves to get his attention. And even though it's shattering to him, terrifying and not the kind of person Charlie wants to be, Charlie steps up and fights back, because he'd do anything for his family.
Right before Charlie leaves the crowd of milling, concerned neighbours it’s Mrs. Lee, seventy-four and bird-tiny, who tilts her head and puts her hand on Charlie’s arm. She used to feed him crumbling almond cookies when he was small; for a moment he can smell them as she leans in and says, There was one man all yesterday, watching. Tall. Tattoo, red hat. He left when you come home. What tattoo, Mrs. Lee? All wavy, maybe a snake. Where? His arm. She points to her frail elbow, graphs sinx across her shoulder. And the hat. Real red? No. Like dead blood. And Charlie flushes, feels his heartrate trip past panicked into terrified, fueled by a rage so high it’s threatening to take the top of his head right off, because the last time he’d seen Terence Kuyber the man had been shooting to kill. Had, in fact, barely missed.
Has probably practiced more than once in the three years since.
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Reciprocity
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...
...Well. I'm speechless. And so proud to be a part of the
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Did I mention I love your fic? I love it a lot.