Ash and Scribbs Go Meta
The after-effects of the explosion rippled through as the station was plunged into darkness. Scribbs peered into the gloom, trying to locate her partner, who had been sitting closest to the door, the same door that was blocked by rubble where the ceiling had collapsed. "Ash!"
"I'm here," came the surprisingly calm voice of the brunette as the emergency lights flickered on.
"Are you okay?"
"Yes, fine." Ash scooted closer to where Scribbs was crouched against the inner wall. "How are you?"
"Do you think that was a bomb?" asked the blonde, an edge of excitement creeping into her voice.
"I rather doubt it. They were working on the steam line in front of the station; it's more likely that it ruptured and caused a small explosion."
Scribbs looked grumpy at the commonplace explanation. "But it could have been a bomb. Planted by terrorists!"
"In suburbia?" Ash's voice was openly skeptical. "You think some pensioner with an Internet connection decided to bomb the station to distract from a blackmarket Viagra smuggling operation?"
"It could happen," Scribbs pouted. Suddenly, Ash cried out, and Scribbs grabbed her arm in a panic. "Ash? Are you hurt?"
Ash shook her off. "Don't be silly. I've ripped my skirt."
"You ripped your skirt? That's it?" The disappointment dripped from Scribbs' voice.
"I like this skirt," Ash defended.
"Can you sew it?"
Scribbs sighed and slouched against the wall. "That's what's wrong with this bloody show. Can you imagine if this were an American crime drama?"
"What are you going on about?'
"If this were an American crime drama, this whole thing would be different."
"First, it would have been terrorists or some big crime syndicate, not a public works project gone bad. Nobody would know we were here and we'd be worried about digging ourselves out before we starved to death. And one of us would be buried under the rubble or have a concussion or both." Scribbs thought about something and crawled over to her desk, retrieving something out of a drawer.
"And this is a good thing?" Ash questioned, still not quite getting her partner's point.
"Well, it beats a ripped skirt in the drama department!" She held out a package to Ash. "Chocolate biscuit?"
Ash took one, chewing with a contemplative look. "So what else do they do on these American crime shows that would be more dramatic?"
"Well, that Benson character has had three or four stalkers. I haven't had a one!" Scribbs stated with indignation.
"Well," Ash considered, "those journalists are always hanging about. And what about that ex of yours who threatened to drill a hole in your head and suck your brains out with a straw?"
"Exactly what?" Ash was confused again.
"In an American show, that would have been a whole episode, not just a throwaway line to show that I'm crap with men "
"But you are crap with men "
"I would have been kidnapped and held hostage and you would have come in, guns blazing, to save me."
"I would be required to save you because you have crap taste in men?"
"Because he'd be a sociopath!"
"Because you date sociopaths " Ash crinkled her nose as she tried to figure out Scribbs' point.
"I wouldn't know it at the time!" Forestalling yet another of Ash's questions, Scribbs stressed, "It would be dramatic."
"No, it would be dramatic if you suddenly acquired good taste, or even a hint of discrimination, when it came to dating."
"Hey!" Scribbs glared at her partner, for a second, before continuing to enumerate other possible dramatic plot lines. "And then there was that story line on that forensic drama. Sara Sidle was kidnapped by a serial killer, trapped beneath a car during a flash flood, and had to escape a pack of wolves! She wasn't even a copper." Scribbs explained, admiringly.
"Wolves? In suburbia?"
"Well, no, but "
"Is that a little much? I mean, wolves? Really?"
Scribbs sighed again, even more deeply, her pout evident even in the dim emergency lighting. "We just never get any good story lines." Ash reached over and snagged another biscuit from the package in Scribbs' hand, deciding that any response on her part would simply fuel the conversation into even more outrageous story lines. "I guess you're right," Scribbs conceded, finally. "I guess we're never going to get the dramatic plots. It's too bad, really." At Ash's questioning glance, she explained, "If the American writers were writing this, we'd be snogging by now. Maybe even shagging."
"You know, the danger, imminent death. Those American writers use it as a plot device to get the romantic leads together."
Ash felt compelled to point out, "But we're not in any danger."
"Well, when they come to clear the door, the debris could fall inward and crush one of us," Scribbs suggested, half-heartedly.
Ash gave her a 'you're stretching' look before leaning back against the wall. After a moment, she said, "The electricity in the building could still be on." Scribbs now gave her a confused look. "Some overzealous firefighter could snag a power cord, cause a fire."
"Yeah?" Scribbs asked, eagerly, scooting closer to the brunette.
"A fire would travel very quickly through this building, what with all the papers and all." Ash turned her head to stare deeply into Scribbs' eyes.
"We could be burned alive." Scribbs reached out to run her fingers through Ash's hair, curling her hand around Ash's neck to urge her closer.
"It's entirely possible." Ash tilted her head up, pursing her lips.
"Entirely," Scribbs agreed as she captured Ash's lips with her own.
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