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Her Vertical Transport
By Mira


Jordan makes Elliot Reid very, very nervous. Especially when she's all, well, kind of nice. For example, just now, when Elliot stepped into the otherwise empty elevator, Jordan's lips twisted in a way that was only about 45 percent grimace. And her eyes are just marble-at-the-bottom-of-a-frozen-Arctic-river cold, instead of approaching-absolute-zero cold. Either she's engineered some kind of board thing that is currently making Dr. Kelso try to kill himself, or there's an intern hiding somewhere in a broom closet on the third floor, cradling what remains of his manhood. Could go either way.

"Hi!" Elliot says, but it sounds perky and kind of cringe-y even to her, so when Jordan slams her into the elevator wall and kisses her, it's kind of shocking. The back of her head hits the placard about washing your hands frequently and the chart she's carrying pokes her stomach very uncomfortably, but Jordan is a really good kisser. The kind of kisser who makes you fantasize about...stuff, not that Elliot would ever do that, and kind of want to think about picking out tastefully coordinated wedding dresses.

"Oh!" Elliot squeaks, because the back of her head hurts and no, she totally doesn't have a subdural hematoma so she's not about to die (probably), and Jordan's breasts are all up in her business, which sort of reminds her of that one time after the big junior Omega party when she and Melody got so wasted and, and, that thing happened, where Elliot felt all fuzzy and liquid and it was so good she didn't even freak out too much about totally, you know, doing it with another girl. (But it's not like they're gay or anything even though there were lady parts involved, and they haven't ever talked about it, because it's always best never to talk about anything super awkward and potentially life changing like that anyway. You can pay a shrink for that.) She was so soft and her breasts were amazing, Elliot remembers that, even though it's through sort of a tequila-flavored haze, but Jordan feels even better. Like, the terror, heart palpitations, and vague feelings of needing to throw up really make it work for Elliot, which probably says something about her that will cost at least another hundred hours in therapy.

Jordan's eyes narrow. "Shit," Elliot whispers, dejected. "I just said all of that out loud."

Jordan wants to roll her eyes, tell Blonde Doctor to shut up with that inane babbling and the big, glassy-eyed face that just begs to be slapped. But. Her hair's a little messy and her lipstick is a good shade, smeared at the corner. It's almost Christmas anyway, so joy to the world and all that crap. And Elliot's eyes are full of something Jordan just, somehow, doesn't have the heart to crush yet. So she kisses her, again, before she has a chance to say anything else, and Elliot tastes like weakness and vanilla lip balm, so it's just about perfect.

The End

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