DISCLAIMER: Murder in Suburbia and its characters are the property of ITV. No infringement intended.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is my first attempt at MiS fic. It is completely and entirely Ralst's fault. Blame her. I have attempted to mimic, as well as an American can, British terms/phrases/speech. I do not really feel that I have succeeded, but I did try.
SPOILERS: Set after the second series episode 'Witches'.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
"Do you think, well, I mean, do you believe in all that Harry Potter kind of rot? In witches and spells and potions?" Scribbs asked hesitantly, not glancing away from the windscreen to her partner's profile, now awash in the glaring light of oncoming headlamps.
"Do I think that there's some castle in the wilds of Scotland where they practice ancient rituals, engage in secret sex rites, and make potions out of toadstools? You mean, other than Balmoral?" Ash smirked, chuckling a little at her own wit.
"Funny. Not," Scribbs groused. "I'm serious. Do you think that there is such a thing as magic?"
"Scribbs. It was a bunch of girls playing at what their adolescent minds perceived to be witchcraft. It wasn't real," Ash answered, a note in her voice that might have been irritation.
"I know that, Ash. I wasn't talking about the voodoo dolls and pins. I meant real magic. Do you think that there's such a thing as real magic?" Scribbs' voice was quieter and more earnest than Ash remembered hearing it.
Glancing at the blonde's equally serious expression in the quicksilver light of the streetlamps that slipped across her face as they drove at Scribb's usual breakneck pace down the nearly empty streets, Ash answered as honestly as she could.
"I don't know." Ash heard the snort of disbelief and, turning to see the quick flash of annoyance on Scribb's features, rushed to reassure her.
"Honestly, Scribbs, I'm not being flippant. I don't know if I believe in magic. I don't know if I believe in ghosties or ghoulies or things that go bump in the night. I don't think that I believe in spells and potions and such, but there are a great many things that I can't explain away, things that beggar description, that my rational mind would dearly love to be able to quantify, but can't. So, I was being honest when I said I really don't know if I believe in magic. Why is it so important?"
"It isn't. I was just curious, that's all." The words left Scribb's lips in a rush, unconvincing even to her own ears.
"Don't be deliberately obtuse," Ash replied, turning a bit in her seat to get a better look at her partner's face.
"What're you saying, that most of the time I'm just naturally that way?" Scribbs asked, with a fleeting look at Ash.
"You know that wasn't what I was suggesting and don't try and change the subject," Ash answered sternly. "Why this overwhelming interest in my beliefs in the supernatural?"
Her question was met with silence from the right side of the car as Scribbs focused her attention on taking the approaching curve at Formula One speeds. Back on the straight, Ash waited patiently for the blonde to answer her query.
Finally, after minutes of silence, Scribbs responded.
"I was just thinking that it would be pretty brilliant if there was such a thing as potions. You know, potions to make you taller, thinner. Ones to give you bigger boobs, not that I need that one, if I do say so myself, but you know what I mean. Potions to make people act different, fall in love and such." Scribbs' voice trailed off a bit toward the end and Ash found herself leaning over a little to hear her.
"Love potions? Scribbs, is this about Stewart? Because if it is, you know that at this point, you'd have a bloody hard time getting him to ingest anything you gave him?" Ash asked, a slight grin touching her face at the thought of Scribbs' man du jour being carted away to Casualty courtesy of Scribbs' cooking.
"No, it isn't about Stewart," Scribbs murmured, a tinge of pink coloring her cheeks. "Just forget it, all right? It isn't important. Just making conversation."
"Since when do you 'just make conversation'?" Ash queried, a look of skepticism on her face. "So, if it isn't Stewart that you want to capture with a love potion, who is it?"
"Nobody. Just forget it, okay?" Scribbs looked decidedly uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was taking.
"Come on, tell me. Who've you got in mind to lure back to your place and slip a potion to fall madly in love with you and have your way with?" Ash chuckled, the grin slipping from her lips as she caught sight of the stain of color on Scribbs' cheeks even in the dim light of the car and saw her bite her lower lip in consternation.
"I said it was no one. Now just drop it, will you? Please?"
"Scribbs? Emma? Pull over," Ash demanded.
"Scribbs, pull over," Ash stated firmly in her no nonsense, DI voice.
Scribbs reluctantly obeyed, pulling the car to the curb. Putting it in neutral, she deliberately kept her eyes forward, not looking at her partner.
"Scribbs, look at me," Ash said, her voice now decidedly gentler. "Who do you have in mind to use a love potion on?"
"Stop answering a question with a question and just tell me."
"You." Scribbs murmured finally, her voice nearly a whisper.
"Who?" Ash asked, quite certain that she couldn't possibly have heard properly.
"You, all right?" Scribbs replied almost belligerently, turning finally to meet Ash's brown eyes, widened in surprise, and, Scribbs was certain, disgust.
"Me? You want to use a love potion on me?" Ash echoed, her mind flooded with the ramifications of what Scribbs had just admitted, and with the possibilities it entailed. "Why in the world would you want to do that?"
"Obviously because I thought that, well, that you and me, that we .that well, I fancy you, I guess," Scribbs stumbled, her entire face infused with pink.
"Fancy me? You fancy me?" Ash repeated incredulously.
"Forget it. Just please, let's just forget this whole bloody stupid conversation, okay? Please, Ash?" Scribbs asked in a strained voice, her face now turned to stare out the driver's side window at the darkened street.
"Scribbs, look at me."
"No. Just tell me we can forget this ever happened," Scribbs answered, her voice thick with humiliation.
"Emma, please look at me," Ash said softly, her hand coming up to rest gently on Scribbs' arm. "Look at me."
Scribbs slowly turned her head, her eyes at first focused on where Ash's hand rested on the sleeve of her jacket. Only the feel of the fingers of Ash's other hand under her chin caused Scribbs to look up, meeting the face of her partner. The first glimpse of the smile that graced Ash's full lips felt almost like a physical blow, until Scribbs realized that it wasn't a smile of mocking, but one of affection.
"You never need a potion to make me fall for you. That happened ages ago. As for luring me to your place and having your way with me, all you ever had to do was ask," Ash assured her, her fingers tracing the line of Scribbs' jaw.
"Yeah?" Scribbs muttered somewhat unintelligibly, focused as she was on the feel of Ash's fingers slipping gently into the hair along her temple.
"Yeah," Ash answered, leaning forward so that their faces were inches apart. "So, are you asking?"
"I'm asking," Scribbs replied, her words nearly lost as she covered the distance remaining between her lips and Ash's.
Minutes later they drew apart slightly, forehead to forehead, both a little shocked at the turn of events.
Licking her own lips, Ash tasted again the sweet flavor of Scribbs' lip gloss.
"I like that. Tastes a little like raspberry. What's it called?"
"Love Potion Number 9," Scribbs chuckled.
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