|The Many Sides of Vinwell
Author: Orwell is watching-xoxo PM
This is all about the pairing Vince/Orwell. Every chapter is a different tale from a different universe. Shaken, shaken and stirred, shaken and not stirred. Contains fluff, angst, humor, tragedy and sexiness.Rated: Fiction T - English - Romance - Vince F./The Cape & Orwell - Chapters: 23 - Words: 43,031 - Reviews: 59 - Favs: 2 - Follows: 2 - Updated: 04-03-13 - Published: 05-19-12 - id: 8132024
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Hey, I'm back! Here's a new chapter. We're back to canon, post episode ten, just to be safe.
Thanks go out to my lovely reviewers; I own nothing. Brownie points go to anyone that can spot the Rizzles quote in the chapter.
The Many Sides of Vinwell- Chapter Sixteen: Secrets
Jamie Fleming had created another whole persona when she left home at the age of sixteen. Orwell was the persona that kept her strong, the one who kept her from running back home to daddy when things got too scary or too tough. Looking back onto all of the people that the brunette had run into during her twenty-three years of life, she probably gave all of them whiplash from her names changing at the drop of a hat, or from just how many different stories she told to get them off of her back.
Jamie refused to be referred to as a Fleming; she had her other personas to back her up. The only other person that the blogger would even think about letting in on her dirty little secrets would be Vince. She sent him that video in hopes that she wouldn't be alone in this fight against her father. The more people Orwell had on her side, the better. But… Now the chances of him getting his name cleared were slim to none. The blogger could only blame herself for that one. At this moment, the only real thing that she could do was be there for her partner. It had to be downright irritating that she wouldn't open up to him, which made her worry how much longer he would put up with it. He was her only real best friend. If she lost him, too…
Maybe, just maybe, she would let him in one day. After all, maybe the white door would finally leave her alone if she just talked to someone about her troubled past.
Vince wasn't going to be the one to pry, but damn was his partner confusing the hell out of him. She was finally starting to open up to him until the Lich kidnapped her. Now she was just as reserved as ever, or even more so. He couldn't get a straight answer out of her unless he yanked it out of her brain. (But, since the blonde wasn't a neuroscientist, he wasn't even going to try to attempt that.)
The vigilante looked over at his partner, who had her eyes fixed on the computer screen before her. She hadn't gone home in about a week, not that Vince was complaining. He enjoyed the company; something about living in a cave made it pretty lonely. The brunette was working on her Orwell blogs, no doubt. Vince had no clue, to be honest. She scrolled down so fast that he was surprised that she wasn't dropping from a seizure by now.
He got up from the beat-up couch that the carnival had brought to him and padded over to his partner. She looked up at him, the purple hues under her eyes prompting a heavy frown to settle onto his lips. Just what kind of secrets was she hiding behind those big brown eyes?
"Hey, Orwell," he told her, plopping down next to her at the command center. "How are things going?"
The hacker shrugged a shoulder, looking back over at the screen. "Fine, I suppose. Writing a blog post about just how suspicious it is that the past two chiefs of police have been killed. Especially considering who was in charge, or who was about to be in charge, like in the case of Chief Ross."
"You think anything will come of it?" Vince asked, their shoulders brushing as he scooted closer to the computer screen.
Orwell just ignored their proximity with another shrug. "I hope so. The hype down by the docks still hasn't died down quite yet, so I'm hoping that this will seal the deal."
The framed cop nodded, a look of relief was evident on his face. "So, what made you want to start this Orwell blog, anyway?" He knew that he might as well be diving into a shark tank at this point, but he really didn't care that much.
The brunette stared back at her partner. He was sitting on the edge of his seat as he stared up at her with his chin propped up. "Why do you want to know?"
"Because I've been trying to ask myself this from the moment I met you," Vince's blue eyes bored into his partner's eyes, searching for something. What he found staring back at him, though, was nothing but a timid little girl. He knew that look when he saw it. "Orwell, what is it?"
"It's nothing," Orwell replied dejectedly, turning away from the blonde to go back to her blog post.
"Tell that to your face. It looks kinda bothered," the vigilante murmured back to his partner. When she just shook her head, he let out a frustrated sigh. "Please, Orwell, how can I help you?"
"I've told you before," the brunette glared back at Vince, "you can't. No one can help me."
"I beg to differ. Everyone can be helped. You've just gotta have someone as stubborn as me to try," Vince grinned back at the hacker, who was not impressed.
"Well stop trying. I'm helping you get your family back," Orwell's voice dropped to just below a whisper, "isn't that enough?"
"No. It's not nearly enough, Orwell," the vigilante shook his head, nothing but sincerity in his voice. "Not when you mean as much to me as you do."
"What do I mean to you, Vince? I mean, really, compared to Dana and Trip… What am I?" the brunette asked, her voice still so quiet.
"A whole hell of a lot," Vince answered her, his lips quirking up into a smile.
"I hate myself, you know. You wouldn't want to know the real me. Gregor was right about one thing: I was a spoiled little rich girl. I care about you far too much to let you know the kind of woman that I once was," Orwell told her partner, a heavy sigh escaping her lips.
"You couldn't have been that bad, Orwell," the vigilante sighed himself as the hacker gave him a look.
"Believe me, if I tell you about my past, you'll want nothing to do with me," the blogger began, hoping that he would just drop the subject. Though given her partner's adamancy…
"What? It's not like you're Peter Fleming's daughter, right?" Vince asked, taking her in cautiously.
Orwell never wanted to use her computer equipment to kill someone more than she did right now. Why did he have such perfect timing with this sort of thing?
"Right?" he asked again, this time only a little more pathetically.
I feel like being evil and leaving the end of this up to reader preference: Will Vince freak, or will he be understanding? That's it for me tonight, folks!