It's for a human interest fluff piece.

He hadn’t known that Alice had even talked to Mark since she came back to London, with her new identity and her stories of places John hadn’t been there to share with her, her descriptions of empty deserts rife with stars as if the firmament had blossomed cold from seeds of dust. He hadn’t known, in that moment when he realized how much he’d truly missed her, when he finally let himself reach for her, that she would want to share this.

Jayne’s used to dead bodies, but he ain’t used to them falling out of the sky and then waking up.

Since he killed Zach, there is no one to tend the garden at the old house.

Damon listens and plots. BRILLIANTLY.

He feels like Hitchcock. It's all suggestion. But he feels it anyway.

Neal is so very tired of saying no.

"Actually, do you know what this whole place reminds me of?" Eames says, gesturing around the room with a whirl of his hand. "Arthur. Look at it. It's the Victorian Country Home version of expensive ties and silver suitcases and never getting anything stuck in your teeth."

Neal Caffrey can steal souls. Peter Burke has two shadows. Everything's normal...except when it isn't.

The Suit stands for law, social control and all the things Mozzie fundamentally opposes, but he's married to someone Mozzie likes and he's sleeping with one of Mozzie's best friends, so he should probably know that Kate's in New York again.

Rufus remembers a childhood of McDonalds and flush toilets and cars, science classes, bullies, and the fact that he wasn't the town freak only because nobody could out-freak Amy, at least not in Leadworth. Leadworth was the town. His name was Rory Williams.

The men still call him Rory, an unofficial agnomen, a nickname. His father will be pleased when he hears Rufus is so popular.

He remembers two fathers, but the more vivid of them is Brutus Atius Africanus, the Consul. As a boy he ran barefoot on the tiled ground of his father's villa's courtyard, the only cool place in the summer, and stole sweet fruit right off the trees.

Arthur won't fuck her inside their dreams.

Eames won't touch her outside of them.

For tonight Sam can be the guy who picks up girls in a bar, and she can be the girl who gets picked up, and tomorrow they can each be someone else.

Kon bursts back into the loft then, handing soda cans all around. Cassie lights up at the sight of him grinning at them both. At least one of them isn't nervous. But why would Kon be? He's the one who asked them to do this in an eager email that said I have a plan that will solve all our problems!!! and another two minutes later: SEX.

"We are one in Eywa, all of us-- and only one when we are three," Neytiri finishes, the low melodic words making Jake's heart ache deep in his chest. "Eywa cares only for the balance, even when strange things must happen to preserve it."

He lies between them, quiet as a wall keeping them together rather than apart, quiet as a dam or a natural disaster. James and him. It had always been James and Sirius since he remembers, since time itself began, really, until the tip of his tongue became so used to both sounds spoken at the same time that Sirius began to mistake one for the other, began to say “James” when what he really meant was “me”.

"Tell me you didn't do it," Neal said.

"Oh, sweetie." Her smile goes wicked. "Seven years of Neal Caffrey's ghost hanging around our house, six months of the two of you living in each other's pockets, and you only now think to bring up the subject of jealousy?"

The Bro Code is all well and good, but Razor doesn't know a single guy who's actually going to give up a girl like Emily just because his buddy's into her.

Elizabeth isn't a jealous woman. She's been married to Peter for 10 years, and there's no doubt in her mind that he loves her just as much as he did on the night he proposed - nervous and sweating and with such a distinct lack of subtlety that she started laughing halfway through the second course at the fancy French (French) restaurant and told him to just ask her before he fainted.

"We missed you," Carter says. Two years and the world gone to hell, and she sounds like maybe he went up to Minnesota for a week or had a bad bout of the flu.

Spock carefully stroked the back of her neck with long fingers. "My own position vis-a-vis my ethnic inheritance is not devoid of problematic readings."

"Tragic Mulatto?"

"Indeed."

Uhura stretched. "Hmm. Tell you what, Spock. Let's see if we can create an Outsider narrative unbounded by paradigmatic expectations."

"Affirmative," Spock said, and started taking off his jacket.

"Hardison helped me name them," she explained. Eliot very carefully did not wonder if she'd called him 'Hardison' all of last night.

"This one is Benjamin," she said, pointing at one who was looking off, unfocused, "and this one is Susan," the one Hardison was using as a posable action-figure, "and the black one is Grover."

Eliot couldn't help help asking. "Like the muppet?" He couldn't quite imagine kid-Parker watching Sunday morning TV in her pyjamas, eating Froot Loops, but she'd grown up in America, so she must have.

Parker looked at him like he was a new kind of idiot. "Like the thousand. They're mommy's little two-thousand and two dollars," she proclaimed. And Eliot had thought Parker in a relationship would be weird.

"I always feel so much more limber after lesbian sex," said Jane, stretching.

"I don't know why," Susan said snappishly. "It's not like you were doing anything anyway. You were just twiddling your fingers!"

"Susan," Jane said, smiling with a condescension that Susan herself would have been proud of. "That's what it's all about."

It took her so long to fall asleep – strange room at an Inn for the night, since Pete said he couldn't get the zeppelin over till the next day. Strange body curled against hers – too warm, too still, but yet still him, and she wants this body and she totally doesn't, and in the end they just spoon and drift off in each others' arms. He sleeps. It's all wrong.

They don't bring other guys in. They just ... this isn't their deal. It's just the three of them, Shaun and Zach and Cody, and the wide writhing ocean only a few blocks from home maybe counts as a fourth.

Sam and Dean lay low in Montana. Sam gets a girl. Dean gets a fryolater. The walls are thin and the power goes out a lot.

New Zealand also said that Australia had given him possums, which was incredibly rude and completely beside the point even if it was true.

He’s spent nights pressed between and pillowed on warm, sweet-smelling bodies, with Madison’s breast beneath his cheek and Jess’s thigh draped over his and Sam the only living thing in the bed.

No matter how new the feeling of Nate's lips on his is, no matter how fast the urgent want in his gut sideswipes him, his feeling of complete satisfaction as he walks away and doesn't look back is entirely familiar.

In the morning, Dean will still be the moon and the shore, and you will crash all over again.

Street's t-shirt is in the kitchen sink, trapped under an empty ice cube tray, laying exactly where it fell while Tyra was licking salt off the crooked curve of his collarbone ten hours ago, while the sky was turning pink outside and Tim was laughing loud

Maybe if he could see them, Owen thinks, hear them even, just once, however briefly, he could put it together, problem solved, and stop bloody obsessing about it.

Sam smiles despite himself. He understands. There’s nothing quite like that feeling of vertigo. Nothing like standing on the edge of the rest of your life, about to fall off, free for the first time.

Oh, thought Dean, and right then the warning bells went off, penetrating the creeping fog of alcohol, but he ignored them because he was here and it was too late, and besides, there was nothing he could do about it, even if he was right.

So, yeah, two guys and a girl walk into a bar, and thirty minutes later they walk right back out again.

"You have to find out if he uses lipstick," Harry added eagerly. "We have a bet."