Ficlet: Almost There (Crossover)
Fandoms: Eleventh Hour and Prison Break
Rating: PG
Pairing: Jacob Hood/Michael Scofield, implied Michael Scofield/Alex Mahone
Prompt: 'You broke out of prison.'
~*~
“You broke out of prison.”
Michael twitches, full-body, and nearly drops the bag he’s carrying. The intercom announces something tinny and distant in the cold acoustics of the train station - and Michael turns to face the speaker - a dark-haired man. Intelligence, calculation in his eyes, and that reminds Michael all to much of Mahone.
No. He shouldn’t go there.
“I’m sorry,” says Michael, “you’re mistaken.”
“Don’t worry,” says the man, catching his arm. “I don’t hold it against you. I’m Jacob Hood. Doctor. Science consultant with the FBI. And you’re Michael Scofield.”
“You’re mistaken,” repeats Michael. “I have a train to catch.”
“No,” says Hood, “you don’t. You’ve been waiting here for fifteen minutes, you haven’t checked your watch once, and you’re watching the exits. I don’t know what it is you’re doing, but it’s certainly not waiting for a train. Want to sit down? One of the benches is free.”
Just like Mahone. Calculating, inquisitive, only without the physical threat. He’s already halfway to figuring Michael out, and they’re barely even met.
“Listen,” says Michael, “I’m not interested. In whatever you’re offering.”
“I’m not offering anything,” Hood counters. “I, similarly to you, am not waiting for a train, as I just got off one, but I’m never adverse to interesting company. And who knew I’d meet Michael Scofield in a train station.”
Another announcement; irritatingly, Michael can’t tell what this one says either. There are far too many people here, there’s no way he’s going to catch the man he needs - overstimulus, it’s always overstimulus.
“Yes,” says Hood, “low latent inhibition.”
…and better yet, he’s apparently read Michael’s file.
“I have a hotel room near here. It’s quiet.”
And that would almost be a non-sequitor if it weren’t for the way Hood’s voice is pitched, like it’s an offer. A favor, from someone who has no reason to wish Michael ill.
No reason to wish him good, either.
“I’m looking for someone.”
“Who?”
Again, that neutral, inquisitive tone. Who is Michael looking for? Is he just chasing another ghost, in the off chance that he could find a familiar face again?
He shouldn’t be. He left them a long time ago, and no doubt Sara is happier for it.
Michael hisses out a breath, through his teeth. “You don’t feel the slightest bit anxious about inviting a con in to talk with you?”
Hood shrugs.
“Where’s the hotel room?”
“Embassy Suites,” says Hood. “And I have to say, ‘cute poison’ was, in fact, adorable. Did you get the chemicals from prison industry?”
Michael wonders, fleetingly, how much Hood knows. If he saw the tattoos, if he studied it, as careful as Mahone, as intent as Mahone. "Yeah," he says. "That and the kitchen."
"Brilliant," says Hood. Shakes his head a little, then - "I mean it. It was a work of brilliance."
And Michael lets himself hope, just a little.
Rating: PG
Pairing: Jacob Hood/Michael Scofield, implied Michael Scofield/Alex Mahone
Prompt: 'You broke out of prison.'
~*~
“You broke out of prison.”
Michael twitches, full-body, and nearly drops the bag he’s carrying. The intercom announces something tinny and distant in the cold acoustics of the train station - and Michael turns to face the speaker - a dark-haired man. Intelligence, calculation in his eyes, and that reminds Michael all to much of Mahone.
No. He shouldn’t go there.
“I’m sorry,” says Michael, “you’re mistaken.”
“Don’t worry,” says the man, catching his arm. “I don’t hold it against you. I’m Jacob Hood. Doctor. Science consultant with the FBI. And you’re Michael Scofield.”
“You’re mistaken,” repeats Michael. “I have a train to catch.”
“No,” says Hood, “you don’t. You’ve been waiting here for fifteen minutes, you haven’t checked your watch once, and you’re watching the exits. I don’t know what it is you’re doing, but it’s certainly not waiting for a train. Want to sit down? One of the benches is free.”
Just like Mahone. Calculating, inquisitive, only without the physical threat. He’s already halfway to figuring Michael out, and they’re barely even met.
“Listen,” says Michael, “I’m not interested. In whatever you’re offering.”
“I’m not offering anything,” Hood counters. “I, similarly to you, am not waiting for a train, as I just got off one, but I’m never adverse to interesting company. And who knew I’d meet Michael Scofield in a train station.”
Another announcement; irritatingly, Michael can’t tell what this one says either. There are far too many people here, there’s no way he’s going to catch the man he needs - overstimulus, it’s always overstimulus.
“Yes,” says Hood, “low latent inhibition.”
…and better yet, he’s apparently read Michael’s file.
“I have a hotel room near here. It’s quiet.”
And that would almost be a non-sequitor if it weren’t for the way Hood’s voice is pitched, like it’s an offer. A favor, from someone who has no reason to wish Michael ill.
No reason to wish him good, either.
“I’m looking for someone.”
“Who?”
Again, that neutral, inquisitive tone. Who is Michael looking for? Is he just chasing another ghost, in the off chance that he could find a familiar face again?
He shouldn’t be. He left them a long time ago, and no doubt Sara is happier for it.
Michael hisses out a breath, through his teeth. “You don’t feel the slightest bit anxious about inviting a con in to talk with you?”
Hood shrugs.
“Where’s the hotel room?”
“Embassy Suites,” says Hood. “And I have to say, ‘cute poison’ was, in fact, adorable. Did you get the chemicals from prison industry?”
Michael wonders, fleetingly, how much Hood knows. If he saw the tattoos, if he studied it, as careful as Mahone, as intent as Mahone. "Yeah," he says. "That and the kitchen."
"Brilliant," says Hood. Shakes his head a little, then - "I mean it. It was a work of brilliance."
And Michael lets himself hope, just a little.