The Bartimaeus Trilogy: General; 025 - Strangers
Title: Strangers
Fandom: The Bartimaeus Trilogy
Characters: Kitty Jones, John Mandrake
Prompt: 025 - Strangers
Word Count: 710
Rating: K (suitable for most ages)
Summary: [AU] Years after she saves him from a golem, Kitty Jones meets John Mandrake by chance on the street.
Author's Notes: This was spontaneously written in twenty minutes or so. It’s fairly pointless, and I do love it. Now, let’s pretend for a glorious moment that PG never happened.
It’s been years and years, and the Resistance she loved and the skeleton she disturbed and the djinni she spoke with and the golem she destroyed and the magician she saved are nothing but memories, so faded and distant that it’s as if they happened to someone else. Twenty-seven, happily married, and getting ready to celebrate her son’s third birthday, Kitty Jones has been replaced by Christine Baker, née Brown, and, for the most part, forgotten. Christine isn’t stupid - her hair is short and styled and bright red, her eyes are light blue, and the restaurant she waitresses in isn’t frequented by magicians. Her husband knows that she is on the run from something, and they used to have an elaborate plan in case she was ever recognized, but she’s had no trouble, and it’s been mostly forgotten.
It’s a lovely day, with rare sunshine and a warm breeze, and Christine’s guard is down; has been down for years. So when she is tapped on the shoulder in line at the café, she greets the man behind her with a warm grin and a “Good morning.”
“Morning,” he replies, and his voice triggers her memory. Suddenly, they are both eleven years younger, she is Kitty again, and the air is cool and damp with early morning dew. The voice - the same voice, though colder - speaks, and she feels her hopes being dashed, and it hurts as much as it did the first time it happened: “Promises made to terrorists are scarcely obligatory, Ms. Jones.” She is returned sharply to the present as John Mandrake, for of course it is he, shakes her shoulder gently. Christine realizes that she is staring, open-mouthed at him, and that he is holding her gaze, concern in his eyes. “Are you all right?”
She promptly closes her mouth and offers a weak smile. “Yes, thank you.” Her voice comes out high and anxious; she coughs lightly to clear her throat before continuing. “I’m just . . . I’m tired, that’s all. Late night.”
He smiles amiably. “I know what that’s like.” His voice still chills her, and so does his face, now that she looks more closely - the thin cheeks and the sharp angles of the chin and nose and the intensity in the eyes are just as she remembers. “Anyway, I noticed that you dropped this. Fell out of your pocket.”
He holds out a simple brown wallet that Christine immediately recognizes as her own. Her hand flies stupidly to the pocket of her jacket, feeling for what obviously isn’t there, as the magician is holding it up in front of her face.
”Yes,” she says uncertainly. “Thank you.” She accepts the wallet warily. There’s nothing valuable in it - a few old photographs, a tenner, some receipts - but she is glad to have it back from the magician nonetheless. “Yes, it’s mine.”
His grin is fading; he is looking at her as if he has only just noticed her. She hurriedly pulls the brim of her cap down low over her eyes, and begins to walk away. He puts a hand on her arm to stop her, and she turns back toward him, despite old alarms going off in her head. “Wait,” he says, and his voice is no longer friendly and easy. It is scared. “Wait, do I know you?”
”No. I don’t think so.” His eyes are still searching her face. She decides that this encounter has gone on far too long already. “Thank you again. Goodbye.” Christine breaks out of the line and hurries away.
She stays away from the café for weeks afterward, though part of her wants to go back, to see if he’s there, to see if he’s figured out yet whose wallet he so altruistically returned. When she does go back, that same part of her hopes madly that he will be there and is madly disappointed when he is not, but, with some effort, she ignores it. Christine Baker goes on with her life, John Mandrake goes on with his, and the two never so much as lay eyes on each other again. At least, not outside of dreams.
Fandom: The Bartimaeus Trilogy
Characters: Kitty Jones, John Mandrake
Prompt: 025 - Strangers
Word Count: 710
Rating: K (suitable for most ages)
Summary: [AU] Years after she saves him from a golem, Kitty Jones meets John Mandrake by chance on the street.
Author's Notes: This was spontaneously written in twenty minutes or so. It’s fairly pointless, and I do love it. Now, let’s pretend for a glorious moment that PG never happened.
It’s been years and years, and the Resistance she loved and the skeleton she disturbed and the djinni she spoke with and the golem she destroyed and the magician she saved are nothing but memories, so faded and distant that it’s as if they happened to someone else. Twenty-seven, happily married, and getting ready to celebrate her son’s third birthday, Kitty Jones has been replaced by Christine Baker, née Brown, and, for the most part, forgotten. Christine isn’t stupid - her hair is short and styled and bright red, her eyes are light blue, and the restaurant she waitresses in isn’t frequented by magicians. Her husband knows that she is on the run from something, and they used to have an elaborate plan in case she was ever recognized, but she’s had no trouble, and it’s been mostly forgotten.
It’s a lovely day, with rare sunshine and a warm breeze, and Christine’s guard is down; has been down for years. So when she is tapped on the shoulder in line at the café, she greets the man behind her with a warm grin and a “Good morning.”
“Morning,” he replies, and his voice triggers her memory. Suddenly, they are both eleven years younger, she is Kitty again, and the air is cool and damp with early morning dew. The voice - the same voice, though colder - speaks, and she feels her hopes being dashed, and it hurts as much as it did the first time it happened: “Promises made to terrorists are scarcely obligatory, Ms. Jones.” She is returned sharply to the present as John Mandrake, for of course it is he, shakes her shoulder gently. Christine realizes that she is staring, open-mouthed at him, and that he is holding her gaze, concern in his eyes. “Are you all right?”
She promptly closes her mouth and offers a weak smile. “Yes, thank you.” Her voice comes out high and anxious; she coughs lightly to clear her throat before continuing. “I’m just . . . I’m tired, that’s all. Late night.”
He smiles amiably. “I know what that’s like.” His voice still chills her, and so does his face, now that she looks more closely - the thin cheeks and the sharp angles of the chin and nose and the intensity in the eyes are just as she remembers. “Anyway, I noticed that you dropped this. Fell out of your pocket.”
He holds out a simple brown wallet that Christine immediately recognizes as her own. Her hand flies stupidly to the pocket of her jacket, feeling for what obviously isn’t there, as the magician is holding it up in front of her face.
”Yes,” she says uncertainly. “Thank you.” She accepts the wallet warily. There’s nothing valuable in it - a few old photographs, a tenner, some receipts - but she is glad to have it back from the magician nonetheless. “Yes, it’s mine.”
His grin is fading; he is looking at her as if he has only just noticed her. She hurriedly pulls the brim of her cap down low over her eyes, and begins to walk away. He puts a hand on her arm to stop her, and she turns back toward him, despite old alarms going off in her head. “Wait,” he says, and his voice is no longer friendly and easy. It is scared. “Wait, do I know you?”
”No. I don’t think so.” His eyes are still searching her face. She decides that this encounter has gone on far too long already. “Thank you again. Goodbye.” Christine breaks out of the line and hurries away.
She stays away from the café for weeks afterward, though part of her wants to go back, to see if he’s there, to see if he’s figured out yet whose wallet he so altruistically returned. When she does go back, that same part of her hopes madly that he will be there and is madly disappointed when he is not, but, with some effort, she ignores it. Christine Baker goes on with her life, John Mandrake goes on with his, and the two never so much as lay eyes on each other again. At least, not outside of dreams.