crossover fic meme ficlets
okay, finally done with the comment!fics. i figured i'd post them all as a separate post just so they'd be easier to find. and, yes, I am the kind of freak who can comfortably pre-slash Helen Magnus and Hermione Granger and who can have James D Watson seduce Agent Astrid Farnsworth with science. enjoy :D
Sanctuary/Harry Potter
Magnus/Hermione
prompt: mentor
warning: pre-slashy if you are of that persuasion
(author's note: am rewriting the travesty rather predictable ending of the last novel since Ron's a whiny git who didn’t deserve to live happily ever after with a smart, pretty girl like Hermione ... plus, you know, her dumping his sorry arse leaves the vague possibility of future student/teacher smexiness between her and Magnus. Hot mental images are hot, yes?)
~~~~~
“This would be easier with magic,” she grumbled when her ballpoint pen ran out of ink, reaching for another.
“Miss Granger!” Helen Magnus countered, giving her that quelling look that made more experienced, dangerous individuals than the recent Hogwarts graduate stop short and rethink their arguments. “How many times do I have to tell you that your abilities, while formidable and most impressive, have a time and a place? That place is not five meters away from my quite expensive gas chromatograph. You know what magic does to technology.”
“Sorry,” she whispered, bowing her head and going back to cataloging the tissue samples by hand.
“Oh, there now love. No reason to be so downhearted,” Helen soothed, resting a gentle hand on her shoulder.
“It’s just… magic’s what I’m best at,” she whispered, not looking up from her inventorying.
“If you think that, you sorely underestimate yourself,” Helen told her, giving her shoulder a squeeze.
Hermione looked up in wide-eyed shock, swallowing hard.
“Let’s have a nice cup of tea,” the older woman suggested, steering the young woman from the lab. “I suspect we’re past due for a long talk.”
“Wh…what about?” Hermione whispered, following her up to her office.
“Hush, dear heart,” she answered, smiling warmly and gesturing for her to sit as she rang for tea. “Sit and make yourself comfortable. We’re done with the day’s work. Will is forever commenting that I could benefit from more rest.”
“He was your protégé before me?” she asked, squirming in her place on the loveseat. He was, Hermione gathered, one of the few protégé’s Helen had taken who’d managed to survive the job long enough to earn a promotion.
“He was, the monkey.” She smiled, accepting the tray of tea as her rather furry butler appeared with it. Thanking him, she carried the drinks and snacks over to the coffee table. “It’s a cause of eternal shame that I never managed to make him see the value of having afternoon tea.”
“His loss,” she giggled, reaching for the tray and mixing Helen’s to her preference. It had been strongly suggested to her by the American that learning those preferences would stand Hermione in good stead with her new boss. “But there’s still time, isn’t there?”
“With him in New York? I should have to learn… what do you call it? Apparition?”
“It’s not difficult.”
“I remain dubious as to its safety,” she answered, expression almost prim. “Still, making him eat his words regarding our national beverage…”
“I think you’re up to the challenge.”
“Cheeky,” she answered, tsking at Hermione with a grin.
Smiling and ignoring the shy, fluttery feeling the older woman sometimes gave her, Hermione sipped her tea. “I wish I’d known about this place as a child,” she whispered after a minute. “I always felt so… different growing up.”
“Those with special abilities often do,” Helen sympathized, resting a gentle hand on her knee. “Unfortunately, your ‘Ministry’ has always been rather particular on the subject of Sanctuary ‘interference’ with individuals such as yourself prior to their final indoctrination at an approved school of magic. I personally think that natural, wild-born talents such as yourself fall more under the Sanctuary’s purview, but individuals I trust and respect counseled me against pushing the matter.” Smiling, she sipped her tea and added, “No real harm done at any rate. I got my hands on you in the end.”
She blushed at that, bowing her head. “May I ask why you… wanted me?”
Helen chuckled at that, shaking her head. “You’re brilliant, and quite brave. Do I need additional cause to take an interest?”
“I…” She shrugged. “You haven’t had a witch or wizard for a protégé in almost a hundred years.”
“You know your Sanctuary history,” Helen answered placidly, nodding. “The simple answer is that I have no particular prejudice for or against any group. I require rare and fearless individuals with a great willingness to learn and adapt. Few witches and wizards born to magical families are capable of being sufficiently understanding of Muggles to be of value to the Sanctuary even if they could be persuaded to leave their closed communities. Still, you were born a Muggle and even went so far as to study us from the point of view of the magical world. You are curious and, by far, one of the most tolerant individuals I have ever known. Passionate, too, as your youthful endeavors to earn equal rights for the so-called House Elves proves.”
She blushed at the mention of SPEW, bowing her head and giving an embarrassed laugh. “I guess, in retrospect, I could have found a more tactful approach.”
“When I was that age, I was very much a member of the ‘tact be damned’ school of thought myself,” Helen laughed, offering her a scone. “We’re not so different, you and I, Hermione. Up to and including our impulsivity and impatience.”
She choked on her tea at that assessment, staring at Helen with wide, watering eyes as she struggled to recover her composure.
“No scone, then?” Helen asked with a smile, bringing a cloth napkin to the younger woman’s eyes and dabbing lightly. “As you wish.”
“Sorry. I just…”
“Were surprised, naturally. Not words I utter often, to be sure, but words I stand by. You’re special by dint of your daring and tenacity as well as your passion and talent. You’ll do great things here one day, dear, maybe even bring our two worlds closer together.”
“I… that would be…” She smiled shyly, gratified and humbled beyond words. “Doctor Magnus…”
“Don’t thank me until you realize how much responsibility my faith in a person translates into,” she advised, smirking and pouring them both more tea. “You, my dear, are in for an exhausting several decades.”
END
Sanctuary/Bones
Will Zimmerman/Temperance Brennan
prompt: "I don't know what that means."
“Well, unless our suspect is Wolverine, he’s got to be pretty badly hurt somewhere. Maybe even in a local hospital,” Will noted, eyeing the blood-spattered crime-scene thoughtfully. The victim had fought back and his attacker must have been badly injured to lose that much blood.
For some reason, his observation made the Fed, Booth, smirk and hurry from the room.
“I seriously doubt a wolverine could have caused any of the victim’s injuries,” the forensic anthropologist answered, staring at him like he was an idiot.
He started to grin, then realized that she wasn’t joking. “Not a wolverine. Just… you know, Wolverine.”
She regarded him blankly. “I don’t know what that means.”
“You know, the X-Man. Logan. Metal claws, can heal from almost anything...”
“That seems highly unlikely.”
“He’s a comic character.”
“If you believe he’s capable of this level of violence, there’s hardly anything funny about him.”
Will pinched the bridge of his nose, resisting the urge to pin a diagnosis on the woman. “He’s a comic-book character.”
“Oh! You weren’t suggesting a subject, merely drawing a humorous analogy.” She smiled and nodded, looking pleased with herself for having figured it out.
“Right,” he answered slowly, shaking his head. “Anyway, my point is that there’s probably a local ER that treated this guy shortly after our victim was killed.”
“That would be a reasonable assumption,” she agreed before returning to her scrutiny of the scene. “I meant to tell you earlier,” she added, crouching and peering down at what Will was pretty sure was a splotch of the victim’s brain matter, “you have very impressive physiognomy for an academic and, despite the fact that I find your profession to be little more than outright quackery, your company is not unpleasant.”
Will blinked at that, staring and letting himself go ahead and apply that diagnosis. “Thank you?”
“You’re welcome. Would you like to pursue a physical relationship for the duration of this case?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I was proposing a series of casual sexual encounters. I believe that, as a partner, you would be highly satisfactory and I am versed in multiple techniques from numerous cultures and periods of human history. Given your upper body strength, we could begin with the Suspended Congress.”
Will gaped and barely managed to whisper, “I don’t know what that means…”
END
Castle/Doctor Who
Castle/Eleven
prompt: Castle as a Companion
“Genocidal robots! Oh! My! Gawd!” Castle enthused, already mentally breaking their latest adventure down into a story outline.
His publisher wasn’t happy with his sudden burst of enthusiasm for all things ‘science fiction’ but couldn’t complain given the fact that he was bringing an established following with him and might just convince them to embrace an entirely new genre which could only increase sales.
The Doctor’s boyish face looked momentarily weary. “Richard, the Daleks should inspire fear and disgust, not enthusiasm.”
“Oh, riiiight. Right, sorry,” he answered, composing himself. Mostly. “Not even a little enthusiasm?”
“Did you miss the part where they want to wipe out every other life form in the universe?” Amy scoffed, shaking her head in disgust.
“Pretty sure genocidal covers that. Or should I go bigger?” he asked, suddenly thoughtful. “Since they don’t just want to destroy one race? Omni-genocidal?” he suggested. “Ooh, I like that. The Omni-Genocidal Agenda...”
“That’s good,” the Doctor admitted, face lighting with a slow smile. Ignoring Amy’s disgusted look, he said, “I’d buy a copy.”
“Please, I wouldn’t make you buy it,” he answered, waving a dismissive hand. “Hell, got to send a free copy to the guy the book’s dedicated to.”
“You’re going to dedicate it to me?” he asked, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. “Richard, thank you!”
“Definitely. You’re my inspiration, after all. I’m thinking something along the lines of ‘to the Doctor: thanks for a magic carpet ride I’ll never forget’ or something like that.”
“That’s the sweetest dedication that’s ever been inscribed to me,” the Doctor sighed happily. He spent a moment in quiet, happy reflection, then was his energetic self again. “Well, where to next?”
“Somewhere exciting?” Castle asked hopefully.
“The first expedition to another solar system,” he offered in a coaxing near-purr.
“Sounds interesting, but done to death. Bigger?” he asked, folding his hands in front of him and fluttering his eyelashes.
“Earth's Third Roman Empire,” the Doctor declared, smiling smugly.
“Alternative history!” he exclaimed, nodding and rubbing his hands together. “Can we? Can we, can we, can we?”
“Of course we can. We can go anywhere we chose. After all, I am the Doctor.”
“And I am the Writer. May we?” he asked, grinning and just possibly fluttering his eyelashes a little.
“We may,” the Doctor assured him, nodding and heading over to the central control panel with Castle close on his heels.
END
Being Human/the Middleman
George/Middleman
prompt: over-seas sleeper cell
“You hit me!” George gasped, staring up at the stocky American with wide eyes and clutching his aching and probably bleeding forehead.
The stocky American removed what appeared to be silver-plated brass knuckles and frowned slightly. “No monologue?”
“What?” George asked, frowning and cautiously climbing to his feet.
“I’ve subdued you. This is the part where most villains deliver a monologue about their ridiculously convoluted plan and how it’s sheer elegance in its simplicity,” he explained, looking perplexed.
“I’m not a villain and my only ‘plan’ is to have a happy, quiet, non-dangerous life with my friends and girlfriend!” he squeaked.
“But you are a werewolf?”
“Well, yes,” he answered, squirming. “But not an evil one.”
“A non-evil werewolf?” he asked, confusion only seeming to grow.
“There is such a thing, you know,” George sighed. “Honestly, what cave have you been living in?”
“It’s more of a fake Temp Agency than a cave. We received word that there was a group of several supernatural entities living incognito in Wales and that they were dangerous to local humans. Is that... not the four of you?”
George scoffed since, despite their occasional lapses, they were hardly the most dangerous players on the block.
“Try the S&M vampires if you want hidden dangers.”
The giant, green-clad American’s jaw dropped, his eyes widening. “Did you just say...”
“Yeah.”
“Children of the night!” he breathed with a disgusted expression, making it sound like an oath or curse. “I did not need those mental images.”
“None of us did,” George assured him.
“So you’re telling me that the Welsh Sleeper Cell consists of... sexually deviant vampires?”
“Yes.”
“That’s disgusting.”
“Yes.” George nodded. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I need stitches.”
“I’ll drive you to the emergency room. It’s the least I can do.”
He frowned, perplexed. “You’re very polite for some kind of vigilante against the supernatural.”
“Being a soldier is no excuse not to be a gentleman as well,” he pointed out with a shrug. "One might even suggest that it's my duty to fight the depredations of discourtesy as well as the forces of evil."
“Right, well...”
“My car’s this way.”
“Right, but I don’t generally make a point of accepting rides from strange men before I’ve learned their names.”
“I haven’t had a name in a long time, sir. I’m just the Middleman.”
THE END
Fringe/Sanctuary
Astrid Farsnworth/James Dewey Watson
prompt: none (so I got evil with it)
warning: significant innuendo
Astrid let out a soft, startled chuckle, biting her lip and staring in awe. “It’s... bigger than I thought it would be.”
“Is this my cue to point out that size doesn’t matter?” James Watson purred, drawing closer. “Nervous, Miss Farnsworth?”
“A little. I just never thought you’d actually show it to me,” she explained, feeling breathless.
“Yes, well, my more subtle attempts to win you over were clearly failing,” he noted, almost breathing the words in her ear. “Would you like to touch it?”
She gave a shy giggle at that, biting her lip harder. “Are you sure?”
He smiled gently, reassuringly. “My dear, I never make that offer without being certain of a great many things.” Expression turning almost hungry, he whispered commandingly, ”Do it.”
Breath catching, Astrid reached out, fingers stroking lightly over the firm, smooth surface. “God,” she whispered, eyelids fluttering just slightly.
“Enjoying yourself?” James inquired, grinning from ear to ear.
“I never thought... Wow!” she laughed, grinning breathlessly at the much older man. “It’s in such great shape for its age, too.”
“It’s not as delicate as you think. You don’t have to be so timid. You won’t hurt it. The Lord knows that Francis Crick was never half so gentle with it.”
“I think I’m in love,” she answered, excited to the point of feeling giddy. “You’re amazing, Doctor Watson!”
He chuckled, then tsked gently at her. “Right now, an insecure man might think you only loved him for his mind. Me, I’m just wishing I’d shown you my old DNA model earlier.”
END
House/Torchwood
Gregory House/Jack Harkness
prompt: "How are you not dead?"
warning: it's Jack so there's same-sex flirting
“How are you not dead?!?!” the physician demanded, staring at his 'patient' with wide eyes.
Ooh, busted. Again. Stupid freak accidents.
“It was only a small piano,” Jack pointed out, trying to look innocent.
And, apparently, failing.
“That fell on you from the cargo hold of a plane in flight!”
“Yeah, well...” Jack shrugged, fiddling with his call-button. It was all he could currently reach since the physician had decided to have him put in restraints at some point before he regained consciousness. “The point is that I’m obviously fine so can I please go now?”
“Not until you tell me how you did it,” he answered, limping across the hospital room with a calculating expression.
Great, his doctor was one of those.
“You’ll never replicate it or make a profit off of it. It’s a one-off.”
The other man shrugged. “How old are you?”
“Why?”
“Because you’ve got more injuries than can be accounted for by a man who’s actually as young as you look. Are you ageless, too?”
“Pretty much,” he agreed, nodding. “Will you let me out of these restraints now?”
“What’s the most serious communicable disease you’ve ever suffered?” he demanded, face turning curious and eager.
“Seriously?” Jack laughed, gaping. “I’m at your mercy and that’s what you want to ask?”
“You’re a puzzle. I enjoy those.”
“Let me out of these restraints and I’ll make sure you enjoy a lot more,” he offered, waggling his eyebrows.
“Was that a come-on?”
“Would you like it to have been?”
“Are there more like you?”
“Into orgies?”
“Where are you from?”
“Why do you care?”
“Are you always this evasive?”
“What do you think?”
Abruptly the grizzled doctor threw back his head and laughed, reaching to unstrap Jack’s restraints.
“I like you,” he announced, helping Jack sit. “Buy you a drink?”
“Buy you several?” he offered, mildly intrigued by the unflappable nature of the jaded American.
“If you decide to answer my questions, I’ll probably need them first. Let’s get out of here before the hospital Administrator finds out. Back entrance is this way.”
“Great.” He nodded, climbing to his feet. “I’m Jack.”
“Greg House. Nice to meet you. Now let’s go get wasted.”
“Sounds like a plan, Greg,” Jack agreed, grinning. “Sounds like a plan.”
THE END
so, there you have it, multiple rather weird mashup ficlets. hope you enjoyed :D
Sanctuary/Harry Potter
Magnus/Hermione
prompt: mentor
warning: pre-slashy if you are of that persuasion
(author's note: am rewriting the travesty rather predictable ending of the last novel since Ron's a whiny git who didn’t deserve to live happily ever after with a smart, pretty girl like Hermione ... plus, you know, her dumping his sorry arse leaves the vague possibility of future student/teacher smexiness between her and Magnus. Hot mental images are hot, yes?)
~~~~~
“This would be easier with magic,” she grumbled when her ballpoint pen ran out of ink, reaching for another.
“Miss Granger!” Helen Magnus countered, giving her that quelling look that made more experienced, dangerous individuals than the recent Hogwarts graduate stop short and rethink their arguments. “How many times do I have to tell you that your abilities, while formidable and most impressive, have a time and a place? That place is not five meters away from my quite expensive gas chromatograph. You know what magic does to technology.”
“Sorry,” she whispered, bowing her head and going back to cataloging the tissue samples by hand.
“Oh, there now love. No reason to be so downhearted,” Helen soothed, resting a gentle hand on her shoulder.
“It’s just… magic’s what I’m best at,” she whispered, not looking up from her inventorying.
“If you think that, you sorely underestimate yourself,” Helen told her, giving her shoulder a squeeze.
Hermione looked up in wide-eyed shock, swallowing hard.
“Let’s have a nice cup of tea,” the older woman suggested, steering the young woman from the lab. “I suspect we’re past due for a long talk.”
“Wh…what about?” Hermione whispered, following her up to her office.
“Hush, dear heart,” she answered, smiling warmly and gesturing for her to sit as she rang for tea. “Sit and make yourself comfortable. We’re done with the day’s work. Will is forever commenting that I could benefit from more rest.”
“He was your protégé before me?” she asked, squirming in her place on the loveseat. He was, Hermione gathered, one of the few protégé’s Helen had taken who’d managed to survive the job long enough to earn a promotion.
“He was, the monkey.” She smiled, accepting the tray of tea as her rather furry butler appeared with it. Thanking him, she carried the drinks and snacks over to the coffee table. “It’s a cause of eternal shame that I never managed to make him see the value of having afternoon tea.”
“His loss,” she giggled, reaching for the tray and mixing Helen’s to her preference. It had been strongly suggested to her by the American that learning those preferences would stand Hermione in good stead with her new boss. “But there’s still time, isn’t there?”
“With him in New York? I should have to learn… what do you call it? Apparition?”
“It’s not difficult.”
“I remain dubious as to its safety,” she answered, expression almost prim. “Still, making him eat his words regarding our national beverage…”
“I think you’re up to the challenge.”
“Cheeky,” she answered, tsking at Hermione with a grin.
Smiling and ignoring the shy, fluttery feeling the older woman sometimes gave her, Hermione sipped her tea. “I wish I’d known about this place as a child,” she whispered after a minute. “I always felt so… different growing up.”
“Those with special abilities often do,” Helen sympathized, resting a gentle hand on her knee. “Unfortunately, your ‘Ministry’ has always been rather particular on the subject of Sanctuary ‘interference’ with individuals such as yourself prior to their final indoctrination at an approved school of magic. I personally think that natural, wild-born talents such as yourself fall more under the Sanctuary’s purview, but individuals I trust and respect counseled me against pushing the matter.” Smiling, she sipped her tea and added, “No real harm done at any rate. I got my hands on you in the end.”
She blushed at that, bowing her head. “May I ask why you… wanted me?”
Helen chuckled at that, shaking her head. “You’re brilliant, and quite brave. Do I need additional cause to take an interest?”
“I…” She shrugged. “You haven’t had a witch or wizard for a protégé in almost a hundred years.”
“You know your Sanctuary history,” Helen answered placidly, nodding. “The simple answer is that I have no particular prejudice for or against any group. I require rare and fearless individuals with a great willingness to learn and adapt. Few witches and wizards born to magical families are capable of being sufficiently understanding of Muggles to be of value to the Sanctuary even if they could be persuaded to leave their closed communities. Still, you were born a Muggle and even went so far as to study us from the point of view of the magical world. You are curious and, by far, one of the most tolerant individuals I have ever known. Passionate, too, as your youthful endeavors to earn equal rights for the so-called House Elves proves.”
She blushed at the mention of SPEW, bowing her head and giving an embarrassed laugh. “I guess, in retrospect, I could have found a more tactful approach.”
“When I was that age, I was very much a member of the ‘tact be damned’ school of thought myself,” Helen laughed, offering her a scone. “We’re not so different, you and I, Hermione. Up to and including our impulsivity and impatience.”
She choked on her tea at that assessment, staring at Helen with wide, watering eyes as she struggled to recover her composure.
“No scone, then?” Helen asked with a smile, bringing a cloth napkin to the younger woman’s eyes and dabbing lightly. “As you wish.”
“Sorry. I just…”
“Were surprised, naturally. Not words I utter often, to be sure, but words I stand by. You’re special by dint of your daring and tenacity as well as your passion and talent. You’ll do great things here one day, dear, maybe even bring our two worlds closer together.”
“I… that would be…” She smiled shyly, gratified and humbled beyond words. “Doctor Magnus…”
“Don’t thank me until you realize how much responsibility my faith in a person translates into,” she advised, smirking and pouring them both more tea. “You, my dear, are in for an exhausting several decades.”
END
Sanctuary/Bones
Will Zimmerman/Temperance Brennan
prompt: "I don't know what that means."
“Well, unless our suspect is Wolverine, he’s got to be pretty badly hurt somewhere. Maybe even in a local hospital,” Will noted, eyeing the blood-spattered crime-scene thoughtfully. The victim had fought back and his attacker must have been badly injured to lose that much blood.
For some reason, his observation made the Fed, Booth, smirk and hurry from the room.
“I seriously doubt a wolverine could have caused any of the victim’s injuries,” the forensic anthropologist answered, staring at him like he was an idiot.
He started to grin, then realized that she wasn’t joking. “Not a wolverine. Just… you know, Wolverine.”
She regarded him blankly. “I don’t know what that means.”
“You know, the X-Man. Logan. Metal claws, can heal from almost anything...”
“That seems highly unlikely.”
“He’s a comic character.”
“If you believe he’s capable of this level of violence, there’s hardly anything funny about him.”
Will pinched the bridge of his nose, resisting the urge to pin a diagnosis on the woman. “He’s a comic-book character.”
“Oh! You weren’t suggesting a subject, merely drawing a humorous analogy.” She smiled and nodded, looking pleased with herself for having figured it out.
“Right,” he answered slowly, shaking his head. “Anyway, my point is that there’s probably a local ER that treated this guy shortly after our victim was killed.”
“That would be a reasonable assumption,” she agreed before returning to her scrutiny of the scene. “I meant to tell you earlier,” she added, crouching and peering down at what Will was pretty sure was a splotch of the victim’s brain matter, “you have very impressive physiognomy for an academic and, despite the fact that I find your profession to be little more than outright quackery, your company is not unpleasant.”
Will blinked at that, staring and letting himself go ahead and apply that diagnosis. “Thank you?”
“You’re welcome. Would you like to pursue a physical relationship for the duration of this case?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I was proposing a series of casual sexual encounters. I believe that, as a partner, you would be highly satisfactory and I am versed in multiple techniques from numerous cultures and periods of human history. Given your upper body strength, we could begin with the Suspended Congress.”
Will gaped and barely managed to whisper, “I don’t know what that means…”
END
Castle/Doctor Who
Castle/Eleven
prompt: Castle as a Companion
“Genocidal robots! Oh! My! Gawd!” Castle enthused, already mentally breaking their latest adventure down into a story outline.
His publisher wasn’t happy with his sudden burst of enthusiasm for all things ‘science fiction’ but couldn’t complain given the fact that he was bringing an established following with him and might just convince them to embrace an entirely new genre which could only increase sales.
The Doctor’s boyish face looked momentarily weary. “Richard, the Daleks should inspire fear and disgust, not enthusiasm.”
“Oh, riiiight. Right, sorry,” he answered, composing himself. Mostly. “Not even a little enthusiasm?”
“Did you miss the part where they want to wipe out every other life form in the universe?” Amy scoffed, shaking her head in disgust.
“Pretty sure genocidal covers that. Or should I go bigger?” he asked, suddenly thoughtful. “Since they don’t just want to destroy one race? Omni-genocidal?” he suggested. “Ooh, I like that. The Omni-Genocidal Agenda...”
“That’s good,” the Doctor admitted, face lighting with a slow smile. Ignoring Amy’s disgusted look, he said, “I’d buy a copy.”
“Please, I wouldn’t make you buy it,” he answered, waving a dismissive hand. “Hell, got to send a free copy to the guy the book’s dedicated to.”
“You’re going to dedicate it to me?” he asked, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. “Richard, thank you!”
“Definitely. You’re my inspiration, after all. I’m thinking something along the lines of ‘to the Doctor: thanks for a magic carpet ride I’ll never forget’ or something like that.”
“That’s the sweetest dedication that’s ever been inscribed to me,” the Doctor sighed happily. He spent a moment in quiet, happy reflection, then was his energetic self again. “Well, where to next?”
“Somewhere exciting?” Castle asked hopefully.
“The first expedition to another solar system,” he offered in a coaxing near-purr.
“Sounds interesting, but done to death. Bigger?” he asked, folding his hands in front of him and fluttering his eyelashes.
“Earth's Third Roman Empire,” the Doctor declared, smiling smugly.
“Alternative history!” he exclaimed, nodding and rubbing his hands together. “Can we? Can we, can we, can we?”
“Of course we can. We can go anywhere we chose. After all, I am the Doctor.”
“And I am the Writer. May we?” he asked, grinning and just possibly fluttering his eyelashes a little.
“We may,” the Doctor assured him, nodding and heading over to the central control panel with Castle close on his heels.
END
Being Human/the Middleman
George/Middleman
prompt: over-seas sleeper cell
“You hit me!” George gasped, staring up at the stocky American with wide eyes and clutching his aching and probably bleeding forehead.
The stocky American removed what appeared to be silver-plated brass knuckles and frowned slightly. “No monologue?”
“What?” George asked, frowning and cautiously climbing to his feet.
“I’ve subdued you. This is the part where most villains deliver a monologue about their ridiculously convoluted plan and how it’s sheer elegance in its simplicity,” he explained, looking perplexed.
“I’m not a villain and my only ‘plan’ is to have a happy, quiet, non-dangerous life with my friends and girlfriend!” he squeaked.
“But you are a werewolf?”
“Well, yes,” he answered, squirming. “But not an evil one.”
“A non-evil werewolf?” he asked, confusion only seeming to grow.
“There is such a thing, you know,” George sighed. “Honestly, what cave have you been living in?”
“It’s more of a fake Temp Agency than a cave. We received word that there was a group of several supernatural entities living incognito in Wales and that they were dangerous to local humans. Is that... not the four of you?”
George scoffed since, despite their occasional lapses, they were hardly the most dangerous players on the block.
“Try the S&M vampires if you want hidden dangers.”
The giant, green-clad American’s jaw dropped, his eyes widening. “Did you just say...”
“Yeah.”
“Children of the night!” he breathed with a disgusted expression, making it sound like an oath or curse. “I did not need those mental images.”
“None of us did,” George assured him.
“So you’re telling me that the Welsh Sleeper Cell consists of... sexually deviant vampires?”
“Yes.”
“That’s disgusting.”
“Yes.” George nodded. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I need stitches.”
“I’ll drive you to the emergency room. It’s the least I can do.”
He frowned, perplexed. “You’re very polite for some kind of vigilante against the supernatural.”
“Being a soldier is no excuse not to be a gentleman as well,” he pointed out with a shrug. "One might even suggest that it's my duty to fight the depredations of discourtesy as well as the forces of evil."
“Right, well...”
“My car’s this way.”
“Right, but I don’t generally make a point of accepting rides from strange men before I’ve learned their names.”
“I haven’t had a name in a long time, sir. I’m just the Middleman.”
THE END
Fringe/Sanctuary
Astrid Farsnworth/James Dewey Watson
prompt: none (so I got evil with it)
warning: significant innuendo
Astrid let out a soft, startled chuckle, biting her lip and staring in awe. “It’s... bigger than I thought it would be.”
“Is this my cue to point out that size doesn’t matter?” James Watson purred, drawing closer. “Nervous, Miss Farnsworth?”
“A little. I just never thought you’d actually show it to me,” she explained, feeling breathless.
“Yes, well, my more subtle attempts to win you over were clearly failing,” he noted, almost breathing the words in her ear. “Would you like to touch it?”
She gave a shy giggle at that, biting her lip harder. “Are you sure?”
He smiled gently, reassuringly. “My dear, I never make that offer without being certain of a great many things.” Expression turning almost hungry, he whispered commandingly, ”Do it.”
Breath catching, Astrid reached out, fingers stroking lightly over the firm, smooth surface. “God,” she whispered, eyelids fluttering just slightly.
“Enjoying yourself?” James inquired, grinning from ear to ear.
“I never thought... Wow!” she laughed, grinning breathlessly at the much older man. “It’s in such great shape for its age, too.”
“It’s not as delicate as you think. You don’t have to be so timid. You won’t hurt it. The Lord knows that Francis Crick was never half so gentle with it.”
“I think I’m in love,” she answered, excited to the point of feeling giddy. “You’re amazing, Doctor Watson!”
He chuckled, then tsked gently at her. “Right now, an insecure man might think you only loved him for his mind. Me, I’m just wishing I’d shown you my old DNA model earlier.”
END
House/Torchwood
Gregory House/Jack Harkness
prompt: "How are you not dead?"
warning: it's Jack so there's same-sex flirting
“How are you not dead?!?!” the physician demanded, staring at his 'patient' with wide eyes.
Ooh, busted. Again. Stupid freak accidents.
“It was only a small piano,” Jack pointed out, trying to look innocent.
And, apparently, failing.
“That fell on you from the cargo hold of a plane in flight!”
“Yeah, well...” Jack shrugged, fiddling with his call-button. It was all he could currently reach since the physician had decided to have him put in restraints at some point before he regained consciousness. “The point is that I’m obviously fine so can I please go now?”
“Not until you tell me how you did it,” he answered, limping across the hospital room with a calculating expression.
Great, his doctor was one of those.
“You’ll never replicate it or make a profit off of it. It’s a one-off.”
The other man shrugged. “How old are you?”
“Why?”
“Because you’ve got more injuries than can be accounted for by a man who’s actually as young as you look. Are you ageless, too?”
“Pretty much,” he agreed, nodding. “Will you let me out of these restraints now?”
“What’s the most serious communicable disease you’ve ever suffered?” he demanded, face turning curious and eager.
“Seriously?” Jack laughed, gaping. “I’m at your mercy and that’s what you want to ask?”
“You’re a puzzle. I enjoy those.”
“Let me out of these restraints and I’ll make sure you enjoy a lot more,” he offered, waggling his eyebrows.
“Was that a come-on?”
“Would you like it to have been?”
“Are there more like you?”
“Into orgies?”
“Where are you from?”
“Why do you care?”
“Are you always this evasive?”
“What do you think?”
Abruptly the grizzled doctor threw back his head and laughed, reaching to unstrap Jack’s restraints.
“I like you,” he announced, helping Jack sit. “Buy you a drink?”
“Buy you several?” he offered, mildly intrigued by the unflappable nature of the jaded American.
“If you decide to answer my questions, I’ll probably need them first. Let’s get out of here before the hospital Administrator finds out. Back entrance is this way.”
“Great.” He nodded, climbing to his feet. “I’m Jack.”
“Greg House. Nice to meet you. Now let’s go get wasted.”
“Sounds like a plan, Greg,” Jack agreed, grinning. “Sounds like a plan.”
THE END
so, there you have it, multiple rather weird mashup ficlets. hope you enjoyed :D