Meme Crossover Conversation Ficlets
All the little crossover conversation mini-ficlets from the meme I did the other day
(Torchwood/Primeval) Myfanwy and Rex for avon_09
Myfanwy's downdraft makes the much much smaller flying thing wibble on his perch; he has to spread his stubby wings to stop himself falling.
Afterwards he jumps about in an excitable way. The small flying thing is very excitable.
'Honk, honk, honk, click' 'What do you like to eat?'
'AARRK' it was very difficult to vocalise 'robots in barbecue sauce' but Myfanwy tried her best.
'Honk, honk, click!' 'Metal doesn't taste nice at all' the little flying thing insisted.
Myfanwy tipped her head to the side 'AAARK SCCCRREEEECH!' 'Food that fights back is fun, sharp food fights back more than squishy food!'
The small flying thing bounces some more 'Honk, honk, chitter, chitter' 'I like crunchy sweet things, and sometimes the thin squishy one gives me puffy food that makes me dizzy!'
Myfanwy knows about food that makes you dizzy. The one in the suit that smells like the horrible brown stuff sometimes gives her chocolate...
(Primeval/Ugly Betty) Lester and Marc for noxnoctisanima
"If you'd told me there were dinosaurs I could have worn the plaid, and now instead I'm standing here hyperventilating in cashmere!" Marc's voice is gradually wavering up an octave every second and there's a headache threatening in Lester's future.
"I'm sure when the dinosaurs are eating you the horrified passers by will make a point to be utterly scandalised by your mismatched attire."
Marc doesn't appear to be listening.
"They're going to find my mangled unfashionable body in a field somewhere in shopshire!"
"Shropshire actually," Lester corrects. He pinches the bridge of his nose. "If you wear the combat gear you won't have to match anything, that's the whole point!"
The facial expression he gets for this tells him that this is very much the point. But Lester is a man who can manipulate like no one on the planet. He is perfectly capable of being imaginatively flexible.
"What if I were to tell you that if you wear the Special Forces gear you do in fact get a Special Forces soldier free, as it were."
Ryan is going to kill him.
(Torchwood/Heroes) Ianto Jones and Isaac Mendez for kohl_rimmed_eye
"This is-" Isaac stares into the mug. "This is actually very good coffee, where does it come from."
"I'm not actually allowed to tell you," Ianto says carefully. "Or well yes I am but then I'd have to wipe your memory and leave you in an alley somewhere."
"That wouldn't be the strangest morning I've ever had," Isaac lowers the mug. "In fact that one in particular I'm pretty familiar with."
"I've heard that's a fairly universal reaction to learning you have superpowers, going off the rails."
Isaac stares at him for a long moment.
"I was an addict before I started seeing the future," he admitted. "But if that's why you're here. To make me coffee and tell me you understand what a difficult year I've had. To tell me you know what it's like-"
"I kept my girlfriend in the basement because aliens had turned her into a cyborg killing machine. She went mad, escaped, killed people. She ended up putting her brain into a pizza delivery girl to try and win me back." Ianto says carefully. "My co-workers shot her."
Isaac swallows what he has in his mouth with great difficulty.
"I don't think I could even make that into a comic book," Isaac says carefully. "God how do you even-"
"The coffee helps," Ianto admits.
(Torchwood/POTC) Captain Jack Harness and Captain Jack Sparrow for dr_is_in
"The nice...blue lady has been so kind as to furnish me with an alcoholic beverage of my choice. I picked the green one, for no better reason than it was green." Captain Jack swirls the liquid around in his glass.
"That's not rum, I don't think you'll like that," not-actually-a-captain Jack says and performs some sort of devious magic by absconding with his glass. And this not-actually-a-captain Jack is all devious smiles; not unlike those seen on a hundred back streets (where you're not entirely sure whether you're going to be handing over your virtue or your life.)
He doesn't have a ship though, which makes him not quite so much of a Captain as him.
"Give me back my green drink, so I can decide if I can digest it without terrible consequences or not," Jack says tartly.
Not-actually-a-captain Jack gives him one of those backstreet smiles.
"If you're really, really sure you want to drink the intestinal fluid of something with tentacles-" Not-actually-a-captain Jack pushes it back within reach. "Then be my guest."
Captain Jack eyes the glass, possibly to make absolutely sure nothing with tentacles is going to actually come out of the glass. It is the future after all, and he has some experience with tentacles. They can appear at the most unfortunate of moments.
"I've drunk worse in my time, granted mostly accidentally, at least-" he shudders. "I hope it was accidentally."
"I guarantee you've never drunk anything quite like this." And there's that bloody smile again, like the man is compelled to constantly show you how nice his teeth are.
(Torchwood/House) Owen Harper and Gregory House for partofthequeue2
"You can't have it, it's mine, I killed it, I get to keep it. That's the oldest law on the planet!"
Owen is trying to hold both his temper, his scalpel and one exoskeletal limb, without much success. For a cripple House is both determined and really bloody devious.
"You can't keep it, it's an alien life form."
"It's now my alien life form!" House declares cheerfully, infuriatingly cheerfully.
"Do you even know what this is?" Owen has unfolded one of the creature's retractable eyes.
"Yes, because I learned all my mad doctoring skills on Sesame Street. Anyway that's the fun part later that will involve scalpels and a Polaroid camera! Which I will promptly sell on EBay to put all my children through college."
Owen suspects he's losing here.
"It could have terrible diseases."
House shrugs.
"Then I feel for all the small children who were out there earlier poking it and going 'oh my god look how gross it is. It has an eye coming out of its ass!"
"What!?" Owen drops the limb he's holding and skids out into the corridor. Because now he'll have to phone Jack-
The door locks behind him.
He promptly thumps his head back against it.
"Stupid bastard!"
(Torchwood/Heroes)Captain Jack and Kaito Nakamura/ Captain Jack and Hiro Nakamura for equanimity23
"Ow!"
Jack looks down at the sword currently stuck through his abdomen.
"You know you could have told me stabbing might be an issue here, I wouldn't have worn my nice shirt."
"Immortality is not an excuse to be unprepared," Kaito says carefully, but makes no attempt to unstick Jack. Jack thinks he enjoys the novelty of it.
"You'd be amazed the situations I've been surprisingly prepared for-"
He's foiled in his bid to reminisce when Kaito Nakamura pulls the sword out of his abdomen and takes a swing at him.
"What I'm not allowed to spend a moment bleeding?"
Kaito scowls at him; he's going to accuse him of 'frivolity' at any moment. Jack doesn't mind so much though. He kind of likes the way he pronounces the word 'frivolity.'
"Alien invaders are rarely so kind."
"Alien invaders are almost never kind, I think it's the whole invading thing-"
Jack ducks a head swing.
"Hey, no decapitations!"
Kaito switches mid-turn and Jack ends up with a sword through his shoulder.
"This is, you realise, technically unfair?"
***
"So the going back in time thing-"
"I am not going to abuse my gift!" Hiro Nakamura says, and he sounds like he means it. He straightens his glasses and stares at him. Now that's a resolve face if Jack's ever seen one.
And Jack's seen a lot.
He's also seen a lot of them crumble like one hundred year old cake.
"I know some pretty fantastic things to look at. And I know exactly where I am in every timeline...unless a future me shows up, but I'm fairly certain I'm sensible enough not to run into a future me?" Jack has now gotten himself terribly confused.
Hiro takes the opportunity to commandeer the conversation. "I was told by future me-"
"There's a future you?"
"Yes!" Hiro provides.
Jack swivels from where he's sprawled over one of the wedding reception tables.
"So tell me, are you this cute in the future?"
Hiro blinks at him, and then tries very hard to pretend he isn't embarrassed.
"You're trying to distract me."
"No, I was trying to seduce you, since you accidentally froze the wedding and now no one else is really contributing to the conversation."
(Doctor Who/Life on Mars) Martha Jones and Gene Hunt for aprilechidna5
"I am a Doctor," Martha insists.
"Look love," Gene glares at his own bloody hand. "I'm bleeding like a stuck pig I need medical attention. No offence but I'd rather be seen by a real doctor."
"I am a real doctor," Martha says tightly.
"I've been shot," Gene Hunt says very carefully. "I need an actual Doctor, one who knows what they're doing, one who practised on actual live people."
"Oh you'd be amazed how many lived people I've practised on, not all of them people actually." Martha pulls a face.
Gene glares at her.
"Not all of them live I'd imagine if-"
"Before you finish that sentence bear in mind, that I'm going to have this blunt metal instrument shoved inside you some time in the next twenty minutes. I'm almost certain I'm professional enough to not poke it where it isn't meant to go."
Martha smiles over something sharp and shiny.
"But I'm probably not professional enough to avoid enjoying it if you veer any closer to something you might regret."
She finds the scissors.
"Did I mention I'm from the future?"
Gene Hunt tips his head back against the wall.
"Oh god not another one!"
(SGA/Robin Hood) Ronon Dex and Allan a Dale for emony2
"Why are you wearing pearls?" The question isn't exactly friendly. Though it's not mocking either, it's absent, curious.
"I stole them," Allan provides, and sticks his hands on his hips. This makes the pearls swing in a way he's immediately self-conscious of.
"So you're not some sort of sacrifice?" Dex asks, he looks suspicious.
"I stole them," Allan repeats. "I'm not making some sort of strange fashion statement." He looks at Ronon's hair. "Not that extreme fashion statements are bad mind."
Ronon eyes him a little harder.
"They're a trophy ok, from the loot." He gestures vaguely in a way that's more frustrated than helpful.
"Ah, a trophy, now I understand, I occasionally take trophies too."
Allan eyes him up and down.
"Though clearly nothing that sparkles."
"No," Dex says flatly. "Mostly mine just bleed."
(Being Human/Life on Mars) Mitchell and Gene Hunt for partofthequeue2
"What exactly are you going to arrest me for?"
Gene doesn't seem entirely certain himself.
"Vampirism."
"And which section is that under in the police handbook? Because it's kind of not is it."
"Assault then!"
"She's fine," Mitchell points out.
Because she is, in fact she's forty feet up the road, giggling, and singing Bowie songs.
"You're a bloody vampire, I'm damned if I'm not arresting you for something!"
"So is this the part where you handcuff me?" Mitchell slides his wrists into view.
"You're making this far too easy."
"I'm sorry to disappoint you, honestly I am. Would you prefer a cape, some sort of twenties hairstyle and a terrible aversion to garlic, because I could probably attempt it, given a couple of hours. I'm afraid I'm a little lacking on the dramatic chase round a Bavarian castle though."
Gene handcuffs him, then swings the door of the Cortina open.
"Just get in the bloody car, I'll think of something."
(Torchwood/Primeval) Captain Jack and Connor Temple for fatchickengirl
"And umm, the grid there shows us where the anomaly turns up, if it's in England that is." Connor stretches over the machine to point out the statistics. He leans a little further than he really needs to, and Jack doesn't miss it.
"Really?"
Connor tips his head sideways.
"Yeah-" He's clearly found himself closer to Jack than he expected and his mouth moves without producing sound for a long second. "Umm."
"England," Jack prods, and he fights a smile that he thinks might encourage misbehaviour. This is far too interesting.
"Umm well we could do the whole world but it'd need ridiculous amounts of power." There's a pause. Jack suspects Connor has gotten distracted by his hair. Or possibly in his hair.
"Power?" he reminds quietly.
"Oh and there wouldn't be much point since it would take us an age to get there. And I don't think our governments big on the telling other people stuff."
"Our government isn't even fond of sharing information among themselves."
"Aren't you technically American?" Connor asks.
"According to certain medical tests I'm not even human."
There's a brief burst of warm air across Jack's cheek.
"Oh," Connor says quietly, though there's a whole world in that word.
Jack waits, it takes exactly four seconds before there are narrow fingers on the edge of his jaw, pulling it all the way round.
Then he's being very enthusiastically kissed against a protesting anomaly detector.
It's the best Thursday he's had for ages!
(Robin Hood/Torchwood) Much and Ianto Jones for dontburnhot
"What is this again?"
"It's called coffee," Ianto provides.
"I think it's the most horrible thing I've ever drunk in my life," Much says despairingly into the mug. "And I've drunk some horrible things."
"It's not for everyone," Ianto allows. "It's a stimulant."
Much gives him a blank look.
"It keeps you awake."
Much looks horrified.
"A horrible drink that doesn't let you sleep. And you offered it to me, and I expected it to be nice. This isn't a drink you should give to people you like. It's like drinking shoes!"
"I think there's some tea?" Ianto says carefully.
"I'm going to hate the future, I know I am. Horrible drinks that taste like shoes and won't let you sleep. Everything huge and loud and trying to run you over!"
"I think there's a packet of chocolate biscuits in the cupboard," Ianto offers.
"What's chocolate?"
Ianto provides biscuit assistance.
Fifteen minutes later there are no biscuits.
"Alright maybe the future isn't that horrible," Much allows.
(Primeval/The Mighty Boosh) Stephen Hart and Vince Noir for iniq
This is the most bizarre conversation Stephen Hart has ever had in his life.
"The dinosaur spoke to you?"
"His name's Winston," Vince Noir supplies "Though it's understandable that you didn't know that. He doesn't really like it spread about. It's an old fashioned name, other dinosaurs make fun of him."
The dinosaur nods, and then manages to look spikily embarrassed.
"Wha?" Stephen's gun hits the ground and he can't seem to manage to pick it up again.
"And he's worried that you're working too hard," Vince offers. "He says last year you would have caught him no problem, a little stalking round a warehouse, a bit of chasing through the corduroy trousers section of Marks and Spencers and you would have had him with the tranquilisers.
"What?"
"He's been in his nest chewing on a forest ranger, thinking you just don't care anymore. He says he almost made it off with that small child in the fireman outfit while you were still deciding which gun to bring."
"Who are you?" Stephen hears himself say, with a vague air of bewilderment.
"I'm just a concerned passer by, trying to bring man and dinosaur together. Your minds not on the game Hart, it's disturbed it's unhappy."
"Umm, but why does-" Stephen stops himself mid sentence, then looks around, the warehouse is deserted. "Why does the dinosaur know that?" He forces himself to ask.
"Between you and me," Vince says with a hand across the corner of his mouth. "I think he kind of fancies you."
(CSI: NY/BTVS) Don Flack and Spike for enchantersnight
When Spike stops being unconscious he finds a nice officer of the law glaring at him.
"You want to explain why you're laying on the freeway," he says grumpily.
"I was thrown here by a demon with fire coming out of its mouth," Spike says, which is the truth as much as he remembers it.
"Uh huh," the blurry figure says and Spike suspects this means that the nice officer of the law does not believe in either the demon or the fiery vomit.
Which will be unfortunate when he makes it down the hill and sets light to the traffic.
"Could I have that again, in a way that doesn't involve the words 'demon' or 'fire coming out of its mouth?'"
Spike thinks about it for a minute.
"Large, angry, lots of teeth, tendency to go 'Rawr!' Very unpleasant fellow," Spike drags himself to a sit and learns, painfully, that all his ribs still belong to him. "Bloody good throwing arm though!"
"This was much easier when you were dead," the officer of the law tells him.
"You don't seem all that surprised that I'm not," Spike tells him, because usually there's more screaming, occasionally people even faint.
"This is my surprised face," the cop tells him. And this is New York after all, so it probably is. People in New York are hard to surprise.
"Ah, well that explains a lot."
(Hex/Heroes) Jez and Sylar for dontburnhot
"You're not a priest," Sylar says carefully the moment he sees him.
It makes a nice change.
"And you're not quite the helpless sheep bleeding in my church are you?" Jez counters.
Sylar snarls at him, and there's something beautifully human in its threat.
"Gabriel, now that rolls off of the tongue in a way it really shouldn't don't you think. So much tongue in such a holy name shouldn't be right should it?"
"How do you know my name?" Sylar's bleeding on the altar, one arm curled round the edge of a listing statue. He's trying to drag himself up to a sit.
Jez ignores the question.
"People come into churches for refuge when they're at their weakest."
Jez drags a perfectly polished shoe through the wet red trail Sylar has left behind.
"Do you know how I know that?"
"Because you're special," Sylar says roughly and he never takes his eyes off of him. He knows he's being stalked and he doesn't like it.
"Not in the way you're special, and I say special but applying that to me is...complicated."
Sylar watches him come closer like he's trying to decide if he's still capable of lunging and taking him apart. Jez doesn't try and convince him otherwise. He's not responsible for people's stupidities.
But Sylar isn't quite that stupid.
"They come to churches to seek refuge. But it never occurs to people that that makes it a perfect place to wait. The perfect place to sharpen your teeth and wait. Eventually people just come to you."
This time the tension is almost beautiful to watch.
"Oh I wouldn't if I were you, cut my head open and you might not like what you find inside."
"And what would I find inside?"
"Blood and fire," Jez says simply. He looks around, follows the blood trail with his eyes all the way to the door.
"You wouldn't believe the things I've done inside a church...."
(SGA/Numbers) Evan Lorne and Colby Granger for bergann
"You're going to do yourself a serious injury one day you know. Firearms shouldn't be kept pointed towards anything you want to keep." Lorne is resisting the urge to ask how the hell he sits down with that thing pushed in so deep.
"I like to know I can get to it in emergencies," Colby offers and Lorne knows something about gun emergencies. But that's just wrong, and also kind of dirty. It's the sort of place that looks really cool but is neither comfortable nor practical and he refuses to believe that Colby has made it work.
"Yeah but you're not the only one, anyone standing behind you can grab it out of there and go blowing your damn head off."
"I don't let people get behind me, and if it looks in any way threatening then I'm carrying it."
"Anyone can sneak up behind you," Lorne points out. "Unexpected ambush by Wraiths-"
"By what?"
"Columbian drug dealers?" Lorne offers. It's been a while since he's sweated domestic threats. He's starting to worry that he's developed an unnatural suspicion of anything blue...or made of tiny robots.
Though he has also developed a rather unfortunate reflex for doing what smart people tell him to do, immediately, every damn time.
He's turned into Pavlov's guard dog.
McKay is going to say something humiliating about that if he ever finds out.
"Try it," Colby says suddenly.
"What?"
"Put it down the back of your pants and try it before you dismiss it completely."
Lorne wavers.
"Just do it."
Very reluctantly, he does.
"Now pull it out."
Lorne exhales loudly and does as he's told.
There's a very short pause.
"That's just about the filthiest- I can't believe you get away with that in the FBI."
(SGA/Numbers) Evan Lorne and Colby Granger for bergann
"And then-" Lorne frowns and tips his beer in apology. "Actually I can't tell you what happened next, since it's classified...but it was messy."
"Tell me something that isn't classified?" Colby says, he doesn't want to push but he's half desperate to know something, to get Lorne to talk about something. If only just as an excuse to keep him here just a little longer.
But Lorne nods, like it's a fair question, tips his head to one side while he thinks, then he smiles.
"The scientists make their own ocean waves," he says quietly, and Colby suspects this is skirting right on the edge of not classified. "The surfing is amazing."
The smile opens at the edges, makes him look younger, taste of recklessness that Colby doesn't think he's seen before.
Colby wants, crazily, to tell him how good it makes him look, wants to say something, is half afraid he will say something, but he thinks it'll probably come out sounding stupid.
Still, staring at him like an idiot isn't an option either.
"You want another beer?"
Lorne checks the level of the one he's already holding, finds it mostly empty.
"Sure," he says loosely, and the smile opens up a little.
Colby slips the bottle out of his hand, steps past him and into the kitchen.
The bottles are cold, and he's half tempted to press one against his skin for a second, to feel it seep all the way through, give him a little focus, a little calm.
It's still early enough that the world doesn't need either one of them, it can go on without them for a while. They keep strange hours, go when they're needed, where they're needed in Lorne's case, wherever that is he can't tell, and Colby won't ask.
He carries two bottles back, hung cold and slick between his fingers, sets them on the table and sinks back into the couch.
He slides back into the same space, elbow flung over the arm, one knee almost shoved into the table.
But Lorne is noticeably closer than he was before.
It could just as easily be an accident, a loose stretch of limbs, where Lorne's pushed over while he was gone, spreading innocently on Colby's couch.
But if it isn't, if there's any way it's not.
He tips his head sideways
"Evan?" It's not just a name it's a whole mess of questions that Colby doesn't know how to ask. He thinks he's too new at this to get it right.
"Yeah," Lorne says, deep in his throat, and doesn't move away. Slide of something behind his eyes, he's too good at this, too good at this careful, smooth relaxation that could be anything at all. And Colby can't manage those last few inches, can't take a chance, he's stilled by a streak of uncertainty, that he's not prepared for.
Lorne's apparently braver than him, he digs a hand in his hair, makes Colby take a breath at the surety of it, and then pulls him the rest of the way.
He tastes like cheap beer, mouth warm and open straight away, like maybe he wanted Colby to kiss him all along. Colby wishes he'd said something sooner.
But Lorne moves into Colby like now is good enough, he takes Colby's restless pushing fingers as a hint, and Colby's inhaling long faded aftershave when Lorne drags his shirt over his head. He's a push of weight into Colby's chest, always combat ready in that slow, lazy, effortless way that Colby just wants to feel, fingers digging recklessly, greedily, into bare skin. He thinks it's too hard, but he can't not touch when he's been watching all night. But Lorne shifts under his hands like he doesn't mind.
The bottles run wet on the table, left in a slant of sunlit.
They gradually grow warm.
(Torchwood/Numbers) Jack Harkness and Ian Edgerton for mercilynn
"You know you're actually the best shot in the country," Jack says absently.
"What?" Ian Edgerton stops cleaning the pieces of his disassembled rifle and gives Jack his full attention.
"Well two of the other four are robots, one of them is an Alberran assassin who can see in the dark and the other is so jammed full of nanites he could hit a biscuit on the moon."
"Seriously?"
"Uh huh, you're pretty much the best shot on the planet that's actually human in fact."
"And I'm not allowed to tell anyone this," Ian complains quietly.
"Well you probably could, but then you'd be practicing your shooting techniques from inside a small room. Though on the bright side they'd get you a jacket you'd be able to hug yourself in."
(Torchwood/Numbers) Don Eppes and Owen Harper for mercilynn
"I'm having a hallucination?" Special agent Don Eppes tells Owen.
Which is nice.
"If you are having a hallucination it isn't a very good one," Owen tells him.
Currently Don Eppes is bleeding through what is clearly an enthusiastic puncture wound. Owen only has so many hands and trying to stop him bleeding and keep him still and not pull out whatever is left inside his abdomen is taking up all of them.
"I'm hallucinating," Don insists. "Someone gave me something and this isn't real."
"Yes," Owen says testily. "Yes you're having a hallucination that a giant alien dragonfly tried to eat you. And you're also hallucinating me and your gruesome stomach wound and all this very important blood! All a hallucination."
"Jesus christ this fucking hurts!" Don insists, and makes his point by smacking Owen's arm out of the way.
"I'm sorry did you want some actual drugs for your hallucination of pain?" Owen says crossly. "That doesn't seem very professional."
Something hits the floor with a crash, and Don snatches up the front of his shirt.
"If this isn't, in fact, a hallucination and there are giant alien bugs, one of which has currently stabbed me. Then the fact that you're not giving me drugs makes you an asshole!" Don Eppes tells him, loudly.
Shouting and outrage really aren't good for Eppes blood loss situation but the patient is always more likely to pay attention if he thinks you're real.
(SGA/Ugly Betty) McKay and Marc for lazydaisy501
McKay is having a panic attack, loudly and energetically.
Marc is panicking less energetically, because really that's just embarrassing. He's found a less than comfortable spot against the other wall, that's going to ruin his fourth favourite jacket. But you have to make sacrifices for cave-ins after all.
Also, there's really not enough room to both panic at the same time.
"Howling and screaming and pounding on the door is not going to help," Marc tells him. "You'll just be all sweaty and crazy looking when someone finally does come to rescue us."
"This is all your fault, you and your ridiculously nosey fingers!" McKay does something complicated with his hands that's half-way between seizure and 'urge to strangle.' "If you'd just for one second stop touching things when I told you to!"
"My nosey fingers," Marc swivels his head round. "You were the one poking things and 'oohing' and having physics orgasms over the yard sale trinkets." Marc picks up one of the so called trinkets then drops it in disgust and searches for somewhere to wipe his fingers. "I did nothing, I followed you and your ridiculous trail of enthusiasm and your-" Marc makes air quotes. "'Utterly makes no sense-ness'"
"I don't expect you to understand, of course, what with your degree in fashion!" The word drips off the end of the sentence like something toxic.
"Oh yes, let's pretend we weren't both the kids who got beat up in high school and squabble amongst ourselves."
"I never got beaten up in high school," McKay protests, loudly, twice. "I had better things to do."
Marc eyes him sideways.
"Oh god, you were one of those sad little geniuses that were about eight in high school weren't you. That used to follow the girls around trying to get a look down their top while at the same time demeaning them for their shallowness."
"I like to think I had a little more maturity than that, thank you very much."
"Maturity enough to know the difference between a music lesson and potential social humiliation?"
McKay rounds on him looking slightly scandalised.
"How the hell do you know that?"
"My degree in fashion tells me so," Marc snaps.
(TSCC/Firefly) Sarah Connor and Zoe Washburn for indyhat
"That's a serious collection of guns."
"You can never have enough guns," Sarah said over the near silent sound of a cloth sliding back and forth, back and forth, over cold metal.
Zoe inclined her head, in a way that managed to both agree and be amused at the concept.
"Never had cause to take on a robot myself," Zoe admitted, she put her boots up on the other chair, turned a disassembled piece over and over between her fingers. "Never had to take on anything that didn't bleed and die eventually."
"You can kill them," Sarah paused, looked up. "But it's hard, it's hard to break them apart, smash them up, that's a metal body inside that doesn't want to die, no matter how hard you try to put it down."
"But I think you've killed a fair few," Zoe said carefully, but she knew there was more to it than that, this women had seen a lot of lines, and stepped straight over them. For her son. "They can't be all that indestructible."
"I only get to die once," Sarah said simply. She paused in her cleaning to look up. "John only gets to die once."
"Living for tomorrow, always for tomorrow must be hard," Zoe murmured.
"We're still alive." The gun snapped together in pieces under practiced hands. "That's good enough."
(Good Omens/Black Books) Aziraphale and Bernard Black for capn_mactastic
The shop smells a little bit like Crowley's apartment.
"Do you have a-"
The owner, Bernard, points at a sign without looking up from his book.
"Do not feed the Egrets?" Aziraphale reads, which is either some sort of metaphor, or there are actual Egrets?
The finger waves again, more random but slightly more directed at the notation on the bottom of the sign. It says 'Customers must not be annoying' the original version involved more swearing but someone has crossed it out with red pen.
"Do you have-"
"No," Bernard says around the end of a cigarette.
"I can actually see it from here," Aziraphale offers.
"No, we don't have any books at all, none!" Bernard insists, loudly, twice.
Aziraphale looks around, at what is clearly a book-laden space.
"You appear to, in fact, have rather a lot of books," he says politely.
"Oh them! Bernard feigns surprise. "They're a hallucination, there's LSD in the wallpaper."
Aziraphale raises an eyebrow.
"I don't actually exist," Bernard admits.
Aziraphale works through the problem.
"If I get it myself and pay for it without bothering you, I'll go away," Aziraphale says sensibly.
"Fine, fine, do it and go away then." Bernard waves an imperious hand and goes back to his book.
(House/BTVS) House and Buffy and Angel for jack_magic
The stethoscope is useless. House works this out straight away.
"He's dead," he supplies. Which is perhaps one of his quickest diagnoses ever.
Though granted he's not acting dead. Slumped over the minuscule poppet's shoulder like some sort of heavy and very pale ornament.
"He's sick!"
And granted he is doing a very good job of looking sick, pale, shaking, blood in his eyes and nose. But it doesn't count, because he's dead.
"No, he's dead."
The man, Angel, which what the hell, because that is the sort of name you bestow on a transvestite hooker and not your strapping young lad, coughs up enough blood to paint half the town and then wheezes.
"He's dead and therefore I'm no longer obliged to treat him. Dead people do not get medical care. Dead people shouldn't need medical care, what with the being dead. It's not my fault that your friend isn't laying very still and rotting. It's clearly stubbornness on his part."
"I was told you were the best, that you took unique cases." There's a thread of desperation in her voice and, judging by the way she shifts the man's entire weight from her shoulder to her neck when he slides down, Angel is not the only one who's unique.
"Look B-," House stops, pulls a face. "No I'm sorry I flatly refuse to call anyone over the age of five 'Buffy' you can now be Miss Summers so I'm compelled to treat you like a grown-up. Miss Summers your friend is so far beyond unique- Shall I say the V word? Do you want me to say it in front of all these..." House looks around. "Diseased people?"
"Are you going to help us or not?"
House pulls another face, this one more complicated than the last.
"Meet me in the basement in fifteen minutes."
(Doctor Who/Life on Mars) The Master and Sam Tyler for master_kogane
"No, absolutely not!" Sam protests.
"You're already mad," the Master says sensibly. "You've already skipped over the line of common sense and gone careening straight into the wilds of barking lunacy."
"And you'd know something about that clearly."
The Master feigns hurt and it's beyond strange to see that reflected on a face that looks so astonishingly like his own.
"I like to think I'm not quite a lunatic yet," Sam protests. "I may see things occasionally-"
"That come out of the television," the Master adds. "In a hundred years that will be a gimic you know, amusing children for miles around. Still things that come out of the television." The Master wiggles his fingers in a way that Sam suspects is supposed to be spooky, then shakes his head.
"I've never actually seen her come out of the television," Sam says tightly. "And I know she's just an hallucination. But what about you, you're not exactly playing with a full deck yourself, and you're technically an alien bent on universal chaos and destruction. I really don't think I should be listening to your advice on hallucinations."
"Sam Tyler, I believe you're developing a backbone, I don't know whether to punish you or applaud!" The Master pauses to think about it, which is probably not a good sign, but Sam isn't in the mood to hear it.
He tips backwards on the bed and exhales loudly.
"Can I at least, occasionally, be disturbed by how weird this is?"
The Master slithers up the bed until he can peer down at him, and it's just perfect that Sam's the one who's supposed to be crazy.
"Oh do be quiet, or next time you'll wake up in the middle ages."
(Supernatural/Life on Mars) John Winchester and Gene Hunt for harem_ent
"I think you took a wrong turn somewhere," Hunt says around the end of his cigarette.
"I go where the monsters are," John says simply.
DCI Hunt raises an eyebrow.
The early light shines off of the contents of the boot, a neatly strapped collection of silver and steel, wooden stocks and a dozen smaller pieces that promise, if not death, then at least a considerable amount of pain.
"Define 'monsters' in a way that's going to make me happy Mr Winchester."
"I've never used anything in there on a man," John says smoothly. "And never on anything that didn't deserve it."
"Oh I've known a fair few men that deserve that," Hunt says carefully.
"That's your job, not mine," John says quietly.
"Damn right it is." Hunt makes a noise in the back of his throat which isn't amused, then slams the boot shut leans on it.
"I don't go on duty for another hour," Hunt says roughly.
John stares back passively, which gets him nothing but a glare.
"Still, can't let a bloke drive around my city in a car that looks like it's armed for a small war-" Hunt snatches the cigarette out of his mouth. "So get your arse out of if or I will have to arrest you."
"Understood," John tells him.
(Firefly/Heroes) River Tam and Sylar for
shizuka_blooms
"I can see through you," River says quietly. She's not looking at him yet, but then she doesn't have to. She can see, like glass, like frosted glass run through with red.
Sylar moves to try and meet her eyes, River stares at her own toes instead. They are a focal point, they are real, immutable.
"What do you see?" Curious, curious as a cat, and just as likely to scratch her eyes out.
"I can see what you're made of," she offers. She does look at him then, through her hair, kneads the air with her own claws, and she thinks he can see them too.
"What am I made of?" His voice is low, deep, it's the purr of cat but it's not pleased. It's not warm and stretch and sunshine.
"Not what you think."
He's made of need, everything is a mask, a disguise, facade, camouflage, cloak, costume.
All that's underneath is need, sharp and suffocating.
River leans close, leans until she's balanced on her toes, tipped an inch from falling.
But she mustn't fall, because his eyes won't catch her.
"You're turning yourself into a jig-saw puzzle, but you should be careful, you're made of brittle pieces Gabriel, brittle pieces."
(Torchwood/Primeval) Myfanwy and Rex for avon_09
Myfanwy's downdraft makes the much much smaller flying thing wibble on his perch; he has to spread his stubby wings to stop himself falling.
Afterwards he jumps about in an excitable way. The small flying thing is very excitable.
'Honk, honk, honk, click' 'What do you like to eat?'
'AARRK' it was very difficult to vocalise 'robots in barbecue sauce' but Myfanwy tried her best.
'Honk, honk, click!' 'Metal doesn't taste nice at all' the little flying thing insisted.
Myfanwy tipped her head to the side 'AAARK SCCCRREEEECH!' 'Food that fights back is fun, sharp food fights back more than squishy food!'
The small flying thing bounces some more 'Honk, honk, chitter, chitter' 'I like crunchy sweet things, and sometimes the thin squishy one gives me puffy food that makes me dizzy!'
Myfanwy knows about food that makes you dizzy. The one in the suit that smells like the horrible brown stuff sometimes gives her chocolate...
(Primeval/Ugly Betty) Lester and Marc for noxnoctisanima
"If you'd told me there were dinosaurs I could have worn the plaid, and now instead I'm standing here hyperventilating in cashmere!" Marc's voice is gradually wavering up an octave every second and there's a headache threatening in Lester's future.
"I'm sure when the dinosaurs are eating you the horrified passers by will make a point to be utterly scandalised by your mismatched attire."
Marc doesn't appear to be listening.
"They're going to find my mangled unfashionable body in a field somewhere in shopshire!"
"Shropshire actually," Lester corrects. He pinches the bridge of his nose. "If you wear the combat gear you won't have to match anything, that's the whole point!"
The facial expression he gets for this tells him that this is very much the point. But Lester is a man who can manipulate like no one on the planet. He is perfectly capable of being imaginatively flexible.
"What if I were to tell you that if you wear the Special Forces gear you do in fact get a Special Forces soldier free, as it were."
Ryan is going to kill him.
(Torchwood/Heroes) Ianto Jones and Isaac Mendez for kohl_rimmed_eye
"This is-" Isaac stares into the mug. "This is actually very good coffee, where does it come from."
"I'm not actually allowed to tell you," Ianto says carefully. "Or well yes I am but then I'd have to wipe your memory and leave you in an alley somewhere."
"That wouldn't be the strangest morning I've ever had," Isaac lowers the mug. "In fact that one in particular I'm pretty familiar with."
"I've heard that's a fairly universal reaction to learning you have superpowers, going off the rails."
Isaac stares at him for a long moment.
"I was an addict before I started seeing the future," he admitted. "But if that's why you're here. To make me coffee and tell me you understand what a difficult year I've had. To tell me you know what it's like-"
"I kept my girlfriend in the basement because aliens had turned her into a cyborg killing machine. She went mad, escaped, killed people. She ended up putting her brain into a pizza delivery girl to try and win me back." Ianto says carefully. "My co-workers shot her."
Isaac swallows what he has in his mouth with great difficulty.
"I don't think I could even make that into a comic book," Isaac says carefully. "God how do you even-"
"The coffee helps," Ianto admits.
(Torchwood/POTC) Captain Jack Harness and Captain Jack Sparrow for dr_is_in
"The nice...blue lady has been so kind as to furnish me with an alcoholic beverage of my choice. I picked the green one, for no better reason than it was green." Captain Jack swirls the liquid around in his glass.
"That's not rum, I don't think you'll like that," not-actually-a-captain Jack says and performs some sort of devious magic by absconding with his glass. And this not-actually-a-captain Jack is all devious smiles; not unlike those seen on a hundred back streets (where you're not entirely sure whether you're going to be handing over your virtue or your life.)
He doesn't have a ship though, which makes him not quite so much of a Captain as him.
"Give me back my green drink, so I can decide if I can digest it without terrible consequences or not," Jack says tartly.
Not-actually-a-captain Jack gives him one of those backstreet smiles.
"If you're really, really sure you want to drink the intestinal fluid of something with tentacles-" Not-actually-a-captain Jack pushes it back within reach. "Then be my guest."
Captain Jack eyes the glass, possibly to make absolutely sure nothing with tentacles is going to actually come out of the glass. It is the future after all, and he has some experience with tentacles. They can appear at the most unfortunate of moments.
"I've drunk worse in my time, granted mostly accidentally, at least-" he shudders. "I hope it was accidentally."
"I guarantee you've never drunk anything quite like this." And there's that bloody smile again, like the man is compelled to constantly show you how nice his teeth are.
(Torchwood/House) Owen Harper and Gregory House for partofthequeue2
"You can't have it, it's mine, I killed it, I get to keep it. That's the oldest law on the planet!"
Owen is trying to hold both his temper, his scalpel and one exoskeletal limb, without much success. For a cripple House is both determined and really bloody devious.
"You can't keep it, it's an alien life form."
"It's now my alien life form!" House declares cheerfully, infuriatingly cheerfully.
"Do you even know what this is?" Owen has unfolded one of the creature's retractable eyes.
"Yes, because I learned all my mad doctoring skills on Sesame Street. Anyway that's the fun part later that will involve scalpels and a Polaroid camera! Which I will promptly sell on EBay to put all my children through college."
Owen suspects he's losing here.
"It could have terrible diseases."
House shrugs.
"Then I feel for all the small children who were out there earlier poking it and going 'oh my god look how gross it is. It has an eye coming out of its ass!"
"What!?" Owen drops the limb he's holding and skids out into the corridor. Because now he'll have to phone Jack-
The door locks behind him.
He promptly thumps his head back against it.
"Stupid bastard!"
(Torchwood/Heroes)Captain Jack and Kaito Nakamura/ Captain Jack and Hiro Nakamura for equanimity23
"Ow!"
Jack looks down at the sword currently stuck through his abdomen.
"You know you could have told me stabbing might be an issue here, I wouldn't have worn my nice shirt."
"Immortality is not an excuse to be unprepared," Kaito says carefully, but makes no attempt to unstick Jack. Jack thinks he enjoys the novelty of it.
"You'd be amazed the situations I've been surprisingly prepared for-"
He's foiled in his bid to reminisce when Kaito Nakamura pulls the sword out of his abdomen and takes a swing at him.
"What I'm not allowed to spend a moment bleeding?"
Kaito scowls at him; he's going to accuse him of 'frivolity' at any moment. Jack doesn't mind so much though. He kind of likes the way he pronounces the word 'frivolity.'
"Alien invaders are rarely so kind."
"Alien invaders are almost never kind, I think it's the whole invading thing-"
Jack ducks a head swing.
"Hey, no decapitations!"
Kaito switches mid-turn and Jack ends up with a sword through his shoulder.
"This is, you realise, technically unfair?"
***
"So the going back in time thing-"
"I am not going to abuse my gift!" Hiro Nakamura says, and he sounds like he means it. He straightens his glasses and stares at him. Now that's a resolve face if Jack's ever seen one.
And Jack's seen a lot.
He's also seen a lot of them crumble like one hundred year old cake.
"I know some pretty fantastic things to look at. And I know exactly where I am in every timeline...unless a future me shows up, but I'm fairly certain I'm sensible enough not to run into a future me?" Jack has now gotten himself terribly confused.
Hiro takes the opportunity to commandeer the conversation. "I was told by future me-"
"There's a future you?"
"Yes!" Hiro provides.
Jack swivels from where he's sprawled over one of the wedding reception tables.
"So tell me, are you this cute in the future?"
Hiro blinks at him, and then tries very hard to pretend he isn't embarrassed.
"You're trying to distract me."
"No, I was trying to seduce you, since you accidentally froze the wedding and now no one else is really contributing to the conversation."
(Doctor Who/Life on Mars) Martha Jones and Gene Hunt for aprilechidna5
"I am a Doctor," Martha insists.
"Look love," Gene glares at his own bloody hand. "I'm bleeding like a stuck pig I need medical attention. No offence but I'd rather be seen by a real doctor."
"I am a real doctor," Martha says tightly.
"I've been shot," Gene Hunt says very carefully. "I need an actual Doctor, one who knows what they're doing, one who practised on actual live people."
"Oh you'd be amazed how many lived people I've practised on, not all of them people actually." Martha pulls a face.
Gene glares at her.
"Not all of them live I'd imagine if-"
"Before you finish that sentence bear in mind, that I'm going to have this blunt metal instrument shoved inside you some time in the next twenty minutes. I'm almost certain I'm professional enough to not poke it where it isn't meant to go."
Martha smiles over something sharp and shiny.
"But I'm probably not professional enough to avoid enjoying it if you veer any closer to something you might regret."
She finds the scissors.
"Did I mention I'm from the future?"
Gene Hunt tips his head back against the wall.
"Oh god not another one!"
(SGA/Robin Hood) Ronon Dex and Allan a Dale for emony2
"Why are you wearing pearls?" The question isn't exactly friendly. Though it's not mocking either, it's absent, curious.
"I stole them," Allan provides, and sticks his hands on his hips. This makes the pearls swing in a way he's immediately self-conscious of.
"So you're not some sort of sacrifice?" Dex asks, he looks suspicious.
"I stole them," Allan repeats. "I'm not making some sort of strange fashion statement." He looks at Ronon's hair. "Not that extreme fashion statements are bad mind."
Ronon eyes him a little harder.
"They're a trophy ok, from the loot." He gestures vaguely in a way that's more frustrated than helpful.
"Ah, a trophy, now I understand, I occasionally take trophies too."
Allan eyes him up and down.
"Though clearly nothing that sparkles."
"No," Dex says flatly. "Mostly mine just bleed."
(Being Human/Life on Mars) Mitchell and Gene Hunt for partofthequeue2
"What exactly are you going to arrest me for?"
Gene doesn't seem entirely certain himself.
"Vampirism."
"And which section is that under in the police handbook? Because it's kind of not is it."
"Assault then!"
"She's fine," Mitchell points out.
Because she is, in fact she's forty feet up the road, giggling, and singing Bowie songs.
"You're a bloody vampire, I'm damned if I'm not arresting you for something!"
"So is this the part where you handcuff me?" Mitchell slides his wrists into view.
"You're making this far too easy."
"I'm sorry to disappoint you, honestly I am. Would you prefer a cape, some sort of twenties hairstyle and a terrible aversion to garlic, because I could probably attempt it, given a couple of hours. I'm afraid I'm a little lacking on the dramatic chase round a Bavarian castle though."
Gene handcuffs him, then swings the door of the Cortina open.
"Just get in the bloody car, I'll think of something."
(Torchwood/Primeval) Captain Jack and Connor Temple for fatchickengirl
"And umm, the grid there shows us where the anomaly turns up, if it's in England that is." Connor stretches over the machine to point out the statistics. He leans a little further than he really needs to, and Jack doesn't miss it.
"Really?"
Connor tips his head sideways.
"Yeah-" He's clearly found himself closer to Jack than he expected and his mouth moves without producing sound for a long second. "Umm."
"England," Jack prods, and he fights a smile that he thinks might encourage misbehaviour. This is far too interesting.
"Umm well we could do the whole world but it'd need ridiculous amounts of power." There's a pause. Jack suspects Connor has gotten distracted by his hair. Or possibly in his hair.
"Power?" he reminds quietly.
"Oh and there wouldn't be much point since it would take us an age to get there. And I don't think our governments big on the telling other people stuff."
"Our government isn't even fond of sharing information among themselves."
"Aren't you technically American?" Connor asks.
"According to certain medical tests I'm not even human."
There's a brief burst of warm air across Jack's cheek.
"Oh," Connor says quietly, though there's a whole world in that word.
Jack waits, it takes exactly four seconds before there are narrow fingers on the edge of his jaw, pulling it all the way round.
Then he's being very enthusiastically kissed against a protesting anomaly detector.
It's the best Thursday he's had for ages!
(Robin Hood/Torchwood) Much and Ianto Jones for dontburnhot
"What is this again?"
"It's called coffee," Ianto provides.
"I think it's the most horrible thing I've ever drunk in my life," Much says despairingly into the mug. "And I've drunk some horrible things."
"It's not for everyone," Ianto allows. "It's a stimulant."
Much gives him a blank look.
"It keeps you awake."
Much looks horrified.
"A horrible drink that doesn't let you sleep. And you offered it to me, and I expected it to be nice. This isn't a drink you should give to people you like. It's like drinking shoes!"
"I think there's some tea?" Ianto says carefully.
"I'm going to hate the future, I know I am. Horrible drinks that taste like shoes and won't let you sleep. Everything huge and loud and trying to run you over!"
"I think there's a packet of chocolate biscuits in the cupboard," Ianto offers.
"What's chocolate?"
Ianto provides biscuit assistance.
Fifteen minutes later there are no biscuits.
"Alright maybe the future isn't that horrible," Much allows.
(Primeval/The Mighty Boosh) Stephen Hart and Vince Noir for iniq
This is the most bizarre conversation Stephen Hart has ever had in his life.
"The dinosaur spoke to you?"
"His name's Winston," Vince Noir supplies "Though it's understandable that you didn't know that. He doesn't really like it spread about. It's an old fashioned name, other dinosaurs make fun of him."
The dinosaur nods, and then manages to look spikily embarrassed.
"Wha?" Stephen's gun hits the ground and he can't seem to manage to pick it up again.
"And he's worried that you're working too hard," Vince offers. "He says last year you would have caught him no problem, a little stalking round a warehouse, a bit of chasing through the corduroy trousers section of Marks and Spencers and you would have had him with the tranquilisers.
"What?"
"He's been in his nest chewing on a forest ranger, thinking you just don't care anymore. He says he almost made it off with that small child in the fireman outfit while you were still deciding which gun to bring."
"Who are you?" Stephen hears himself say, with a vague air of bewilderment.
"I'm just a concerned passer by, trying to bring man and dinosaur together. Your minds not on the game Hart, it's disturbed it's unhappy."
"Umm, but why does-" Stephen stops himself mid sentence, then looks around, the warehouse is deserted. "Why does the dinosaur know that?" He forces himself to ask.
"Between you and me," Vince says with a hand across the corner of his mouth. "I think he kind of fancies you."
(CSI: NY/BTVS) Don Flack and Spike for enchantersnight
When Spike stops being unconscious he finds a nice officer of the law glaring at him.
"You want to explain why you're laying on the freeway," he says grumpily.
"I was thrown here by a demon with fire coming out of its mouth," Spike says, which is the truth as much as he remembers it.
"Uh huh," the blurry figure says and Spike suspects this means that the nice officer of the law does not believe in either the demon or the fiery vomit.
Which will be unfortunate when he makes it down the hill and sets light to the traffic.
"Could I have that again, in a way that doesn't involve the words 'demon' or 'fire coming out of its mouth?'"
Spike thinks about it for a minute.
"Large, angry, lots of teeth, tendency to go 'Rawr!' Very unpleasant fellow," Spike drags himself to a sit and learns, painfully, that all his ribs still belong to him. "Bloody good throwing arm though!"
"This was much easier when you were dead," the officer of the law tells him.
"You don't seem all that surprised that I'm not," Spike tells him, because usually there's more screaming, occasionally people even faint.
"This is my surprised face," the cop tells him. And this is New York after all, so it probably is. People in New York are hard to surprise.
"Ah, well that explains a lot."
(Hex/Heroes) Jez and Sylar for dontburnhot
"You're not a priest," Sylar says carefully the moment he sees him.
It makes a nice change.
"And you're not quite the helpless sheep bleeding in my church are you?" Jez counters.
Sylar snarls at him, and there's something beautifully human in its threat.
"Gabriel, now that rolls off of the tongue in a way it really shouldn't don't you think. So much tongue in such a holy name shouldn't be right should it?"
"How do you know my name?" Sylar's bleeding on the altar, one arm curled round the edge of a listing statue. He's trying to drag himself up to a sit.
Jez ignores the question.
"People come into churches for refuge when they're at their weakest."
Jez drags a perfectly polished shoe through the wet red trail Sylar has left behind.
"Do you know how I know that?"
"Because you're special," Sylar says roughly and he never takes his eyes off of him. He knows he's being stalked and he doesn't like it.
"Not in the way you're special, and I say special but applying that to me is...complicated."
Sylar watches him come closer like he's trying to decide if he's still capable of lunging and taking him apart. Jez doesn't try and convince him otherwise. He's not responsible for people's stupidities.
But Sylar isn't quite that stupid.
"They come to churches to seek refuge. But it never occurs to people that that makes it a perfect place to wait. The perfect place to sharpen your teeth and wait. Eventually people just come to you."
This time the tension is almost beautiful to watch.
"Oh I wouldn't if I were you, cut my head open and you might not like what you find inside."
"And what would I find inside?"
"Blood and fire," Jez says simply. He looks around, follows the blood trail with his eyes all the way to the door.
"You wouldn't believe the things I've done inside a church...."
(SGA/Numbers) Evan Lorne and Colby Granger for bergann
"You're going to do yourself a serious injury one day you know. Firearms shouldn't be kept pointed towards anything you want to keep." Lorne is resisting the urge to ask how the hell he sits down with that thing pushed in so deep.
"I like to know I can get to it in emergencies," Colby offers and Lorne knows something about gun emergencies. But that's just wrong, and also kind of dirty. It's the sort of place that looks really cool but is neither comfortable nor practical and he refuses to believe that Colby has made it work.
"Yeah but you're not the only one, anyone standing behind you can grab it out of there and go blowing your damn head off."
"I don't let people get behind me, and if it looks in any way threatening then I'm carrying it."
"Anyone can sneak up behind you," Lorne points out. "Unexpected ambush by Wraiths-"
"By what?"
"Columbian drug dealers?" Lorne offers. It's been a while since he's sweated domestic threats. He's starting to worry that he's developed an unnatural suspicion of anything blue...or made of tiny robots.
Though he has also developed a rather unfortunate reflex for doing what smart people tell him to do, immediately, every damn time.
He's turned into Pavlov's guard dog.
McKay is going to say something humiliating about that if he ever finds out.
"Try it," Colby says suddenly.
"What?"
"Put it down the back of your pants and try it before you dismiss it completely."
Lorne wavers.
"Just do it."
Very reluctantly, he does.
"Now pull it out."
Lorne exhales loudly and does as he's told.
There's a very short pause.
"That's just about the filthiest- I can't believe you get away with that in the FBI."
(SGA/Numbers) Evan Lorne and Colby Granger for bergann
"And then-" Lorne frowns and tips his beer in apology. "Actually I can't tell you what happened next, since it's classified...but it was messy."
"Tell me something that isn't classified?" Colby says, he doesn't want to push but he's half desperate to know something, to get Lorne to talk about something. If only just as an excuse to keep him here just a little longer.
But Lorne nods, like it's a fair question, tips his head to one side while he thinks, then he smiles.
"The scientists make their own ocean waves," he says quietly, and Colby suspects this is skirting right on the edge of not classified. "The surfing is amazing."
The smile opens at the edges, makes him look younger, taste of recklessness that Colby doesn't think he's seen before.
Colby wants, crazily, to tell him how good it makes him look, wants to say something, is half afraid he will say something, but he thinks it'll probably come out sounding stupid.
Still, staring at him like an idiot isn't an option either.
"You want another beer?"
Lorne checks the level of the one he's already holding, finds it mostly empty.
"Sure," he says loosely, and the smile opens up a little.
Colby slips the bottle out of his hand, steps past him and into the kitchen.
The bottles are cold, and he's half tempted to press one against his skin for a second, to feel it seep all the way through, give him a little focus, a little calm.
It's still early enough that the world doesn't need either one of them, it can go on without them for a while. They keep strange hours, go when they're needed, where they're needed in Lorne's case, wherever that is he can't tell, and Colby won't ask.
He carries two bottles back, hung cold and slick between his fingers, sets them on the table and sinks back into the couch.
He slides back into the same space, elbow flung over the arm, one knee almost shoved into the table.
But Lorne is noticeably closer than he was before.
It could just as easily be an accident, a loose stretch of limbs, where Lorne's pushed over while he was gone, spreading innocently on Colby's couch.
But if it isn't, if there's any way it's not.
He tips his head sideways
"Evan?" It's not just a name it's a whole mess of questions that Colby doesn't know how to ask. He thinks he's too new at this to get it right.
"Yeah," Lorne says, deep in his throat, and doesn't move away. Slide of something behind his eyes, he's too good at this, too good at this careful, smooth relaxation that could be anything at all. And Colby can't manage those last few inches, can't take a chance, he's stilled by a streak of uncertainty, that he's not prepared for.
Lorne's apparently braver than him, he digs a hand in his hair, makes Colby take a breath at the surety of it, and then pulls him the rest of the way.
He tastes like cheap beer, mouth warm and open straight away, like maybe he wanted Colby to kiss him all along. Colby wishes he'd said something sooner.
But Lorne moves into Colby like now is good enough, he takes Colby's restless pushing fingers as a hint, and Colby's inhaling long faded aftershave when Lorne drags his shirt over his head. He's a push of weight into Colby's chest, always combat ready in that slow, lazy, effortless way that Colby just wants to feel, fingers digging recklessly, greedily, into bare skin. He thinks it's too hard, but he can't not touch when he's been watching all night. But Lorne shifts under his hands like he doesn't mind.
The bottles run wet on the table, left in a slant of sunlit.
They gradually grow warm.
(Torchwood/Numbers) Jack Harkness and Ian Edgerton for mercilynn
"You know you're actually the best shot in the country," Jack says absently.
"What?" Ian Edgerton stops cleaning the pieces of his disassembled rifle and gives Jack his full attention.
"Well two of the other four are robots, one of them is an Alberran assassin who can see in the dark and the other is so jammed full of nanites he could hit a biscuit on the moon."
"Seriously?"
"Uh huh, you're pretty much the best shot on the planet that's actually human in fact."
"And I'm not allowed to tell anyone this," Ian complains quietly.
"Well you probably could, but then you'd be practicing your shooting techniques from inside a small room. Though on the bright side they'd get you a jacket you'd be able to hug yourself in."
(Torchwood/Numbers) Don Eppes and Owen Harper for mercilynn
"I'm having a hallucination?" Special agent Don Eppes tells Owen.
Which is nice.
"If you are having a hallucination it isn't a very good one," Owen tells him.
Currently Don Eppes is bleeding through what is clearly an enthusiastic puncture wound. Owen only has so many hands and trying to stop him bleeding and keep him still and not pull out whatever is left inside his abdomen is taking up all of them.
"I'm hallucinating," Don insists. "Someone gave me something and this isn't real."
"Yes," Owen says testily. "Yes you're having a hallucination that a giant alien dragonfly tried to eat you. And you're also hallucinating me and your gruesome stomach wound and all this very important blood! All a hallucination."
"Jesus christ this fucking hurts!" Don insists, and makes his point by smacking Owen's arm out of the way.
"I'm sorry did you want some actual drugs for your hallucination of pain?" Owen says crossly. "That doesn't seem very professional."
Something hits the floor with a crash, and Don snatches up the front of his shirt.
"If this isn't, in fact, a hallucination and there are giant alien bugs, one of which has currently stabbed me. Then the fact that you're not giving me drugs makes you an asshole!" Don Eppes tells him, loudly.
Shouting and outrage really aren't good for Eppes blood loss situation but the patient is always more likely to pay attention if he thinks you're real.
(SGA/Ugly Betty) McKay and Marc for lazydaisy501
McKay is having a panic attack, loudly and energetically.
Marc is panicking less energetically, because really that's just embarrassing. He's found a less than comfortable spot against the other wall, that's going to ruin his fourth favourite jacket. But you have to make sacrifices for cave-ins after all.
Also, there's really not enough room to both panic at the same time.
"Howling and screaming and pounding on the door is not going to help," Marc tells him. "You'll just be all sweaty and crazy looking when someone finally does come to rescue us."
"This is all your fault, you and your ridiculously nosey fingers!" McKay does something complicated with his hands that's half-way between seizure and 'urge to strangle.' "If you'd just for one second stop touching things when I told you to!"
"My nosey fingers," Marc swivels his head round. "You were the one poking things and 'oohing' and having physics orgasms over the yard sale trinkets." Marc picks up one of the so called trinkets then drops it in disgust and searches for somewhere to wipe his fingers. "I did nothing, I followed you and your ridiculous trail of enthusiasm and your-" Marc makes air quotes. "'Utterly makes no sense-ness'"
"I don't expect you to understand, of course, what with your degree in fashion!" The word drips off the end of the sentence like something toxic.
"Oh yes, let's pretend we weren't both the kids who got beat up in high school and squabble amongst ourselves."
"I never got beaten up in high school," McKay protests, loudly, twice. "I had better things to do."
Marc eyes him sideways.
"Oh god, you were one of those sad little geniuses that were about eight in high school weren't you. That used to follow the girls around trying to get a look down their top while at the same time demeaning them for their shallowness."
"I like to think I had a little more maturity than that, thank you very much."
"Maturity enough to know the difference between a music lesson and potential social humiliation?"
McKay rounds on him looking slightly scandalised.
"How the hell do you know that?"
"My degree in fashion tells me so," Marc snaps.
(TSCC/Firefly) Sarah Connor and Zoe Washburn for indyhat
"That's a serious collection of guns."
"You can never have enough guns," Sarah said over the near silent sound of a cloth sliding back and forth, back and forth, over cold metal.
Zoe inclined her head, in a way that managed to both agree and be amused at the concept.
"Never had cause to take on a robot myself," Zoe admitted, she put her boots up on the other chair, turned a disassembled piece over and over between her fingers. "Never had to take on anything that didn't bleed and die eventually."
"You can kill them," Sarah paused, looked up. "But it's hard, it's hard to break them apart, smash them up, that's a metal body inside that doesn't want to die, no matter how hard you try to put it down."
"But I think you've killed a fair few," Zoe said carefully, but she knew there was more to it than that, this women had seen a lot of lines, and stepped straight over them. For her son. "They can't be all that indestructible."
"I only get to die once," Sarah said simply. She paused in her cleaning to look up. "John only gets to die once."
"Living for tomorrow, always for tomorrow must be hard," Zoe murmured.
"We're still alive." The gun snapped together in pieces under practiced hands. "That's good enough."
(Good Omens/Black Books) Aziraphale and Bernard Black for capn_mactastic
The shop smells a little bit like Crowley's apartment.
"Do you have a-"
The owner, Bernard, points at a sign without looking up from his book.
"Do not feed the Egrets?" Aziraphale reads, which is either some sort of metaphor, or there are actual Egrets?
The finger waves again, more random but slightly more directed at the notation on the bottom of the sign. It says 'Customers must not be annoying' the original version involved more swearing but someone has crossed it out with red pen.
"Do you have-"
"No," Bernard says around the end of a cigarette.
"I can actually see it from here," Aziraphale offers.
"No, we don't have any books at all, none!" Bernard insists, loudly, twice.
Aziraphale looks around, at what is clearly a book-laden space.
"You appear to, in fact, have rather a lot of books," he says politely.
"Oh them! Bernard feigns surprise. "They're a hallucination, there's LSD in the wallpaper."
Aziraphale raises an eyebrow.
"I don't actually exist," Bernard admits.
Aziraphale works through the problem.
"If I get it myself and pay for it without bothering you, I'll go away," Aziraphale says sensibly.
"Fine, fine, do it and go away then." Bernard waves an imperious hand and goes back to his book.
(House/BTVS) House and Buffy and Angel for jack_magic
The stethoscope is useless. House works this out straight away.
"He's dead," he supplies. Which is perhaps one of his quickest diagnoses ever.
Though granted he's not acting dead. Slumped over the minuscule poppet's shoulder like some sort of heavy and very pale ornament.
"He's sick!"
And granted he is doing a very good job of looking sick, pale, shaking, blood in his eyes and nose. But it doesn't count, because he's dead.
"No, he's dead."
The man, Angel, which what the hell, because that is the sort of name you bestow on a transvestite hooker and not your strapping young lad, coughs up enough blood to paint half the town and then wheezes.
"He's dead and therefore I'm no longer obliged to treat him. Dead people do not get medical care. Dead people shouldn't need medical care, what with the being dead. It's not my fault that your friend isn't laying very still and rotting. It's clearly stubbornness on his part."
"I was told you were the best, that you took unique cases." There's a thread of desperation in her voice and, judging by the way she shifts the man's entire weight from her shoulder to her neck when he slides down, Angel is not the only one who's unique.
"Look B-," House stops, pulls a face. "No I'm sorry I flatly refuse to call anyone over the age of five 'Buffy' you can now be Miss Summers so I'm compelled to treat you like a grown-up. Miss Summers your friend is so far beyond unique- Shall I say the V word? Do you want me to say it in front of all these..." House looks around. "Diseased people?"
"Are you going to help us or not?"
House pulls another face, this one more complicated than the last.
"Meet me in the basement in fifteen minutes."
(Doctor Who/Life on Mars) The Master and Sam Tyler for master_kogane
"No, absolutely not!" Sam protests.
"You're already mad," the Master says sensibly. "You've already skipped over the line of common sense and gone careening straight into the wilds of barking lunacy."
"And you'd know something about that clearly."
The Master feigns hurt and it's beyond strange to see that reflected on a face that looks so astonishingly like his own.
"I like to think I'm not quite a lunatic yet," Sam protests. "I may see things occasionally-"
"That come out of the television," the Master adds. "In a hundred years that will be a gimic you know, amusing children for miles around. Still things that come out of the television." The Master wiggles his fingers in a way that Sam suspects is supposed to be spooky, then shakes his head.
"I've never actually seen her come out of the television," Sam says tightly. "And I know she's just an hallucination. But what about you, you're not exactly playing with a full deck yourself, and you're technically an alien bent on universal chaos and destruction. I really don't think I should be listening to your advice on hallucinations."
"Sam Tyler, I believe you're developing a backbone, I don't know whether to punish you or applaud!" The Master pauses to think about it, which is probably not a good sign, but Sam isn't in the mood to hear it.
He tips backwards on the bed and exhales loudly.
"Can I at least, occasionally, be disturbed by how weird this is?"
The Master slithers up the bed until he can peer down at him, and it's just perfect that Sam's the one who's supposed to be crazy.
"Oh do be quiet, or next time you'll wake up in the middle ages."
(Supernatural/Life on Mars) John Winchester and Gene Hunt for harem_ent
"I think you took a wrong turn somewhere," Hunt says around the end of his cigarette.
"I go where the monsters are," John says simply.
DCI Hunt raises an eyebrow.
The early light shines off of the contents of the boot, a neatly strapped collection of silver and steel, wooden stocks and a dozen smaller pieces that promise, if not death, then at least a considerable amount of pain.
"Define 'monsters' in a way that's going to make me happy Mr Winchester."
"I've never used anything in there on a man," John says smoothly. "And never on anything that didn't deserve it."
"Oh I've known a fair few men that deserve that," Hunt says carefully.
"That's your job, not mine," John says quietly.
"Damn right it is." Hunt makes a noise in the back of his throat which isn't amused, then slams the boot shut leans on it.
"I don't go on duty for another hour," Hunt says roughly.
John stares back passively, which gets him nothing but a glare.
"Still, can't let a bloke drive around my city in a car that looks like it's armed for a small war-" Hunt snatches the cigarette out of his mouth. "So get your arse out of if or I will have to arrest you."
"Understood," John tells him.
(Firefly/Heroes) River Tam and Sylar for
shizuka_blooms
"I can see through you," River says quietly. She's not looking at him yet, but then she doesn't have to. She can see, like glass, like frosted glass run through with red.
Sylar moves to try and meet her eyes, River stares at her own toes instead. They are a focal point, they are real, immutable.
"What do you see?" Curious, curious as a cat, and just as likely to scratch her eyes out.
"I can see what you're made of," she offers. She does look at him then, through her hair, kneads the air with her own claws, and she thinks he can see them too.
"What am I made of?" His voice is low, deep, it's the purr of cat but it's not pleased. It's not warm and stretch and sunshine.
"Not what you think."
He's made of need, everything is a mask, a disguise, facade, camouflage, cloak, costume.
All that's underneath is need, sharp and suffocating.
River leans close, leans until she's balanced on her toes, tipped an inch from falling.
But she mustn't fall, because his eyes won't catch her.
"You're turning yourself into a jig-saw puzzle, but you should be careful, you're made of brittle pieces Gabriel, brittle pieces."