Fic: 3 Crossovers
Three more finally typed up from my birthday crossover meme. Sorry about the delay (especially given how long I've had a couple of these sitting in a notebook):
1. Cut and Dried: Inspector Japp and the Seventh Doctor (Poirot/DW) requested by jjpor
All ages
1,500 words.
(This was meant to be Seven and Ace, as requested, but Bernice wanted to come, too. Sorry about that.)
***
Inspector Japp considered his latest case and had to heave a sigh. Open and shut, it had seemed at the start, but you didn’t get to be at his level in Scotland Yard without getting an instinct for when you were missing a few vital facts. He was half tempted to go and speak to M Poirot, aside from how it didn’t do to let him get too puffed up with his own cleverness, and, anyway, he was away at Sir Somebody or other’s, on the trail of a nasty blackmailer.
Japp glanced to the ceiling, prayed for patience, and went off to interrogate his chief suspect again.
*
“I don’t suppose you’re going to change your story,” he said. “It would help, because, you and I know, Mr Smith, that it doesn’t add up, and I’d like a proper explanation from you. I should have thought you’d have been happy to give it, because as it stands, I’d say I’ve got enough to hang you.”
The small, crumpled, rather unlikely criminal, looked up. “Yes, I can see it must be awkward for you, Inspector. Sorry about that. The trouble is, it wouldn’t help if I did tell you.”
“Well, Mr Smith,” he said, tapping his notepad with his pencil, “I ought to be the judge of that, not you. How about we start with your real name?”
He looked hurt. “What’s wrong with John Smith?”
“Nothing in itself,” said the Inspector, “but it’s not your proper name, and I don’t want any aliases here. Now, real name?”
“Oh, that’s neither here nor there.”
Japp coughed. “Now, look. This is the situation: I find you inside the bank vault, next to the body of Mr Haverscroft, the late manager, with a bloody great hole on the wall, and another in the safe. You won’t explain what you were doing there; you won’t give me your proper name. I’d have thought, in the circumstances, you might want to be a little more co-operative.”
“Assisting the police with their enquiries?” he returned, with a humorous quirk of the mouth. “How quaint.”
“Mr Smith, I’d suggest you try and take this seriously.”
He smiled, suddenly. “Oh, I rarely do that. And it’s Doctor. Dr John Smith. Of course, I have had others. When you live as long as I have, one does tend to pick them up and drop them again.”
“All right, now how about the bank? Just passing, were you?”
He rested his chin on his hands on the table. “I should have thought that was obvious. I was trying to steal something. I’ve always had a hankering to rob a bank, only, as it turns out, I’m not terribly good at it. I have a feeling it could prove to be handicap, wouldn’t you agree?”
Japp glared at him. “You’re a right piece of work, you are.”
“Ah,” said the Doctor. “You know, why are you still talking to me, Inspector? If my guilt is so very obvious, why trouble yourself?”
He snapped his pencil. “No, it isn’t, and that’s what I wish you’d tell me. If you stabbed Mr Haverscroft, then what did you do with the weapon? What’s more, what did you do with the artefact that was stolen, and if you had time to get rid of both of those, what the hell were you doing, still sitting in there when we arrived? On the other hand, nobody turns up in the bank vault in the middle of a robbery if they’re not involved in some way. I’m pretty sure I should at least be looking for an accomplice.”
“Congratulations, Inspector. You’re absolutely right, but I still can’t tell you.” And he smiled again.
That was what he was up against. It was infuriating, and if he didn’t get an answer soon, he’d charge him with anything going and leave him to it.
*
He had a related call to make to talk to the remaining bank employees, and by the time he came back from that, there was another wall with a hole in, this time the police station, more specifically the cell in which Dr Smith had been held.
*
It wasn’t quite the end, however. He had to continue with the case, and in the course of his enquiries, spotted a familiar, short, figure in a brown jacket, lurking about in the very area where’d he got a tip-off about concerning the stolen object.
“Got you,” he said, grabbing him by the shoulder. “Now, Dr Smith -.”
He turned, slipping out of his grip with deceptive ease. “Shh, Inspector. Look over there. There are your thieves.”
Japp’s jaw dropped as he did, and saw an unlikely green lizard walking about, outside some sort of structure he didn’t remember having seen round here before. It looked, he thought, like one of those ships out of some cheap and lurid fiction book. Even as he thought it, it rose directly up into the air above them.
“Good grief,” he muttered, and then: “You let them get away?”
The Doctor smiled, and winked, and then the ship exploded in the night sky, like an impromptu firework display and debris rained about them. “Something like that,” he explained, as they hastily dived for cover, followed by two women. “With a little help from my friends. This is Bernice; she’s one of those terribly elegant jewel thieves, and Ace - Ace is more into demolition work.” He grinned again, and doffed his hat.
“Now, wait, you’ve still got a lot of explaining to do -.”
Bernice gave him a sympathetic smile. “Ignore him, Inspector. He likes to be as annoying and mysterious as possible. Oh, and I’m sorry about your police station, by the way. I was going to see about getting him out with my - ah - my terribly elegant lock-picking abilities and my natural charm, but we decided there wasn’t time for that, and it rarely works, anyway.”
“Yeah, sorry,” added Ace. “At least we got the right cell first try.”
The Doctor shook his head. “Come along, you two.”
Well, thought Japp, following them, because it wasn’t what you called a satisfactory explanation yet, not by a long chalk. The three of them headed into a police box, which was a strange sort of escape route, so he stood back and prepared to wait as long as it took for them to come back out again. He did think to himself that it just went to show there were some crimes that even Poirot wasn’t capable of solving. Not that he could tell him about something like this, of course, fun as it would be to stump him for once.
Then yet another impossible thing happened, and the police box disappeared. After that, he did the only thing he could - went in search of a drink and leave thinking about writing his report on this till the morning.
***
2. Bargaining: Spike and Dana Scully (BtVS/X-Files) requested by daibhid_c
PG (for Spike being Spike, generally)
1,331 words
***
Dana Scully had reached the point of recording the date and time onto the tape, when her latest autopsy was curtailed by fact of the corpse sitting up and surveying his surroundings with interest.
She switched the tape off and took a cautious step back. Unlike most people, she failed to scream or panic - this kind of thing was beginning to seem normal. Well, this, she amended, was definitely unusual, but not as much as she’d once have thought.
“Bloody hell, it’s freezing in here,” said the dead guy. “Hate it when this stuff happens. Can’t a bloke get knocked out in a bar fight without winding up in the mortuary with some sicko probing about his innards? Might not be breathing as such, but still - prejudice against the undead, that’s what it is.”
Scully raised an eyebrow.
“Yeah, not really,” he said. “You got me. Too busy feeding off the living to worry about the rights of the vampire. Where is this? Doesn’t look like your regular sort of hospital to me.” He gave Scully an interested look then, turning his head to one side. There was a glint in his eyes that made her repress a desire to take a further step back.
“Care to explain how come you were dead a minute ago, and now you’re sitting up and talking to me?”
He smiled. “No, still dead, love. And it’s a long story - plenty of passion, blood and death, but not your sort of thing. Goes back a century or so.” He hadn’t stopped watching her. “You know, it’s about now they usually start screaming.”
“I’ve seen worse things than you,” she said.
He grinned. “Hey. Thanks. Talking of which, wouldn’t mind my clothes back. A sheet’s not really my style.”
“We didn’t think you’d be needing them.”
He paused, lifted his head again; the bleached blond hair the brightest thing in the room. “We? Far as I can see, you’re alone, love. Alone, in a dark and dingy basement with the big bad. Lucky you.”
“You haven’t answered my question yet.”
He sat up fully, not bothering overmuch about the sheet that was covering him. “Vampire. Get it now? You a doctor? You’re much more attractive than the last one I had.”
“I am,” she said, with ice in her tone that lowered the ambient temperature still further. “I’m also an FBI agent, and there’s no such thing as vampires.”
“Nice. Can’t say if I’ve ever had one of those. Although - no, I have. Bald, sweaty guy, back in the 1970s. Been trying to forget him ever since. Doesn’t the whole part where I’m dead but talking give you a clue?”
“Vampire. Seriously?”
He grinned at her, watching her lazily, but there was a gleam in his eyes that reminded her of a cat playing with a mouse, and she had a feeling the worst thing she could do was run. “Yeah. Spike’s the name. William the Bloody if you want to be formal, but I don’t usually bother with titles. Just one thing: what sort of bird goes round hanging about in cellars chopping up dead guys for fun?”
Scully watched him back. “It isn’t for fun. And vampires don’t exist. What we think of as vampires dates back to 19th century fiction and bad movies. Try again.”
“Oh,” he said, glancing down. “That right, is it?” Then he looked up, his face having morphed into something more demonic, his forehead lumpy; his skin aged and there were teeth - teeth that she had to admit looked far more convincing when he was lunging towards her.
She hit him over the head with the metal tray, several of the other implements flying about, and as he dropped back with a curse, she reached for the longest and the sharpest knife at her disposal and held it up.
“Hey,” he said, and then at least reached for the sheet again. His face had reverted to its more smooth, apparently human façade. “That hurt.”
She remained as calm as she could. “Vampire,” she said. “Okay. I’m not sure I believe it yet, but if you do, then I’m guessing decapitation will do it. I’ve got a crucifix; I’m sure my lunch had some garlic content, and do you know what else I’ve got?”
“Surprise me.”
Scully said, “Your clothes.”
“Good point,” he said. “That coat’s got sentimental value. Where is it, then?”
She held onto the knife. “First, I want your word that you won’t kill me.”
“Not yet anyway,” he said. “Just get me my bloody clothes back. I said it’s like the arctic in here.”
Scully said, “Fine. First move back. Then I’ll get you your clothes.”
He sagged suddenly, sitting back on the metal table. “Why does nothing go right anymore? She’s left me - Dru - a century of true love and murder, and she just leaves. Chaos demon - horrible thing, all antlers and slime. I went back for her, but she laughed, no matter who or what I killed for her. A bloke can only take so much, you know. Now look at me! Can’t even murder a lone female in a dark cellar. Damn!”
She kept a firm hold on the knife, but her eyebrows were on the rise again. A vampire was stretching her credulity further than Mulder had yet managed, but a lovesick vampire killer with bleached hair? And, of course, Mulder wasn’t here. Typical. “I’ve got your coat, but I’m afraid your other things were too far gone, so hang on while I make a phone call. Make one wrong move, and maybe I’ll still dissect you, starting with your head.”
“Hey, I like you,” he said, brightening disturbingly at the threat.
Scully picked up her mobile phone with her free hand. “Mulder, it’s me. Yes. Can you get back here now, and bring a spare set of clothes with you? No, it’s for the corpse. Yes, I did say the corpse. Yes, it is urgent.”
“Nothing dorky, mind,” said Spike. “Bright colours - bit of a vampire no-no. You get laughed at. Doesn’t do a thing for your street cred with the really mean demons.”
She shut the phone. “Don’t push your luck.”
“How about you and me?” he asked, the light back in his eyes. “I could sire you, and we’ll both have some fun. I don’t mind a girl who cuts up stiffs as a hobby, as long as she remembers not to dissect me. You should have seen some of the things Dru got up to. She’s gone, and I’ve always had a thing for red-heads. Come on, don’t tell me it’s not even a bit tempting?”
Scully had to fight not to roll her eyes. “Not remotely.”
“Why does nothing ever work out?” he yelled at her, throwing more items onto the floor. “Everything was just great, and now nothing goes right. And you know why?”
“No, but I’m beginning to get a pretty good idea.”
“Because of her,” he said, and all the odd charm, the sudden haplessness had vanished again and she knew that what she had in front of her was completely inhuman - more like a dangerous animal, not to be trusted for an instant.
Then he shrugged, the mood passing. He even gave her a hopeful smile. “Don’t suppose you’ve got a fag handy?”
Scully raised an eyebrow.
“You see?” he said. “Nothing ever works out!”
*
“A vampire?” said Mulder, once he finally returned.
She folded her arms. “So it said.”
“I’ve heard that before.”
Scully sighed. “Well, he was talking and moving around while dead, and I have to concede that the teeth were convincing.”
“It is dark in here.”
She glared. “Anyway, you took your time.”
“You know how it is,” he said. “There’s the clothes, but if he’s gone, I suppose it’s too late. What is he wearing?”
Scully glanced at the boiler suit he’d put on to go underground and investigate the old mine, and said, “Yours.”
***
3. Observation: Luna Lovegood and Miss Marple (Harry Potter/Agatha Christie) requested by lizzie_marie_23
All ages
355 words
***
The young girl had been sitting there for some time, staring at the rosebush.
“Interesting, isn’t it?” said Jane Marple, eventually.
The blonde girl glanced up. “Shh. You’ll scare them away.”
Miss Marple didn’t ask what. Instead, she examined the rosebush herself. Watching closely, she caught the odd movement, a stem bending under the weight of something unseen, and it couldn’t have been anything to do with the wind, which was blowing from a westerly direction to day, and in any case, never bent back single stems in that manner. She gave her a smile. “Of course,” she said, “my eyesight isn’t what it was, but something leapt from that flower to the other - I wouldn’t mind telling it not to be quite so careless with the petals.”
“They’re not dangerous,” the girl said. “Not usually. Not this kind.”
She had a twinkle in her eye. “I’m relieved to hear it. Perhaps, you would like to come inside and I’ll find a glass of lemonade and some cake, and you can explain to me exactly what they are - and perhaps I could help you. I’ve seen your father about the place and he does seem to wear a persecuted air, doesn’t he, poor man - so like Mr Roberts from the chemist’s, and as it turned out, he was terribly in debt.”
“Perhaps,” said the girl, getting to her feet. “I don’t know. Lemonade would be nice, thank you. And cake.”
She led the way back into her cottage. “Yes. Well, why don’t we see? Often lemonade and cake and someone to talk to is quite a help in itself - and you might be surprised if you knew the way I’ve so often managed to get myself involved in quite dreadful affairs. One does see things, living in a village, and you can find wickedness hidden in the most unexpected people.”
“They’re Invisible Implets,” Luna said, in her soft voice, slipping her arm into the elderly lady’s. “In your rosebush, I mean, but they won’t do any harm. Don’t make them leave.”
“If they won’t do any harm,” she said, with another smile, “then I won’t.”
***
1. Cut and Dried: Inspector Japp and the Seventh Doctor (Poirot/DW) requested by jjpor
All ages
1,500 words.
(This was meant to be Seven and Ace, as requested, but Bernice wanted to come, too. Sorry about that.)
***
Inspector Japp considered his latest case and had to heave a sigh. Open and shut, it had seemed at the start, but you didn’t get to be at his level in Scotland Yard without getting an instinct for when you were missing a few vital facts. He was half tempted to go and speak to M Poirot, aside from how it didn’t do to let him get too puffed up with his own cleverness, and, anyway, he was away at Sir Somebody or other’s, on the trail of a nasty blackmailer.
Japp glanced to the ceiling, prayed for patience, and went off to interrogate his chief suspect again.
*
“I don’t suppose you’re going to change your story,” he said. “It would help, because, you and I know, Mr Smith, that it doesn’t add up, and I’d like a proper explanation from you. I should have thought you’d have been happy to give it, because as it stands, I’d say I’ve got enough to hang you.”
The small, crumpled, rather unlikely criminal, looked up. “Yes, I can see it must be awkward for you, Inspector. Sorry about that. The trouble is, it wouldn’t help if I did tell you.”
“Well, Mr Smith,” he said, tapping his notepad with his pencil, “I ought to be the judge of that, not you. How about we start with your real name?”
He looked hurt. “What’s wrong with John Smith?”
“Nothing in itself,” said the Inspector, “but it’s not your proper name, and I don’t want any aliases here. Now, real name?”
“Oh, that’s neither here nor there.”
Japp coughed. “Now, look. This is the situation: I find you inside the bank vault, next to the body of Mr Haverscroft, the late manager, with a bloody great hole on the wall, and another in the safe. You won’t explain what you were doing there; you won’t give me your proper name. I’d have thought, in the circumstances, you might want to be a little more co-operative.”
“Assisting the police with their enquiries?” he returned, with a humorous quirk of the mouth. “How quaint.”
“Mr Smith, I’d suggest you try and take this seriously.”
He smiled, suddenly. “Oh, I rarely do that. And it’s Doctor. Dr John Smith. Of course, I have had others. When you live as long as I have, one does tend to pick them up and drop them again.”
“All right, now how about the bank? Just passing, were you?”
He rested his chin on his hands on the table. “I should have thought that was obvious. I was trying to steal something. I’ve always had a hankering to rob a bank, only, as it turns out, I’m not terribly good at it. I have a feeling it could prove to be handicap, wouldn’t you agree?”
Japp glared at him. “You’re a right piece of work, you are.”
“Ah,” said the Doctor. “You know, why are you still talking to me, Inspector? If my guilt is so very obvious, why trouble yourself?”
He snapped his pencil. “No, it isn’t, and that’s what I wish you’d tell me. If you stabbed Mr Haverscroft, then what did you do with the weapon? What’s more, what did you do with the artefact that was stolen, and if you had time to get rid of both of those, what the hell were you doing, still sitting in there when we arrived? On the other hand, nobody turns up in the bank vault in the middle of a robbery if they’re not involved in some way. I’m pretty sure I should at least be looking for an accomplice.”
“Congratulations, Inspector. You’re absolutely right, but I still can’t tell you.” And he smiled again.
That was what he was up against. It was infuriating, and if he didn’t get an answer soon, he’d charge him with anything going and leave him to it.
*
He had a related call to make to talk to the remaining bank employees, and by the time he came back from that, there was another wall with a hole in, this time the police station, more specifically the cell in which Dr Smith had been held.
*
It wasn’t quite the end, however. He had to continue with the case, and in the course of his enquiries, spotted a familiar, short, figure in a brown jacket, lurking about in the very area where’d he got a tip-off about concerning the stolen object.
“Got you,” he said, grabbing him by the shoulder. “Now, Dr Smith -.”
He turned, slipping out of his grip with deceptive ease. “Shh, Inspector. Look over there. There are your thieves.”
Japp’s jaw dropped as he did, and saw an unlikely green lizard walking about, outside some sort of structure he didn’t remember having seen round here before. It looked, he thought, like one of those ships out of some cheap and lurid fiction book. Even as he thought it, it rose directly up into the air above them.
“Good grief,” he muttered, and then: “You let them get away?”
The Doctor smiled, and winked, and then the ship exploded in the night sky, like an impromptu firework display and debris rained about them. “Something like that,” he explained, as they hastily dived for cover, followed by two women. “With a little help from my friends. This is Bernice; she’s one of those terribly elegant jewel thieves, and Ace - Ace is more into demolition work.” He grinned again, and doffed his hat.
“Now, wait, you’ve still got a lot of explaining to do -.”
Bernice gave him a sympathetic smile. “Ignore him, Inspector. He likes to be as annoying and mysterious as possible. Oh, and I’m sorry about your police station, by the way. I was going to see about getting him out with my - ah - my terribly elegant lock-picking abilities and my natural charm, but we decided there wasn’t time for that, and it rarely works, anyway.”
“Yeah, sorry,” added Ace. “At least we got the right cell first try.”
The Doctor shook his head. “Come along, you two.”
Well, thought Japp, following them, because it wasn’t what you called a satisfactory explanation yet, not by a long chalk. The three of them headed into a police box, which was a strange sort of escape route, so he stood back and prepared to wait as long as it took for them to come back out again. He did think to himself that it just went to show there were some crimes that even Poirot wasn’t capable of solving. Not that he could tell him about something like this, of course, fun as it would be to stump him for once.
Then yet another impossible thing happened, and the police box disappeared. After that, he did the only thing he could - went in search of a drink and leave thinking about writing his report on this till the morning.
***
2. Bargaining: Spike and Dana Scully (BtVS/X-Files) requested by daibhid_c
PG (for Spike being Spike, generally)
1,331 words
***
Dana Scully had reached the point of recording the date and time onto the tape, when her latest autopsy was curtailed by fact of the corpse sitting up and surveying his surroundings with interest.
She switched the tape off and took a cautious step back. Unlike most people, she failed to scream or panic - this kind of thing was beginning to seem normal. Well, this, she amended, was definitely unusual, but not as much as she’d once have thought.
“Bloody hell, it’s freezing in here,” said the dead guy. “Hate it when this stuff happens. Can’t a bloke get knocked out in a bar fight without winding up in the mortuary with some sicko probing about his innards? Might not be breathing as such, but still - prejudice against the undead, that’s what it is.”
Scully raised an eyebrow.
“Yeah, not really,” he said. “You got me. Too busy feeding off the living to worry about the rights of the vampire. Where is this? Doesn’t look like your regular sort of hospital to me.” He gave Scully an interested look then, turning his head to one side. There was a glint in his eyes that made her repress a desire to take a further step back.
“Care to explain how come you were dead a minute ago, and now you’re sitting up and talking to me?”
He smiled. “No, still dead, love. And it’s a long story - plenty of passion, blood and death, but not your sort of thing. Goes back a century or so.” He hadn’t stopped watching her. “You know, it’s about now they usually start screaming.”
“I’ve seen worse things than you,” she said.
He grinned. “Hey. Thanks. Talking of which, wouldn’t mind my clothes back. A sheet’s not really my style.”
“We didn’t think you’d be needing them.”
He paused, lifted his head again; the bleached blond hair the brightest thing in the room. “We? Far as I can see, you’re alone, love. Alone, in a dark and dingy basement with the big bad. Lucky you.”
“You haven’t answered my question yet.”
He sat up fully, not bothering overmuch about the sheet that was covering him. “Vampire. Get it now? You a doctor? You’re much more attractive than the last one I had.”
“I am,” she said, with ice in her tone that lowered the ambient temperature still further. “I’m also an FBI agent, and there’s no such thing as vampires.”
“Nice. Can’t say if I’ve ever had one of those. Although - no, I have. Bald, sweaty guy, back in the 1970s. Been trying to forget him ever since. Doesn’t the whole part where I’m dead but talking give you a clue?”
“Vampire. Seriously?”
He grinned at her, watching her lazily, but there was a gleam in his eyes that reminded her of a cat playing with a mouse, and she had a feeling the worst thing she could do was run. “Yeah. Spike’s the name. William the Bloody if you want to be formal, but I don’t usually bother with titles. Just one thing: what sort of bird goes round hanging about in cellars chopping up dead guys for fun?”
Scully watched him back. “It isn’t for fun. And vampires don’t exist. What we think of as vampires dates back to 19th century fiction and bad movies. Try again.”
“Oh,” he said, glancing down. “That right, is it?” Then he looked up, his face having morphed into something more demonic, his forehead lumpy; his skin aged and there were teeth - teeth that she had to admit looked far more convincing when he was lunging towards her.
She hit him over the head with the metal tray, several of the other implements flying about, and as he dropped back with a curse, she reached for the longest and the sharpest knife at her disposal and held it up.
“Hey,” he said, and then at least reached for the sheet again. His face had reverted to its more smooth, apparently human façade. “That hurt.”
She remained as calm as she could. “Vampire,” she said. “Okay. I’m not sure I believe it yet, but if you do, then I’m guessing decapitation will do it. I’ve got a crucifix; I’m sure my lunch had some garlic content, and do you know what else I’ve got?”
“Surprise me.”
Scully said, “Your clothes.”
“Good point,” he said. “That coat’s got sentimental value. Where is it, then?”
She held onto the knife. “First, I want your word that you won’t kill me.”
“Not yet anyway,” he said. “Just get me my bloody clothes back. I said it’s like the arctic in here.”
Scully said, “Fine. First move back. Then I’ll get you your clothes.”
He sagged suddenly, sitting back on the metal table. “Why does nothing go right anymore? She’s left me - Dru - a century of true love and murder, and she just leaves. Chaos demon - horrible thing, all antlers and slime. I went back for her, but she laughed, no matter who or what I killed for her. A bloke can only take so much, you know. Now look at me! Can’t even murder a lone female in a dark cellar. Damn!”
She kept a firm hold on the knife, but her eyebrows were on the rise again. A vampire was stretching her credulity further than Mulder had yet managed, but a lovesick vampire killer with bleached hair? And, of course, Mulder wasn’t here. Typical. “I’ve got your coat, but I’m afraid your other things were too far gone, so hang on while I make a phone call. Make one wrong move, and maybe I’ll still dissect you, starting with your head.”
“Hey, I like you,” he said, brightening disturbingly at the threat.
Scully picked up her mobile phone with her free hand. “Mulder, it’s me. Yes. Can you get back here now, and bring a spare set of clothes with you? No, it’s for the corpse. Yes, I did say the corpse. Yes, it is urgent.”
“Nothing dorky, mind,” said Spike. “Bright colours - bit of a vampire no-no. You get laughed at. Doesn’t do a thing for your street cred with the really mean demons.”
She shut the phone. “Don’t push your luck.”
“How about you and me?” he asked, the light back in his eyes. “I could sire you, and we’ll both have some fun. I don’t mind a girl who cuts up stiffs as a hobby, as long as she remembers not to dissect me. You should have seen some of the things Dru got up to. She’s gone, and I’ve always had a thing for red-heads. Come on, don’t tell me it’s not even a bit tempting?”
Scully had to fight not to roll her eyes. “Not remotely.”
“Why does nothing ever work out?” he yelled at her, throwing more items onto the floor. “Everything was just great, and now nothing goes right. And you know why?”
“No, but I’m beginning to get a pretty good idea.”
“Because of her,” he said, and all the odd charm, the sudden haplessness had vanished again and she knew that what she had in front of her was completely inhuman - more like a dangerous animal, not to be trusted for an instant.
Then he shrugged, the mood passing. He even gave her a hopeful smile. “Don’t suppose you’ve got a fag handy?”
Scully raised an eyebrow.
“You see?” he said. “Nothing ever works out!”
*
“A vampire?” said Mulder, once he finally returned.
She folded her arms. “So it said.”
“I’ve heard that before.”
Scully sighed. “Well, he was talking and moving around while dead, and I have to concede that the teeth were convincing.”
“It is dark in here.”
She glared. “Anyway, you took your time.”
“You know how it is,” he said. “There’s the clothes, but if he’s gone, I suppose it’s too late. What is he wearing?”
Scully glanced at the boiler suit he’d put on to go underground and investigate the old mine, and said, “Yours.”
***
3. Observation: Luna Lovegood and Miss Marple (Harry Potter/Agatha Christie) requested by lizzie_marie_23
All ages
355 words
***
The young girl had been sitting there for some time, staring at the rosebush.
“Interesting, isn’t it?” said Jane Marple, eventually.
The blonde girl glanced up. “Shh. You’ll scare them away.”
Miss Marple didn’t ask what. Instead, she examined the rosebush herself. Watching closely, she caught the odd movement, a stem bending under the weight of something unseen, and it couldn’t have been anything to do with the wind, which was blowing from a westerly direction to day, and in any case, never bent back single stems in that manner. She gave her a smile. “Of course,” she said, “my eyesight isn’t what it was, but something leapt from that flower to the other - I wouldn’t mind telling it not to be quite so careless with the petals.”
“They’re not dangerous,” the girl said. “Not usually. Not this kind.”
She had a twinkle in her eye. “I’m relieved to hear it. Perhaps, you would like to come inside and I’ll find a glass of lemonade and some cake, and you can explain to me exactly what they are - and perhaps I could help you. I’ve seen your father about the place and he does seem to wear a persecuted air, doesn’t he, poor man - so like Mr Roberts from the chemist’s, and as it turned out, he was terribly in debt.”
“Perhaps,” said the girl, getting to her feet. “I don’t know. Lemonade would be nice, thank you. And cake.”
She led the way back into her cottage. “Yes. Well, why don’t we see? Often lemonade and cake and someone to talk to is quite a help in itself - and you might be surprised if you knew the way I’ve so often managed to get myself involved in quite dreadful affairs. One does see things, living in a village, and you can find wickedness hidden in the most unexpected people.”
“They’re Invisible Implets,” Luna said, in her soft voice, slipping her arm into the elderly lady’s. “In your rosebush, I mean, but they won’t do any harm. Don’t make them leave.”
“If they won’t do any harm,” she said, with another smile, “then I won’t.”
***