Heroes/White Collar/Doctor Who: 6DoS Meme fic
Rating: hard PG
Word Count: 1,246 all together
Summary: Peter Petrelli to Neal Caffrey to The Doctor for englishmuffin2.
A/N: Hope this works for you. I really tried not to repeat myself too blatantly with Neal.
It was Peter’s last stop for the day, checking on the patients he’d saved. Him and Hesam, that is. Anyway, Peter thought the man would be sleeping after the day he’d had, but he wasn’t. Peter found him sitting up in his bed, the room’s phone held tight to his ear. He looked completely normal, aside from the pillow of gauze held securely just above his left temple. Grade II concussion, Peter recalled, He’s an FBI agent. An image flashed in his mind from a moment before the ambulance doors had closed- the pallid, frightened face of a man with blood on the cuffs of his fashionable suit. That expression had seemed so very wrong on him, it stood out in Peter’s memory.
The man didn’t look up when Peter neared the door to his room. He knew he should leave him to his phone conversation, but something kept him standing partially out of view. “Would you relax, please?” the man was saying in an affectionate if chiding tone, “I promise, I’ll be back as soon as I can... Yes, which will be when the doctors say it’s okay and not before, I understand.”
Probably his wife, Peter decided.
“Yeah, it’s fine. She’s fine, he’s fine- and I’ll be fine too...” He frowned, “Don’t say that. That’s ridiculous and you know it. You can’t be everywhere at once... Listen, you need to get some sleep as much as I do... Okay? Okay. I’ll see you soon. Good night, Neal.”
Peter blinked, Oh. Husband, then.
***
Neal was never dealing with Sédilot again. This was ridiculous. Collateral he could understand. In their business, it paid to have a little insurance when working with a new person. But locking him up in the cellar until Alex came through with the money? Who did that? And that wasn’t even going into all the guns everyone upstairs seemed to be carrying. All things considered, Neal was really not liking this situation. Especially since he hadn’t been in contact with Alex for three days. He wondered idly if he’d get unfortunately lucky and that FBI guy who’d taken up his case would show up guns blazing and rescue him. Not too likely.
It was an old farmhouse outside Villeneuve sur Yonne that Sédilot had set up shop in. The cellar had an earthen floor, stone walls, and an annoyingly low ceiling. Neal slid into a seated position against the stone to ease his complaining back muscles. At least there was light- a bare, buzzing bulb dangling from the ceiling. Neal picked up a pebble from the floor and tossed it at the bulb. Kept it up until he hit it, making light slide up and down the wall as the bulb swung. Neal paused, and blinked when the light revealed something high up on the wall. Words.
He climbed to his feet and walked forward. He grabbed the bulb by its cord on his way and held it up to the wall. The words were carved into the stone, but Neal couldn’t tell with what, even running his fingers over the letters. They weren’t very neatly carved, but Neal could forgive that. Because they were in English, and they told him how to escape. In a manner of speaking.
Try the stone in the lefthand corner behind you
Good luck
The Doctor
As his mind spun with possibilities as to who this doctor was, why he needed to escape this stupid cellar, and why he’d been kind enough to share his information and wish him luck, Neal darted to the prescribed corner. The stone there was large, almost two feet at its widest, and protruded maybe half an inch from the wall. There were the barest impressions of two groups of four furrows around the edge of the stone.
It cost him most of his fingernails and an hour’s hard labor, but eventually Neal managed to slide the stone free, revealing a narrow tunnel dug into the earth. He grinned, and said, “Thank you, Doctor.”
***
“A tiny village in France, you said!” Amy bellowed, clutching her flaming torch like a cudgel, “Loveliest place you’ve ever seen, you said! Nice and quiet and peaceful, you said! IS THIS WHAT YOU CALL NICE, QUIET, AND BLOODY PEACEFUL?!”
The Doctor wriggled a finger in his ringing ear and refocused on keeping his sonic screwdriver trained on the cellar door. It was holding all right for now, but it wasn’t what anyone would call a solid plan. “No, but I hardly made it this way, now did I? These aliens have been here for years! Waiting for the right moment... All through history...”
Hungry shrieks sounded beyond the door, the scrapes of claws made it shudder in its hinges. Amy and the Doctor stumbled away down the steps, eyes wide with growing fear. They had a ways to go to catch up to those of the young woman already crouched against the wall, curled up like she could squeeze herself out of existence if she tried hard enough, even through the trembling. Amy and the Doctor sunk down on either side of her.
“Clotilde,” the Doctor said, placing careful hands on her shoulders, “Clotilde, I know you know what this is. Your family always has.”
“No, no,” she muttered, “Just fairy stories. What my father told me, his father told him, his father told him...”
“Yes, and he told you for a reason. So you could be here, right now, when it was time to put those stories to use.”
“Doctor...” Amy said, her voice getting tight and high. The sound of the claws had changed- the wood was starting to give.
“What did your father say, Clotilde?” the Doctor pressed, “How did the story end?”
She hiccupped on sobs, but closed her eyes and answered in a recited tone, “When the monsters showed their horrid faces, the good people sought shelter in the earth. And in the earth was their salvation. Upon the stone, that hid the path.”
The Doctor leapt to his feet, screwdriver already in hand, “A stone, a stone, now we’re cooking!” He darted around the cellar, taking readings of the wall. In the far corner on the left, he stopped, “Ah HA! A stone required and a stone received- that’s a good story your dad told, a little vague for my taste, not much on the concrete details, as such-”
“Doctor!” Amy snapped.
“Right! Life-saving now, literary criticism later. Y’see how this stone’s sticking out of the wall? Shouldn’t be, not if it was doing its job as a stone in a wall. And I can see- there’s even little holes, four here and four here. Now what could go in there?”
He stuck his fingers in the holes, braced his feet against the floor, and pulled with a deep groan. The stone slid free, and a draft of cold air blew into the cellar. Amy and Clotilde wasted no time in jumping up and hurrying into the newly revealed tunnel.
Amy paused as she noticed an emptiness at her side. She ducked her head back into the cellar, “Doctor, what are you still doing in there?”
He stood at the wall, holding the screwdriver up to the stone, “Just... making sure... this doesn’t happen... to... anyone... else.”
The sound of splintering wood and horrible shrieks filled the air, “DOCTOR!”
“Coming, coming.” He turned from the wall and into the tunnel, dragging it back in place with Amy’s help.
Word Count: 1,246 all together
Summary: Peter Petrelli to Neal Caffrey to The Doctor for englishmuffin2.
A/N: Hope this works for you. I really tried not to repeat myself too blatantly with Neal.
It was Peter’s last stop for the day, checking on the patients he’d saved. Him and Hesam, that is. Anyway, Peter thought the man would be sleeping after the day he’d had, but he wasn’t. Peter found him sitting up in his bed, the room’s phone held tight to his ear. He looked completely normal, aside from the pillow of gauze held securely just above his left temple. Grade II concussion, Peter recalled, He’s an FBI agent. An image flashed in his mind from a moment before the ambulance doors had closed- the pallid, frightened face of a man with blood on the cuffs of his fashionable suit. That expression had seemed so very wrong on him, it stood out in Peter’s memory.
The man didn’t look up when Peter neared the door to his room. He knew he should leave him to his phone conversation, but something kept him standing partially out of view. “Would you relax, please?” the man was saying in an affectionate if chiding tone, “I promise, I’ll be back as soon as I can... Yes, which will be when the doctors say it’s okay and not before, I understand.”
Probably his wife, Peter decided.
“Yeah, it’s fine. She’s fine, he’s fine- and I’ll be fine too...” He frowned, “Don’t say that. That’s ridiculous and you know it. You can’t be everywhere at once... Listen, you need to get some sleep as much as I do... Okay? Okay. I’ll see you soon. Good night, Neal.”
Peter blinked, Oh. Husband, then.
***
Neal was never dealing with Sédilot again. This was ridiculous. Collateral he could understand. In their business, it paid to have a little insurance when working with a new person. But locking him up in the cellar until Alex came through with the money? Who did that? And that wasn’t even going into all the guns everyone upstairs seemed to be carrying. All things considered, Neal was really not liking this situation. Especially since he hadn’t been in contact with Alex for three days. He wondered idly if he’d get unfortunately lucky and that FBI guy who’d taken up his case would show up guns blazing and rescue him. Not too likely.
It was an old farmhouse outside Villeneuve sur Yonne that Sédilot had set up shop in. The cellar had an earthen floor, stone walls, and an annoyingly low ceiling. Neal slid into a seated position against the stone to ease his complaining back muscles. At least there was light- a bare, buzzing bulb dangling from the ceiling. Neal picked up a pebble from the floor and tossed it at the bulb. Kept it up until he hit it, making light slide up and down the wall as the bulb swung. Neal paused, and blinked when the light revealed something high up on the wall. Words.
He climbed to his feet and walked forward. He grabbed the bulb by its cord on his way and held it up to the wall. The words were carved into the stone, but Neal couldn’t tell with what, even running his fingers over the letters. They weren’t very neatly carved, but Neal could forgive that. Because they were in English, and they told him how to escape. In a manner of speaking.
Try the stone in the lefthand corner behind you
Good luck
The Doctor
As his mind spun with possibilities as to who this doctor was, why he needed to escape this stupid cellar, and why he’d been kind enough to share his information and wish him luck, Neal darted to the prescribed corner. The stone there was large, almost two feet at its widest, and protruded maybe half an inch from the wall. There were the barest impressions of two groups of four furrows around the edge of the stone.
It cost him most of his fingernails and an hour’s hard labor, but eventually Neal managed to slide the stone free, revealing a narrow tunnel dug into the earth. He grinned, and said, “Thank you, Doctor.”
***
“A tiny village in France, you said!” Amy bellowed, clutching her flaming torch like a cudgel, “Loveliest place you’ve ever seen, you said! Nice and quiet and peaceful, you said! IS THIS WHAT YOU CALL NICE, QUIET, AND BLOODY PEACEFUL?!”
The Doctor wriggled a finger in his ringing ear and refocused on keeping his sonic screwdriver trained on the cellar door. It was holding all right for now, but it wasn’t what anyone would call a solid plan. “No, but I hardly made it this way, now did I? These aliens have been here for years! Waiting for the right moment... All through history...”
Hungry shrieks sounded beyond the door, the scrapes of claws made it shudder in its hinges. Amy and the Doctor stumbled away down the steps, eyes wide with growing fear. They had a ways to go to catch up to those of the young woman already crouched against the wall, curled up like she could squeeze herself out of existence if she tried hard enough, even through the trembling. Amy and the Doctor sunk down on either side of her.
“Clotilde,” the Doctor said, placing careful hands on her shoulders, “Clotilde, I know you know what this is. Your family always has.”
“No, no,” she muttered, “Just fairy stories. What my father told me, his father told him, his father told him...”
“Yes, and he told you for a reason. So you could be here, right now, when it was time to put those stories to use.”
“Doctor...” Amy said, her voice getting tight and high. The sound of the claws had changed- the wood was starting to give.
“What did your father say, Clotilde?” the Doctor pressed, “How did the story end?”
She hiccupped on sobs, but closed her eyes and answered in a recited tone, “When the monsters showed their horrid faces, the good people sought shelter in the earth. And in the earth was their salvation. Upon the stone, that hid the path.”
The Doctor leapt to his feet, screwdriver already in hand, “A stone, a stone, now we’re cooking!” He darted around the cellar, taking readings of the wall. In the far corner on the left, he stopped, “Ah HA! A stone required and a stone received- that’s a good story your dad told, a little vague for my taste, not much on the concrete details, as such-”
“Doctor!” Amy snapped.
“Right! Life-saving now, literary criticism later. Y’see how this stone’s sticking out of the wall? Shouldn’t be, not if it was doing its job as a stone in a wall. And I can see- there’s even little holes, four here and four here. Now what could go in there?”
He stuck his fingers in the holes, braced his feet against the floor, and pulled with a deep groan. The stone slid free, and a draft of cold air blew into the cellar. Amy and Clotilde wasted no time in jumping up and hurrying into the newly revealed tunnel.
Amy paused as she noticed an emptiness at her side. She ducked her head back into the cellar, “Doctor, what are you still doing in there?”
He stood at the wall, holding the screwdriver up to the stone, “Just... making sure... this doesn’t happen... to... anyone... else.”
The sound of splintering wood and horrible shrieks filled the air, “DOCTOR!”
“Coming, coming.” He turned from the wall and into the tunnel, dragging it back in place with Amy’s help.