Person of Interest/Doctor Who ficlet
This is one of those things that's probably way more amusing to write than to read. :) Thanks for the prompt, Liz!
untitled crossover fic(let)
fandoms: Person of Interest, Doctor Who
characters: John Reese, Harold Finch, Martha Jones
rating: G
summary: Finch is secretly an alien, Martha is his doctor, Reese is clueless.
word count: under 700
prompt from Liz: I don't know much about Martha, but I should think she'd cross over with PoI pretty well since she lives in our time, and she's a doctor and she might travel to NY even w/o the Doctor around... ;)
notes: 1) Not beta-read, lemme know if I missed something. 2) Finch as a (mostly) benign alien works frighteningly well.
There were voices--plural--coming from the center of the library. John paused and listened before taking his next step. Finch's voice: he sounded calm, if querulous. The other speaker was a woman with an English accent.
He wasn't close enough to understand their conversation, so he moved forward silently, listening as intently as possibly. A high-pitched whir and then the woman laughed. "Mickey," she said--or was it Ricky?--and then something that sounded like reverse engineering.
"...better," said Finch. John was getting close enough to start understanding more, but Finch's voice suddenly dropped. Reese couldn't make out anything for a few seconds.
He wondered if he'd been heard, but that wasn't possible. He hadn't made any noise. The woman spoke again. "You know you could avoid most of this."
"I'm busy," answered Harold, peevish. "And not all of us have the extra time."
The woman laughed again quietly. "Time isn't as flexible as it used to be for me, either. Strictly linear lately." She paused and added something else that John couldn't hear.
Silence again for a moment, and the noise of a zipper closing. Then Finch said clearly, "We've been waiting for you, John."
It's inhuman, thought Reese. Harold had an uncanny sense of... space or movement or hearing. Something. Few people ever sensed John's presence if he didn't want them to.
Reese walked into the center of the library. "Hey, Harold," he said, feeling abashed. Standing next to Finch was a petite black woman with a strikingly pretty face. She was wearing a lab coat over practical clothing. Completing the medical look, she had a black bag at her feet. It was closed; nothing about the shape gave away its contents, other than it was too short for an assembled rifle.
Harold was sitting in his usual chair. "Nice of you to finally join us," he said. John didn't miss the unspoken condemnation of his eavesdropping. He also didn't miss Finch's decrease in pain; the usual signs were greatly diminished from the last time he'd seen him.
"I didn't realize you were expecting company, Finch."
Finch didn't reply to that leading statement. Instead he said, "John, this is Martha. Martha, John is an associate of mine."
First names only for both of them, Reese noticed. They shook hands. "So do you live in the States or are you just visiting?"
"Don't answer that," said Harold before the woman could give a reply.
"I see what you mean," Martha said, glancing at Finch with an amused look on her face. They'd been talking about him, then. "Perhaps I should give him my number, since you never call when things get bad."
"Only if you want him tracking your phone," retorted Finch.
"Maybe I do." She made the statement with a flirtatious glance in John's direction.
"Uh." Reese couldn't think of anything to say, and Martha's eyes crinkled at the corners.
Harold answered, "You really don't."
Martha laughed. "Someone might object, anyway." For a moment Reese envied the man who put that goofy smile on her face. "Speaking of him, it's past time for me to leave." She leaned forward and gave Finch a peck on the cheek, to John's surprise. "Take better care of yourself," she admonished.
Finch gave her a look that John deciphered as, I'll think about it.
Martha grabbed her bag--not very heavy, John noted--and said, "You make sure that he does," to John.
Reese's lip twitched, resulting in an exasperated sigh from Martha as she left.
"She seems nice," John said.
"She's a busybody. And brilliant." The last part was said with a begrudgingly admiring tone.
John thought about trying to confirm whether the name he'd heard Martha mention was Ricky or Mickey, but Finch forestalled him. "We have a new number, Mister Reese."
Right. Back to work. John filed away the information for later exploration: Martha, medical professional, native to and probably residing in the UK, a co-worker or other named Ricky or Mickey.
If he could find out more about her background, it might lead to more information about the enigma that was Harold Finch.
Posted at Dreamwidth: http://rose-griffes.dreamwidth.org/232819.html. Comment where you wish.
untitled crossover fic(let)
fandoms: Person of Interest, Doctor Who
characters: John Reese, Harold Finch, Martha Jones
rating: G
summary: Finch is secretly an alien, Martha is his doctor, Reese is clueless.
word count: under 700
prompt from Liz: I don't know much about Martha, but I should think she'd cross over with PoI pretty well since she lives in our time, and she's a doctor and she might travel to NY even w/o the Doctor around... ;)
notes: 1) Not beta-read, lemme know if I missed something. 2) Finch as a (mostly) benign alien works frighteningly well.
There were voices--plural--coming from the center of the library. John paused and listened before taking his next step. Finch's voice: he sounded calm, if querulous. The other speaker was a woman with an English accent.
He wasn't close enough to understand their conversation, so he moved forward silently, listening as intently as possibly. A high-pitched whir and then the woman laughed. "Mickey," she said--or was it Ricky?--and then something that sounded like reverse engineering.
"...better," said Finch. John was getting close enough to start understanding more, but Finch's voice suddenly dropped. Reese couldn't make out anything for a few seconds.
He wondered if he'd been heard, but that wasn't possible. He hadn't made any noise. The woman spoke again. "You know you could avoid most of this."
"I'm busy," answered Harold, peevish. "And not all of us have the extra time."
The woman laughed again quietly. "Time isn't as flexible as it used to be for me, either. Strictly linear lately." She paused and added something else that John couldn't hear.
Silence again for a moment, and the noise of a zipper closing. Then Finch said clearly, "We've been waiting for you, John."
It's inhuman, thought Reese. Harold had an uncanny sense of... space or movement or hearing. Something. Few people ever sensed John's presence if he didn't want them to.
Reese walked into the center of the library. "Hey, Harold," he said, feeling abashed. Standing next to Finch was a petite black woman with a strikingly pretty face. She was wearing a lab coat over practical clothing. Completing the medical look, she had a black bag at her feet. It was closed; nothing about the shape gave away its contents, other than it was too short for an assembled rifle.
Harold was sitting in his usual chair. "Nice of you to finally join us," he said. John didn't miss the unspoken condemnation of his eavesdropping. He also didn't miss Finch's decrease in pain; the usual signs were greatly diminished from the last time he'd seen him.
"I didn't realize you were expecting company, Finch."
Finch didn't reply to that leading statement. Instead he said, "John, this is Martha. Martha, John is an associate of mine."
First names only for both of them, Reese noticed. They shook hands. "So do you live in the States or are you just visiting?"
"Don't answer that," said Harold before the woman could give a reply.
"I see what you mean," Martha said, glancing at Finch with an amused look on her face. They'd been talking about him, then. "Perhaps I should give him my number, since you never call when things get bad."
"Only if you want him tracking your phone," retorted Finch.
"Maybe I do." She made the statement with a flirtatious glance in John's direction.
"Uh." Reese couldn't think of anything to say, and Martha's eyes crinkled at the corners.
Harold answered, "You really don't."
Martha laughed. "Someone might object, anyway." For a moment Reese envied the man who put that goofy smile on her face. "Speaking of him, it's past time for me to leave." She leaned forward and gave Finch a peck on the cheek, to John's surprise. "Take better care of yourself," she admonished.
Finch gave her a look that John deciphered as, I'll think about it.
Martha grabbed her bag--not very heavy, John noted--and said, "You make sure that he does," to John.
Reese's lip twitched, resulting in an exasperated sigh from Martha as she left.
"She seems nice," John said.
"She's a busybody. And brilliant." The last part was said with a begrudgingly admiring tone.
John thought about trying to confirm whether the name he'd heard Martha mention was Ricky or Mickey, but Finch forestalled him. "We have a new number, Mister Reese."
Right. Back to work. John filed away the information for later exploration: Martha, medical professional, native to and probably residing in the UK, a co-worker or other named Ricky or Mickey.
If he could find out more about her background, it might lead to more information about the enigma that was Harold Finch.
Posted at Dreamwidth: http://rose-griffes.dreamwidth.org/232819.html. Comment where you wish.