comment_fic 546-550: Inception/HP, Leverage/AtS, WC/X-Men, HL/Trek reboot, HL
Title: the safe-kept memory of a lovely thing
Fandom: Inception/Harry Potter
Disclaimer: not my characters; title from Sara Teasdale
Warnings: AU; future!fic for Harry Potter
Pairings: implied Arthur/Eames
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 190
Point of view: third
Prompt: Inception/Harry Potter, anyone, extractors in the Wizarding World use Pensives rather than PASIVs
Dumbledore is one of the easiest forges Eames has ever done. Weasley seems to believe anything that comes out of the old coot's mouth, and Eames has always been good at making shit up as he goes.
Arthur's battling the horde of red-heads that are Weasley's projections and the odd map Weasley had cast aside fills up with information. Eames-as-Dumbledore tells Weasley to run, find Harry! he needs your help!and Weasley takes off. Eames quickly memorizes the information, murmuring the spell that'll fill in the paper in his pocket, topside.
Arthur's invention, that. He's such a handy little bugger to have around.
He leaves the approximation of Dumbledore's office, meeting Arthur in the hall. "Ready, love?" he asks, dropping the forge. Arthur nods, so Eames says the counterspell. They're tossed out of the pensive in the usual dramatic flair. Once topside, Arthur does a quick cleanup while Eames checks that the information transferred.
"Perfect," he says.
"Good," Arthur replies. "Let's get out of here."
No one tries to stop them as they leave the Ministry. Eames can barely contain his smirk. Arthur waits until they're clear to roll his eyes.
Title: wrung with the wounds which kill not, but ne'er heal
Fandom: Leverage/Angel
Disclaimer: not my characters; title from Byron
Warnings: anytime for Leverage; post-series for Angel
Pairings: none
Rating: PG
Wordcount:100
Point of view: third
Prompt: Leverage/Angel, Lindsey!Eliot/Any, (S)he's fairly sure Eliot's wrist is broken, but (s)he's seen him shake off much worse injuries and now he's just stood there, white as a sheet, staring at his hand.
There is no way it's the worst injury Eliot has ever had. It took a moment for him to register the pain, and he was able to finish the job (of course), but now he's sitting in Hardison's get-away van, silent, staring at his hand.
"Eliot?" Sophie asks softly. "Darling, what's wrong?"
"Nothin'," he mutters, visibly shaking something off. "Just..." He clenches his hand into a fist, straightens out all his fingers, and bends each one. He rubs at his wrist, says, "Light sprain," and then, "Bad memories, 's'all."
He doesn't say anything else for the rest of the ride.
Title: the daylight is lit with more volatile light
Fandom: White Collar/X-Men
Disclaimer : not my characters; title from Whitman
Warnings: somewhat AU
Pairings: pre-Neal/Peter
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 320
Point of view: third
Prompt: White Collar/X-Men; Neal, Peter, Any; Neal's a mutant.
There's a criminal. And there's an FBI Special Agent. And over there, in a fabulous hat, is another criminal who helps the FBI catch bad guys.
The first criminal has a gun pointed at the second. The FBI Special Agent sets his at his feet and puts his hands on his head, following the orders of a man who won't hesitate to kill.
The first criminal and the FBI Special Agent are human. They are only dangerous with a weapon in hand or sufficiently pissed off and within reach of their target.
The second criminal... he's a bit different.
It's not even that cool of a power. Some mutants can change their shape or fly or move quicker than light. Professor X, he can read and control minds. Uncle Erik can control metal, which is much more handy than anyone realizes. He and Neal had spent an entire afternoon detailing what controlling metal can actually mean. It's scary, when thought about for too long.
The criminal (Carl Gregor, owes serious money, conned it out of retirees, has killed before and is totally okay with doing it again) licks his lips and jerks around to shoot Peter.
And that. Well.
Gregor pulls the trigger. Neal focuses on the gun, on the energy about to explode of it, and makes it stop.
The gun explodes. Gregor will be lucky to keep his arm, but his wrist and hand are completely destroyed, and shards may be in his chest, neck, and face. (A few may have gone into his eyes. Neal totally didn't tell them to.)
Uncle Erik can control metal. And during that afternoon discussion, they may have talked about a bit more than Uncle Erik's potential strength.
Peter fusses over Neal for a second, then checks on Gregor. Neal thinks about the energy in Gregor's heart, and then decides to let him keep breathing.
He didn't actually hurt Peter, after all.
Title: I'm bound to die, you said, someday
Fandom: Highlander/Star Trek reboot
Disclaimer: not my characters; title from Sandra Cisneros
Warnings: none
Pairings: none
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 175
Point of view: third
Prompt: Highlander/Star Trek Reboot, Methos & Enterprise Crew; Methos gains a reputation for being the only red shirt able to go out on a mission with the main crew and come back relatively unscathed.
His name is Matt again, and he's considered cannon fodder. He's flying under the radar, trying to live without making too much of a splash. He figures he'll find a nice-enough planet and let himself die.
Except, seven missions in a row, the planets are unbearably awful, so he doesn't die. He saves the captain, first officer, and CMO, and now people are noticing him. Being noticed never ends well.
And then he does die and McCoy nearly gets his head blown off trying to protect his body, out of some misplaced sense of loyalty, and Matt wakes up to the McCoy yelling at the natives, trying to hide his fear.
"Fuck," he mutters, lunging to his feet. The natives scream, drop their spears (and, seriously, why are all the planets pre-industrial? he's read records of ones that aren't, but hasn't been to one yet. he tired of living without air-conditioning way before it was invented), and McCoy stares at him, open-mouthed and wide-eyed.
"This doesn't have to make it into the report, right?" he asks.
Title: four truths only
Fandom: Highlander
Disclaimer: not my characters
Warnings: spoilers for the Horsemen arc
Pairings: a smidge of past-Methos/Kronos
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 360
Point of view: third
Prompt: Highlander, any, bite the lightning and tell me how it tastes (lyrics from Arctic Monkeys)
Children have the same questions, all the way from the beginning to the end. He lies and no one notices; any who could tell the signs died long ago, when the sky was young and there were gods. He walked on water and knocked down mountains, and flew to a kingdom beyond the horizon when the sun set. Long ago.
He is the oldest. The first. The last, too, but he tells no one that. None can see through time like he can; all who could passed beyond the ocean and into legend, and he remembers their names. He sings the lament during storms, when his sword bites deep and the lightning returns home.
thunder-bearer, earth-mother, fire-eater, sea-tamer, I hear you, I know you, I honor you now with this taste of lightning
There are four always. He follows the old teachings by giving each child four true answers. His name is never one of them.
He drops a handful of dirt onto a grave with no marking. Silas, my brother, steady as the ground beneath my feet.
He burns a body and a head, scatters the ashes into the wind. Caspian, my brother, wild as the fire that consumes nations.
He kisses a pair of cold lips, places a head into cold hands, and sinks a coffin filled with rocks. Kronos, my brother and my son, as dangerous as the roaring ocean, I have loved you best of all.
Lightning flashes in the sky. He sings the lament. The children could not replace the ancients he once knew, when the sun was newborn and they fashioned the world.
Four truths only, and never his name. Never his age. Never the origin of the quickening or the Game.
thunder-bearer, earth-mother, fire-eater, sea-tamer, I hear you, I know you, I honor you now with this taste of lightning
All quickenings, from the first to the last, want to return home to him, and he will welcome them all eventually. That is the truth from a time before memory, before life, and there is not even a legend to whisper on the wind.
"Thunder-bearer," he murmurs, staring at the sky.