Fic: A Breakdown in Comprehension? 1/2 [PG] Dresden Files/Highlander crossover
Title: A Breakdown in Comprehension?
Author: A Lanart
Fandom/Genre: Dresden Files/Highlander crossover. TV verse Dresden with bookverse cameos.
Rating: PG
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Pairing/Characters: Harry and Bob from DF, Methos and Amanda from HL
Summary: Harry learns more than he ever wanted to know about immortals.
Disclaimer: Dresden Files stuff is the property of Jim Butcher and the scifi channel.
Highlander stuff is the property of Panzer/Davies productions
No copyright infringement intended, no profit made.
A/N: Part of the With Friends Like These... series.
Part one
Usually, I’m the one who is flustered by the prospect of a beautiful woman turning up on the doorstep. To have Bob being the flustered one for a change is just downright *wrong* somehow. Admittedly, he was flustered for a completely different reason than I usually am, but even so, it’s unnerving. I can’t help thinking that being dead in this situation might be something of an advantage, portable home not withstanding. Fortunately - or not, depending on your viewpoint - I’m very much alive.
I wasn’t sure what I was going to find when I returned to the main room, but it sure as hell wasn’t the sight that met my eyes. My cat, Mister, is pretty much what you would expect from a cat; I don’t own him, he honours me with the pleasure of his company and throws me crumbs of affection when he can be bothered. In return he’s fed and warm and relatively safe. I say relatively as nothing in a wizard’s home, living or otherwise, is ever completely safe. Mister is a very sensible cat; he steers clear of the lab unless he’s invited in there by me and if anyone starts waving things around like sticks, sharp metal objects or their hands, he makes himself scarce. He also doesn’t make friends easily if he thinks I am wary of someone. All of which explains why I was standing there in my own home, gaping like a stranded fish at the prospect of Mister doing a very good impression of a book rest, and judging from the noise out of him being more than happy to do so. It comes to something when your *cat* has the power to astound you. The book, which looked like one of the older and more obscure treatises I’d managed to pick up, and Mister were on top of the table that actually has chairs around it. It was leaning against his body in such a way that it caught the best of the light without having to be excessively handled. I wasn’t sure what kind of effect cat hair would have on the cover, but I know how fragile the pages of some of the books are so the gesture kind of reassured me. Pierson was sat in one of the chairs with his head in the book. I didn’t know if he’d noticed me.
“The translations are off.” He said. Obviously he had noticed me, but the statement didn’t make a lot of sense. I wandered over to see exactly which book it was that he had dug out of my collection. It was one I didn’t really bother with as it made virtually no sense to either me or Bob.
“I... what?”
“In this book. The English translation of the Latin is fairly accurate but as the Latin doesn’t make sense in the first place that isn’t really much help. Now if you turn to the end...” He reached out a cotton clad finger to carefully turn the pages. I wondered about that until I remembered I kept some gloves near the older books for this very reason; to protect them from the dangers of human skin and its attendant acids. “You’ll notice that there’s a whole section of hieroglyphs.” I had, but Bob for some reason had never learned hieroglyphs and I have enough problems with Latin. A quick smile lit my guest’s face as he turned to look at me. “I can do you an accurate translation if you’d like, instead of that... nonsense... whoever put this together wrote down.” Now that was something I hadn’t expected; a complete stranger, and an immortal one who just *happened* to know Bob before he was dead at that, offering to translate a bunch of hieroglyphs for me. Life is just plain weird sometimes, even for a wizard. I think I must have been staring as Pierson’s smile grew wider. “I’m Doctor Adam Pierson, a professor of ancient languages. It’s not often nowadays that I manage to get my hands on something a bunch of other academics haven’t already been drooling over for years. If it bothers you, think of it as payment for me landing unexpectedly on your doorstep.” I closed my mouth with a snap and stared some more, before taking a deep breath and actually saying something.
“Professor of ancient languages? I’d say you had something of an unfair advantage.”
“Nothing unfair about it in the slightest. It’s a dog eat dog world in Academia as much as it is anywhere else, you know.” The smile had turned into a full on shit-eating grin, one that made it very hard to remember that this guy was probably ancient when Bob had been a kid. And I bet he led those other academics round by the nose for the fun of it, misdirecting them just because he could.
“I didn’t know; but it makes a perverse kind of sense. Still, that doesn’t explain how you managed to subvert my cat, Dr Pierson.”
“I asked him politely, of course. It’s amazing what a cat will do for you when you speak to it in classical Egyptian. And quite rightly, too.” He directed the last few words at Mister and scratched him behind the ears. My traitorous cat purred even louder if that was possible. I admitted defeat and wandered over to my ancient fridge.
“Beer?” I asked. There are certain things that don’t need to be dressed up in fancy language. Asking a guy if he wants a beer is one of them. I’ve been told it’s the same for women and chocolate, but I’ve never been brave enough to ask if that’s true. At the moment Murphy classes me as a friend; I’d like to keep it that way.
“Please,” he answered. The door of the fridge squealed alarmingly as I opened it, but at least the damn thing was still working. I reached in to grab 2 bottles of McAnally’s best; I’ve never admitted to him that I cool his beer as I think he’d be upset and there’s no way I can contemplate living without McAnally’s own brand of magic in my life. Pierson waved away my unspoken question about a glass, and I popped open the bottles before putting them down on the table. He eyed the beer, and then looked at the book with a sigh. I guess he was thinking that beer and old books wouldn’t mix as he closed the book, moving it carefully to one side before removing the cotton glove. A few unintelligible words to my cat later and Mister stood up, stretched, and leapt off the table. That left nothing but the beer between us. We reached out for the bottles simultaneously, but I waited for Pierson’s reaction to his first taste of a McAnally brew before drinking any of my own. I wasn’t disappointed; at the first mouthful he looked startled, with the second he was thoughtful, and the third produced such an expression of rapt pleasure that I was surprised into saying one of the things I was actually thinking. I was lucky it was the least incriminating.
“You sure like your beer, Dr Pierson.”
“This isn’t beer; this is liquid heaven. And call me Adam.” Seems like the beer had built a bridge; I took another step along it, as well as a generous mouthful of my own beer.
“Only if you call me Harry,” I replied. We shared a smile and raised our bottles to each other; the power that beer has is pretty damn amazing, and McAnally’s is even more so.
By the time we’d finished our second bottle each, I was in a much mellower frame of mind. We’d relocated to the sofa, and Mister had consented to sit between us. All in all I was feeling brave - or possibly reckless - enough to ask one of the questions that had been burning in my brain even though I was as terrified of what the answer would be as I was fascinated.
“Just how old *are* you, Adam?” The look he gave me was a strange one, almost sad.
“A lot older than Bob. I don’t think you really want to know how much older,” he said. I shrugged.
“Maybe not, but I can’t help being curious.”
“You’re a wizard. Cats and wizards are born curious.” He reached out to give Mister a scratch, and Mister playfully batted at his outstretched fingers as if to emphasise the point. “But that doesn’t necessarily mean you should have all the answers. Where would the fun be in that?” I sighed. I’d had all the answer I was going to get, and if I was honest it was at about the limit of my comfort level. Even so, there was so much I wanted to know about this guy; who he was, what he had seen, how he had managed to survive for so long, and if he had any pointers on just how I could manage to talk to women without sounding like I was seven kinds of stupid. Still, if I was lucky I’d have time; if we don’t get blown up or eaten alive wizards can have a pretty long lifespan. I drank a silent toast to that hope.
“If I ever settle down to the quiet life, I’ll ask you again in about a hundred years,” I said in as offhand a manner as I could manage; if I’d wanted to surprise him with the longevity revelation I would have failed dismally. He sprawled further back into my sofa as if he owned it, with a quirk of a smile briefly lighting his face.
“If we’re both still around for the question to be asked, I’ll even consider giving you a straight answer.” I was about to make a suitably profound rejoinder when the external wards were tripped, and I turned to him to explain.
“Company.” What I hadn’t expected was for him to say exactly the same thing at the same time. I glared at him as he tried not to laugh.
“What is it with you? Do you have immortal radar or something?”
“Or something, definitely,” he replied. I shook my head as I scrambled off the sofa and went to meet my second unexpected, and in Bob’s case unwanted, guest of the day.
Part Two
Author: A Lanart
Fandom/Genre: Dresden Files/Highlander crossover. TV verse Dresden with bookverse cameos.
Rating: PG
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Pairing/Characters: Harry and Bob from DF, Methos and Amanda from HL
Summary: Harry learns more than he ever wanted to know about immortals.
Disclaimer: Dresden Files stuff is the property of Jim Butcher and the scifi channel.
Highlander stuff is the property of Panzer/Davies productions
No copyright infringement intended, no profit made.
A/N: Part of the With Friends Like These... series.
Part one
Usually, I’m the one who is flustered by the prospect of a beautiful woman turning up on the doorstep. To have Bob being the flustered one for a change is just downright *wrong* somehow. Admittedly, he was flustered for a completely different reason than I usually am, but even so, it’s unnerving. I can’t help thinking that being dead in this situation might be something of an advantage, portable home not withstanding. Fortunately - or not, depending on your viewpoint - I’m very much alive.
I wasn’t sure what I was going to find when I returned to the main room, but it sure as hell wasn’t the sight that met my eyes. My cat, Mister, is pretty much what you would expect from a cat; I don’t own him, he honours me with the pleasure of his company and throws me crumbs of affection when he can be bothered. In return he’s fed and warm and relatively safe. I say relatively as nothing in a wizard’s home, living or otherwise, is ever completely safe. Mister is a very sensible cat; he steers clear of the lab unless he’s invited in there by me and if anyone starts waving things around like sticks, sharp metal objects or their hands, he makes himself scarce. He also doesn’t make friends easily if he thinks I am wary of someone. All of which explains why I was standing there in my own home, gaping like a stranded fish at the prospect of Mister doing a very good impression of a book rest, and judging from the noise out of him being more than happy to do so. It comes to something when your *cat* has the power to astound you. The book, which looked like one of the older and more obscure treatises I’d managed to pick up, and Mister were on top of the table that actually has chairs around it. It was leaning against his body in such a way that it caught the best of the light without having to be excessively handled. I wasn’t sure what kind of effect cat hair would have on the cover, but I know how fragile the pages of some of the books are so the gesture kind of reassured me. Pierson was sat in one of the chairs with his head in the book. I didn’t know if he’d noticed me.
“The translations are off.” He said. Obviously he had noticed me, but the statement didn’t make a lot of sense. I wandered over to see exactly which book it was that he had dug out of my collection. It was one I didn’t really bother with as it made virtually no sense to either me or Bob.
“I... what?”
“In this book. The English translation of the Latin is fairly accurate but as the Latin doesn’t make sense in the first place that isn’t really much help. Now if you turn to the end...” He reached out a cotton clad finger to carefully turn the pages. I wondered about that until I remembered I kept some gloves near the older books for this very reason; to protect them from the dangers of human skin and its attendant acids. “You’ll notice that there’s a whole section of hieroglyphs.” I had, but Bob for some reason had never learned hieroglyphs and I have enough problems with Latin. A quick smile lit my guest’s face as he turned to look at me. “I can do you an accurate translation if you’d like, instead of that... nonsense... whoever put this together wrote down.” Now that was something I hadn’t expected; a complete stranger, and an immortal one who just *happened* to know Bob before he was dead at that, offering to translate a bunch of hieroglyphs for me. Life is just plain weird sometimes, even for a wizard. I think I must have been staring as Pierson’s smile grew wider. “I’m Doctor Adam Pierson, a professor of ancient languages. It’s not often nowadays that I manage to get my hands on something a bunch of other academics haven’t already been drooling over for years. If it bothers you, think of it as payment for me landing unexpectedly on your doorstep.” I closed my mouth with a snap and stared some more, before taking a deep breath and actually saying something.
“Professor of ancient languages? I’d say you had something of an unfair advantage.”
“Nothing unfair about it in the slightest. It’s a dog eat dog world in Academia as much as it is anywhere else, you know.” The smile had turned into a full on shit-eating grin, one that made it very hard to remember that this guy was probably ancient when Bob had been a kid. And I bet he led those other academics round by the nose for the fun of it, misdirecting them just because he could.
“I didn’t know; but it makes a perverse kind of sense. Still, that doesn’t explain how you managed to subvert my cat, Dr Pierson.”
“I asked him politely, of course. It’s amazing what a cat will do for you when you speak to it in classical Egyptian. And quite rightly, too.” He directed the last few words at Mister and scratched him behind the ears. My traitorous cat purred even louder if that was possible. I admitted defeat and wandered over to my ancient fridge.
“Beer?” I asked. There are certain things that don’t need to be dressed up in fancy language. Asking a guy if he wants a beer is one of them. I’ve been told it’s the same for women and chocolate, but I’ve never been brave enough to ask if that’s true. At the moment Murphy classes me as a friend; I’d like to keep it that way.
“Please,” he answered. The door of the fridge squealed alarmingly as I opened it, but at least the damn thing was still working. I reached in to grab 2 bottles of McAnally’s best; I’ve never admitted to him that I cool his beer as I think he’d be upset and there’s no way I can contemplate living without McAnally’s own brand of magic in my life. Pierson waved away my unspoken question about a glass, and I popped open the bottles before putting them down on the table. He eyed the beer, and then looked at the book with a sigh. I guess he was thinking that beer and old books wouldn’t mix as he closed the book, moving it carefully to one side before removing the cotton glove. A few unintelligible words to my cat later and Mister stood up, stretched, and leapt off the table. That left nothing but the beer between us. We reached out for the bottles simultaneously, but I waited for Pierson’s reaction to his first taste of a McAnally brew before drinking any of my own. I wasn’t disappointed; at the first mouthful he looked startled, with the second he was thoughtful, and the third produced such an expression of rapt pleasure that I was surprised into saying one of the things I was actually thinking. I was lucky it was the least incriminating.
“You sure like your beer, Dr Pierson.”
“This isn’t beer; this is liquid heaven. And call me Adam.” Seems like the beer had built a bridge; I took another step along it, as well as a generous mouthful of my own beer.
“Only if you call me Harry,” I replied. We shared a smile and raised our bottles to each other; the power that beer has is pretty damn amazing, and McAnally’s is even more so.
By the time we’d finished our second bottle each, I was in a much mellower frame of mind. We’d relocated to the sofa, and Mister had consented to sit between us. All in all I was feeling brave - or possibly reckless - enough to ask one of the questions that had been burning in my brain even though I was as terrified of what the answer would be as I was fascinated.
“Just how old *are* you, Adam?” The look he gave me was a strange one, almost sad.
“A lot older than Bob. I don’t think you really want to know how much older,” he said. I shrugged.
“Maybe not, but I can’t help being curious.”
“You’re a wizard. Cats and wizards are born curious.” He reached out to give Mister a scratch, and Mister playfully batted at his outstretched fingers as if to emphasise the point. “But that doesn’t necessarily mean you should have all the answers. Where would the fun be in that?” I sighed. I’d had all the answer I was going to get, and if I was honest it was at about the limit of my comfort level. Even so, there was so much I wanted to know about this guy; who he was, what he had seen, how he had managed to survive for so long, and if he had any pointers on just how I could manage to talk to women without sounding like I was seven kinds of stupid. Still, if I was lucky I’d have time; if we don’t get blown up or eaten alive wizards can have a pretty long lifespan. I drank a silent toast to that hope.
“If I ever settle down to the quiet life, I’ll ask you again in about a hundred years,” I said in as offhand a manner as I could manage; if I’d wanted to surprise him with the longevity revelation I would have failed dismally. He sprawled further back into my sofa as if he owned it, with a quirk of a smile briefly lighting his face.
“If we’re both still around for the question to be asked, I’ll even consider giving you a straight answer.” I was about to make a suitably profound rejoinder when the external wards were tripped, and I turned to him to explain.
“Company.” What I hadn’t expected was for him to say exactly the same thing at the same time. I glared at him as he tried not to laugh.
“What is it with you? Do you have immortal radar or something?”
“Or something, definitely,” he replied. I shook my head as I scrambled off the sofa and went to meet my second unexpected, and in Bob’s case unwanted, guest of the day.
Part Two