Potc | Prudence, Mercer
Title: Petting the Cat (5/?)
Characters: Prudence Beckett (greeneyespurple's OC), David Mercer
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 640
Summary: Not everyone is happy about Patrick's presence. Set the same night as, the previous chapter: Walk Through the Roses
originally posted here
Petting the Cat
“He’s trouble.”
The candle’s faint light softly danced across the small, dark room that was so different from the Master’s spacious quarters, illuminating Prudence’s features, gently kissing her worried frown. Mercer’s hand stopped, hovering over the gun he was polishing but he didn’t look up at her.
“So you have been telling me for two hours.”
“Well, don’t you think he’s trouble?”
Mercer didn’t answer but turned his attention back to the task at hand. Of course he knew the man was trouble. The way he had stood in the background, watching Lord Beckett’s quick victory over the Governor and the kids. His straight back, his open interest hiding a tightly closed expression, the way he could hide in plain sight. A man used to carrying the cover of dark night with him even in broad daylight. Mercer knew well enough how dangerous such a man could turn out to be but there was no reason why Prudence should fall into one of her frenzied moods when the storm was not even in stirring.
“What do you know about him? Where is he from?”
Mercer sighed inwardly at the rough edges in her voice. They were never a good sign.
“Prue…”
“How much do you know about his past?”
“Not much,” Mercer said in a tight voice.
“Well, look into it! After all, this is what Cutler pays you for, isn’t it?”
For the first time since Prudence had entered his room with a heat-filled rush of air Mercer finally looked at her. She was sitting on the edge of her chair, looking almost like a child, far too eager to get her whish. Mercer let himself be bound by the magical webs of her cat-like eyes before he finally said the one thing he wanted to conceal.
“I already have.”
Her beautiful face froze in a mask of disappointment that made Mercer wish he’d have better excuses at hand. Her piercing gaze made him grip the gun tighter.
“There are about a million traces to follow but they’re all dead ends,” he embarked despite himself on a hopeless endeavour of explaining his first failure, trying to erase that pained-angry look but then stopped. He could tell her that some accounts went back as far as four or five years, some much less. He could tell her that the earliest rumour was from Singapore six years prior. That there were no documents. No trace of family. Nothing. But too much detail would give her an unnecessary headache and knowing that by all laws of nature Patrick MacHeath shouldn’t exist at all would just cause her unnecessary worry. So he kept silent, watching her lips tighten in frustration.
“Where is he now?” The lack of response made her eyes burn. “David…”
“He was sent out to the pleasure district.” It was barely a whisper and he didn’t dare look into Prudence’s eyes bursting with anger even as her voice trembled in frustration.
“So soon?”
“It’s just a test, Prue. And he’ll fail.”
“Taking a whore into my bed is not just a test.”
“He’ll tire of whoever MacHeath brings before you know it. He always does.”
Prudence shook her head, to Mercer’s relief not even noticing the barely veiled fake nature of the certainty in his voice. She rose from her chair with wide, prophetic eyes filled with unshed tears of desperate rage.
“He will destroy us,” she whispered in a hard, low voice. Mercer was at her side with one long stride and she let herself fall into his arms as if her power had suddenly left her. She clung to him like a frightened child, though she couldn’t possibly be called one.
“Shh, let him be my problem,” he calmingly kissed her furrowed eyebrows though his voice was trapped in a tight embrace of unfamiliar worry.
Characters: Prudence Beckett (greeneyespurple's OC), David Mercer
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 640
Summary: Not everyone is happy about Patrick's presence. Set the same night as, the previous chapter: Walk Through the Roses
originally posted here
Petting the Cat
“He’s trouble.”
The candle’s faint light softly danced across the small, dark room that was so different from the Master’s spacious quarters, illuminating Prudence’s features, gently kissing her worried frown. Mercer’s hand stopped, hovering over the gun he was polishing but he didn’t look up at her.
“So you have been telling me for two hours.”
“Well, don’t you think he’s trouble?”
Mercer didn’t answer but turned his attention back to the task at hand. Of course he knew the man was trouble. The way he had stood in the background, watching Lord Beckett’s quick victory over the Governor and the kids. His straight back, his open interest hiding a tightly closed expression, the way he could hide in plain sight. A man used to carrying the cover of dark night with him even in broad daylight. Mercer knew well enough how dangerous such a man could turn out to be but there was no reason why Prudence should fall into one of her frenzied moods when the storm was not even in stirring.
“What do you know about him? Where is he from?”
Mercer sighed inwardly at the rough edges in her voice. They were never a good sign.
“Prue…”
“How much do you know about his past?”
“Not much,” Mercer said in a tight voice.
“Well, look into it! After all, this is what Cutler pays you for, isn’t it?”
For the first time since Prudence had entered his room with a heat-filled rush of air Mercer finally looked at her. She was sitting on the edge of her chair, looking almost like a child, far too eager to get her whish. Mercer let himself be bound by the magical webs of her cat-like eyes before he finally said the one thing he wanted to conceal.
“I already have.”
Her beautiful face froze in a mask of disappointment that made Mercer wish he’d have better excuses at hand. Her piercing gaze made him grip the gun tighter.
“There are about a million traces to follow but they’re all dead ends,” he embarked despite himself on a hopeless endeavour of explaining his first failure, trying to erase that pained-angry look but then stopped. He could tell her that some accounts went back as far as four or five years, some much less. He could tell her that the earliest rumour was from Singapore six years prior. That there were no documents. No trace of family. Nothing. But too much detail would give her an unnecessary headache and knowing that by all laws of nature Patrick MacHeath shouldn’t exist at all would just cause her unnecessary worry. So he kept silent, watching her lips tighten in frustration.
“Where is he now?” The lack of response made her eyes burn. “David…”
“He was sent out to the pleasure district.” It was barely a whisper and he didn’t dare look into Prudence’s eyes bursting with anger even as her voice trembled in frustration.
“So soon?”
“It’s just a test, Prue. And he’ll fail.”
“Taking a whore into my bed is not just a test.”
“He’ll tire of whoever MacHeath brings before you know it. He always does.”
Prudence shook her head, to Mercer’s relief not even noticing the barely veiled fake nature of the certainty in his voice. She rose from her chair with wide, prophetic eyes filled with unshed tears of desperate rage.
“He will destroy us,” she whispered in a hard, low voice. Mercer was at her side with one long stride and she let herself fall into his arms as if her power had suddenly left her. She clung to him like a frightened child, though she couldn’t possibly be called one.
“Shh, let him be my problem,” he calmingly kissed her furrowed eyebrows though his voice was trapped in a tight embrace of unfamiliar worry.