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wendelah1: Fringe/XFiles cross-over: Olivia has to consult Scully for some case that needs...consulting. Mulder can come too, of course.
Olivia stuck her hands in her jacket pockets, glad that she wasn’t the one being forced to work in the cold with nothing but latex gloves and a scalpel. Dr. Scully, she noticed, was wearing high heels. Olivia wouldn’t have done that, but then she had half a foot on Dr. Scully, and she was well aware of the tradeoffs a professional woman in their situation made. If there was any chasing to be doing, Olivia and Lincoln would do it.
“She found anything?”
Olivia turned to the source of the question. “Mr. Mulder,” she said.
He grinned at her, and she could see why he’d remained unfired for so long despite being involved in half of the FBI’s most internally notorious screwups: he had an effortless charisma, and she found herself smiling in response. “Now,” he said, “emphasizing with your very first word that I’m no longer an agent and technically have no right to be here, that’s a little cold, don’t you think?”
Of course, she could also see why every agent who interacted with him aside from Dr. Scully would have wanted to put him in the hospital--and from what she understood, Dr. Scully had. “Would you have preferred that I call you Fox?”
He twitched. Just a little, but she mentally awarded herself a point. She’d been warned: Dr. Scully has an impairment, was how the agent in DC, who thought he was a wit, had said it. “Scully,” he called out, not taking his eyes from Olivia, “how are we doing?”
Dr. Scully pulled out of her crouch and headed towards them, stripping off the gloves as she went. “We have determined that the cause of death was not exsanguination. Instead, I believe that further analysis will reveal that these—” she held up a plastic bag with what looked like three nails, with blood and a few chunks of flesh still clinging to them—“were poisoned, and that what was initially classified as blood loss from laceration was in fact postmortem seepage through the skin due to some sort of poison or venom.”
“And these objects,” Olivia said, leaning forward but not touching the bag, “do you have any preliminary identification?”
Dr. Scully’s eyes dipped. “At this point, all I’m prepared to say is that the material appears to be organic. And … not all of the tissue here appears to be from the victim.”
“Scully,” Mulder said, sounding delighted, “are you saying that whatever attacked this man had some sort of spikes that broke off in him?”
Dr. Scully didn’t react to Mulder’s apparent glee. “Actually, what they most resemble on gross inspection is some sort of enlarged and elongated honeybee stinger. When a victim’s skin is thick enough, as with a human, the barb sticks in the skin and tears loose from the bee’s abdomen, leading quickly thereafter to its death.”
“Wait,” Olivia said, feeling that clarification here was very much required. “Giant venomous killer bees?”
That earned her an impatient headshake. “I said that the material resembles a stinger, but there’s no reason to think that it was attached to a bee. Given the energy demands of bee flight, a giant bee would be aerodynamically improbable, and the scaling problems of oxygen delivery alone would—”
Mulder held up his hand, and Dr. Scully for some reason chose to respect that. Olivia cleared her throat. “Not possible by the ordinary rules of biology and physics, I understand. But suppose someone has, for whatever reason, created an entity capable of delivering these stingers. What protective measures would you suggest to avoid any further deaths while we’re investigating the source?”
“Run,” Mulder suggested.
All right, that was enough. “Mr. Mulder—” Olivia began.
But Dr. Scully’s eyes were widening. “No,” she said, “run!”
As it turned out, she was fast in those heels, at least when giant venomous killer bees were after her.
Formaraceles: more of that Supernatural/Firefly crossover, Angels in the Architecture. Gen or Sam/Dean. (Note: can be read either way. Also River/player to be named below.)
“Captain!”
Mal hadn’t heard that particular note of outrage in the good doctor’s voice since very early on in the Tams’ stay on Serenity. Some high-and-mighty prerogative had been interfered with, and Simon thought Mal ought to fix it for him. He turned, and regarded the object in Simon’s hand with some confusion.
“Uh-hunh?”
Simon waved the syringe, as if that would clarify matters. “Do you know what this is?”
“Is it a job that will feed us or a magic weapon against the Reavers? Because if it’s not, I ain’t—”
“It’s a contraceptive injection!”
“All right,” Mal said with commendable patience.
“That I found in River’s room!”
Mal contemplated that for a second, and reached for his gun. Simon’s expression, while hardly contented, was at least a little satisfied.
Two minutes later, Dean was dangling by his collar from Mal’s fists, snarling and shaking his head, and Sam was yelling, and things were not orderly at all.
“You’re wrong,” River said from behind him. “Dean’s only having sex with one person on this ship, and it’s not me.”
Dean’s eyes bugged out, but he staggered away right quick when Mal released him. Out of the corner of his eye, Mal saw the brothers exchange a significant and worried glance. Mal already knew that Sam would most likely be chasing Dean around half the night to make him talk, as if there were any place for an ordinary man to hide on Serenity and as if other folk didn’t have better to do than listen to two hard-headed louts take swipes at each other.
“River,” Simon said, with that perfect combination of gentleness and annoyance that would’ve driven Mal to mutilation had it been directed at him on a regular basis, “who is it?”
There was a small shuffling sound, like a very big man thinking about retreating. Everyone forgot the Winchester family drama and turned to look at Jayne.
Mal took a moment to process this. It was difficult to imagine Jayne taking advantage of River, and not just difficult in the obvious way. Simon was making various outraged sputtering noises, but hadn’t worked up to actual words yet. “So you’ve forgiven her for cutting on you,” Mal observed.
Jayne looked shifty. “She’s a reader. Knows what a man wants.”
“He’s very robust,” River volunteered.
“Why do you people insist on thinkin' I want to know this?” Mal complained, catching Simon mid-lunge and swinging him back to the other side of the corridor.
“You shouldn’t worry so much, Simon,” River said. “Jayne knows what will happen if he tries anything I don’t like.”
Jayne, staring carefully down at the floor, shrugged acknowledgement. It was a fair point; anyone who’d seen River in action would be more interested in pleasing her than a stripling would be in the flush of courting his very first sweetheart. Doubtless Simon would prefer that River not like anything relating to Jayne, but that wasn’t in actual fact a matter over which he had much say; not like they were on one of those border planets.
Dean raised his hand. “Am I gonna get an apology for the slander on my character?”
“No,” Simon and Mal said simultaneously, a half second ahead of Sam.
“I’ll grant this is all very entertaining,” Mal said, “but how is it going to help me get that bastard Lucifer off our backs?” The Reavers, poor souls, had been tearing holes through world after world; it had taken a long time for folks to understand that the Reavers had changed: Lucifer’s soldiers, better disciplined than any of Mal’s troops ever had been, probably because they’d got no minds of their own any more.
“Actually,” Sam said, with the air of a man forced to reveal his messed-up plan before he’d had a full opportunity to un-mess it a bit, “I’ve been thinking.” Even them as hadn’t already been paying attention to the commotion (which was, as Mal looked around, precisely Inara and Castiel, just now joining them) took notice, all their faces turned to Sam. “We know that we can’t re-seal the Cage. Those paths are all closed. But what if we could put Lucifer back on Earth-that-Was? Still on this plane, but locked up.”
“Until people do something stupid and go back,” Dean muttered, but even he was plainly considering it, since nobody had produced a better suggestion during months of running and hiding.
“Well, if this works the way I’m thinking, we’re going to have to go back,” Sam said. In Mal’s opinion, that hardly made a dent in Dean’s judgment about the brainpower of those who might find their way to a dead solar system.
“Could we do that?” Inara wondered. “A Firefly-class vessel is not a colony ship.”
Mal vaguely recalled not listening to history lessons about what had happened to the colony ships—relics now, in museums on Core worlds. Way he understood it, even an Alliance cruiser would have trouble making the journey to Earth-that-Was, even if the star charts were perfect (which he misdoubted). Of course, if the Reavers kept on the way they were, in a year or so this system might be Bai Hu-that-Was.
“I can move the ship,” Castiel said, with even more growl than usual. “It will exhaust my remaining powers, but it can be done.”
Mal looked to River, since there was no shame in using inside information. “What do you think? Can he do it?”
“He can get us there, and we can box Lucifer in,” River said.
“Why’re you all lookin’ so displeased?” Jayne asked. “Girl just said, the thing can be done.”
“Jayne,” Zoe said, solid at Mal’s shoulder. “She said he could get us there. Not that he could get us back.”
wendelah1: Fringe/XFiles cross-over: Olivia has to consult Scully for some case that needs...consulting. Mulder can come too, of course.Olivia stuck her hands in her jacket pockets, glad that she wasn’t the one being forced to work in the cold with nothing but latex gloves and a scalpel. Dr. Scully, she noticed, was wearing high heels. Olivia wouldn’t have done that, but then she had half a foot on Dr. Scully, and she was well aware of the tradeoffs a professional woman in their situation made. If there was any chasing to be doing, Olivia and Lincoln would do it.
“She found anything?”
Olivia turned to the source of the question. “Mr. Mulder,” she said.
He grinned at her, and she could see why he’d remained unfired for so long despite being involved in half of the FBI’s most internally notorious screwups: he had an effortless charisma, and she found herself smiling in response. “Now,” he said, “emphasizing with your very first word that I’m no longer an agent and technically have no right to be here, that’s a little cold, don’t you think?”
Of course, she could also see why every agent who interacted with him aside from Dr. Scully would have wanted to put him in the hospital--and from what she understood, Dr. Scully had. “Would you have preferred that I call you Fox?”
He twitched. Just a little, but she mentally awarded herself a point. She’d been warned: Dr. Scully has an impairment, was how the agent in DC, who thought he was a wit, had said it. “Scully,” he called out, not taking his eyes from Olivia, “how are we doing?”
Dr. Scully pulled out of her crouch and headed towards them, stripping off the gloves as she went. “We have determined that the cause of death was not exsanguination. Instead, I believe that further analysis will reveal that these—” she held up a plastic bag with what looked like three nails, with blood and a few chunks of flesh still clinging to them—“were poisoned, and that what was initially classified as blood loss from laceration was in fact postmortem seepage through the skin due to some sort of poison or venom.”
“And these objects,” Olivia said, leaning forward but not touching the bag, “do you have any preliminary identification?”
Dr. Scully’s eyes dipped. “At this point, all I’m prepared to say is that the material appears to be organic. And … not all of the tissue here appears to be from the victim.”
“Scully,” Mulder said, sounding delighted, “are you saying that whatever attacked this man had some sort of spikes that broke off in him?”
Dr. Scully didn’t react to Mulder’s apparent glee. “Actually, what they most resemble on gross inspection is some sort of enlarged and elongated honeybee stinger. When a victim’s skin is thick enough, as with a human, the barb sticks in the skin and tears loose from the bee’s abdomen, leading quickly thereafter to its death.”
“Wait,” Olivia said, feeling that clarification here was very much required. “Giant venomous killer bees?”
That earned her an impatient headshake. “I said that the material resembles a stinger, but there’s no reason to think that it was attached to a bee. Given the energy demands of bee flight, a giant bee would be aerodynamically improbable, and the scaling problems of oxygen delivery alone would—”
Mulder held up his hand, and Dr. Scully for some reason chose to respect that. Olivia cleared her throat. “Not possible by the ordinary rules of biology and physics, I understand. But suppose someone has, for whatever reason, created an entity capable of delivering these stingers. What protective measures would you suggest to avoid any further deaths while we’re investigating the source?”
“Run,” Mulder suggested.
All right, that was enough. “Mr. Mulder—” Olivia began.
But Dr. Scully’s eyes were widening. “No,” she said, “run!”
As it turned out, she was fast in those heels, at least when giant venomous killer bees were after her.
For
maraceles: more of that Supernatural/Firefly crossover, Angels in the Architecture. Gen or Sam/Dean. (Note: can be read either way. Also River/player to be named below.)“Captain!”
Mal hadn’t heard that particular note of outrage in the good doctor’s voice since very early on in the Tams’ stay on Serenity. Some high-and-mighty prerogative had been interfered with, and Simon thought Mal ought to fix it for him. He turned, and regarded the object in Simon’s hand with some confusion.
“Uh-hunh?”
Simon waved the syringe, as if that would clarify matters. “Do you know what this is?”
“Is it a job that will feed us or a magic weapon against the Reavers? Because if it’s not, I ain’t—”
“It’s a contraceptive injection!”
“All right,” Mal said with commendable patience.
“That I found in River’s room!”
Mal contemplated that for a second, and reached for his gun. Simon’s expression, while hardly contented, was at least a little satisfied.
Two minutes later, Dean was dangling by his collar from Mal’s fists, snarling and shaking his head, and Sam was yelling, and things were not orderly at all.
“You’re wrong,” River said from behind him. “Dean’s only having sex with one person on this ship, and it’s not me.”
Dean’s eyes bugged out, but he staggered away right quick when Mal released him. Out of the corner of his eye, Mal saw the brothers exchange a significant and worried glance. Mal already knew that Sam would most likely be chasing Dean around half the night to make him talk, as if there were any place for an ordinary man to hide on Serenity and as if other folk didn’t have better to do than listen to two hard-headed louts take swipes at each other.
“River,” Simon said, with that perfect combination of gentleness and annoyance that would’ve driven Mal to mutilation had it been directed at him on a regular basis, “who is it?”
There was a small shuffling sound, like a very big man thinking about retreating. Everyone forgot the Winchester family drama and turned to look at Jayne.
Mal took a moment to process this. It was difficult to imagine Jayne taking advantage of River, and not just difficult in the obvious way. Simon was making various outraged sputtering noises, but hadn’t worked up to actual words yet. “So you’ve forgiven her for cutting on you,” Mal observed.
Jayne looked shifty. “She’s a reader. Knows what a man wants.”
“He’s very robust,” River volunteered.
“Why do you people insist on thinkin' I want to know this?” Mal complained, catching Simon mid-lunge and swinging him back to the other side of the corridor.
“You shouldn’t worry so much, Simon,” River said. “Jayne knows what will happen if he tries anything I don’t like.”
Jayne, staring carefully down at the floor, shrugged acknowledgement. It was a fair point; anyone who’d seen River in action would be more interested in pleasing her than a stripling would be in the flush of courting his very first sweetheart. Doubtless Simon would prefer that River not like anything relating to Jayne, but that wasn’t in actual fact a matter over which he had much say; not like they were on one of those border planets.
Dean raised his hand. “Am I gonna get an apology for the slander on my character?”
“No,” Simon and Mal said simultaneously, a half second ahead of Sam.
“I’ll grant this is all very entertaining,” Mal said, “but how is it going to help me get that bastard Lucifer off our backs?” The Reavers, poor souls, had been tearing holes through world after world; it had taken a long time for folks to understand that the Reavers had changed: Lucifer’s soldiers, better disciplined than any of Mal’s troops ever had been, probably because they’d got no minds of their own any more.
“Actually,” Sam said, with the air of a man forced to reveal his messed-up plan before he’d had a full opportunity to un-mess it a bit, “I’ve been thinking.” Even them as hadn’t already been paying attention to the commotion (which was, as Mal looked around, precisely Inara and Castiel, just now joining them) took notice, all their faces turned to Sam. “We know that we can’t re-seal the Cage. Those paths are all closed. But what if we could put Lucifer back on Earth-that-Was? Still on this plane, but locked up.”
“Until people do something stupid and go back,” Dean muttered, but even he was plainly considering it, since nobody had produced a better suggestion during months of running and hiding.
“Well, if this works the way I’m thinking, we’re going to have to go back,” Sam said. In Mal’s opinion, that hardly made a dent in Dean’s judgment about the brainpower of those who might find their way to a dead solar system.
“Could we do that?” Inara wondered. “A Firefly-class vessel is not a colony ship.”
Mal vaguely recalled not listening to history lessons about what had happened to the colony ships—relics now, in museums on Core worlds. Way he understood it, even an Alliance cruiser would have trouble making the journey to Earth-that-Was, even if the star charts were perfect (which he misdoubted). Of course, if the Reavers kept on the way they were, in a year or so this system might be Bai Hu-that-Was.
“I can move the ship,” Castiel said, with even more growl than usual. “It will exhaust my remaining powers, but it can be done.”
Mal looked to River, since there was no shame in using inside information. “What do you think? Can he do it?”
“He can get us there, and we can box Lucifer in,” River said.
“Why’re you all lookin’ so displeased?” Jayne asked. “Girl just said, the thing can be done.”
“Jayne,” Zoe said, solid at Mal’s shoulder. “She said he could get us there. Not that he could get us back.”
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