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Crossover ficlet - in progress
Apr. 5th, 2015 05:58 amZoey was exhausted. She wasn’t sleeping much at all; she HURT, more than she let on to either Ashlin or Phryne, and certainly more than she let on to Mac (although she was fairly certain that the doctor had known, anyway), and she refused to take the pain medication that she’d been prescribed. She couldn’t bring herself to let her guard down THAT far. Not yet. And when she did doze off, when her exhaustion got the better of her and she slept unaided, however briefly, her dreams were filled with smoke and fire.
Echo had tried to kill them. Their car had been tampered with and it was a miracle they hadn’t been more seriously injured. But it made it difficult to relax, to no longer feel as though she had to fight or flee.
Two men stepped through the doorway and she reacted instinctively, reaching for the dagger she never went anywhere without, anymore. One of the men shouted, reaching for a gun, and Phryne burst into the room, yelling, and grabbing for Zoey’s wrist, pulling her away from them. And planting herself in their line of fire.
“They’re FRIENDS, Zoey. Friends.”
Zoey looked at her, blue eyes wide and haunted, her whole body practically vibrating with tension.
“You can trust them.” Phryne looked over her shoulder at them, before returning her attention to her cousin. “I promise.”
She looked at them, breathing heavily, for a long moment, before she lowered her good hand, the hand clutching the dagger hilt so tightly her knuckles were white. She wouldn’t apologise. She couldn’t. Although she probably should. Phryne breathed a sigh of relief, cupping Zoey’s cheek briefly before making introductions. I’m sorry Phryne.
“Zoey, I’d like to introduce you to Detective Inspector Jack Robinson and Constable Hugh Collins.
Detective Inspector. She stiffened at the words, looking at Phryne in alarm. She knew, logically, that if they were there, if they were Phryne’s friends, then they had to be trustworthy, she’d said she could trust them, but she’d had too many run-ins with corrupt constables, bore the still healing marks of their encounters to not be wary. The look her cousin gave her was worried, and she cupped her cheek again before her hand settled on her shoulder.
“And this is my cousin, Zoey Westen.” Both the men looked at her in shock, and if Zoey hadn’t been so tense and on edge she would have laughed.
“Cousin?!”
“You couldn’t tell we were related just by looking at us?” she replied softly. She was code switching without conscious thought; exhaustion, stress, and being surrounded by Australians causing her accent to shift to match.
Ashlin returned from the kitchen, two tea cups in hand as she took in the tense tableau in front of her. Then she was slipping in beside Zoey, opposite from Phryne, setting the teacups on the table and reaching out to tug the dagger from her hand. She was the only one that could have, honestly. She trusted that Ashlin would return it to her. Phryne would, too, of course, but with the Detective Inspector and his constable in the room she would rather Ashlin hold onto it.
“Do you mind telling me what’s going on? Why you came at us with a knife?”
Zoey tensed, and Phryne squeezed her shoulder gently; she’d made sure that the shoulder her hand rested on was the uninjured one. “You surprised her, gentlemen, and she did what any responsible young woman would do and defended herself.”
“Surely there’s more to it than that,” Jack replied, eyeing her thoughtfully. He would figure out. Perhaps it was an irrational thought; they were a long distance from Europe, and there was markedly little information available, even there. Mister Stewart had the money and power to control information. At least to a degree. But Jack wasn’t a stupid man, he couldn’t be; you didn’t become a Detective Inspector, and more importantly, earn Phryne’s respect, if you were stupid. He would put it together, and he knew her name.
Fighting down the panic was more difficult than usual, and the only reason she managed to succeed was Ashlin’s presence by her side and Phryne’s hand on her shoulder.
“If there is I’m sure you’ll be the first to know,” Phryne retorted, her voice light. Jack eyed her dubiously, and she smiled back.
Echo had tried to kill them. Their car had been tampered with and it was a miracle they hadn’t been more seriously injured. But it made it difficult to relax, to no longer feel as though she had to fight or flee.
Two men stepped through the doorway and she reacted instinctively, reaching for the dagger she never went anywhere without, anymore. One of the men shouted, reaching for a gun, and Phryne burst into the room, yelling, and grabbing for Zoey’s wrist, pulling her away from them. And planting herself in their line of fire.
“They’re FRIENDS, Zoey. Friends.”
Zoey looked at her, blue eyes wide and haunted, her whole body practically vibrating with tension.
“You can trust them.” Phryne looked over her shoulder at them, before returning her attention to her cousin. “I promise.”
She looked at them, breathing heavily, for a long moment, before she lowered her good hand, the hand clutching the dagger hilt so tightly her knuckles were white. She wouldn’t apologise. She couldn’t. Although she probably should. Phryne breathed a sigh of relief, cupping Zoey’s cheek briefly before making introductions. I’m sorry Phryne.
“Zoey, I’d like to introduce you to Detective Inspector Jack Robinson and Constable Hugh Collins.
Detective Inspector. She stiffened at the words, looking at Phryne in alarm. She knew, logically, that if they were there, if they were Phryne’s friends, then they had to be trustworthy, she’d said she could trust them, but she’d had too many run-ins with corrupt constables, bore the still healing marks of their encounters to not be wary. The look her cousin gave her was worried, and she cupped her cheek again before her hand settled on her shoulder.
“And this is my cousin, Zoey Westen.” Both the men looked at her in shock, and if Zoey hadn’t been so tense and on edge she would have laughed.
“Cousin?!”
“You couldn’t tell we were related just by looking at us?” she replied softly. She was code switching without conscious thought; exhaustion, stress, and being surrounded by Australians causing her accent to shift to match.
Ashlin returned from the kitchen, two tea cups in hand as she took in the tense tableau in front of her. Then she was slipping in beside Zoey, opposite from Phryne, setting the teacups on the table and reaching out to tug the dagger from her hand. She was the only one that could have, honestly. She trusted that Ashlin would return it to her. Phryne would, too, of course, but with the Detective Inspector and his constable in the room she would rather Ashlin hold onto it.
“Do you mind telling me what’s going on? Why you came at us with a knife?”
Zoey tensed, and Phryne squeezed her shoulder gently; she’d made sure that the shoulder her hand rested on was the uninjured one. “You surprised her, gentlemen, and she did what any responsible young woman would do and defended herself.”
“Surely there’s more to it than that,” Jack replied, eyeing her thoughtfully. He would figure out. Perhaps it was an irrational thought; they were a long distance from Europe, and there was markedly little information available, even there. Mister Stewart had the money and power to control information. At least to a degree. But Jack wasn’t a stupid man, he couldn’t be; you didn’t become a Detective Inspector, and more importantly, earn Phryne’s respect, if you were stupid. He would put it together, and he knew her name.
Fighting down the panic was more difficult than usual, and the only reason she managed to succeed was Ashlin’s presence by her side and Phryne’s hand on her shoulder.
“If there is I’m sure you’ll be the first to know,” Phryne retorted, her voice light. Jack eyed her dubiously, and she smiled back.
