Who: Will Graham and Kirsty Cotton What: Finding friends (and co-workers) Where: Puerto Rico and just outside of London When: 7/2 Warnings: None that I can see! Status: Complete
Will was sitting in the corner of a coffee house that was too loud, too bright and smelt too strongly of sunscreen. He’d been told, for the last hour or so, that he wasn’t in fact real, and everything that was still painfully fresh in his mind had been an inventive fiction. He’d been given ID, a bank card and a badge - apparently he was an actual policeman, which was ironic - and sent to “explore the island.” Will wasn’t much for exploring.
He’d ordered lemonade and sat with his back to the wall, restlessly eyeing the crowd, idly rubbing his fingers together on his right hand. It helped calm him down. Though he didn’t entirely know where to begin making sense of all this.
Kirsty Cotton had walked around for a while before finding it way too hot. It wasn’t London or Boston, the two places she’d lived her entire life. Or not-life. Whatever.
Eventually she found a Starbucks and moved inside, glad to be out of the heat. She never took off her leather jacket, and that wasn’t about to change just because of a dimension change. Which was how she saw it. She’d been to Hell, so a world where she was a movie or a comic book wasn’t that much weirder.
Asking for a black coffee, she found a seat in the corner - back to the people, facing the wall, as always. She smiled at the guy sitting in the corner, rubbing his thumbs together. Classic comfort gesture.
“You could sit outside; it’d be less loud,” she offered.
Will jumped, not expecting to be spoken to, and went with his first instinct. “Oh! I’m sorry.” He made a conscious effort to stop his stimming, figuring it was what she’d noticed. He could tell that she wasn’t local, though, obviously; she’d spoken English, and she was much too pale to be a frequent visitor.
It occurred to him that he probably should answer. “No,” he finally said, “it’s far too hot. I’ll manage.”
“You can keep doing that, you know. If it helps, don’t stop on my account.” Kirsty nodded enthusiastically with him when he talked about the heat. “It’s kind of like what I imagine dogs’ mouths feel like. It’s hot and humid and it smells weird.” She wrinkled her nose.
“Yes, exactly! I can’t place the smell, but it feels suffocating on top of the humidity. People who live here must have evolved gills.” Will blushed, feeling suddenly awkward for his enthusiasm. But then he blinked, grabbing the leatherette with the badge and ID out of his pocket. Where did he live? Were Winston and the others there? The idea of being without Winston was ... extremely upsetting.
She laughed at his gills line, then noticed the panic on his face. “Hey, twins, buy me a Coke.” She pointed at his badge, pulling hers out as well. “I actually know the neighborhood where I’m supposed to live now, so that works for me. Are you going to stay on the island or try wherever you’re gonna be?”
Will blinked, momentarily distracted, looking at the badge. “Do you?” He finally said. “I ... It says DCI, and I think that’s England, but I’m not certain. I don’t like it here - but my dogs are what I was thinking about.” Were they ‘not real’, then? He didn’t want to get upset in public, but this wouldn’t be good at all. It wasn’t right, to take them away like that.
She showed him her badge, grinning. “Me too! and yeah, it is. It stands for Detective Chief Inspector, we’re basically high ranking detectives. I just wonder which.” She sighed a little to herself, hoping it wasn’t arson or some crap. She hadn’t been formally trained in investigation, but she was damn good at it informally.
“Your dogs... oh. Oh, I hope they’re at home waiting for you. Want to try that portkey thing and find out?” She looked at the address on his ID. “I can get you there, if you want help with the tube.”
“Oh.” Detective. That was ironic. “I lived in - well.” Will amended, feeling like he wanted to scream. “I apparently existed within a fictional reality where I lived in Virginia and worked as a teacher at Quantico. Though at times I was a profiler.” He remembered the DC subway; the London tube couldn’t be much worse.
Kirsty smiled lopsidedly. “I just said portkey and you didn’t laugh at me. Trust me, you don’t want to know about my ‘fictional reality.” She used liberal finger quotes before taking another sip of her coffee. “But really, I don’t mind, I don’t live far off from there anyway. Well. I don’t now.”
“I’ve read science fiction novels where the term was used.” Will shook his head. “What do you mean, now? And are you talking about London or Virginia?” Maybe it was better to focus on this instead of what might happen if the dogs weren’t there.
“London. Let’s go scout your house there first, get you a base of operations.” Kirsty was glad that portkeys were a thing; this guy was too sweet for her to shepherd through hell. She’d get to and from her own house that way.
He was actually kind of impressed that she’d managed to get him to not melt down just by talking to him. “Yes,” he said. “I think that’s the best course of action. And, um. My name is Will, by the way. Will Graham.”
Kirsty blinked, immediately recognizing the name from one of her favorite books, but she kept quiet. “Kirsty Cotton, it’s nice to meet you, Will.” She smiled and stood up before thinking better of things and draining the remainder of her coffee. “The manual said that there’s a portkey about five blocks from here, it’s a poster for an old Rolling Stones album.”
“I didn’t look at that.” Not yet. It had all been a bit overwhelming. “I will when things are more settled.” He rose as well, not wanting his drink - too tart. He threw it away and looked over at Kirsty. “I assume the house isn’t in London proper, unless there’s a trust fund they haven’t told me about.”
“Nah, we’re stuck in the suburbs. We’re just DCIs, I doubt we’ve got a lot of money. Nothing to sneeze at, but we’re hardly posh.” Kirsty put her hands into her pockets as they walked, smiling at him. “How many dogs do you have?”
“I had seven. I had a habit of taking in strays,” Will added, hoping she didn’t think he was a freak. Especially if he was going to work with her; he’d encountered stupid coworkers before, but he didn’t want another Zeller here, on top of everything.
“I couldn’t really... have a dog. Location.” And the hellish stitched together monstrosities that had kept her company didn’t count. “I’d have had a bunch if I could’ve though. Seven’s a lucky number, anyway.” Right. Better not to let slip the whole demon thing yet.
“Were you located in the city?” Will wouldn’t have asked if he hadn’t been curious. “Dogs are ... intuitive. In a way humans aren’t. Their company is very helpful.” Dogs didn’t judge. Simple as that.
“Dogs are kind of like nature’s profilers, so they don’t have to make bullshit small talk. And ... not a city, but - I mean, I’m sure I could’ve gotten a dog in Boston, and I grew up in London.” She seriously didn’t want to spook this guy. Friends were good, especially if they were potential co-workers.
“Agreed, actually.” She was even smarter than she looked. And she already came off as intelligent and warm. “You have no accent, for growing up in London.” He realized that might sound a trifle intrusive, and shut up.
“I was born and raised in Boston, actually. I didn’t move to London until I was sixteen. I did because my dad moved there with his second wife, and I wanted to be close to her.” Fucking bitch queen Julia. That had turned out just awesome. “I’m kind of glad I ended up with a boring, generic American accent. If I’d had, say, a Southie accent that got messed up with some of the Manchester where we lived?” She’d have been audio Frankenstein’s monster.
That did make Will smile. “I don’t even think that could be replicated.” He was just glad she wasn’t upset.
They arrived in a small cul-de-sac with an old Rolling Stones poster stuck on the brick, slightly tattered. “Is this it?” Will asked, eyeing it. It looked so normal. The idea was almost ridiculous.
“Yup. We’re just supposed to touch it, and we’ll end up by the Eye.” Kirsty shrugged, reaching out to touch Will lightly on the hand before tapping the poster.
Which was when it felt like she was being pulled through the eye of a needle by her belly button.
Will felt himself jerked forward, with something firm yanking him, like a cane used on old-time vaudevillians when they were too talentless to sway the audience. All of a sudden the air changed, the bright sun disappeared, and he was left coughing and choking, bent over staring at dingy cobblestones. “What - ”
“Son of a bitch, that’s rough.” At least walking through Hell just entailed walking. She looked over at Will, knowing that humans were a bit more tender than she. “You okay?”
“Fine,” he managed, knowing that at least he would be fine, in a few minutes. It took him a bit to get his breath back, but once he did, he felt better. “That’s awful, but at least I’ll see it coming next time.”
“I’m sure you’ll get used to it eventually, even though it’s awful.” Kirsty stepped into the street, one hand raising up to hail a taxi, the other going to her lips to whistle shrilly.
Will let her get the taxi, giving the cabbie the address on his ID when they got in. “The weather is better here,” he commented after a while. “Too much sun is ... overwhelming.” That was probably the best word. Painful was probably more accurate.
“It’s uncomfortable,” Kirsty agreed. Hell didn’t have sun, so she’d forgotten how too much of it could sting. After a while, the taxi stopped at a house that wasn’t too small, and looked modestly lived in. She paid the cabbie and hopped out.
Will thanked the man and turned toward the house. It looked nice enough, but what he was looking for was signs of canine life. Dishes, screens, anything. He walked up toward the front door, stepping on the mat and hearing something clink. Leaning down, he found a key under the mat.
Unlocking the door, he stepped inside. Immediately he heard barking, and two dogs came thudding down the stairs. Will lit up. “Winston!”
Kirsty couldn’t help but smile when she saw how happy he was to see his dogs, and how bonded his dogs were to him. “Oh, thank god.”
Winston and Applesauce were licking him and wagging their tails, and Will could breathe again, if slightly. “Not all of them are here,” he said, “unless they’re stuck somewhere. But at least Winston and Applesauce are here. Um.” He belatedly realized that was a silly name for a dog by most standards, and blushed. “A friend of mine named Applesauce.”
Grinning, Kirsty kneeled down and offered Applesauce (she assumed) a hand to sniff, not making direct eye contact just yet. “Hey, it’s cute. Winston kind of looks like a Winston, though. He seems smarter than Applesauce. No offense, guy.”
“Applesauce has a ways to go.” Will was proud of her progress, though. “Still, she’s kind, and gentle.” He was just glad that they were here. Even if it did make him wonder about his other dogs. It still felt bizarre, to think they were fictional. “Winston is the leader of the pack. Such as it is.”
“Hey, look at it this way. You can save some more lives now.” Because if Kirsty knew one thing about her new friend, it was that he was a shelter dog kinda guy. She smiled when Applesauce licked her hand, and rewarded the dog with scratches behind the ears.
“It’s true. Though perhaps not seven or eight this time. Not with DCI hours.” He knew enough about the English police to know that DCIs were basically lieutenants or captains - they had a bit of extra responsibility. Though he hoped he could keep the job, once the Superintendent got a look at his quirks.
“Maybe four or five, though.” Kirsty laughed when Applesauce moved closer, biffing her on the shoulder for a hug that Kirsty readily gave.
“Dogs learn most about how to behave from packmates, not humans.” Will nodded, managing a small smile when Applesauce gave her seal of approval. “I think you’re welcome back in the future. Should you want to be.”
“Hey, we’re technically coworkers,” Kirsty smiled. “And I don’t live too far away.” She smiled at Applesauce, wrapping her arms around her and hugging lightly. This beat Hell any day.