Responses to crossover requests.

[thedeadparrot.livejournal.com]

For deelaundry, House/SGA: McKay-Wilson. Prompt: Seven-Eleven

Wilson was not entirely sure how he ended up the Chief Medical Officer of the Atlantis Expedition, but he suspected it was because the first four people in line for the job before him had been killed off by (a) Wraith, (b) humans, (c) Wraith-human hybrids, and (d) giant spiders. To be fair, they did offer the position to Cuddy first, but she decided to stick with her gate team instead.

"Plus," House had said while cleaning a patient's cuts, "I bet Woolsey thinks you're pretty." Wilson would have had a retort to that, but it was about that time that they discovered that the cuts were infected with a mutagenic toxin that had chosen that exact moment to transform their patient (Anderson from SGA-4) into something that looked a little like a wolf, and Wilson didn't really get a chance.

Being CMO of Atlantis wasn't much worse than just being a part of the medical staff. The hours were just as shitty, the problems just as bizarre. In fact, there was only one major downside to being CMO, but it was a pretty big one.

"I'm pretty sure you don't have cancer, Rodney," Wilson said, rubbing his eyes, because it was approximately midnight Atlantis Standard Time, and he had an early shift the next morning. If he ended up going into the infirmary groggy, House was almost definitely going to try to try to extract some ridiculous promise from Wilson before his first cup of coffee.

"How would you know if you haven't done the tests? I visit strange, dangerous planets all the time! I've worked with Genii nuclear weaponry, and God knows they don't have the proper shielding for those materials! Who knows how many carcinogens I've been exposed to." McKay was extra-twitchy, like he'd had one too many coffees on an all nighter. Wilson remembered what that was like, except he tended to go on late-night runs to 7-11 for Mountain Dew. Plus, he grew out of that when he graduated from med school.

"My specialty is in oncology, and as an expert in my field, I can say you do not, in fact, have cancer."

"I'm pretty sure you can't do that," Rodney said.

Wilson sighed. "Fine. Come in tomorrow and we'll run some tests. If you do have cancer, it won't kill you between now and then," he said.

And then he shut the door in Rodney's face.

As it turned out, Rodney did have a bizarre Pegasus form of cancer, but they talked to Carson and he engineered a retro-virus to destroy the cancer cells, and everyone went home happy.

Except for Wilson, who now had to run cancer tests for Rodney whenever he asked. House spent way too much time gloating over that.



For bironic, SGA/Batman: Rodney/Batman

One of Rodney's biggest totally heterosexual man-crushes was Lucius Fox. Sure, the guy was past his prime innovation years, and he'd been spending his time as a corporate executive instead of as an engineer, but that didn't mean that Rodney didn't occasionally wonder what sort of things would appear if Fox managed to get his hands on a ZPM and some naquadah.

That was why he convinced the SGC to let him go to an innovators' conference sponsored by Wayne Enterprises in Gotham City. Sure, the technological achievements would barely be beyond banging two rocks together, but Fox was scheduled to be there, and Rodney, as much as he loathed to admit it, really wanted the chance to meet him.

The conference started out typical enough, boring speeches, pompous idiots who shouldn't be allowed withing ten meters of government funding, the usual.

But then Trust crashed the party, taking Rodney and a few other atendees hostage, as everyone else gaped and acted completely useless.

"Oh, great," Rodney said. "Not again."

When they were forcing Rodney and the other hostages upstairs towards the helicopter pad, a dark figure also crashed the party, taking with it a few members of the Trust. It was night, and they had already made it onto the roof. It moved fast, and it was hard to see it against the dark sky, but Rodney could make out a black cape and pointy ears. "You have got to be shitting me," he said.

Then Batman took down the Trust helicopter with a flash bang, a paperclip, and a grapping gun without killing anyone. Rodney had to admit that was pretty cool.

When all the Trust agents were down (including the ones in the helicopter), Batman turned toward the hostages and rasped, "You're free to go now."

Everyone besides Rodney disappeared down the stairs as fast as they could. Batman stood there, looking intimidating, waiting for Rodney to follow them. But Rodney was rooted to the spot.

"Can I see your car?" Rodney finally blurted out. "I mean, you're kind of scary and I'm about five seconds away from peeing in my pants over this, but I'd really, really love to see your car."

"You can't see my car," Batman said.

Rodney couldn't quite stop himself from babbling. "Or maybe your cape? How do you get it to do that glidey thingy? I mean, it's not rigid all the time, but it is as you're gliding over the city, and--"

"Memory cloth," Batman said.

Rodney reached out to finger the fabric, and much to his surprise, Batman didn't kill him where he stood. "Wow, I remember when Lucius Fox came up with that. A decent work of engineering, but not with a lot of practical application. How'd you get your hands on it?"

"I have sources in Wayne Enterprises."

The fabric was soft and sort of silky, nice. Rodney liked it, wondered if the SGC could get their hands on some. It could come in handy one day on Atlantis. And then he noticed the suit, hard rubber that seemed to move and breathe okay, and he pressed his fingers against it to check the firmness, testing its resistence. Not bad. Not bad at all.

And then he realized that he was feeling up Batman's chest. Batman's pretty broad, pretty muscular chest. He also realized that Batman also had some pretty intense eyes. Eyes that were staring straight at Rodney.

"Um," Rodney said, "I think I'll get going now."

"Good idea," Batman said.

Rodney started walking toward the stairs, ready to forget this entire incident, but not without peeking out of the corner of his eyes to watch as Batman jumped off the edge of the building and soared off into the night sky.



For hannahrorlove, Hellboy/SGA: Abe in Atlantis.

The ocean that surrounds Atlantis is sleep and salty, rich with life that only the marine biologists see. Abe enjoys spending time with them as they do their research, going along with them as they take a boat (one of the ones that an exploration team found on the lowers levels) out onto the open ocean. They come out here to collect samples and observe the wildlife, and Abe uses it as an excuse to go swimming, a chance to explore this new and fascinating planet.

The marine biologists understand this better this better than anyone else on the expedition, that they don't have to leave the planet to discover, to find amazing new things. There are entire civilizations underneath the surface of this one.

Abe loves the schools of bright purple and green and red fish, similar to the ones he's seen on Earth but not quite the same. They'll have an extra fin that looks odd; they'll be a mite to big. The seaweed is a vivid green, large leaves that float in the currents. There are massive predators and some massive almost-mammals and mollusks that crawl along the seafloor. Abe's eyes are designed for ocean water. Topside, everything is too bright, like a picture that's been overexposed, but underwater, the world looks as it should, full of deep, rich colors and sharp details.

"What's down there, Abe?" Hellboy asks as Abe floats a few feet away from the West Pier. Hellboy's boots are off, and his pants are rolled up to his knees, and he's dipping his incredibly large feet into the water. Liz is napping at the moment, her head in Hellboy's lap.

"It's quite remarkable," Abe says. "I am not sure I know how best to describe it in words."

He sends Hellboy the memory of the first time he dipped his head underneath the Atlantean water, the way it was familiar and yet new, untouched in a way that Earth's oceans could never be.

Hellboy laughs, a warm, deep sound, and says, "You really don't like it here, don't you?"

Abe looks up at Atlantis' towering spires, gleaming in the afternoon sun. "Yes, I believe I do," he says.

"You thinking about staying? 'Cause Sheppard and Dex offered to show me a few of their cooler guns. And I think we can convince the BPRD to let us stay a bit longer." They've all felt more comfortable here than they have on Earth. Sure, Earth is still home, in a way Abe's not sure they can change, but as a vacation spot, it could be worse, much worse.

Abe nods. "Yes, I would like that very much," he says and ducks beneath the surface once again, taking another chance to explore the unknown.



For roga, Iron Man, Batman: Tony Stark/Bruce Wayne.


Tony's known Bruce Wayne for most of his life. Their parents had ended up in much of the same circles, even though the Starks were never quite the socialites the Waynes were. Tony and Bruce were generally thrown together as a matter of convenience. Let the kids go off and amuse themselves while their parents could talk business.

Bruce wasn't a bad sidekick, in those days. For a seven-year-old, he'd been pretty damn bright. But then his parents died, leaving him no reason to attend stuffy parties, and anyway, Tony had been going off to college himself.

After that, he didn't really pay much attention to what Bruce Wayne was up to. There were so many other more interesting things to be doing at any given point in time. Like getting drunk in Cancun with Rhodey and building really badass robots in his garage and occasionally getting ridiculously rich off designing weapons for the U.S. military.

He did have a moment to go, "Huh," when Bruce came back from the dead, but he was in Vegas at the time, and he was winning pretty big at craps, and there was a girl with very nice tits who was hanging on to his every word, so it wasn't like he was really paying attention.

It's not until after Afghanistan, after the suit, after Obidiah, that he actually sees Bruce face-to-face again. There's a charity dinner thing set up by Pepper that is in Tony's name, so he can't get out of it, and Bruce ends up on the guest list, mostly because he has the cash to burn.

They met for the first time when the Waynes were throwing a similar sort of gala, so it's a bit surreal to see Bruce in the middle of one of these, now that Bruce is all tall and grown up and pretty. Bruce's date is a stunning European supermodel who seems to enjoy being eyecandy, seems to enjoy being seen with Bruce. Tony almost misses the days when he could do that sort of thing, just because it was fun, just because he wanted to.

"Stop stealing my schtick, Wayne," Tony says, shaking his hand in greeting. Bruce's hands are surprisingly calloused, though Tony thinks he did hear someone mention that Bruce was pretty good at polo.

"I wasn't aware you had a patent on it, Stark," Bruce replies smoothly before breaking out into a bright grin. "Tony! It's been a while, hasn't it? Seems like just yesterday we were playing hide-and-seek in the coat closet. Thanks for inviting me tonight. It looks like a wonderful party."

Tony's tempted to say, No. No, it doesn't. It looks about as fun as watching all of Gettysburg in one sitting without the benefit of alcohol or marajuana, but Pepper had already given him the talk about how his public image was more important now than ever, since everyone knew he spent his free time fighting bad guys in a walking weapon of mass destruction.

So he just smiles and nods before Pepper can threaten to castrate him.

It's later, when he finds an empty balcony where he can nurse his whiskey in peace, that Bruce comes out to find him. He isn't with his date.

"So," Bruce says, leaning overly casually against the balcony, and Tony takes a moment to enjoy the dark eyes, the sharp cheekbones, "Iron Man, huh?"

Tony sighs. Everyone wants to know about Iron Man. "I don't know. Iron Man sounds a lot less interesting than that bat guy you've got over in Gotham. What is up with that, anyway?"

Bruce shrugs, turning to look out over the city. "Batman's probably just some nutjob. I mean, He dresses up like a giant bat to fight criminals. That is not a sign of stable mental health."

Up close, Tony can tell that there's something sharper to Bruce than Bruce wants anyone to see, and Tony can respect that as a valid business strategy, but Tony's never liked toning down how brilliant he is. His father always told him it was something he should never hide. "I gotta say," Tony says, "I kinda dig the animal theme. Wish I thought of it first."

That seems to startle a laugh out of Bruce, the first genuine one of the night. "What sort of animal do you want to be?"

Tony grins, remebering the stupid games they would invent as very bored kids. But this Bruce isn't the one with the runny nose and the freakish obsession with Zorro; this one drives fancy sports cars, dates supermodels, and knows how to party in style. Still, it's surprisingly easy to talk to him, like maybe things haven't changed that much between them. "'Snake Dude' has a certain ring to it," Tony says, then shifts back to the original topic, "You do have to admit that Gotham's not quite as crappy a place with the guy in it."

Bruce snorts, an undignified sound, and his eyes are fixed on an insignificant point on the horizon. "On some levels, he's made things worse. The more he fights, the more crazies make their way out of the woodwork." He sounds genuinely upset about that, like he actually cares, and it's enough for Tony to make up his mind about Bruce.

"So us superhero types," Tony says, leaning in closer, an subtle invitation that he hopes Bruce will pick up on, "not a fan, huh?"

"I wouldn't say that," Bruce says, looking Tony straight on, his voice dropping slightly, a slow smile crossing his face.

"Good," Tony says, leaning in even closer so he can whisper in Bruce's ear, close enough to feel the heat of Bruce's body, "because I was really looking forward to fucking you tonight."



For phinnia, Sandman/House: Delirium as clinic patient.

House's first patient is a girl who looks like she's been brought up by insufferable hippie parents who still believe in self-expression or some such bullshit. She has unkempt red hair, mismatched blue-green eyes, makeup that looks like it was put on her by a drunken sailor, and the sort of clothes that teenage girls wear to look rebellious, but uglier. Strangely enough, she doesn't have any parents with her, and maybe they're the kind that don't believe in Western medicine, which House finds even stupider.

i dOn't FEel sO GooD, the girl says. I pUT soMeThINg in MY mouTH, and i THinK iT tURned InTo a CaT. She bites at her fingers.

House rolls his eyes. "You didn't learn not to put strange things in your mouth by the time you were two? I'm actually kind of impressed."

He pulls out a stethoscope and presses it to her chest, eager to get this over with. When he touches her, though, her skin turns green and blue and orange, and her hair, up close, looks like seaweed. The end of the stethoscope starts growing flowers. A couple of butterflies float out of her leather jacket. "Whoa," House says. "I haven't had hallucinations this good since the last time I tried 'shrooms."

The girl turns her head to the side, shaking used cigarette butts out of her hair. yOU're NoT onE Of MiNE. YoU CaN't heLP mE, she says. She stands up and looks straight at the floor. Her shadow looks like a bicycle. uM, i'LL Go nOW. tHankS, MisTer.

She waves to him as she walks out of the clinic with a dog at her side.

"Man," House says. "I need to figure out what Wilson put in my coffee."



For stars_inthe_sky, Angel/Bones, Calling in the real experts.

"It's not human," Bones says, arms folded across her chest. It's a cold, wet day, and her hair has begun to plaster itself against her forehead.

Booth takes another look at the skeleton. It has a head, a ribcage, arms, legs, everything in the right place. "It looks pretty human to me, Bones," he says.

Bones shoots him a look that clearly implies that she thinks he's an idiot. "You see these protrusions?" she asks, pointing to lumps on the arms. "They shouldn't be there. There are other ones on the legs. And the shape of the spine is all wrong. I'm telling you, it's not human."

"So if it's not human, what is it?" Booth sighs. So much for getting out of the rain quickly.

Bones frowns. "I don't know. I've never seen anything like it before."

"All right," Booth says, eager to get out of this rain. "Let's get it back to the morgue so you can take a closer look."

---

"It's definitely not human," Bones insists as Booth walks in the front door of the morgue. She's wearing her lab coat, a hair net, and protective glasses that make her look like a giant nerd, but Booth's beginning to become fond of look.

"So? Give me some options here, Bones. It's gotta be something," he says.

"I really don't know." She looks at her feet, coldly annoyed at not figuring this out. "Oh, and a lawyer showed up and asked about it. He's over there." She points toward a mostly-empty hallway where a nicely dressed man is talking on a cell phone.

"--third victim found so far. It might be worth it to come out here, take care of things yourself," the man says before smoothly hanging up. He's wearing a very nice suit.

"Special Agent Seeley Booth," Booth says, holding out a hand.

"Charles Gunn. It's a pleasure to meet you." The man takes Booth's hand and offers up a card. He smiles easily, like most lawyers do, but there's something rawer underneath the practiced air. Street kid done good, probably.

Booth takes a look at the card before pocketing it. "Wolfram and Hart in Los Angeles, huh? That's a pretty long way from Washington."

Gunn shrugs diffidently. "I go where I'm needed. Now can I see the body?"

---

Booth isn't entirely sure why some random lawyer is involved with this investigation, but the people upstairs are insisting that he should get full access, and to Gunn's credit, he doesn't get in the way.

This isn't to say that there's much to get in the way of, seeing as Bones keeps on running into dead ends and deader ends.

For some reason, partway through Gunn's boss shows up in town, a guy who only seems to have one name and one long black coat, and Booth hates him on sight. Thankfully, they never have to talk to one another.

"Angel seems like an okay guy," Bones says, as she digs through yet another humongous book about animal skeletons.

"No, he doesn't," Booth says and pops a piece of gum into his mouth, just so he has something to chew on.

---

They get a frantic call from Gunn a few days later for them to get out to Luray Caverns and to bring backup. But when they finally get there, it seems as though things have quieted down. Gunn's sleeves are rolled up, though he's unharmed. Angel's favoring his left leg, and there's blood on his forehead. They're both covered in yellow goo.

Angel's bitching about 'Kyatch Demons' and feeding patterns, but he's muttering, and Booth doesn't catch all of it.

"Everyone all right?" Booth asks.

Gunn nods. He looks exhausted. "Everything's fine," he says, and then they all go home.

After that, Booth's pulled off the case, and the remains he and Bones found are confiscated. Booth knows better than to ask, but Bones sulks for a week before digging her teeth into a new case.

And that's that. Booth doesn't think of the case often, because if he needed to know more, he would.