#thepathologist

(●﹏●✿) — i don’t talk to you, but stalk enjoying your blog from a distance

Date: I’ll write a drabble of my character taking yours out on a date.

Jim smiled to Molly as he spotted her outside of the theater. They had both decided to meet after work to go see a film that they had been interested in seeing. Afterwards, they had agreed to go to dinner.

"How was work?" Jim asked as she got close enough to him.

"Oh, it wasn't too bad. Just a few autopsies and a..." she pause, and gave a slightly embarrassed shrug as she noticed someone give her a wild look. "I always seem to forget that no one likes that word in public.

"Tell me about it when we aren't in public then," Jim suggested as he offered her his arm. "Until then, we can relax and watch something that will have nothing to do with either of our chosen professions."

The walked into the theater together and took their seats. Jim found most movies rather predictable and this was no exception. Since his entertainment wasn't the point and the movie was still worthwhile, he stayed until the end. He laughed with her and smiled as she did. At least she was enjoying herself.

At the end of the movie he led her out and they walked to a small restaurant that they both enjoyed. "So," Jim asked after he ordered his food. "What did you think?"

"I liked it," Molly said with a smile. "I enjoy musicals."

"Yes, I know," Jim said, returning her grin.

Molly gave a nervous laugh. "I've always wished that I had a voice like that."

Jim shrugged. "The difference between you and them is simply training. I'm sure you could sing like them if you'd had the couching they've had."

"Oh, I don't know about that," Molly said.

"Molly, I've heard you sing," he reminded her. "Even if it is only when you think I can't hear you after an episode of Glee. You have a lovely pitch."

Molly blushed slightly. "Really?"

"Yes," Jim said with a laugh. "I'm no music teacher, but I'd love to hear more."

Molly let her smile grow. "I would be willing to do that."

Insomnia

The Cage was something removed from the rest of the universe in several ways, the most obvious of which being that it was at the very bottom of Hell. One of the more insidious features, however, was that it warped dreams and reality in such a way as to make them indistinguishable.

"Michael--"

Angels didn't need to sleep, but it kept them from becoming slipshod and making avoidable mistakes. Like with humanity, it kept them alert and better able to function. Consequentially, when an angel stopped sleeping altogether they began to deteriorate in small ways. The Cage only exacerbated the effect.

"Michael, please--"

Lucifer slept exactly once in the Cage. For the rest of the time he watched the steady growth of Hell and the molasses-ooze dreams of humanity. Even after he set foot on Earth again he kept a penchant for moving amongst sleeping humans and watching their minds whirr and catalogue the events of the day.

One woman in particular he visited several times, if only because her dreams were more colorful and active than many. That night she was the guest of honor at a ball, and a rather confused one; it didn't seem to be able to decide what time period it was from, so the guests kept changing their clothes and dances.

Lucifer squinted at one headdress and turned the feathers adorning it from red to a neon shade of orange. He didn't like participating in dreams, only observing, but there was very little chance of being noticed.

"Would you like to dance?"

He turned, surprised, and saw the dreamer herself offering a hand. She was in the plainest dress out of anyone attending, but still managed to shine with an inner radiance. Lucifer regarded her neutrally for a second before shrugging--his attire changing to something more appropriate--and took it. He didn't have much anything else to do, after all, and he could dream vicariously through others.

Jim and Molly had come to a very interesting agreement a few years back. Jim agreed that, while there would be bodies, he would do his best to keep Molly out of any of his business. Molly also stipulated that he would stop hacking into the hospital morgue files so that he could see how she was doing on her investigations of his crimes. Molly also agreed that she would not tell Sherlock anything that Jim told her.

And then, somewhere along the way, they had decided to get married.

Currently, Jim was working very hard to keep to his side of the agreement. Sebastian had done a wonderful, wonderful job of making sure that the client had no been able to wrap his hands around Jim's throat as he had intended, but that lead to a rather unavoidable problem.

Seb liked to call it pink mist.

Jim was calling it a ruined shirt.

Why he had decided to wear a shirt that Molly had bought him and would therefore know immediately if it had gone missing was beyond Jim. Honestly.

He was currently standing front of the kitchen sink running hot water, white wine, and vinegar over his shirt, trying to get rid of the blood before it permanently stained the stupid thing. Luckily, he had a few hours before Molly would return from work.

"Honey, I'm home!"

Hello: And I will write our characters' first ever meeting.

A terrible mistake had been made.

Somehow, in the course of a standard Weevil capture, a civilian had been, well, maimed. By the time Torchwood had gotten there, the young woman had lost too much blood for Owen to do much for her. And then, in the confusion following, some witnesses and so on who had been convinced that the Weevil was actually a psychotic man with an extraordinarily bad case of syphilis, the woman had been rushed off to a hospital, and finally to the morgue.

Normally, Torchwood would have left this case alone, except that the woman had a family, and they'd probably be looking to file against her attacker. Thus, it would be better if there were no perpetrator involved in her death. In order for there to be no attacker, there couldn't be a victim. Not for a few days, at least.

And thus, Tosh had showed up at the morgue, credentials in hand. As she made her way down the fluorescent lit hallway, she vaguely noted how comfortable she had gotten around dead people. She finally arrived at the designated room, and knocked. A slightly timid looking woman appeared at the door. "Hi, I'm - uh - Molly Hooper. You're here to see the deceased?"

Toshiko entered, followed by Jack and Ianto carrying a large casket. She pulled her coat a little tighter around herself. "Yes," she replied. "I'm Hina Cooper, with Green Willow. John and, um, Richard," she gestured to the two men. "We're here to move the body to our location here in Cardiff."

As Jack and Ianto began moving the mangled remains, Tosh took the clipboard and pen from Molly, filling out the last forms. "Particularly violent case, this one," she commented. Molly, watching the body being placed on the stretcher, absentmindedly said, "Yeah. Yeah, the report says she was attacked by a psychotic man, but it looks like there are teeth marks all over the body. Like it was attacked by an animal. Some kind of psychosis, huh..." she trailed off.

Tosh's hand tensed as she signed on the final line. "Yeah. People these days," she muttered. "Well. It was a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Hooper." She took Molly's hand firmly in hers, and shook. "Have a nice day."

She got into the back of the nondescript black Torchwood van, pulling off the clip-on badge and tossing it back into her purse.

"Why," Lucifer said, frowning deeply, "is it so imperative to have organic lactose products well stocked at all times?"

Molly twisted her hands together and shrugged helplessly, her mouth forming inaudible words. "It's just convenient," she managed after some stuttering. "Milk goes well with a lot of things."

Lucifer considered this, staring vaguely off at the door to the fridge. "I could just make a new carton. Then we wouldn't have to go anywhere." He lifted his fingers, poised to snap, and lifted an eyebrow at Molly's abortive hand gesture.

"That's not the same!" she cried, and the momentum of the phrase carried her past her nervousness. "I mean, it's satisfying to go out and buy a new carton. It affirms the feeling of owning. It's how humans do it."

And that was the crux of it, really--that's how humanity did it, and that's how Lucifer had to do it under rehabilitation. Molly Hooper was a rather quiet woman, but she was also very powerfully kind and a good teacher. Lucifer pressed sulkily into the back of his chair, considering flying to the store just to annoy her, but the last time he'd done that she'd forgiven him.

"Fine," he snorted, and Molly squeaked when he stood up. "But if any of the metal death traps try anything you can't hold me accountable for the consequences."

"I can, actually," Molly muttered as he stepped out the door.