Learning to Read (Charlie, Patrick, PG, Mentalist-Numb3rs Crossover)
Fandom(s): The Mentalist, Numb3rs
Title: Learning to Read
Characters/Pairings: Charlie Eppes (Numb3rs), Patrick Jane (The Mentalist)
Rating: PG (disdain, to be safe)
Word Count: 854
Summary: Charlie doesn't believe in psychics. It's a good thing Patrick Jane isn't one.
Spoilers: None in particular unless you don't know anything about Patrick Jane.
Notes/Warnings: This is my very first crossover fic. The conversation between Charlie and Patrick came at me like artillery fire. Charlie's disdain for psychics has always been present, but it was my hope that Patrick could teach him something he needed to learn anyway. And yes, the comment about the lighting was completely necessary. *nods* Many thanks to my beta, julietm. I hope you enjoy. :)
Disclaimer: If you recognize it, regrettably - it's not mine.
Charlie was seething as he moved through the office, approaching the man who was looking around with child-like curiosity and a smile across his face.
“You know, people might be happier here if you had better lighting,” the man grinned, pointing overhead to the sparse fluorescent tubes around the office.
He then turned his full attention to Charlie whose face was set, his eyes darkened with disdain as he stared at the man.
“Hi. Patrick Jane,” the man introduced, still smiling, as he extended his hand.
Charlie didn’t move to greet him, needing no introduction to know the man with the dirty blond curls.
He watched as Patrick took a step back, considering Charlie curiously before he nearly laughed. “You just met me and yet you hate me. That’s impressive. It usually takes at least five minutes with me before I get that response.”
He continued to look around the office, features alight with amusement.
“What are you doing here?” Charlie finally croaked, his voice heavy with his annoyance.
Patrick once again turned that smile in Charlie’s direction and Charlie’s hands clenched with the desire to knock that smile right off his face.
“Your brother called. We seem to have a joint interest in this case.”
If Charlie had been paying attention through his rage, he would have noticed something other than curiosity and playfulness in Patrick’s eyes and in his answer.
“You should know, I don’t believe in what you do,” Charlie rasped through clenched teeth.
“And what is it I do that you don’t believe?” Patrick asked, his left hand tucking into the pocket of his vest.
“Psychics are a waste of department resources…” Charlie began but a step closer from Patrick interrupted him.
“There’s no such thing as psychics, professor.”
Charlie’s eyes narrowed, his loathing obvious to this man for agreeing with him to serve his purpose.
Patrick leaned back, smiling casually. “What I do, is science…”
“What I do is science. What you do… is exploit people,” Charlie immediately retorted.
“Actually, that’s how I used to get paid to do what I do,” Patrick answered, wavering. He looked across the office for a moment before he spoke again. “Then a very real man with very real anger stole something from me and changed all that.”
Charlie’s jaw tightened and released, hesitating with his annoyance and still Patrick smiled at him.
“Let me show you what I mean,” he said, even toned with yet another step closer. “The science of what I do is in the way the pupils dilate with joy or hate… the way yours are right now. I can tell you’ve had a bad experience with a so-called psychic. It’s in the way the nostrils flare when someone is trying not to give anything away, again like you are right now. You’re trying to hide from me and yet in trying, you’re telling me that I’m right, and you hate not being right.”
Patrick paused and Charlie shifted his weight from foot to foot trying to look away and yet not wanting to give the man the satisfaction.
Still smiling, Patrick continued. “It’s in the rhythm of a heartbeat. No matter who you are… what you do… you can’t change the way your pulse reacts when you experience love, or pain. Even highly skilled snipers, trained not to react, experience a change in cardiac rhythm. Some pulses stop all together, some become calmer, some more rapid. Just ask your friend… Egbert… Edgar… something.”
“Edgerton,” Charlie glared.
“Yeah, that’s the guy. He’ll tell you.”
There was a quiet moment as Charlie considered the words he was hearing.
“It’s not voodoo, Professor. It’s understanding the science of human behavior, reading the people around you, the people you work with, the people you chase. I’m not a number. I’m not an equation that needs to be solved. No one is. We are open books… with words and memories and very real reactions to real situations. All the math in the world won’t help you unless you learn to just… read the book.”
With that said, Patrick stepped away, his child-like curiosity returning as he cast another look at the overhead lighting. “You really should have them fix this,” he shook his head, pointing upward and then smiling as he made his way toward the elevator.
“Mr. Jane?” Charlie spoke, stopping the man in his tracks. Maybe this man had a point. Maybe he wasn’t like the last psychic. But to be sure, there was something Charlie needed to know. “This man, this angry man… what did he steal from you?”
Patrick didn’t falter even for a moment as he answered, “My wife and daughter.”
Despite the resolution in Patrick’s answer, Charlie saw the smile fade from the man’s eyes. He heard the darkness that fell into the cadence of the man’s voice.
That was a moment he would never forget even as the science of human behavior began weaving its way into the ever present equations in his mind.
Thirty years old and a brilliant mathematician since the age of three, but that was the day that Charlie learned to read.
Title: Learning to Read
Characters/Pairings: Charlie Eppes (Numb3rs), Patrick Jane (The Mentalist)
Rating: PG (disdain, to be safe)
Word Count: 854
Summary: Charlie doesn't believe in psychics. It's a good thing Patrick Jane isn't one.
Spoilers: None in particular unless you don't know anything about Patrick Jane.
Notes/Warnings: This is my very first crossover fic. The conversation between Charlie and Patrick came at me like artillery fire. Charlie's disdain for psychics has always been present, but it was my hope that Patrick could teach him something he needed to learn anyway. And yes, the comment about the lighting was completely necessary. *nods* Many thanks to my beta, julietm. I hope you enjoy. :)
Disclaimer: If you recognize it, regrettably - it's not mine.
Charlie was seething as he moved through the office, approaching the man who was looking around with child-like curiosity and a smile across his face.
“You know, people might be happier here if you had better lighting,” the man grinned, pointing overhead to the sparse fluorescent tubes around the office.
He then turned his full attention to Charlie whose face was set, his eyes darkened with disdain as he stared at the man.
“Hi. Patrick Jane,” the man introduced, still smiling, as he extended his hand.
Charlie didn’t move to greet him, needing no introduction to know the man with the dirty blond curls.
He watched as Patrick took a step back, considering Charlie curiously before he nearly laughed. “You just met me and yet you hate me. That’s impressive. It usually takes at least five minutes with me before I get that response.”
He continued to look around the office, features alight with amusement.
“What are you doing here?” Charlie finally croaked, his voice heavy with his annoyance.
Patrick once again turned that smile in Charlie’s direction and Charlie’s hands clenched with the desire to knock that smile right off his face.
“Your brother called. We seem to have a joint interest in this case.”
If Charlie had been paying attention through his rage, he would have noticed something other than curiosity and playfulness in Patrick’s eyes and in his answer.
“You should know, I don’t believe in what you do,” Charlie rasped through clenched teeth.
“And what is it I do that you don’t believe?” Patrick asked, his left hand tucking into the pocket of his vest.
“Psychics are a waste of department resources…” Charlie began but a step closer from Patrick interrupted him.
“There’s no such thing as psychics, professor.”
Charlie’s eyes narrowed, his loathing obvious to this man for agreeing with him to serve his purpose.
Patrick leaned back, smiling casually. “What I do, is science…”
“What I do is science. What you do… is exploit people,” Charlie immediately retorted.
“Actually, that’s how I used to get paid to do what I do,” Patrick answered, wavering. He looked across the office for a moment before he spoke again. “Then a very real man with very real anger stole something from me and changed all that.”
Charlie’s jaw tightened and released, hesitating with his annoyance and still Patrick smiled at him.
“Let me show you what I mean,” he said, even toned with yet another step closer. “The science of what I do is in the way the pupils dilate with joy or hate… the way yours are right now. I can tell you’ve had a bad experience with a so-called psychic. It’s in the way the nostrils flare when someone is trying not to give anything away, again like you are right now. You’re trying to hide from me and yet in trying, you’re telling me that I’m right, and you hate not being right.”
Patrick paused and Charlie shifted his weight from foot to foot trying to look away and yet not wanting to give the man the satisfaction.
Still smiling, Patrick continued. “It’s in the rhythm of a heartbeat. No matter who you are… what you do… you can’t change the way your pulse reacts when you experience love, or pain. Even highly skilled snipers, trained not to react, experience a change in cardiac rhythm. Some pulses stop all together, some become calmer, some more rapid. Just ask your friend… Egbert… Edgar… something.”
“Edgerton,” Charlie glared.
“Yeah, that’s the guy. He’ll tell you.”
There was a quiet moment as Charlie considered the words he was hearing.
“It’s not voodoo, Professor. It’s understanding the science of human behavior, reading the people around you, the people you work with, the people you chase. I’m not a number. I’m not an equation that needs to be solved. No one is. We are open books… with words and memories and very real reactions to real situations. All the math in the world won’t help you unless you learn to just… read the book.”
With that said, Patrick stepped away, his child-like curiosity returning as he cast another look at the overhead lighting. “You really should have them fix this,” he shook his head, pointing upward and then smiling as he made his way toward the elevator.
“Mr. Jane?” Charlie spoke, stopping the man in his tracks. Maybe this man had a point. Maybe he wasn’t like the last psychic. But to be sure, there was something Charlie needed to know. “This man, this angry man… what did he steal from you?”
Patrick didn’t falter even for a moment as he answered, “My wife and daughter.”
Despite the resolution in Patrick’s answer, Charlie saw the smile fade from the man’s eyes. He heard the darkness that fell into the cadence of the man’s voice.
That was a moment he would never forget even as the science of human behavior began weaving its way into the ever present equations in his mind.
Thirty years old and a brilliant mathematician since the age of three, but that was the day that Charlie learned to read.