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This is what I wrote the other night instead of my [livejournal.com profile] numb3rs_newyear fic. Or, more accurately, after I'd gotten 200 words of n3ny fic written and gave up on it.

Title: What Do You Hear In These Sounds, part 2/?
Pairing: Jo Harvelle/Amita Ramanujan
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Some part of Amita just can't let this girl disappear on her own into the night.
Word Count: 586
Spoilers: none, but takes place sometime after S2 of SPN.
Warnings: none.
Notes: Unbetaed. WIP. Numb3rs/Supernatural crossover. Title from Dar Williams.
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, nor do I profit from their use here.
[Part 1]


The girl won't let her call the police, and she refuses to go to a hospital, but some part of Amita just can't let this girl disappear on her own into the night, limping and bleeding and hoarse, so she ushers her into her car and drives her to her apartment, trying to calculate the whole time just how big of a mistake this is, and decidedly choosing not to think about what she's just witnessed.

Her name is Jo. She's quiet in the car and even quieter when they get to Amita's apartment. She sits patiently at the kitchen table while Amita makes tea, and when Amita brings the pot over there's a small array of surgical implements laid out in front of Jo. Needles, thread, bandages, rubbing alcohol, a little bottle of ibuprofen. Amita is struck silent, feeling her eyes go wide in shock, and she says again, "Are you sure you won't go to the hospital?"

Jo gives her a small smile. "I'm fine," she says, voice still scratchy. "Just a little banged up."

Amita is skeptical, but she pours the tea and tries not to stare as Jo inspects her own body for cuts. There are patches of blood on her clothes, but she's not drenched in it, and Amita starts to relax. Slightly.

Jo does too. "That's good," she says, sounding a little surprised and almost cheerful. "Only one needs stitching." She pauses, squinting at Amita like she's not sure how she'll react, and then says, "Do you have any whiskey?"

Amita carefully swallows her sip of tea and goes to fetch the bottle.

Jo moves into the bathroom but she leaves the door open and Amita doesn't even try not to hover. She watches Jo disinfect the cut on her leg, barely flinching at the sting, and sterilize her needle, and she tries to imagine what it would be like to thread a needle through her own flesh the way Jo is doing, perched on the lid of the toilet. She would be crying. She almost is just from watching, but Jo is stoic, stern-faced and just pinched at the eyebrows, focusing on her work. Amita bites her lip.

"It's not that bad," Jo says quietly, and Amita wonders if she's just reassuring herself, until she goes on to explain, "You just have to be patient and make even stitches or the scar comes out ugly."

Jesus Christ, Amita thinks, who is this girl?

She finishes her task and sets down the needle, angling her leg to inspect her handiwork. The black thread stitches stand out harshly against her pale skin. "Not bad," she murmurs. Gingerly she stands up and starts cleaning up her supplies. "Could I use your shower?" she asks, and then hastily adds, "Or I could leave! I'm not... homeless or something. I have a motel room, I should just..."

Amita thinks about her leaving, disappearing into the night and leaving her here alone with the memory of an invisible force that was dissuaded by holy water and Latin chanting, and she slowly shakes her head. "You can take a shower," she says. "I'll get you some clean clothes."

When Jo comes out of the bathroom, her cheeks are flushed pink, her blonde hair is hanging limply, and she smells clean and sweet like Amita's coconut shower gel. She gratefully accepts the plate of spaghetti Amita has waiting for her, and as they eat together Amita listens wide-eyed to Jo's explanation that demons are real.
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