(This just screamed Hercules:TLG crossover to me, hope you like!)
Michael Westen has seen many, many things in his lifetime. It isn't the shape of the man standing at the threshold of his loft that surprises him, but his remark. Incredulously, he paraphrases the man's words.
"You expect me to believe you're a god of war?"
The dark-haired man looming over Michael stares implacably back. "THE god of war. Would you like me to prove it?"
Michael didn't wait for an answer before hoisting his gun into view. A scoffing sound comes from the man, who, in the space of a heartbeat, quickly pinches the barel closed with a squeal of metal. With his free hand, he seizes Michael by the throat.
A few sounds penetrate Michael's consciousness. One is the man's rapid breathing, another the sound of his own saliva crackling in his windpipe. The final is Sam's feet treading upon his front steps.
Sam is eye-level with the front window by the time he has his own gun drawn and can make out the features of the person holding Michael aloft. "Ares?" he whispers, fear and disbelief in his eyes.
The taller man lets go of Michael's gun and throat. "Autolycus," he says casually.
Michael, rubbing his throat, stares up at Sam. "Autolycus?"
"Long story," Sam says, shoving his gun back into the waistband of his jeans. "Thought you agreed we were even after you gave me the ambrosia."
'Ares' just smirks. "Let's just say immortality is the gift that keeps on giving...to the gods willing to speak to fools."
Twelve hours later - when Michael and Sam are in the middle of trying to lift an ancient ceremonial dagger from a museum in trade for - Michael will come to believe that Sam was the King of Thieves once. But that god of war stuff is still too hard for him to swallow, even when he sees the guy's chariot double-parked on his street.
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timeasmymeasure
Suspension
Date: 2010-02-03 02:54 pm (UTC)Michael Westen has seen many, many things in his lifetime. It isn't the shape of the man standing at the threshold of his loft that surprises him, but his remark. Incredulously, he paraphrases the man's words.
"You expect me to believe you're a god of war?"
The dark-haired man looming over Michael stares implacably back. "THE god of war. Would you like me to prove it?"
Michael didn't wait for an answer before hoisting his gun into view. A scoffing sound comes from the man, who, in the space of a heartbeat, quickly pinches the barel closed with a squeal of metal. With his free hand, he seizes Michael by the throat.
A few sounds penetrate Michael's consciousness. One is the man's rapid breathing, another the sound of his own saliva crackling in his windpipe. The final is Sam's feet treading upon his front steps.
Sam is eye-level with the front window by the time he has his own gun drawn and can make out the features of the person holding Michael aloft. "Ares?" he whispers, fear and disbelief in his eyes.
The taller man lets go of Michael's gun and throat. "Autolycus," he says casually.
Michael, rubbing his throat, stares up at Sam. "Autolycus?"
"Long story," Sam says, shoving his gun back into the waistband of his jeans. "Thought you agreed we were even after you gave me the ambrosia."
'Ares' just smirks. "Let's just say immortality is the gift that keeps on giving...to the gods willing to speak to fools."
Twelve hours later - when Michael and Sam are in the middle of trying to lift an ancient ceremonial dagger from a museum in trade for - Michael will come to believe that Sam was the King of Thieves once. But that god of war stuff is still too hard for him to swallow, even when he sees the guy's chariot double-parked on his street.