Title: When Worlds Collide, Chapter One
Author: punch_kicker15
Fandoms: BtVS/Elementary crossover
Rating: R
Characters/Relationships: Willow/Joan Watson
Summary: BtVS, post-Chosen, Elementary Season One AU: After completing her sober companion assignment with Sherlock Holmes, Joan Watson becomes the sober companion of Rupert Giles. But when Joan's brother is kidnapped, she can't just rely on her wits to solve the mystery of his disappearance. She needs supernatural guidance and magical mojo to save him.
Word count:
Notes: Written for the whichwillow ficathon, for the prompt, "Willow gets sucked into another universe; or a character from another show/book/movie gets sucked into Willow's."
Joan adjusted her scarf and glanced down at her phone one more time. She’d already memorized the notes regarding her new client, but she’d learned that it never hurt to double check.
Rupert Giles, aged 59. Position: executive vice president of Class Protector Security Corporation. Hospitalized for alcohol poisoning January 19th. Due to the highly confidential nature of his work, his firm would prefer that he not participate in support groups or group therapy. Suspended from work, with his return contingent upon six weeks’ continuous sobriety, under the supervision of a sober companion.
She knocked, and the door swung open immediately. She did a quick once-over. There were dark circles under his eyes, and he looked older than his file photo. But he was dressed as if he were on the way to work, which was one positive sign. She stepped inside, and noted another positive sign.
“Rupert Giles? I’m Joan Watson. I’m—“
“My watcher,” he said, with an odd emphasis on the second word, as if it were some private joke that she should understand. “Come in.”
She hung her coat on the rack and glanced around the room. It was tidy, which was another positive sign. “Wow, that’s a lot of books. I take it you’re a big reader.”
“Yes,” he said, in a way that didn’t invite any further conversation.
She spotted a book on one of the shelves and tried another tack. “My father’s a novelist. He wrote Thieves and Vultures.”
He blinked, and seemed to process that information. “Ah, yes. Good for him. Shall we dispense with the pleasantries? I have every intention of staying sober, and I don’t require chit-chat. Your room is upstairs.”
Joan took a deep breath, and reminded herself that a lot of clients were pretty guarded when she first met them. He’d probably loosen up once he’d gotten used to the situation.
***
One week later, Joan’s phone beeped.
Oren had texted. Hey, sis! How’s it going?
She reflexively texted back, Fine, settling in with the new client. Say hi to Gabi for me.
It felt artificial, even more than so than her usual superficial text conversations with her brother. She was light-years away from fine.
Some of it was the letdown of a grand adventure coming to an end. Now that her assignment with Sherlock had ended, there would be more investigations of jewel heists, or murders disguised as plane crashes. Her only job now was helping Rupert Giles—the most boring, tight-lipped man in the universe—stay sober.
Her new charge, on paper, had a lot in common with Sherlock. He had a houseful of books and a predilection for tea. But while Sherlock constantly engaged with her, sometimes in appallingly obnoxious fashion, Rupert seemed content to ignore her. He spent most of his time reading—newspapers and some of the reference books from his shelves. There were no photographs on the wall, no inklings of having any sort of personal life whatsoever.
A few people came to visit, all of whom he treated with the same polite formality. It was maddening.
Maybe it just was a habit formed from years of years of working for a security company. He’d passed every alcohol and drug screening test she had run for him. But Joan couldn’t shake the feeling that she couldn’t help him if she didn’t know him.
Muffled, angry shouting downstairs drew her out of her musings. She dashed down to see what had upset Rupert. This could be a breakthrough.
He was sitting on the couch, eyes glued to the television. “Panama is not landlocked! Why do you think they dug that bloody canal?”
He caught a glimpse of her and looked a bit abashed. “Sorry. The contestants on Jeopardy are just so utterly stupid.”
Think of the most open-ended question possible. “Is there anything you’d like to talk about?”
“No, thank you,” he said, with an air of polite dismissal.
Joan stomped back upstairs to her room. That was it. If he wasn’t going to talk to her, she’d figure things out on her own.
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