The usual disclaimers: I don't own any of these characters except The good Dr. Fiona, which is why this is a fan-fic. This story takes place after the clan was welcomed back into Wyvern castle, some time after "Hunter's Moon".
He made his way through the dark room. Boxes with ancient artifacts, labeled in numeric codes were stacked high over his head. Owen pushed his glasses up to their rightful place on the bridge of his nose. These back rooms of the museum were barely lit, the lights distantly hung, like a 1960's army bunker. He heard a soft humming, and saw a woman writing on a note pad. Owen cleared to throat to gain her attention. Frightened she dropped her pencil and notebook.
"Dr. McKliney?" Owen asked, retrieving her lost items for her. She took them with a smile; a faint blush reaching her cheeks as she pushed her tortoise shell glasses up on her nose.
"Yes, may I help you?" She smoothed back a stray burgundy strand of hair, her soft voice containing a slight accent.
"I'm Owen Burnett, we spoke earlier on the phone today," and He offered her his good, right hand, which she took smiling. She gave him a quick once over, thinking that his Armani suit spoke volumes.
"Of course Mr. Burnett, I've been expecting you. Please follow me to my office," Or what's left of it, she thought bitterly. Her smile was sweet, her face a soft peaches and cream complexion. Puck-like eyes flicked over her in interest. She carried a few extra pounds in her hips and chest, though her waist was narrow. The more to hold onto, Owen, old boy, Puck's voice echoed in his mind. He ignored it as she past him in a whirl of lilacs.
"Please have a seat, Mr. Burnett; I apologize for the mess," She said as they reached her hastily packed office. "Now, what does the Xanatos Corporation want with a simple linguist?" She raised a delicately arched eyebrow at the placid man.
"Actually, Doctor, it is I that am in need of your specialized skills. As Mr. Xanatos' full time assistant I have little time for important personal matters. You see I have a rare...ailment...one that no medical doctor could help me with," his expression never faltered as he lifted his stone arm for her to examine. At first she thought that he had on a full arm cast, but upon inspection the grainy texture and the intense details of skin told her differently. She stood walking over to his side, kneeling she took his hand in her own. It was warm to the touch, like a stone wall baking in the summer sun.
"How far does it go up?" She asked her eyes never leaving his hand. He slide off his jacket with little effort, he had trained himself to be easily one handed. Unbuttoning his sleeve was just as easy, but he began to show a little difficulty when rolling up the white shirt. She looked up from his hand as he struggled, his expression faltering for only a second, snapping back into cool calmness as she took over for him. He watched her at she gently examined his arm, turning it over, tracing the lines in his granite like skin. Her brow gently furrowing, her delicate features reminded him of something he couldn't quite place.
"Mr. Burnett, I really don't know what I can do to help you. I'm a language girl, give me a medieval text, or a Mediterranean scroll and I'm happy. But this, I have no idea about," She said sadly, sitting at the edge of her desk her hands folded neatly in her lap, her legs crossed at the ankle.
"Doctor, you see, I have many texts that allegedly contain a cure. The problem is to locate the proper text and then translation," He sat there almost serenely.
"Why me? Surely there are others more experienced, with a broader knowledge base," She was young, 25, how could he expect her to understand? She had only just received her doctorate, and her positions on many theories hadn't set well with her colleagues. However he knew that she had lost her grant that every morning, and with very little to lose she was a good candidate
"Doctor, I know that you don't have very many options, your job is unsteady at best. I will pay you better than anyone with your experience could ever dream of, plus room, board and any other amenities you might need." She looked deep in thought, her light green eyes distant for a moment as she scanned the full boxes.
"Mr. Burnett, consider me on the pay roll," she smiled softly at him which he returned awkwardly.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
"This will be your office, mine is across the hall, however you are more than likely to find my in Mr. Xanatos' office," he pointed off-handedly to the steel double doors at the end of the long corridor. He handed her a manila envelop and a thin, silver cell phone. "This phone will be voice activated, once you have the numbers programmed into it. Included in the folder are the schedules of the Xanatos' and myself, a few secrecy forms, lists of anyone you may encounter in the house and your work schedule. I would appreciate it if you didn't stray beyond these times, you won't receive any over time pay," and He started off towards a staircase, Fiona following close behind, her heels clicking softly on the floor. A large cracking sound and a subsequent chorus of roars echoed above them.
"What was that?" She stopped walking, her voice barely above a whisper. Owen glanced back at her, fully expecting to see fear written on her features. To his astonishment her face was like that of a child, filled with interest.
"A few of the Xanatos' houseguests," was the only answer she received and she soon found herself trotting to catch up with him. They made their way back to the living accommodations that had been made for her. When they reached the door an awkward moment passed between them.
"Well....I would like those documents on my desk first thing Monday morning, until then you may have the weekend to your self. The envelope also contains instructions on how to begin your research. Should you need anything my number is on the list I gave you," she nodded at him, with that damn smile.
"Thank you, Mr. Burnett," she turned to go into her room, pausing she said, "Have a good evening, sir." As the door shut Owen found that he was slightly apprehension about the day. True everything had work according to his plan....but if all his years of service with David Xanatos had taught him anything it was that nothing ever work according to ones plans.
He made his way through the dark room. Boxes with ancient artifacts, labeled in numeric codes were stacked high over his head. Owen pushed his glasses up to their rightful place on the bridge of his nose. These back rooms of the museum were barely lit, the lights distantly hung, like a 1960's army bunker. He heard a soft humming, and saw a woman writing on a note pad. Owen cleared to throat to gain her attention. Frightened she dropped her pencil and notebook.
"Dr. McKliney?" Owen asked, retrieving her lost items for her. She took them with a smile; a faint blush reaching her cheeks as she pushed her tortoise shell glasses up on her nose.
"Yes, may I help you?" She smoothed back a stray burgundy strand of hair, her soft voice containing a slight accent.
"I'm Owen Burnett, we spoke earlier on the phone today," and He offered her his good, right hand, which she took smiling. She gave him a quick once over, thinking that his Armani suit spoke volumes.
"Of course Mr. Burnett, I've been expecting you. Please follow me to my office," Or what's left of it, she thought bitterly. Her smile was sweet, her face a soft peaches and cream complexion. Puck-like eyes flicked over her in interest. She carried a few extra pounds in her hips and chest, though her waist was narrow. The more to hold onto, Owen, old boy, Puck's voice echoed in his mind. He ignored it as she past him in a whirl of lilacs.
"Please have a seat, Mr. Burnett; I apologize for the mess," She said as they reached her hastily packed office. "Now, what does the Xanatos Corporation want with a simple linguist?" She raised a delicately arched eyebrow at the placid man.
"Actually, Doctor, it is I that am in need of your specialized skills. As Mr. Xanatos' full time assistant I have little time for important personal matters. You see I have a rare...ailment...one that no medical doctor could help me with," his expression never faltered as he lifted his stone arm for her to examine. At first she thought that he had on a full arm cast, but upon inspection the grainy texture and the intense details of skin told her differently. She stood walking over to his side, kneeling she took his hand in her own. It was warm to the touch, like a stone wall baking in the summer sun.
"How far does it go up?" She asked her eyes never leaving his hand. He slide off his jacket with little effort, he had trained himself to be easily one handed. Unbuttoning his sleeve was just as easy, but he began to show a little difficulty when rolling up the white shirt. She looked up from his hand as he struggled, his expression faltering for only a second, snapping back into cool calmness as she took over for him. He watched her at she gently examined his arm, turning it over, tracing the lines in his granite like skin. Her brow gently furrowing, her delicate features reminded him of something he couldn't quite place.
"Mr. Burnett, I really don't know what I can do to help you. I'm a language girl, give me a medieval text, or a Mediterranean scroll and I'm happy. But this, I have no idea about," She said sadly, sitting at the edge of her desk her hands folded neatly in her lap, her legs crossed at the ankle.
"Doctor, you see, I have many texts that allegedly contain a cure. The problem is to locate the proper text and then translation," He sat there almost serenely.
"Why me? Surely there are others more experienced, with a broader knowledge base," She was young, 25, how could he expect her to understand? She had only just received her doctorate, and her positions on many theories hadn't set well with her colleagues. However he knew that she had lost her grant that every morning, and with very little to lose she was a good candidate
"Doctor, I know that you don't have very many options, your job is unsteady at best. I will pay you better than anyone with your experience could ever dream of, plus room, board and any other amenities you might need." She looked deep in thought, her light green eyes distant for a moment as she scanned the full boxes.
"Mr. Burnett, consider me on the pay roll," she smiled softly at him which he returned awkwardly.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
"This will be your office, mine is across the hall, however you are more than likely to find my in Mr. Xanatos' office," he pointed off-handedly to the steel double doors at the end of the long corridor. He handed her a manila envelop and a thin, silver cell phone. "This phone will be voice activated, once you have the numbers programmed into it. Included in the folder are the schedules of the Xanatos' and myself, a few secrecy forms, lists of anyone you may encounter in the house and your work schedule. I would appreciate it if you didn't stray beyond these times, you won't receive any over time pay," and He started off towards a staircase, Fiona following close behind, her heels clicking softly on the floor. A large cracking sound and a subsequent chorus of roars echoed above them.
"What was that?" She stopped walking, her voice barely above a whisper. Owen glanced back at her, fully expecting to see fear written on her features. To his astonishment her face was like that of a child, filled with interest.
"A few of the Xanatos' houseguests," was the only answer she received and she soon found herself trotting to catch up with him. They made their way back to the living accommodations that had been made for her. When they reached the door an awkward moment passed between them.
"Well....I would like those documents on my desk first thing Monday morning, until then you may have the weekend to your self. The envelope also contains instructions on how to begin your research. Should you need anything my number is on the list I gave you," she nodded at him, with that damn smile.
"Thank you, Mr. Burnett," she turned to go into her room, pausing she said, "Have a good evening, sir." As the door shut Owen found that he was slightly apprehension about the day. True everything had work according to his plan....but if all his years of service with David Xanatos had taught him anything it was that nothing ever work according to ones plans.
