ETA: On disc two now. It's taken me around five hours (Give or take) for this one little bit. Oy.
Title: Opening Credits
Fandom(s): John Doe/Prison Break
Disclaimer: Not Mine.
"...But it just doesn't make any sense, don't pedophiles normally stick with just one sex?" Frank questioned while wiping a stray drop of mustard off the side of his mouth.
"Ah but I don't think we're looking for a pedophile here I think we're looking for a biastophile." John handed the vender a twenty and gestured for him to keep the change before following the other man through the crowd of people.
"A what? English man, please. I'm begging you."
"A biastophiliac; someone who finds sexual pleasure in the act of committing rape. All of his victims showed signs of a struggle and the girl who was only stabbed--"
"She was stabbed sixty-three times John."
"And she was a hybristophiliac." At the detective's look John elaborated. "She experienced sexual attraction and arousal to people who have committed crimes, in particular cruel or outrageous crimes like Bagwell's. She was willing to have sex with him and she's the only victim who he didn't have sex with."
"Okay so he's a rapist. We already knew that. Now how're we gonna find this sicko?"
"I'm not sure yet. Innocence seems to be the common link with him for the most part; children, church-going girls, and such, but the boys. The boys were different; three football players, a kid on the chess team, a pre-operative transexual, an architect from a bar. There doesn't seem to be a common thread. He likes the sweet girls and the boys who maybe don't have people to talk to, maybe he can gain their trust easier, maybe..." Blue. That guy's eyes were blue. Three-three-three-eight-ef-ef blue. The exact color of... Of. He didn't know. He didn't know what it was the color of. He immediately turned around and chased after the other man.
"Doe? Doe! Hey!" Frank followed the other man back against the crowd of people hoping that for once he wouldn't have to call in backup.
John had already caught up to the blue-eyed man and spun him around. Dark brown hair (four-six-two-three-zero-zero), bleached and dyed. Light brown skin, possibly part African-American or a perfected tan. Monochrome suit and tie (Or maybe just to him), off-white shirt (e-ef-e-ef-e-ef) and faded blue-green ink (zero-seven-seven-eight-six-two) peeking out from from the underneath crisply pressed cuffs. Late-twenties or early thirties probably with the briefest hint of surprise across his face.
"Excuse me," he asked the other man after a moment. "Do I know you?" The unknown man just stared at him for a moment before he shook his head negatively.
"No. At least as far as I know I don't know you. Do you know me?" There was something in the tone and the way the question was phrased that made him want to say yes.
"I'm not sure. You look familiar to me." The other man smirked at him before responding.
"No I don't." That answer through John for a loop, more specifically the amount of confidence put behind it. Before he could respond though another sound cut through the crowd and the other man's eyes widened slightly.
"Dad!" A loud scream came from a young man running across the street through traffic. The boy was tall and skinny, unremarkable except for spiked yellow hair, not blond but an almost radioactive yellow. Ef-three-ef-ef-zero-dee. John's thoughts were cut short when the boy wrapped his arms around him in a large hug and started to sob into his chest. John's arms rested stiffly at his side and he stared down at the boy with a confused look. "I knew you weren't dead, I knew it! I knew they didn't kill you dad."
"Two kids in one week," Frank stood back and observed the beginning of the latest act in the intricate play that was John's life. "You ever heard of a condom?" The as-yet still unnamed man shot a look of pure hatred at him for a moment and the intensity in it almost made him take a step back.
"Chris it's not him, come on. Chris," The boy didn't budge an inch. The man put a hand on the boy's shoulder and squeezed while repeating himself, slowly and deliberately. "Chris. It's not him. We need to go. Now." The boy pulled back, face wet and red and blotchy, and scrubbed the sleeve of his sweatshirt over his face trying to soak up the tears (cysteine, ascorbate, glutathione, urate, tyrosine...).
"You're right," He gasped in several quick lungfulls of air. "You're right. I'm sorry, I'm sorry. It's just that you look like... I'm sorry." Another shuddering breath escapes the boy--Chris's mouth and he steps back and close to the other man and then suddenly it all hits John.
"What?" The stunned look on the other man's face almost stopped him for a moment.
"Lincoln Burrows. Junior. Alias 'LJ,' birth date January seventeenth nineteen-ninety, currently wanted in state of Illinois for the murder of Lisa and Adrian Rix. Last seen with Michael Scofield, an escapee from Fox River penitentiary along with Benjamin Franklin, Fernando Sucre, Lincoln Burrows Sr., and Theodore Bagwell." John turned excitedly towards Frank to clarify. "Don't you see? They're here for Bagwell!"
"And you're letting them get away!" John looked back and noticed that Frank was right and he took off running after the fugitives, Frank just a step behind pulling out his cellphone undoubtedly to call for backup.