I love Eleventh Hour, it's my new obsession. I've always been rather enamored of Rufus Sewell, even back when I first saw him playing baddie opposite Heath Ledger in A Knight's Tale. As much as I love his Jacob Hood, however, I find it very difficult to get a handle on his personality. So, I gave Rachel my problem and made a story out of it! Yeah, I hear you all saying, 'You have too much time on your hands.' If only that were true.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Eleventh Hour. I just enjoy playing with the characters in their off hours.
Some days, she really didn't understand him. There were moments when he was so intense, so focused on what he was doing, that the force of his personality and intelligence fairly radiated from him, and she could feel it like heat from his skin.
And at other moments, it was a wonder he managed to get out of his house with his shoes on the right feet in the mornings.
Sometimes, his rare temper flared up, and his eyes went from soft, mutable hazel to frozen steel, and the intensity of his anger became just as palpable as the intensity of his intelligence. At moments like that, she almost – almost – wondered if she could be afraid of him sometimes.
And then there were times – like now, for instance - when those peculiar eyes of his lit up with that 'Oh, I get it!' expression, and he took off – mentally or physically – in a direction she hadn't anticipated and sometimes struggled to understand.
Pushing herself to run just a little faster, Rachel rounded the corner just in time to see him take a flying leap into the back of their now-prime suspect – a skinny teenage drug dealer – sending both men skidding down onto the sidewalk.
Scrambling up, faster than Rachel would have thought possible, he planted a knee in the middle of their suspect's back and wrestled the teen's hands behind him, hard enough that the boy would probably have bruises come morning. Rachel didn't have much sympathy for the teen – the contaminated drugs they'd been tracking had given a dozen reasonably innocent people horrible deaths, and if he was the one to blame…
With the suspect secured, the object of her previous musings turned to her with that damnable little-boy grin on his face. "Can you lend me your handcuffs?"
Shaking her head in disbelief, Rachel stalked forward, withdrawing her handcuffs with the hand not holding her gun.
"Do not," she said slowly as she handed the cuffs down, "take off like that again without warning me. Understand?"
"Yes, ma'am," Hood answered, eyes sparkling with that bizarre combination of brilliance and mirth that she hated to admit she was coming to value.
Shaking her head, she pushed him off their suspect. Ten minutes ago, he'd been in a smoldering temper, but evidently solving their case had put him in a better mood.
Some days, Rachel reflected as she hauled the suspect to his feet, she just couldn't understand Jacob Hood.