He sits up and un-kinks his back, painfully. One of the medics patched him up afterwards - and returned an owed favour by giving him some very, very effective drugs. But they’ve worn off, and all the different types of pain in his body are having a shouting match, with him in the middle. He still thinks they went easy on him.
I don’t even want to know what happened to the Asset.
They’d had another staring match in the chopper, although this time the Asset won. Probably a fairly hollow victory. The poor bastard was hauled off immediately upon their return, the minute they got onto solid ground, limping and huddled, the business end of a rifle pointed at his skull, and he reached for them before he went. Fucking grabbed at the squad, as if holding on to them would do any good. Fuck knows why.
He rubs his eyes and resists the temptation to lay his head on the desk and go to sleep, forever. Jack rolls a chair closer and puts a hand on his leg.
“You ok?”
They’d all seen it; standard procedure. Some liked to stay stoic and silent, and some liked to delve the furthest reaches of their vocabulary for the filthiest curses they could imagine and fling them at all and sundry - the squad, the guy with the whip, the Asset, all of the above’s mothers, their grandfathers, their partners, their dog….
The pain didn’t get to him too badly, at the time. He knew it had to be done. But the other two shifted and stared at the floor, looking like they were a bare second away from asking to be excused (which was never, ever - ok, it happened once. But what happened after that meant nobody even dared any more). Jack watched everything, standing in his field of vision. A little tense, maybe, fingers clutched a little too tight on folded arms. But he watched.
“Ah, I’m fine. I’m finished, anyway. I’m done. You already wrote y-.”
“Yep.” Of course Jack already has; he was probably working on it from day 2.
“Fuck you.”
“It lines up with yours. Except a little less… detailed.”
“This is just a draft. I’ll edit it. Tomorrow.”
“You ready to go home? And by home, I mean my couch, because I’m not letting you alone in the state you’re in.”
“Sure. Let me just… I’ll save it here. Send it to the Secretary after I edit. Right.”
Jack stands and pulls out his keys. “I brought the bike. Think you can stay awake long enough to hold on?”
“Fuck you, I can.”
-----
And that's all, folks! ...Or is it...?
Very grateful for all the happy/agonised comments and encouragement :) you guys are the best! (And if anyone wants to write what exactly happened to the Asset afterwards, feel free.... Might even have a stab at it (!) myself.)
Signed, Anon (the Tooth Nonnie, if anyone knows that one).
Fill: Make Your Puppet Dance 14/14
I don’t even want to know what happened to the Asset.
They’d had another staring match in the chopper, although this time the Asset won. Probably a fairly hollow victory. The poor bastard was hauled off immediately upon their return, the minute they got onto solid ground, limping and huddled, the business end of a rifle pointed at his skull, and he reached for them before he went. Fucking grabbed at the squad, as if holding on to them would do any good. Fuck knows why.
He rubs his eyes and resists the temptation to lay his head on the desk and go to sleep, forever. Jack rolls a chair closer and puts a hand on his leg.
“You ok?”
They’d all seen it; standard procedure. Some liked to stay stoic and silent, and some liked to delve the furthest reaches of their vocabulary for the filthiest curses they could imagine and fling them at all and sundry - the squad, the guy with the whip, the Asset, all of the above’s mothers, their grandfathers, their partners, their dog….
The pain didn’t get to him too badly, at the time. He knew it had to be done. But the other two shifted and stared at the floor, looking like they were a bare second away from asking to be excused (which was never, ever - ok, it happened once. But what happened after that meant nobody even dared any more). Jack watched everything, standing in his field of vision. A little tense, maybe, fingers clutched a little too tight on folded arms. But he watched.
“Ah, I’m fine. I’m finished, anyway. I’m done. You already wrote y-.”
“Yep.” Of course Jack already has; he was probably working on it from day 2.
“Fuck you.”
“It lines up with yours. Except a little less… detailed.”
“This is just a draft. I’ll edit it. Tomorrow.”
“You ready to go home? And by home, I mean my couch, because I’m not letting you alone in the state you’re in.”
“Sure. Let me just… I’ll save it here. Send it to the Secretary after I edit. Right.”
Jack stands and pulls out his keys. “I brought the bike. Think you can stay awake long enough to hold on?”
“Fuck you, I can.”
-----
And that's all, folks! ...Or is it...?
Very grateful for all the happy/agonised comments and encouragement :) you guys are the best!
(And if anyone wants to write what exactly happened to the Asset afterwards, feel free.... Might even have a stab at it (!) myself.)
Signed, Anon (the Tooth Nonnie, if anyone knows that one).