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kjr_nanojournal) wrote2014-05-23 12:33 pm
kjr_nanojournal) wrote2014-05-23 12:33 pm
Entry tags:
When The Sky Falls Post Two- 4,105 Total
Part One
Part Two-
They stare at each other, neither giving an inch, until a gruff voice says, “You can let him go now.” Mikel scowls then quickly backs off. Bond yanks his coat back into place without breaking eye contact with Mikel then balls his hand up into a fist. Mikel shifts his stance and narrows his eyes but before either of them can make a move, Fury steps between them.
“You couldn’t even protect M,” he says, “ya really think you’ve got a chance against the kid?”
Red colors the edge of Bond’s vision as the throws the punch at Fury’s head. Fury deflects the blow and Bond sees the forearm strike heading his way. He pivots and throws his head back, hitting Fury’s chin. The man grunts and staggers back even as stars burst across Bond’s vision. He jabs an elbow high as he tries to get some space to maneuver but Fury’s got a hold of his wrist and all Bond can get in is a weak body shot.
When Fury starts wrapping his other arm around Bond to restrain him, Bond pushes hard off one foot and sends them both into a table. Something shatters as they careen off and Fury’s hold eases up enough for Bond to break free. As soon as he can twist around, Bond starts throwing punches. He doesn’t care now what he’s hitting; he just wants to hurt, to not feel anything but rage right now. But he can’t help but feel pain at the hits Fury is getting in. It’s not until Fury strikes him high in the shoulder, hitting him right where he’d been shot, that Bond is finally forced to stop.
Doubled over, leaning against the wall so he didn’t end up on his ass on the floor, Bond glares up at Fury. “Feel better?” Fury asks before wiping some of the blood dripping out of his nose away with the back of his hand.
It takes Bond several seconds to drag in enough air to huff, “Fuck you.”
“Yeah, you’ll have to talk to him about that,” Fury mutters with a gesture at Loki. Stepping in, he pulls Bond upright and wraps an arm around him. “Come on, time for you to hit the sack.”
The urge to be a contrary bastard and fight being manhandled again like a two year old flares up but burns out just as quick. He’s beginning to crash and if that means a few hours of unconsciousness, then he’s all for it.
Halfway up the stairs he starts reconsidering but by the time he’s ready to do anything he’s being dumped onto a bed and soon staring at a white plaster ceiling. It’s not until he hears the rattle of a pill bottle that he shifts his gaze away from the ceiling.
Bond feels a puzzled frown forming; he hadn’t noticed Fury leaving the room. The man had returned with a towel, some sterile wipes, the pills, and a plastic cup that looked like it might have belonged to one of the kids. Pushing himself upright, Bond touches his face and feels the drying blood on his face. He’s not feeling any pain there yet but clearly Fury got a good hit in at some point.
He picks up the bottle of pills and tries reading it but the label isn’t making any sense. When he tilts it to see whether it’s a childproof cap or not, the bottle is plucked out of his hand and he’s hauled back to his feet.
“Coat first,” Fury says, keeping a hold on Bond’s sweater. There’s blood on Fury’s face as well; Bond allows himself a moment of smug satisfaction as he painfully slips his jacket off. He lets it drop to the floor and Fury kicks it away.
“Need help with the rest?”
“What?”
Fury gives Bond a look of exasperation. “Ya took a dip in a frozen lake, you idiot. Last thing you’re gonna want to do is fall asleep in those clothes. Trust me on that."
“Fine.” Forcing his mind on the problem, Bond figures he can deal with everything from the waist down. It was everything above that he was going to have issues with. He shoots a glare at Fury.
“Going to need help with the sweater cause somebody went and hit me in the shoulder.”
“If you’re expecting an apology for that then you’re gonna be waiting a hell of a long time, kid. Cut it off?”
“Yeah.”
“Right. Sit down—be easier that way.”
Bond doesn’t react to the ghost touch of the backside of the knife against his skin; Fury’s too quick and efficient for him to process the sensation. He simply lifts the soaked cashmere sweater and undershirt far enough to get the knife under all the fabric and slices straight up the middle. By the time Bond thinks he should have flinched when the knife flashed past his face, the knife is already tucked in its sheath behind Fury’s back.
When Fury grabs the cup and heads for the bathroom, Bond picks up the bottle of pills again. “How many of these am I supposed to take?”
“One’s supposed to be enough but up to you,” Fury says over the sound of running water. When the water cuts off and he walks back into the bedroom, he adds, “Prefer not to have two bodies to deal with in the morning though.” He sets the cup down, takes the bottle, and pops the lid off then hands it back.
Bond nods his head as he takes it. “Thanks.”
There’s a grunt of acknowledgement. “Holler if you need anything.”
He nods again and stares at the pills as he listens to Fury leave. As appealing as the concept might be, it’s not in his nature to quit no matter how much he might want to. He’s a survivor and he’s too old to change that part of himself. He carefully sets the open bottle down and picks up one of the packets of wipes.
He’ll just keep on living until he can find someone who can do the job for him.
Part Two-
They stare at each other, neither giving an inch, until a gruff voice says, “You can let him go now.” Mikel scowls then quickly backs off. Bond yanks his coat back into place without breaking eye contact with Mikel then balls his hand up into a fist. Mikel shifts his stance and narrows his eyes but before either of them can make a move, Fury steps between them.
“You couldn’t even protect M,” he says, “ya really think you’ve got a chance against the kid?”
Red colors the edge of Bond’s vision as the throws the punch at Fury’s head. Fury deflects the blow and Bond sees the forearm strike heading his way. He pivots and throws his head back, hitting Fury’s chin. The man grunts and staggers back even as stars burst across Bond’s vision. He jabs an elbow high as he tries to get some space to maneuver but Fury’s got a hold of his wrist and all Bond can get in is a weak body shot.
When Fury starts wrapping his other arm around Bond to restrain him, Bond pushes hard off one foot and sends them both into a table. Something shatters as they careen off and Fury’s hold eases up enough for Bond to break free. As soon as he can twist around, Bond starts throwing punches. He doesn’t care now what he’s hitting; he just wants to hurt, to not feel anything but rage right now. But he can’t help but feel pain at the hits Fury is getting in. It’s not until Fury strikes him high in the shoulder, hitting him right where he’d been shot, that Bond is finally forced to stop.
Doubled over, leaning against the wall so he didn’t end up on his ass on the floor, Bond glares up at Fury. “Feel better?” Fury asks before wiping some of the blood dripping out of his nose away with the back of his hand.
It takes Bond several seconds to drag in enough air to huff, “Fuck you.”
“Yeah, you’ll have to talk to him about that,” Fury mutters with a gesture at Loki. Stepping in, he pulls Bond upright and wraps an arm around him. “Come on, time for you to hit the sack.”
The urge to be a contrary bastard and fight being manhandled again like a two year old flares up but burns out just as quick. He’s beginning to crash and if that means a few hours of unconsciousness, then he’s all for it.
Halfway up the stairs he starts reconsidering but by the time he’s ready to do anything he’s being dumped onto a bed and soon staring at a white plaster ceiling. It’s not until he hears the rattle of a pill bottle that he shifts his gaze away from the ceiling.
Bond feels a puzzled frown forming; he hadn’t noticed Fury leaving the room. The man had returned with a towel, some sterile wipes, the pills, and a plastic cup that looked like it might have belonged to one of the kids. Pushing himself upright, Bond touches his face and feels the drying blood on his face. He’s not feeling any pain there yet but clearly Fury got a good hit in at some point.
He picks up the bottle of pills and tries reading it but the label isn’t making any sense. When he tilts it to see whether it’s a childproof cap or not, the bottle is plucked out of his hand and he’s hauled back to his feet.
“Coat first,” Fury says, keeping a hold on Bond’s sweater. There’s blood on Fury’s face as well; Bond allows himself a moment of smug satisfaction as he painfully slips his jacket off. He lets it drop to the floor and Fury kicks it away.
“Need help with the rest?”
“What?”
Fury gives Bond a look of exasperation. “Ya took a dip in a frozen lake, you idiot. Last thing you’re gonna want to do is fall asleep in those clothes. Trust me on that."
“Fine.” Forcing his mind on the problem, Bond figures he can deal with everything from the waist down. It was everything above that he was going to have issues with. He shoots a glare at Fury.
“Going to need help with the sweater cause somebody went and hit me in the shoulder.”
“If you’re expecting an apology for that then you’re gonna be waiting a hell of a long time, kid. Cut it off?”
“Yeah.”
“Right. Sit down—be easier that way.”
Bond doesn’t react to the ghost touch of the backside of the knife against his skin; Fury’s too quick and efficient for him to process the sensation. He simply lifts the soaked cashmere sweater and undershirt far enough to get the knife under all the fabric and slices straight up the middle. By the time Bond thinks he should have flinched when the knife flashed past his face, the knife is already tucked in its sheath behind Fury’s back.
When Fury grabs the cup and heads for the bathroom, Bond picks up the bottle of pills again. “How many of these am I supposed to take?”
“One’s supposed to be enough but up to you,” Fury says over the sound of running water. When the water cuts off and he walks back into the bedroom, he adds, “Prefer not to have two bodies to deal with in the morning though.” He sets the cup down, takes the bottle, and pops the lid off then hands it back.
Bond nods his head as he takes it. “Thanks.”
There’s a grunt of acknowledgement. “Holler if you need anything.”
He nods again and stares at the pills as he listens to Fury leave. As appealing as the concept might be, it’s not in his nature to quit no matter how much he might want to. He’s a survivor and he’s too old to change that part of himself. He carefully sets the open bottle down and picks up one of the packets of wipes.
He’ll just keep on living until he can find someone who can do the job for him.