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meme_of_interest2013-03-28 06:03 pm
the_machine_mod) wrote in meme_of_interest2013-03-28 06:03 pm
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Prompt Post 01
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Inscribed (Finch/Reese) - no warnings, not explicit
John didn't have the capacity to notice anything else until he'd cut Harold's jacket and shirt off and confirmed the bullet from the .45 had gone by instead of through. Harold had his teeth clenched; John gave him a shot of morphine and a strip of leather to bite down on while he put six neat stitches along the deep bloody gash, his hands steady even though his gut was still clenched into a knot.
"Shouldn't we — " Harold said, muzzily, while John put on a gauze pad and wrapped him up. Harold was looking past him, at the corner where Richard Dake's body was lying sprawled and face down, exit wounds out the back of the skull and the chest.
"No," John said. The rats and the cockroaches could clean Dake up. He helped Harold stand and turned him around. Harold went, docile, and John was about to drape his own jacket over Harold's shoulders when he saw it: the tattoo was decent-sized, covering nearly all of Harold's left shoulder, an odd circular design like a gear with words curving around it: We can only see a short distance ahead, but we can see plenty there that needs to be done.
John stared. He would have been less shocked to find Harold carrying a gun. Harold stood there listing slightly to one side, but after a minute of total silence he lurched forward, and John jerked himself out of confusion. He got the jacket onto Harold and guided him outside and into the car.
John took him back to his own apartment. The wound wasn't dangerous, and Harold would have told him the address of whatever safehouse he was staying in this week or month, but he fell asleep in the front seat even before John pulled out, which was all the excuse John needed. Harold didn't protest when John led him upstairs. Bear was there at the door with an anxious bark, pushing his head under Harold's hand. "Oh, I'll be just fine," Harold told Bear vaguely with a pat, and went straight for the bed without any further direction. He was asleep again instantly.
John went to the bathroom to wash the blood off his hands and get a washcloth. He came out and gently cleaned up Harold's arm and back, wiping dried blood off the letters. They were smooth and faded to dark grey: ten years old and more. Harold didn't stir. Afterwards, John eased the covers out from under him and covered him up. He stood over the bed for almost half an hour, just listening to Harold's even breathing, before he turned away and went to the laptop for the source: Alan Turing, and Wikipedia gave him the picture of the rotating drums from the machine that had broken the Enigma code.
John read the rest of Turing's entry and closed the laptop. The room was dark. He looked out at the endless city lights, one for each of eight million lives. None of them would have noticed if Harold had been the one who went out tonight. John wanted to shut his eyes, but he didn't want to see it again on the inside of his eyelids: the muzzle flash, the crack of the gun, Harold going over backwards with a gasp and a spurt of blood bright red in the warehouse ceiling light.
Bear whined softly at his knee. John's hands were clenched into fists, resting on his legs. He uncurled them and stood up and looked at the couch, and then he crossed the room back to the bed. Harold was curled onto his good arm. There was plenty of room. John took off his clothes and got under the covers.
Harold stirred first in the morning, but John was awake before he opened his eyes. His mouth was drawn a little with pain. He looked at John and his face creased, puzzled.
"I like the tattoo," John said, and Harold went pink and embarrassed. And then wide-eyed when John leaned in, slow enough to give him a chance to pull back.
Harold didn't pull back. His hand drifted up to John's cheek while they kissed. "Nathan all but dared me into it," he murmured afterwards, with a wistful note. "He didn't believe I'd do it, either."
John let his hand slide over Harold's back and spread his fingers across the tattoo. He leaned forward and kissed Harold's shoulder, and drew him down to the bed.
Re: Inscribed (Finch/Reese) - no warnings, not explicit
I love how you took special attention filling step 2 of the prompt. \o/
Re: Inscribed (Finch/Reese) - no warnings, not explicit