FIC: The Midnight Train
Apr. 26th, 2010 04:26 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nilchanceTitle: The Midnight Train
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
nilchance
Rating: Adult
Pairing: The Losers (film), Aisha/Clay and some Cougar/Jensen UST.
A/N: Oh man, this is the schmoopiest thing I've written in YEARS. Coda to the movie, and thus, spoilers.
Snipers have the highest rates of PSTD in the military. Jensen read that somewhere. It figures, what with all the shots they have to take through kids or hostages. He knows Cougar probably isn't immune; they heard about the Pass massacre in basic (y'know, before Jensen was yanked out of training and into Clay's unit for hacking his CO's computer) and it was some bad shit. But he crashes with Cougar in Puerto Rico, and so he also knows that Cougar sleeps like (the dead) a baby.
Meanwhile Jensen has nightmares about being six and small forever. About cleaning blood off the carpet.
How fucked up is that?
He wipes the sweat off his face-- he's running a fever from the gunshot wound. He breathes. He thinks about soccer.
Cougar is in the shitty little motel's chair, his hat tilted down over his face. In case you bleed in your sleep, he said blandly, and refused to let Jensen shove him over into Pooch's room. His gun is in reach on the table. He doesn't move, but his body stills like a guard dog just before biting. Voice muffled behind the hat, he says, "Sleep."
The gunshot wound (flesh wound, Aisha said without a trace of sympathy) is itchy. Jensen starts to scratch it, senses that Cougar is raising an eyebrow behind the hat, and stops. Instead he asks, "Clay?"
Cougar tilts his head toward the room where Clay and Aisha went. After a minute, Jensen hears the faint squeak of their bed. "Gross," he mutters, like he wouldn't hit that in a minute.
Tipping the hat back with his thumb, Cougar looks at him.
"I know. Go back to sleep." Wincing, Jensen lays back down. There's sweat streaked down his back; he's a pale-ass gringo with no heat tolerance, and Puerto Rico didn't help give him immunity. "Doesn't help that you're sitting there like Edward Cullen."
Cougar continues to look at him.
"From Twilight. The vampire dude. With the hair." At Cougar's slow blink, Jensen adds, "I have a niece, okay? And she's not reading that shit or she'll date like Clay."
In one rolling motion, Cougar gets up and retrieves the gun.
"Holy shit, okay." Hands up, Jensen grins. "I won't make you read it. You don't have to get violent."
The floor doesn't creak under his feet, which is freaking eerie, and is eerier when Cougar is looming over his bed. A car rustles past their room, spitting gravel and throwing its headlight across the wall; Cougar doesn't glance after the noise, staring at Jensen like he's the only thing he'll ever see.
"What?" Jensen asks. "What? Do I have something on my face?"
Cougar puts the gun down beside Jensen's folded glasses, and sits on the edge of the bed. It tips under him, nearly tilting Jensen onto his side. Cougar's back is to him, a column against the dark.
Roque, Jensen doesn't say. Jesus, we served with him for years.
You could have died, Jensen doesn't say. We could have both died. Why are we dancing around?
Get off my bed, Jensen doesn't say, and swallows. Rooms away, he hears Aisha cry out.
"Sleep," Cougar repeats into the humid quiet. He smells like sweat and gun oil. He's close enough to touch.
The air is electric between them. Jensen shivers. It's the fever. It's only the fever.
He sleeps. He doesn't remember nightmares.
***
In the morning, Cougar's still there.
Author:
nilchanceRating: Adult
Pairing: The Losers (film), Aisha/Clay and some Cougar/Jensen UST.
A/N: Oh man, this is the schmoopiest thing I've written in YEARS. Coda to the movie, and thus, spoilers.
Snipers have the highest rates of PSTD in the military. Jensen read that somewhere. It figures, what with all the shots they have to take through kids or hostages. He knows Cougar probably isn't immune; they heard about the Pass massacre in basic (y'know, before Jensen was yanked out of training and into Clay's unit for hacking his CO's computer) and it was some bad shit. But he crashes with Cougar in Puerto Rico, and so he also knows that Cougar sleeps like (the dead) a baby.
Meanwhile Jensen has nightmares about being six and small forever. About cleaning blood off the carpet.
How fucked up is that?
He wipes the sweat off his face-- he's running a fever from the gunshot wound. He breathes. He thinks about soccer.
Cougar is in the shitty little motel's chair, his hat tilted down over his face. In case you bleed in your sleep, he said blandly, and refused to let Jensen shove him over into Pooch's room. His gun is in reach on the table. He doesn't move, but his body stills like a guard dog just before biting. Voice muffled behind the hat, he says, "Sleep."
The gunshot wound (flesh wound, Aisha said without a trace of sympathy) is itchy. Jensen starts to scratch it, senses that Cougar is raising an eyebrow behind the hat, and stops. Instead he asks, "Clay?"
Cougar tilts his head toward the room where Clay and Aisha went. After a minute, Jensen hears the faint squeak of their bed. "Gross," he mutters, like he wouldn't hit that in a minute.
Tipping the hat back with his thumb, Cougar looks at him.
"I know. Go back to sleep." Wincing, Jensen lays back down. There's sweat streaked down his back; he's a pale-ass gringo with no heat tolerance, and Puerto Rico didn't help give him immunity. "Doesn't help that you're sitting there like Edward Cullen."
Cougar continues to look at him.
"From Twilight. The vampire dude. With the hair." At Cougar's slow blink, Jensen adds, "I have a niece, okay? And she's not reading that shit or she'll date like Clay."
In one rolling motion, Cougar gets up and retrieves the gun.
"Holy shit, okay." Hands up, Jensen grins. "I won't make you read it. You don't have to get violent."
The floor doesn't creak under his feet, which is freaking eerie, and is eerier when Cougar is looming over his bed. A car rustles past their room, spitting gravel and throwing its headlight across the wall; Cougar doesn't glance after the noise, staring at Jensen like he's the only thing he'll ever see.
"What?" Jensen asks. "What? Do I have something on my face?"
Cougar puts the gun down beside Jensen's folded glasses, and sits on the edge of the bed. It tips under him, nearly tilting Jensen onto his side. Cougar's back is to him, a column against the dark.
Roque, Jensen doesn't say. Jesus, we served with him for years.
You could have died, Jensen doesn't say. We could have both died. Why are we dancing around?
Get off my bed, Jensen doesn't say, and swallows. Rooms away, he hears Aisha cry out.
"Sleep," Cougar repeats into the humid quiet. He smells like sweat and gun oil. He's close enough to touch.
The air is electric between them. Jensen shivers. It's the fever. It's only the fever.
He sleeps. He doesn't remember nightmares.
***
In the morning, Cougar's still there.