they are the hunters, we are the foxes - and we run

[hastily]

the ON THE RUN meme


Sometimes, these things happen. Sometimes, you're in just the wrong place at just the right time, or you've made the wrong (or right, depending on your intentions) person mad. Sometimes it's better for everyone if you just go. Sometimes there isn't time for good-bye.

LOST
You've managed to lose yourself somewhere out there, for whatever reason it was. Maybe you took someone with you (willingly? not?), or you found someone else who needed to disappear as badly as you did. You're in your car, or a cheap hotel, or a house by the side of the road. What else can you do but watch, and wait?

FOUND
It could have been as simple as being glimpsed at the 7-11. Your phoneline wasn't as secure as you thought. You locked eyes with the wrong person across the room. Now the house of cards is collapsing, and maybe not just your life, but the lives of everyone you love could be in jeopardy now. The walls are closing in, and your arms are giving out.

RULES
- post with your character's name and canon. if you have an on-the-run AU, or scenarios you might want to play out, mention them here.
- find others. tag them.
- and then, run.

Comments

[newschool]

"Good." Q glances over his shoulder, checking for anyone who might be following them. He doesn't see anyone yet - but then, if they're any good at following, he might not spot them immediately.

Breathe.

"Once we're at the hotel, it'll be best for you to go to the bar and wait until I get a room." So if he's captured, or compromised, at least she'll have a chance to escape. "If I don't come for you in ten minutes, call the number I gave you." All the same, he desperately hopes that they do make it out safely, so he can apologize.

The hotel is growing closer, and Q picks up his pace a little more.

[gotbottle]

There is a fleeting, awful moment, where she tries to imagine what it would mean if he didn't come for her. It stills her heart, twists her stomach.

She's angry. She may never be over this. She's still not sure she can carry on. But she doesn't want anything to happen to him. She wants him safe. The rest she can figure out later, but no matter how this ends up for them, she wants him safe.

"Okay." She falls into step beside him, even mustering a smile as she glances at her phone again. "See? That's it, almost there."

[newschool]

He tries to smile back, for the sake of keeping up their paper-thin cover, though his eyes keep flicking back to the road. Every car that passes them on the street is a danger, and he's not sure if the car that just passed them is the same one that was following them, or if it's just someone with similar taste. Either way, he picks up his pace a little.

"Right." Keep up the cover, keep up the cover. "When we get there, the first thing I'm going to do is take a shower." This time, the smile settles a little more naturally on his face.

[gotbottle]

She nods, managing another smile, clutching his hand. Look at the two of them, they don't have a care in the world, do they? Only the cover, keeping up the cover.

"Sounds like a great idea. I might do the same when you're done."

They're nearly there now. They just have to cross to the lobby doors, and she'll split off to go to the bar, as instructed.

[newschool]

Q tries not to speed up any more, but he's not sure if he hears footsteps behind them or not, and how do field agents do this? If he tried to go for his gun right now, it'd fall right through his sweaty hands.

The doors split open before them, and he doesn't exhale until he hears them close. They're not out of the woods yet, but that light ahead might be sunshine instead of an oncoming car.

"Call our friend in ten," he reminds her. It takes him a second to let go of her hand, and his glasses can't entirely hide the look of agony and despair in his eyes when he looks at her for possibly the last time, ever. He wrenches his eyes away and turns towards the front desk.

[gotbottle]

The look on his face as he turns away guts her. Whatever else she may not be willing--or at least, ready--to forgive, she can't deal with that obvious pain in his eyes.

Rachel isn't sure what she's going to do, long-term. All she can do now is what he's asked. There's no "long-term" if they don't both make it out of this.

She goes to the bar as instructed. Summons a friendly smile for the bartender, asks for a drink, tries not to watch the time tick by on her cell phone display as she waits.

[newschool]

He goes to the front desk and gives the clerk the name Nicholas Kendrick, then gives them a credit card that will, if traced, lead directly to an account in that name, provided as a company card from Universal Exports. Its history shows a steady and rather expensive Starbucks habit, and some cinema tickets.

He waits impatiently as the clerk runs the card, verifies it, and then seems to take forever to find and assign him a room. It's an agonizing seven minutes and thirty-eight seconds later when he hurries into the bar, resting a hand on Rachel's shoulder.

"Come on. Let's go. Sixth floor."

Seventh floor. They'll take the lift to the sixth floor and take the stairs up the last one.

[gotbottle]

"Oh! That was quick," Rachel replies, with a bright smile and pleased tone when she feels neither. She settles the bill quickly for the entire drink she's already gotten into herself, and then she slides off her stool, reaching for Julian's hand again.

She follows him to the elevators wordlessly, though she keeps the smile on her face, keeps her chin up, acts as if she hasn't a care in the world. An elevator arrives, they step in, and she swiftly jabs the "door close" button with her free hand just in case anyone out there was thinking of rushing to make it in.

She can barely hold back her questions, her emotions. But she's mindful of the fact that there's usually surveillance in elevators. Might that make a difference? It seems like it should.

So she merely watches the floor indicator above the doors, her fingers still laced through his.

[newschool]

He's impressed with her ability to pretend. After all this time, he supposes he shouldn't be; he's seen her smile and chat her way through any number of seemingly impossible situations. Still, he tries to smile too, even looking over at her a few times.

The ride on the lift is silent, and when the floor indicator lets out a 'ding!' on the sixth floor, he steps out, still keeping a hold on Rachel's hand (hers feels warm, which means his must be freezing).

"Oh, damn," he says, looking at her in apparent exasperation. "Wrong floor. We need seven. Let's take the stairs."

Not letting go of her hand, he takes her to the stairs, pushing open the door.

Footsteps.

"Go!" he says, pushing the keycard to the door into her hand. "738. Run. I'm right behind you." He glances anxiously down the stairs, his other hand moving to the gun tucked into the back of his trousers.

[gotbottle]

For a fleeting moment she nearly hesitates, nearly lingers. But good sense, and the understanding that she's not the expert here win out. She takes the key card and does as he tells her.

Rachel takes the first flight of stairs two at a time, turns, takes the second at a full run. She stops short when she's stepped through the door, back into the hotel corridor, reading the little plaque on the wall to figure out where room 738 is.

She doesn't run in the hallway; she doesn't want to draw attention to herself if someone should come out of one of the rooms. But she does walk as quickly as she can manage, headed for their room.

[newschool]

He's glad when she goes, because an enclosed stairwell with tight walls is basically the worst place to have a firefight. Bad enough it's going to be a tough time keeping himself alive - he couldn't live with himself if she got hurt, too. Once he's sure she's headed up the stairs, he pulls the gun from the back of his trousers and aims it down the stairs. He can't be sure if the footsteps belong to someone who means them ill, but he's got to presume they do.

He gets his answer when he hears gunshots. For a moment, he considers yelling something pithy, then decides he'd be better served getting the hell out. He shoots a few times down the stairs in answer, then bolts as quickly as he can. Something hot blazes past his temple, knocking his glasses askew, and he can't help but cry out. He bursts through the door to the seventh floor, glances around to get his bearings, then bangs on the door to 738 as soon as he finds it.

"Rachel!" Heat on his neck. He touches it, and his fingers come away red. "Let me in!"

[gotbottle]

The door flies open just long enough and wide enough for her to grab the front of his shirt and haul him inside. She closes it behind him, locking it securely.

"What do we do n-- Oh, my God." Her eyes were already a bit wide in fear, but now it's entirely concern. "You're bleeding, what happened?"

She doesn't wait for an answer, moving close, her fingers sliding up the side of his neck, trying to find the source of the blood.

[newschool]

"Grazed, I think; nothing serious." Bond never treats it as anything serious when he gets grazed, but then Bond has also been shot so many times he ought to set off the metal detector at the airport. This is Q's first time being shot, and frankly, he doesn't care for it. 0/10, would not recommend.

When she finds the wound, it'll be near his temple, and it does look worse than it is. It's bleeding, but not deep. "If we have some gauze, I think we just need to put pressure on it. And we need to call that number I gave you. They'll be able to get us out."

Look how calm and collected he is. He's used to being the calm voice in the agent's ear, where no one can see his hands shake. See how he's clenching his hands so no one can see them shake now.

[gotbottle]

It's such a conflicting state of mind to be in. Half of her is scared to death for him, bleeding from the head after being shot at. The other half of her still wants to kick his ass for getting her into this mess, for clearly lying, for holding so much back as she knows he must have.

Decency, and the fact that she still loves him despite all this mess, win out. "How about if you make the phone call. I'll see what we have in the bathroom that I can use to at least stop the bleeding until we can get you looked at."