bakerstreet | (no subject)

(no subject)

THE SUDDENLY ASLEEP MEME

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1. Exhaustion - Maybe you haven't been sleeping well lately, maybe you've had a stressful day at work. Either way, you just can't keep your eyes open, and any surface/person/animal looks comfortable

2. Magic - Maybe you shouldn't have annoyed that wizard! Be it in the middle of a fight, or a time-delay to sometime more inconvenient, you just fall asleep where you stand.

3. Illness - You're sick, and the sickness is draining all your energy. Are you drifting off in bed, or doing something you shouldn't be when under the weather. Maybe you're actually narcoleptic.

4. Drugged - Oh no! I never should have drank those chemicals. Or, perhaps, you've got an enemy with access to weird and exotic poisons, or a vindictive roommate. Maybe you shouldn't have drank the last soda.

5. Boredom - Wow, this mission briefing is really boring, or maybe you can't bear to listen to your friend recounting the one-night fling he had with a botanist in Switzerland. Either way, you're sat there and dozing off in your chair.

6. Drunk - Had one too many? Not enough?

7. Anything else? The more awkward or annoying the better!

Instructions

1. Post with your character (note the name and fandom in the subject).
2. Other people reply to you by generating a number from 1 to 6. You can use RNG or just choose.
3. Have fun!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only | Expand All

Had Jim been thinking rationally, he would have admitted that the team was hardly in a good position to go chasing off on another call. McCabe's betrayal alone was a heavy blow in and of itself, and now he was gone, Boxer was down, and Sanchez was in a sling. Jim was hardly injury free himself, but as long as he didn't stop long enough to pay attention to any of it, he could function just fine. Oh, yeah, and their shift was over twelve whole hours ago. If anyone had earned the right to go home after the Montel situation, it was Hondo's S.W.A.T. team, hands down.

Besides, the call had been for a 211, a robbery, not a bomb scare or anything of similar ilk that would require an immediate S.W.A.T. response. But Street didn't hesitate; he just tossed Hondo a cocky grin and tucked his earpiece back in like he was fine and raring to go.

It wasn't so much that Jim wanted to keep going, though; he had to keep going. If he didn't, everything that had happened last night would catch up with him ... and Jim didn't want to go there, not now.

He could only keep the demons at bay for so long, though. In the end, the only reason why Jim had left the station rather than work through another shift was because Hondo had put his foot down and pulled rank on him, actually ordering him to go home and get some rest.

But Street hadn't gone to his apartment, not right away. In fact, he had gone to the other side of town ... to the train yard. Fifteen minutes there changed everything all over again. The cop in Jim knew that he needed to call this in, get Gamble to the hospital, and let LAPD take over from there. That would have been the right thing to do, or at least, the rational thing to do.

But Jim was hardly in the mood to be any more rational now than he had been sixteen hours ago. That would explain why he currently had his presumed dead ex-partner cuffed and propped up against the cupboard doors in his kitchen. It was easier to clean blood and mud off of linoleum than either couch cushions or bedsheets, and Jim hadn't been about to attempt maneuvering an unconscious Gamble into the bathtub.

As it was, Street was currently using a wet washcloth to clean off Gamble's visible injuries, mentally cataloging how the majority of them had a corresponding counterpart on Jim's own knuckles. Inwardly, though, he wasn't nearly as calm as he outwardly appeared to be, but punching Gamble's face again while the other man was still unconscious, while tempting, was hardly going to help matters any.

Edited 2013-05-24 21:17 (UTC)

That train. That motherfucking train had been his ticket out.

As it rolled over, Brian had made sure to tuck himself away from the wheels. The sickening crack was the sound of some of Gamble's gear smashing to smithereens under the wheel, as his tac-vest came undone. He possumed.

Afterwards, after he heard Jim's footsteps walk away, does he quit the playing-dead routine and get up to drag himself away. There was a disused sewer pipe not too far, and that's where Jim found Brian, curled up, cradling a broken arm, and passed out from blood-loss. He figures it'll be a while before they find him...

What he didn't expect was slowly coming back into conciousness, head pounding as it tried to shove whatever blood was left in his body into his brain, to see the head of Jim Street not that far from him.

His first reaction is, of course, to recoil back, and he jarrs his broken arm, rattling the cuffs on his other. "W...What the fuck?!"

"I was wondering when you'd wake up," Jim grunts, rubbing perhaps a little too forcefully at one dried blood trail along Gamble's temple. He eyes the other man darkly, but there's a definite edge of weariness mixed in with that angry frustration. "Welcome back to the land of the living. Have a nice nap?"

And he's just going to struggle all the more and try to kick at Jim. "Get the fuck away from me."

Straightening up from his crouch, Jim narrowly escapes taking a boot to the stomach, but he doesn't move away fast enough to keep the kick from glancing off his lower leg.

Well, if that's how Gamble's going to be...

Without apology, Jim buries his fingers into Brian's hair and yanks hard enough to force Gamble to look up at him while dissuading him from headbutting him next. "I can always turn you in, Gamble. Don't think that I won't."

Gamble grunts out at the sudden yank, his eyes locking onto Jim's, glaring.

"Why didn't you, brother?"

"Maybe I just didn't feel like it," Jim retorts, his own frown deepening. "Maybe I want some answers from you first before the department hauls your sorry ass away and locks you up for good."

"I'm not the one who's sorry, Jimbo." Gamble mutters, not breaking his gaze. "You're the one who dragged me back here. Turn me in for all I care."

He tries to jerk his head out of Jim's grip. "You're not getting answers from me, partner. I had the same anti-interrogation training."

But Jim's not about to let go. Instead of Brian smashing the back of his head against a mirror, this time, it's Jim's turn to knock Brian's skull against the unyielding surface of the cupboard door.

"You could have died last night, you selfish bastard. And what for? Some goddamn get-rich-quick stunt? God, I knew you were pissed at me, at Fuller, S.W.A.T, the world, but you sold out everything I knew you to be. You were better than this, Brian. Now look at you."

He grunts out, that knock dazing him for a second, before locking his glare back. It looks a lot more unfocused.

"Yeah, well, not like anyone would have missed me."

"Idiot." Street's tone is still harsh, but there's the barest hint of a tired sigh in his voice. He finally lets go of the death grip he's got on Brian's hair and rocks back on his heels.

His expression doesn't quite soften, but some of the fire slowly leaves his eyes. "Then I guess neither of us knew each other as well as we thought."

"You sold me out. You started all this shit."

Because you never actually said you didn't, Jim. Did you?

"Is that really what you believe?" Jim shakes his head, his lips pressed thin.

Gamble tries his luck against the cuffs again, scowling.

"What do you want?"

"For you to listen and accept some fucking responsibility for once."

Jim shifts so that he is eye to eye with Brian again. Gamble knows all of Jim's poker faces, the ways he looks when he bluffing or lying, and none of those are here now. This is just Jim telling the truth, plain and simple.

"I didn't give you up to Fuller. He offered me a place back on S.W.A.T. if I went on record and sold you out. I chose the cage instead."

And Gamble stares at Jim for a long moment. He scans every facet of that, trying to match to any of Jim's known poker faces.

"You're shitting me." He's clinging to his past hate. "You gotta be shitting me." Please tell him you're shitting him.

Silently, Jim shakes his head, but he's far from being gloating or self-righteous.

"It's the truth, Brian. Six months in the cage, and I hated every goddamn minute of it." A bitter ghost of a smile hovers just at the edge of his lips. "Some days, I actually wondered if I would have been better off leaving."

The with you part of Street's statement goes unspoken, but it's still there, nevertheless.

Gamble just stares at his ex-partner for a long while.

"You didn't sell me out?" Was all of this pointless?

Even though Gamble's cuffed, it's still risky business getting too close to him, but slowly Jim slides down to sit next to him.

"You weren't just my partner, you know. You were my friend, and friends don't sell each other out, especially not to assholes like Fuller."

It takes a moment for Brian to process...

...And utterly reject. He jerks away from Jim, trying to shuffle away from him.

"Fuck off. You've probably rehearsed that."

He looks pretty pitiful, with the cuffed arm, the broken arm, and the dirty, disheveled look he's picked up. He's too drained, too weak to actually fight back physically.

"Whatever, man. Believe what you want." Jim's voice is terse again, belying the seemingly nonchalant roll of his shoulders. He could say more than he has, a lot more, but he knows from experience just how stubborn Gamble can be. Trying to convince Brian of anything has always been an exercise in frustration and futility, and Jim would rather not waste the air. Or his own patience.

"And you look like shit." Street rubs a hand down his face and winces as his fingers encounter the bruises under his eyes. "I feel like shit."

"Just another day at the office."

Gamble will take a lot of convincing. He's always been a stubborn hot-head, always will be. Jim is going to have to be patient... Or turn him in.

"So, is this some kinda perverted sex fantasy?"

Of course, Brian doesn't help things.

It takes a long moment for the question to register, but once it does, Jim snatches his fingers away from the bridge of his nose and shoots Brian a look of what should be appropriately baffled disgust.

"What? Where did you--no, I don't even want to know."

Gamble grins slightly. Getting to Jim is always worth it.

He seems to be fighting for conciousness, even as he speaks, his words slurring slightly.

"So, what? A pet? Your own little pit-bull?"

Brian Gamble | S.W.A.T. | OTA

*lol* I used the wrong icon earlier.

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I amused myself far too much with that tag.

lol I used the wrong icon earlier.