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!

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Brian's eyes fix on the handcuff keys first, the first thought going through his mind is how easy it would be to take, to incapacitate Jim, and be on his way out of here...

He looks up, meeting his former partner's eyes, finally, seeing the sincerety there. He looks away again. "Damn it, Street." He mutters. "I just tried to kill you, and you're letting me go? I tried to kill all of you."

"I wasn't exactly love-tapping you, either, back at the train yard," Jim points out, carefully leaning back just enough to let Gamble have a fractional amount of personal space again.

There is a glaring flaw in Street's rationale, however: that one remaining bullet. If Jim had truly wanted to off Gamble -- or hell, at least incapacitate him -- he could have done so right then and there. But he hadn't...

Edited 2013-05-26 06:48 (UTC)

The second that Jim backs off, Brian slides down to the floor at his feet. "You know what I mean. Stop playing the dumb shit."

That thought has occured to Gamble, and he looks up at Jim. "Why didn't you shoot me? Why are you doing this? What's in this for you?"

Now it's Jim's turn to break eye contact, and his jaw tightens as he clenches his teeth, unwilling to answer. A few heartbeats later, though, he inhales a long breath and focuses on Brian again.

"You could have shot first. You guys took out Boxer. Why not me? Yeah, I know, you wanted someone to play messenger boy, tell Fuller it was all you. But you could have done that yourself."

Defensiveness rather than belligerence has Street folding his arms across his chest before he can think to stop himself, but perhaps Gamble won't recognize the uncomfortable body language for what it is.

"I didn't shoot you ... because I didn't want it to end that way. When it came right down to it, I choked. I couldn't put a bullet in the guy I trusted to watch my back for five years."

There's a moment as Gamble stares at Jim's feet, before looking up. "I would have killed you."

It's as simple as that. And he doesn't sound braggy, or pleased...

"I'm fucked up, man." And he looks down again.

Jim shifts ever so slightly, and maybe, just maybe, his lips tighten a little more.

"I thought I had." Killed Gamble, that is. Because, really, what is he supposed to say to that, the admission that Brian would have put him down?

Of course, there's no way that the sound Street had made earlier could have been mistaken for a sob of physical pain rather than raw grief. So Jim has softer emotions in there somewhere. If Gamble feels the need to call him out on it ... well, Jim can downplay it, but he can't take it back.

He heard it. Over the sound of a rumbling train, he heard it.

Gamble looks back up at Jim. "You really didn't want to kill me." He comments. "Maybe you're as fucked up as I am."

"We're all fucked up," Jim mutters. "Nothing new there."

"I'll end up trying to kill you again."

It's that one phrase. The one thing that Brian's now scared of, now that he hasn't got the energy for anger, the pain stripping all the rage from him.

He might not mean to do it next time, but he's reckless. He knows he is. He's a reckless, hot-headed bastard.

Jim doesn't stare too long into Brian's eyes at this; he doesn't want to know just how serious Gamble really is.

"You have a hell of a way of making a guy feel special." Even to his own ears, his attempt at dark humor falls pathetically flat.

There's no response to that, because Gamble is actually starting to pass out again. Considering that there's now blood on the floor from somewhere on Brian.

When Gamble doesn't reply back with some sort of snarky comment after another moment or two, Jim glances back down at him and--

"Shit." Automatically, Jim is on his knees next to Brian, grimly feeling him over to figure out where the blood is coming from. "Dammit, Brian."

Brian paws weakly at Jim, in an attempt to push him away? Maybe.

Remember that broken arm? Seems he's also got a nasty cut on it, and that seems to be where the majority of his bloodloss seems to have been from...

"Goddammit, hold still!" Street snaps, pushing away Brian's hand in an attempt to get to his broken arm. The impromptu sling Brian made from his black vest hid most of the blood earlier, but now Jim can see where the bleeding is coming from.

The sling's coming off as carefully as Jim can manage, and thank God the linen closet is within arm's reach. Snagging a hand towel, Street presses it down firmly against the open wound, staunching the flow of blood. It's going to hurt Gamble like a motherfucker to clean the gash out, but right now, Jim just wants to stop the bleeding.

Brian cries out quietly in pain, instantly tensing up. The gash and the broken bone are not exactly comfortable. Gamble's fists clench as he hisses through his teeth at the sheer pain.

"Yeah, still not a doctor," Jim says darkly, his voice taut with frustration. Really, though, it's his own helplessness that has him on edge here, not Gamble's earlier attempts to deter him from looking at his arm.

"Hold this." He places Brian's hand over the towel and then quickly gets to his feet and heads for the kitchen. There's the noise of drawers and cupboards being rummaged through, followed by the sound of water running. When Jim returns to Brian's side a minute later, he's got a bottle of ibuprofen in one hand and a glass of water in the other.

"I know you need something stronger than this, but anything's better than nothing at this point."

Brian manages to keep the pressure on his wound, but is definitely looking cloudier than before, paler than before. Blood is dripping over the towel and onto the floor. He's gasping in pain, eyes screwed up.

Maybe that was his way of making sure Jim didn't have blood on his hands. If he bled out, Jim didn't kill him.

Edited 2013-05-27 05:33 (UTC)

Jim is hardly mindful about keeping his hands clean, though, not when he's got Brian bleeding out right in front of him. Grabbing another towel, he wraps it around the first one, swearing a blue streak the whole while.

Hurriedly, he shakes out three tablets from the bottle, but then he reconsiders and adds a fourth.

"I know it hurts." He's got his fingers in Brian's mouth now, trying to shove the ibuprofen in without getting bitten in the process. "C'mon, Gamble. Just get these down."

He manages to swallow them down, but a moment after that, his head lolls and then falls back, thunking against the wall.

He's out. Definitely this time.

He should call for an ambulance, or at least pack Gamble in the car and drive him to the hospital himself.

Yeah, there are a lot of things Jim should do, but he doesn't. It's a gamble -- no pun intended -- to try to deal with this on his own when he's anything but qualified to handle it, but taking Brian to the hospital is tantamount to turning him in.

For the time being, Jim eases Brian down all the way to the floor before the other man falls over of his own accord. Belatedly, Street remembers something about elevating a bleeding wound, but all he can do is improvise now with two phone books and old dictionary to prop Brian's arm up at a higher angle. The break is an additional problem, though, especially when Jim doesn't have anything on hand for a splint ... or does he?

It's ironic to be using a police baton as a splint on Gamble, but it works, and Jim didn't really wear that belt anyways. The blood flow seems to be slowing down a little now too, or maybe that's just wishful thinking.

The blood is slowly ebbing to a steady ooze. Bandaging it should stop it up.

The main problem is dealing with the passed out mercenary who is currently being tended to by the man who he just tried to kill.

Yep. Fucked up.

Finally, Jim can breathe a sigh of relief when he eases back the mass of towels he has clamped against Brian's injured arm. He really should clean the wound before bandaging it up, but he doesn't want to risk opening it up all over again. For now, he'll just cover it with gauze and surgical tape and be grateful that it's beginning to clot.

Now what?

"Dammit, Brian. You never could make anything easy for me, could you?"

After several moments of indecision, Jim grabs Gamble under the arms and starts moving him towards the bed in what passes for the guest room in the apartment. It's easier said than done, considering that he's got Brian's broken arm to contend with, but he finally gets Gamble laid out on the bed as best as he can.

The headboard is some curly wrought iron thing that Lara loved but Jim hated, but now it proves an ideal location for cuffing Gamble's wrist. After what Gamble said earlier, Street's not taking any chances.

That done, Jim begins to clean up the hallway, picking up bloodied towels and putting away first aid supplies and phone books.

Now that Brian's out, though, Jim has only his thoughts to fill the silence, and all he can find himself thinking about is just how fucked up this whole situation really is.

It takes a few hours, but Gamble finally does come to, blinking weakly about, taking stock of his surroundings. He's cuffed, of course, to the headboard...

...And the first thing that comes out of Gamble's smug mouth, weakly, is; "This is just gettin' more and more kinky, Jimbo." He calls out, not seeing Jim in the room.

"Next time, I'm expecting to find my pants 'round my ankles."

Brian wasn't the only one sleeping earlier, but Jim instantly snaps awake at the sound of the other man's voice. He might not have caught the first part of Gamble's statement, but he certainly heard the second portion of it. God, and he did not need that mental image right this instant.

He needs a moment to pull himself together, but then Street rolls out of bed and crosses the hallway into the other bedroom, grumbling something wholly uncomplimentary about Gamble's parentage.

"You should start a wishlist, Brian, you and your kinks." He shakes his head and tries to steer the conversation back to more neutral ground. "How do you feel?"

"You're the one chaining me to a fucking bed like some whore who got robbed of five bucks, partner."

Brian groans at that question. "Wondering why the fuck I'm still here." He rattles the cuff on the metal headboard as he moves to sit up... and fails, lying back down, looking a bit woozy.

"You didn't roofie me, too, did ya?"

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Yeah, um, ignore the icon fail there, please. *snickers*

I didn't notice!

That's good, considering that I accidentally gave you Jim's kissy face icon. *laughs*

Well, he wuvs Brian.

Yes. Yes, he does.

Re: Yes. Yes, he does.

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Yeah, um, ignore the icon fail there, please. snickers

That's good, considering that I accidentally gave you Jim's kissy face icon. laughs