capeandcowllogs | falling from high places, falling through low spaces.

Entry tags:

falling from high places, falling through low spaces.

WHO: jenny quantum, terrance ward, rick bradbury, and archer.
WHERE: jenny's military camp, southwest phoenicia.
WHEN: late afternoon.
WARNINGS: language/violence/etc.
SUMMARY: the rule of a young tyrant comes to an end.
FORMAT: quick.

[ she hasn't slept in a while-- not really. not more than a few hours here or there. sometimes she even misses her bed and her room on the carrier a little, but she hasn't been back in longer than she cares to acknowledge. not since the porter took her father. not since she set out on the warpath. she's a different person than she was back then. the isolation has changed her a little, maybe. or the reality of what ruling is like. in all the other universes where she becomes humanity's leader, their protector and oppressor, their child-god-- it wasn't like this. maybe because she hadn't had midnighter at her side this time, maybe because she wasn't as powerful as she needed to be.

but it didn't matter. she was here now. there was no backing out.

they're camped out on a dry, hostile mountain side, less than a day off the border. there will be bloodshed soon. people will die for will of this sixteen-year-old girl from another dimension. the spirit of the century is demanding that lives be laid down for her cause. she is, after all, the daughter of the bringer of war, raised by gods and monsters, an incarnation of everything that was ever wrong with this era and every moment of potential it ever had. she's on the brink-- of something.

and on the evening before the last stretch of the battle march, she isn't seeking the council of her strategists, she isn't issuing orders to her men. no. she's called for terry. her right-hand, even if he resists considering himself that. he's her conscience now. the ironic light to her dark. the angry demon spawn, her voice of reason. when he comes to her tent, he'll find her smoking a cigarette, with the black bandana of her regime tied around her forehead. her hair is getting long. her skin is getting dark. and in a rare moment, her expression is less hard and more absent.

she's thinking about how much she misses her father, and if he'd be proud of her now. ]

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[ she's changed so much. he wants to say she's "grown up" but "grown away" seems more appropriate. not that he'd know. he's still just a kid too, mostly, though them and the others have been through so much more shit than any kid ever should. it's stupid, but he really cares about her. he actually gives a damn, and he won't forget that she accepted him. fearlessly. so if he doubts her now, he doesn't bring it up.

it's a few minutes before he joins her in her tent. he's hating this african weather. the equatorial sun is doing a number on his pale skin. he'd complain, because he's good at that -- griping -- but it seems out of place. so, instead, he closes the tent flap behind him and lingers there a second.

there's a joke or a story or some kind of irony here. the spirit of the century, a sixteen-year-old girl and a tyrant who's never been asked to prom or owned a car, with one of the only friends she has left in this universe, a teenage immortal, the son of a great demon lord capable of unspeakable evil but who prefers pasttimes like coloring his nails with sharpie. he isn't really sure how they got here.

his voice is dry when it comes. ]

Guess we couldn't just stop now and go home.

[ she sits crosslegged on a mat, arms draped over her thighs with an expression that starts out unreadable, then grows vaguely entertained with a slight quirk of her mouth around her cigarette. how did terry get to be the voice of reason around here anyway? angry, dark, self-hating terry. mr. father issues. mr. demon-on-the-inside. mr. crawling in my skin.

maybe he's the one that's grown up.

she pats the spot next to her, gesturing for him to sit. smoke curls around her words when she speaks. ]

Too late for that shit, asshole. Can't pussy out on destiny. [ jenny watches him, considers him. ] You didn't have to stay.

[ he pauses, eyes her a second, then comes and sits on the mat by her. there's no hurry to respond right away, not that either of them are particularly eloquent speakers anyway. if only sullen stares and excessive use of the word "fuck" were enough to communicate real feelings.

if he looks at her -- really looks at her -- he's reminded that she's younger than he is. and if he dwells on it, he remembers she's somebody's daughter. she's pretty, in her own way, with the almond shape of her eyes and her red lipstick. in another life, she could've been a normal girl. maybe that's the worst part.

terry reaches out to pluck her cigarette from her mouth, considers it a second, then lifts it to his own lips, taking an inhale and coughing a little. he makes a face. ]

You didn't have to go take over an African country either. But you're crazy, so whatever.

[ she makes an amused noise, either because of what he says or how he coughs on that cigarette smoke. anyone looking at them could have easily placed them in another context, and they would have been two normal kids. like this, you can't see all the emotional scars. all the times they've endured and survived. all the dark things and lonely places inside them.

jenny waits until he's had a minute before reaching to take her cigarette back, pressing it back to her mouth and inhaling deeply, all practiced ease. ]

Hey. [ her tone is casual, unhurried and unstrained. ] If something happens to me, will you tell the others? That they really fucking mattered to me. Tell Jules I didn't want to fucking let him down.

[ another wry twist of the mouth. ] Not that it'll fucking matter to me. I'll be dead or fucked or worse, right?

[ he wishes she wouldn't talk like that, because it's depressing. even for him. even for critical, cynical, pragmatic terry. they've taken so many blows in the past few months, as friends. the last thing they need right now is for jenny to die. or worse. or maybe at this point he's just being selfish and missing abby and convinced that his life is a series of stupid, senseless events where anyone he dares to care about gets royally fucked over.

like hell he'll say that bullshit out loud though. jenny does what jenny wants. and she's right, it's too late to back out now. at the very least, he can see this through with her. it's not like he can die anyway. ]

Sure. Okay.

[ a pause, then wryly: ]

You sure you don't want me to just, I don't know, kick them in the balls for you instead? Otherwise, they might not believe you told me to tell them that stuff.

Edited 2013-02-18 15:44 (UTC)

[ This is it. There's no turning back, now, not that it had been an option the moment they stepped on the plane that got them here in the first place. Or. maybe not since he gave Archer that call.

The element of surprise is all they have to count on now. A head-on approach isn't just suicidal, but impractical, so they've gone about this the long way -- approaching Jenny's camp from above, higher on the mountainside where there's plenty of outcroppings to hide behind, trying to get the advantage of higher ground. They're belly-down on one of those overhand right now, trying to scope out the lay of the land and where Jenny's forces are positioned. Bradbury's holding binoculars to his eyes, frowning, and after a moment he passes them on to Archer. ]

They're moving out, but I can't see her anywhere.

[ The reason for the camp's sudden flurry of activity, though, is a plume of dust and sand off to the west, which he points out with a finger. ]

Right on schedule. Those must be the rebels.

Did you think it would be that easy?

[ Archer waves the binoculars away. ]

Incidentally, I can see fine.

[ "Magic," he said. He wasn't kidding. ]

How annoying. If we could pinpoint where she is, I could take out her tent from here, but there's no sense risking it on the wrong target.

Too bad she doesn't just make it convenient and put a big old' flag over it, huh? [ Ugh, magic. Whatever, Archer, some of us are only human.

He brings the binoculars up to his eyes again as he speaks, looking at the edge of the camp. ]

Looks like we've got no choice but to get up close and personal.

Unless you think it would work better to destroy the whole camp.

[ His tone is calm, as if he's not suggesting killing dozens of people at the least. ]

Are you confident we can handle the girl and her defenders up close? That is preferable, if you are.

[ Bradbury's eyes flick to Archer like he's weighing how serious he is about that, until he remembers: it's Archer. Of course he's serious. Still, he pauses for a moment before answering, like he's actually considering it, before he shakes his head. ]

That'll just make it more obvious that ImPorts had something to do with this. [ That's the practical reason he's giving, but by the faint flicker in his expression, he doesn't want the loss of life. ]

Besides-- [ And his lips twitch, like he's aware of the irony of what he's saying, considering what they came here for. ] --doesn't feel right to kill someone without being able to look 'em in the eye.

[ If they're going to do this, that's the least bit of respect he can offer Jenny Quantum, even if he doubts she'll see it that way. As more of the people in the camp below move out, he gives Archer a quick nod, starting to scramble away from the shelter of the rock and make his way down to the edge of the campsite. Because like hell he's getting carried anywhere again. ]

What a pain. You're the heroic sort at heart.

[ Archer sounds unimpressed, almost bored. But he doesn't put up any fight over the matter. If there's any part of him capable of having personal feelings at the moment (a questionable proposal), he's relieved to not go that way for this mission.

Without another word, he follows after Bradbury, moving quietly but quickly. ]

[ It's probably obvious even from a distance that he isn't a soldier. Not in this army, anyway. Terry's lingering at the edge of camp, away from all the movement and commotion, dressed in civilian clothes and more or less pointedly avoiding most everyone else. If he seems distracted, it's because he is -- the things Jenny said to him before are still lingering on his mind.

He doesn't see them. So maybe it's instinct or psychic power or coincidence when he glances up and looks in their direction. ]

[ Bradbury's hard to distinguish as an individual at this distance -- with the cloth of his disguise pulled over and around his face to protect him from the sand and dust, he's all but anonymous. But he can see Terry just fine, and when he glances up at them, he knows, with a sick sweep low in his gut, that there's no avoiding this confrontation.

He hadn't really been expecting to avoid seeing Terry, have him know he's here, but as they find themselves on level ground, facing
meters across from Terry but still in hearing range, Bradbury comes to a stop, holding up a hand in silent signal for Archer not to move ahead. He stops to pull the cloth away from his face, revealing sweat-matted hair and faintly sunburnt skin. ]

Hey, Terry.

[ Archer stops the moment Bradbury holds up that hand. He goes perfectly still. In his own disguise, his face is mostly covered, and on top of that he's dyed his hair, so it's hard to make out much about him.

His eyes are the same, though: cold and empty and intent on Terry.

After a moment, he speaks dismissively. ]

Do we have time for greetings?

[ He doesn't look happy to see them. But he doesn't look surprised either. It's almost like he's been bracing himself for this moment, expecting it and waiting for it. His eyebrows draw together, tension rising in his shoulders. ]

Mr. B.

[ Acknowledgement. But he hasn't stepped aside. In fact, he's staying pointedly in their way. ]

You're here for her, aren't you?

[ He shakes his head, minutely, but it's not directed at either of them in particular -- it could be a silent signal for Archer to stay where he is, even if Bradbury hasn't dropped his hand, or it could simply be his own response to the situation. Disbelief, frustration, resignation.

This isn't where he wants to be. Ultimately, there's a good reason for trying to talk Terry down. Whatever power Archer's storing, it's not unlimited, and the same can be said for Bradbury. Right now, they aren't drawing the attention of Jenny's forces, or Jenny herself, but if they engage in a knock-down, drag-'em-out fight, who knows what could happen?

Out loud, he answers Terry's question, simple and to the point: ]

Yeah. [ He doesn't look happy about it, but there's something stubborn in his expression that says that he's ready to fight, if Terry is. ]

I'm here to stop the Spirit of the 21st Century from starting a war she'll never finish.

[ Because in the early hours of the morning, half-way between sleeping and waking, he's worked it out, or thinks he has. For someone like Jenny Quantum, human limits don't exist. There isn't ever going to be a point where she'll step back and say, that's enough.

She'll keep going until she burns out, and she's gonna take the rest of the world with her. ]

[ Archer hovers at Bradbury's side like a shadow. He should be looking at Terry, their new enemy. But it's Bradbury he's studying with those empty eyes the color of dull steel.

Something changes in those eyes.

Archer may talk as much as he likes about stopping more bloodshed and sparing lives, but he knows as well as anyone that in the end, he's here for selfish reasons. He wants to fight a hero who reminds him of how he used to be. That's all. But here's Bradbury, with no such selfish motivation, ready to fight to the end simply because it's something that needs to be done. It reminds him of something he can't place.

He makes a decision, and then he speaks in a low, calm voice. ]

Can you handle the girl yourself?

[ so this is it. it's come to this, hasn't it? and in her mind, maybe she always knew it would. because she's seen it play out in similar ways before, with different versions of herself who made different mistakes on different planes of existence. but they were all her, and this is her now, looking inside herself and trying to find out if she has it in her-- enough will and desire to kill this man. the man standing between her and her ambitions, her hopes, the things the nature of what she is demands.

there were jenny quantums who had killed people they loved. her fathers, in their various incarnations. her teammates. anyone who stood in her way. she was cruel and violent and powerful-- too powerful for a child, tasked with the impossible. too powerful to fear death or pain, but not too powerful to fear being alone or being unloved.

she isn't a god. she isn't invincible. she's a daddy's girl, a nine-year-old masquerading as someone older, a spirit of the century not yet a decade into her existence. but none of that matters now. she's already dragged terry into this-- into her war, into the violence. he's buying her time now, in a battle he doesn't want to fight. she won't let this go on longer than it has to. this is between her and bradbury, and who will be willing to do what has to be done.

she stops to put out her cigarette under her boot, finally speaking out loud: ]

You couldn't fucking leave it alone, could you?

[ bradburys been in southwest phoenicia a few days, at least enough to develop what looks like the start of sunburn. a hat and long sleeves can only do so much. he doesn't want to be in this fight, but he hopes -- the flash of memory of moving faster for just a moment, long enough to make contact -- that if he goes down, he can at least take jenny quantum down with him.

it doesn't matter if it's because mitch asked him to, or because he simply isn't willing to see her become something worse. maybe it doesn't matter what his reasons are, only that they've brought him to this moment. unstoppable force meeting immovable loyalty.]

Not any more than you've quit smoking. [ he has no idea what she can do. he has no idea how she'll attack. all he can do is watch, waiting for the perfect opportunity. his ability to gain sudden speed is all he's got going for him, and maybe that ace in the hole will be enough. ]

Sixteen still isn't legal, you know. Unless you changed that law, too. [ his voice may be light, but his gaze is steady and determined. somehow, he's found the resolve to fight.

or maybe it's the frustration of how he left things back home finally coming to a boil. ]

[ the noise she makes is almost amused. she puts her hands out, a mocking imitation of a welcoming gesture, and her eyes spark to life, a brilliant electric blue, like she's leaking power from the inside out, tapping into the quantum stream all around her. she's never sure if she's an all-powerful spirit limited by the fragile body of a girl, or a girl ruined by the all-power spirit inside of her.

even she doesn't know what she can do anymore.

fearlessly, calmly, she asks: ]

Are you gonna kill me, Rick?

[ there isn't any room for second guesses, no time to wonder what terry -- or anyone else, for that matter -- would think of his answer. ]

Yes.

[ or die trying, his tone implies. the setting sun paints the edge of their faces in red and gold, half in shadow, half in light. if he was the type to appreciate this kind of shit, he might find it poetic. it makes him look older, more worn, the lines of worry highlighted even as he lets his jaw set stubbornly. there's no use in doing things halfway, not when they've come this far. his hands ball into fists at his side but he doesn't make the first move. the time for talking is over, but he ends up asking the question before he can think about it, maybe knowing he has to provoke her or catch her off guard. ]

You ever miss home?

[ if the question is unexpected, it doesn't show on her face. but maybe she feels it, poignantly, in her gut. jenny quantum isn't fucking sentimental, not really, but if she could be bothered to acknowledge that empty feeling in her chest where midnighter and apollo used to be, then yeah, she'd say that she misses home. but she doesn't say that, not now, because this isn't the time or the place.

instead, she asks back, casual as you please, not making any moves away or towards him: ]

You miss your girls?

All the fucking time.

[ he says it with simple, candid honesty, the raw emotion audible in his voice. he figures there's no reason to hide it. he takes one step towards her, and another, but he doesn't reach for his gun yet, and he knows he's probably only get one shot at her. if he keeps talking, maybe he'll finally hit a nerve.

he's not sure how much time he has. ]

Those people out there know what they signed up for, Quantum? [ he nods to the distance where the rest of her forces are gathered, where the echo of fighting is just audible, as they engage with the rebels taking advantage of the situation to intercept her troops. ]

How many of them do you trust?

[ her mouth twists wryly. ]

Trust? I don't trust the man that fucking raised me.

[ bitter little girls who resent their fathers. how many of them must be out there anyway, for the spirit of the century to be incarnated this way? it makes her a little angry, how much she misses midnighter right now, how much she's always missed midnighter, because it always felt right to win with him by her side.

but in the here and now, jenny puts a hand out in front of her. maybe it's just a simple gesture to stop, or maybe it's a threat. with her powers, who knows. ]

That's fucking close enough, Bradbury. Turn around right now. Go home. Go home to your friends, to your stupid fucking job. Go home to Mitch.

[ there's a part of jenny, he recognizes, which is still a little girl. whatever she does, whatever she's capable of, part of him is always going to see her as one, as stupid and illogical as he knows it is.

the fact that she invokes mitch now, of all people, startles a bitter, hard bark of laughter out of him. for all that he's the reason he's even here, having the task of taking down jenny quantum was doing a great job of pushing his boss out of his mind. it's funny, in an awful kind of way, that even here he can't get away from it.

it stings, and it shows. yet he's still stupid enough to be here, anyway, ready to kill or be killed for a guy who'd probably never return the favor. ]

Trust's kind of overrated, anyway. [ his voice, to his own ears, sounds distant, like he's hearing someone else speak. even so, his eyes are determined, and he gives her a lopsided grin. ]

As long as you don't care about someone, it doesn't matter if they leave you behind, right?

[ a year ago, she was still letting apollo put her in pink jumpers. a year ago, coloring books were her favorite hobby. but things change, and things change fast. something hardens vaguely around her eyes, the shape of them-- the only tell on a face that otherwise reads of teenage apathy. jennifer quantum doesn't give a fuck. not when anybody's looking.

it doesn't matter if they leave you behind, right? right?

inside her, there's a little crack that forms-- or widens, maybe, like it's always been there. ever since small, young jenny, hardly five years old, clung to her father and begged him not to leave her, begged him to stay, please-- ]

Yeah, yeah. Boo fucking hoo. Look, Rick, in case you forgot? I'm Jenny Quantum, Spirit of the 21st Century. And if you want to kill me? Pulling your gun out and pointing it at my head might be a good fucking start.

[ a brilliant blue spark of light gathers in the palm she has pointed at him before it bursts forward in a beam, ripping through the air crackling like static, like the very reality around it is strained by the concentration of pure power she unleashes. ]

[ he's not normally astute enough to pick up on that kind of thing, stumbling across the right (or wrong) buttons to push by pure dumb luck.

lately, though, he's been having to deal a lot with people who never say what they mean, and it's made him better at seeing the small signs for what they are.

humanity.

it's a good thing he's watching her so closely, because when the beam comes at him, he can't do anything but react, letting his powers kick in and take over, the instinct for self-preservation apparently more than happy to step in for actual thought. he moves faster than he should be able to -- faster than human -- and he's closed the gap between them in less time than it takes to blink, reaching out to grab her by the wrist of that outstretched hand.

he could break it, but he doesn't. all he needs is the touch of skin on skin. his grip is firm, but not painful, as he grits his teeth and wills jenny quantum's powers to die down.

he doesn't actually know if it will work, or how much it's going to take out of him to shut down the spirit of the century, and he doesn't want to think of how boned he's going to be if he's wrong. shit, even just the burst of speed has him feeling an ache in his bones, and it's only going to get worse once his body pays the price for fooling around with something that can mess up reality. ]

Edited 2013-02-19 08:15 (UTC)

[ the beam of quantum energy hits the sand, spraying it upwards, scorching it black, sending tremors through the ground. it's a narrow miss. if that hit a person, it'd be hard to say if jenny's powers would have vaporized them or unmade them entirely. and there's still so much power inside her, radiating, spilling from her eyes, her and the universe and the very atoms holding the fibers of reality together in violent harmony, time and space, her being all of it at once, bending it--

and then bradbury's hand finds her small, thin wrist.

the power of a hundred lifetimes, power as old as humanity, power enough to overwhelm a fucking supernova, preserved through every jenny since jenny stone-- it's stifled, suddenly, as if instead of closing his hand around her wrist, bradbury had gripped the very connection between the girl and the universe, cutting it off, draining it away, making the god-child into something less and more fragile.

her eyes go wide and staring, white around brown irises before they roll up into her head and she shudders, swaying, because she is her power, and-- ]

Fuck.

[ his grip is just tight enough to hold her, at first, and then it tightens almost to the point of pain when the vertigo hits like a rush, making him sway on his feet, just as caught off balance as she is, but for different reasons. shutting terry down for a day had been enough to knock him out, but he can't afford to be unconscious now (and he has the feeling that if he tried pulling that on jenny quantum, he'd end up a bleeding mess on the floor).

no, bradbury doesn't need to shut jenny down permanently; all he needs is to hold her still long enough so he can kill her.

it sounds cold, even to him, but those are the facts, and he doesn't want to delay this long enough for terry to have to see him kill his friend. with his free hand, he reaches for the gun holstered at his waist. it's his beretta, but it's not just a gun anymore; thanks to madison jeffries, it can pack a punch that could make even some of the tougher imports stop for a second.

but right now, all he's aiming at is a little girl. all he needs is an ordinary bullet, and he levels it at her head, fingers twitching against her wrist. he should pull the trigger already, and do what he came here for. what he all but promised to do.

he hesitates, instead, because at the end of the day, no matter the urgency, he's never going to be the kind of guy who thinks it's easy to kill a little girl. ]

Hey, Quantum. [ his voice is quiet, a little strained from the effort, though the hand that holds the gun is steady enough. ]

If I ever meet your dad -- either of 'em -- I'm gonna kick his fucking ass.

Edited 2013-02-19 14:38 (UTC)

[ her first recovering thought is that she knows this feeling, this-- this empty, helpless feeling. she remembers it from when the sentry-- no, the void smashed her through a building and killed her. when she lived again, she was ordinary and human and powerless, and in her gut now, she feels a twist of anger. she hates that feeling. god, the things she had done as a child to crush the feeling of powerlessness beneath her heel. how she'd sworn to never be pathetic and helpless again.

her eyes focus. she sees the gun aimed at her face, feels bradbury's hand around her wrist. she stares at it, defiant and fearless. she tips her head up a little. proud. because jenny quantum doesn't beg for her life. jenny quantum is not afraid to die.

jenny quantum still has one ace up her sleeve. ]

Fuck you, Rick. You don't get to talk about my dads. You don't get to talk to me about anything that fucking matters when you're about to murder me after you fucking-- lectured me about not smoking and talked to me like you ever gave a shit about me and-- fuck you. [ quietly, with something stubborn in her face, eyes narrowed: ] Door.

[ suddenly, a golden portal of light opens up behind her. she still has one ally in all this-- the carrier. and as the door opens, she pulls backward, tugging at her arm with all the strength she has left in that small body and jerking her and bradbury towards the open portal. ]

[ and that's the kicker, isn't it? he had given a shit about her, he still gave a shit, or he wouldn't fucking be here. if things had been different, if they hadn't come at this from diametrically opposed views, if they'd been anything other than who they were, with everything they believed in--

door, jenny quantum says, and then there isn't time to think.

his eyes widen when the door blossoms open, every muscle in his body tensed, trying to resist the pull, but he's so tired and she's just heavy enough to throw off his center of gravity, and he tips forward. there's a muffled roar that leaves his head ringing, and he wonders for a moment what the fuck that is, before he feels the kick and jerk of recoil making the bones of his wrist ache.

he can't even remember when he pulled the trigger, or what the hell he was aiming for.

the single gunshot echoes out, loud and clear, and then they're through the door and they're gone. ]

[ it hurts. it isn't the worst pain she's ever felt-- she's swallowed a supernova before and been unmade by her own twin sister-- but it still fucking hurts. she can feel the blood blooming under her leather jacket, just over the left side of her chest. every pump of her heart pushes more blood out of her, and fuck. there's probably a hole in her jacket now. she loves that fucking jacket.

not that it matters now. they have about two seconds before they're falling through the air and crashing into the harsh water of an ocean. who fucking knows which one. it's so far out that there's no land in visible sight. payback is a bitch.

still, she clutches at bradbury's clothes, at his shoulders, and it's not obvious whether she means to drag him down with her when she finally bleeds out or if it's something else. her voice shakes when she finally manages to work it up. ]

You fucking missed, asshole.

[ when they touch down with a splash, instinct kicks in. even if it's been a long fucking time since he was a marine, bradbury can still remember what the training was like. he's had to tread water for hours fully dressed, exhausted out of his mind, carrying a full pack of gear and holding firearms above his head.

in comparison, it's almost terrifyingly easy to hold jennifer quantum afloat. he doesn't try to pull away from her hands trying to grasp at him -- instead, he takes the wrist he was holding so tightly and guides it up to his shoulder, helping her hold on.

his gun's getting in the way, so he shoves her haphazardly back into her holster, giving him a free hand to help keep them steady while the other wraps around her (terribly fragile) body. he knows, at a glance, that he isn't going to be making it back to shore; he doesn't even know where they fucking are. ]

Sorry. [ he says, simply. quiet, now, that the inevitable has sunk in. ] I'd shoot you again, but seawater isn't too good for guns.

[ not even special ones. he's tired, but stubbornly, he kicks at the water to keep them up, and the waves rock them back and forth. ]

[ the vindictive, angry, sociopathic side of her is satisfied-- maybe even thinks she should have teleported them into outer space instead. or the middle of an active volcano. but it's hard to hang onto anger when you're bleeding out fast. it's hard to stay conscious. god. fuck this body. this all-too-human body. it's failed her so many times now. how could the universe have ever tasked her with saving mankind with a body like this?

she coughs up a little blood. jesus, it's hard to breathe with a hole in your chest. or maybe it's how fucking cold the water is. either way, her vision has started going spotty, and she's feeling a little numb.

jenny wants a cigarette. she wants her dad to yell at her for wanting a cigarette.

her voice comes out strained when she finally speaks again: ]

You fucking won, old man.

Are you happy?

Can't you tell? It's like the Fourth of July in here. Got fireworks and everything.

[ the joke falls flat. he's held his share of dying men, and his medical skills aren't the most sophisticated, but he thinks she might be going into shock. there's only so much abuse the human body can take before it refuses to acknowledge pain entirely.

pain is the body's way of telling you to get shit fixed. once it's given up on you, you probably don't have a whole lot of time left. ]

First thing you learn about war is that nobody wins. It's just about which side has more people left standing. [ a pause, then obliquely: ]

You ever watch any Disney movies?

[ he could ask her to open a door for him. he doesn't. ]

[ it seems at first like she doesn't hear him. her dark brown eyes have started to get this distant look to them, and her face is so, so pale. there's so much blood in the water from that little hole in her chest. but after a while, low and with a trace of something like wryness: ]

What? Like normal kids? Fuck no.

[ her grip is slackening, but she doesn't notice. she doesn't notice much of anything. salt water-- something stings at the corner of her eyes. it's good, that they're out in the middle of the ocean. nobody else is going to see her like this.

it's so cold. and she's tired. she's been tired for weeks now, and maybe she'll just... ]

Hey, Dad?

[ the words come muttered, exhausted, hallucinatory maybe. ]

I really fucking miss you.

I'm not your dad, kiddo. [ is what he says, quietly. if he notices anything on jenny's face other than the spray of saltwater, he doesn't say a word. there's blood in the water, blood on him, and he rests a hand over the exit wound in her back.

he isn't just supporting her weight in the water anymore, he's holding her, but hell, if she's starting to hallucinate, she probably can't even tell what he's doing. this always seems to be how bradbury ends up, holding people while they're broken and bleeding out, except this time he doesn't have anyone on their way to pick them up. he doesn't have any fucking backup. ]

But I'm pretty sure he misses you too.

[ he's not her dad, but he's someone's dad. though he doesn't say anything else, the steady, sure grip of his arm says enough.

he might have to kill her again, he thinks, and he will. as many times as he has to.

but he'll regret it every time. ]

[ when she exhales heavily, it's hard to tell if she means to laugh or if it's just become so difficult to breathe. maybe midnighter would have been disappointed in her, for falling to something so simple as a bullet. she was always daddy's girl. strong. tough. angry. but she doesn't feel like any of those things right now.

her loosening grip on bradbury tightens just for a moment, her last bit of strength before there's too much blood gone, too much willpower lost, and her fingers slip free, her arm going boneless into the water.

if she had anything left to say to him, or to midnighter, or to anyone-- it's lost now.

for the first time in what seems like forever, jenny quantum relaxes. she thinks of being small and safe in a father's arms, chasing the sun, riding on broad shoulders. finally, something inside her opens its arms to the universe, and she lets go. ]

[ he can feel it, the moment the living body in his arms becomes a corpse, but he doesn't let her go. instead, after a moment, he leans in to press a kiss against her forehead. maybe it's benediction, or forgiveness, or to speed her on her way home -- he can't really say for sure.

eventually, the weight pressed against his chest disappears, and he's left holding nothing, empty fingers flexing in the the water. her blood's long dispersed, swallowed up by the waves, and against the pristine blue water it's hard to believe anyone died here.

it's beautiful out here, he thinks, letting his weight shift, floating on his back and staring up at the sky. wherever she took them, the sun's already dipped below the horizon, and he can see the stars rise.

all he really wants to do right now is sleep, but there's one more thing left to do, one duty to fulfill. he fumbles for his communicator, not sure if it's even working, or if the water would have damaged it. with numb fingers, he presses the emergency call button and waits for the distant click on the other end. he doesn't hear anything, doesn't know if it picks up, but just in case, he finally speaks. ]

It's over.

[ he says the words clearly, but softly, then drops the hand holding the communicator against his chest, just letting himself breathe. maybe it's still recording, and maybe it's not; either way, he doesn't really care. he doesn't know if he did the right thing or not, but it's done, and he doesn't get any take-backs. not in this life.

god, he's so fucking tired. he shuts his eyes -- then smiles, suddenly, as a thought occurs to him. if he had the energy for it, it would even make him laugh.

even jenny quantum, it seems, gets to leave him behind.

he doesn't remember falling asleep, or slipping under the water. all he remembers -- or maybe it's just his imagination -- is someone calling his name. ]

Edited 2013-02-21 07:37 (UTC)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

falling from high places, falling through low spaces.

terry & jenny.

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terry & bradbury & archer.

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bradbury & jenny.

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