Highway 16
Title: Highway 16
Author:: eternalsojourn
Team: Angst
Prompt: Highway
Word Count: 989
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Angst (potential character death)
Summary: A high speed chase on a dark stretch of remote highway
Highway 16
Reference Image
The lights illuminate the road ahead, though at this speed, with these curves, with the dense forest and its confusing shadows flickering past them, it’s not much help.
Eames downshifts to take another sharp bend, then expertly, almost lightly, flicks the gearshift back into 5th and sinks the gas pedal down once more. Arthur uses the momentary slowdown to take aim at the car behind them. He’s fairly certain he shatters the windshield, though he’s working more on instinct than vision at the moment, unable to see clearly past the blinding headlights.
The other car is beginning to fall behind slightly thanks to Eames’s skillful driving and Arthur’s cover fire. They may get out of this mess yet. Arthur, however, refuses to be anything more than cautiously optimistic.
Nothing about this job felt right, but they had done it anyway, a favour for a veteran of Dreamshare, an old friend of both of theirs. Well. There are no friends in Dreamshare, just people you choose to trust. And everyone has a price. Arthur had discovered too late that their colleague’s new wife had been taken and threatened until he gave up his old teammates. By then the guys with the grudge were closing in on the cabin that served as their base of operations in Prince Rupert, BC and Arthur and Eames had barely enough time to toss some essentials into the trunk of their sports car and burn it out of town.
If they could somehow take out the other car, they’d be able to make it into Terrace, dump their current car and begin the dual set of tasks involved in disappearing and hunting down their attackers. As it stands that doesn’t look likely. The most they can hope for is to pull far enough ahead to lose them, and continue driving like a bat out of hell in the hope that they can put enough time between them their followers to obscure the trail more completely in Terrace.
Arthur keeps his eyes glued backwards, body turned uncomfortably in his tiny seat. Eames frowns in concentration at the road.
The sound of shots is swallowed into the night, but they are well wide of their mark. Arthur hunches a little further in his seat anyway. But it appears that falling behind a little has taken a little fire out of the chasers’ bellies because they fall back even further now, disappearing behind another curve in the road. Arthur dares to take a cautious shaky breath of relief.
He looks up to Eames’s face now, lit only by the backsplash of their own headlights. His laser-focused intensity hasn’t let up -- it can’t as long as the others are still behind them. Arthur allows himself a moment to be grateful for Eames’s steadfast determination and lifelong obsession with fast cars.
Arthur adjusts his position in his seat, turns to look at the road ahead, but before his head is fully turned, he sees a flash, a glimpse of a surprised deer.
The rest is a confusing mess of sickening metal sounds, gravity flipping impossibly, headlights illuminating pavement, trees, grass, more trees, and most of all the bone-jarring sensation of slamming into the door, the ceiling, the dashboard.
When they come to a rest an eternity later they’re right side up, front end of the car mangled around a tree and Eames is slumped against the miraculously intact driver’s side window. His face is a mess but he’s breathing, heavy eyelids struggling to open.
Arthur takes stock of his own body: ribs cracked, intense thudding in his skull, his whole body aching. He’s hit his head but he can still think reasonably clearly. His leg is trapped, crushed painfully between his seat and the crumpled dash. He tugs at it experimentally and grits his teeth against the pain. He unbuckles himself and reaches across to Eames to shake him fully conscious.
It’s then that he sees a flash of the other car’s headlights in the rearview mirror.
“Eames,” he says urgently. His thudding head hinders his ability to focus, but he tries frantically to sort the data to point to his next action. “Eames!”
Eames’s eyes flutter open.
“They’re coming,” Arthur says, and begins feeling around for one of their various weapons. He lands on one and presses it into Eames’s hand. “Take this, we’re going to have to take them down fast. But... I can’t move, Eames. I’m trapped.”
Eames focuses slowly, blinks. Nods.
Arthur feels around some more, finds another gun and prepares himself as best he can for the men he knows will be there in moments. He slumps, pretending unconsciousness. But from his position he can see Eames in the dim light of the one remaining headlight.
“Eames, if we don’t make it...”
“Arthur,” Eames croaks. “Just take them out.”
“No, Eames. If we don’t.” Fuck, he doesn’t want to think about this. The likelihood is they won’t get their clear shot in time. It would have to be some amazing stroke of luck for them to find an opportunity to shoot the other guys before getting shot first, and luck, it appears, is not on their side tonight. His brain flashes with moments.
The drunken kiss after the Forsythe job, more tender than Arthur ever thought it would be.
The heavy weight of Eames on top, riding him, grinding down and pressing Arthur’s wrists to cool sheets.
The concerned look that deepens Eames’s eyes whenever Arthur gets into dangerous situations.
“If we don’t. I’m glad it’s you.”
Eames meets his gaze, that look settling into his eyes again, making him look years older. He reaches out and brushes his fingers over Arthur’s knuckles, interlocks their fingers. He nods minutely.
The muffled sound of footsteps comes from somewhere behind. Arthur glances at the passenger-side mirror which is askew but angled such that he still catches a glimpse of movement.
He stills. They wait.
***End***
Author:: eternalsojourn
Team: Angst
Prompt: Highway
Word Count: 989
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Angst (potential character death)
Summary: A high speed chase on a dark stretch of remote highway
Highway 16
Reference Image
The lights illuminate the road ahead, though at this speed, with these curves, with the dense forest and its confusing shadows flickering past them, it’s not much help.
Eames downshifts to take another sharp bend, then expertly, almost lightly, flicks the gearshift back into 5th and sinks the gas pedal down once more. Arthur uses the momentary slowdown to take aim at the car behind them. He’s fairly certain he shatters the windshield, though he’s working more on instinct than vision at the moment, unable to see clearly past the blinding headlights.
The other car is beginning to fall behind slightly thanks to Eames’s skillful driving and Arthur’s cover fire. They may get out of this mess yet. Arthur, however, refuses to be anything more than cautiously optimistic.
Nothing about this job felt right, but they had done it anyway, a favour for a veteran of Dreamshare, an old friend of both of theirs. Well. There are no friends in Dreamshare, just people you choose to trust. And everyone has a price. Arthur had discovered too late that their colleague’s new wife had been taken and threatened until he gave up his old teammates. By then the guys with the grudge were closing in on the cabin that served as their base of operations in Prince Rupert, BC and Arthur and Eames had barely enough time to toss some essentials into the trunk of their sports car and burn it out of town.
If they could somehow take out the other car, they’d be able to make it into Terrace, dump their current car and begin the dual set of tasks involved in disappearing and hunting down their attackers. As it stands that doesn’t look likely. The most they can hope for is to pull far enough ahead to lose them, and continue driving like a bat out of hell in the hope that they can put enough time between them their followers to obscure the trail more completely in Terrace.
Arthur keeps his eyes glued backwards, body turned uncomfortably in his tiny seat. Eames frowns in concentration at the road.
The sound of shots is swallowed into the night, but they are well wide of their mark. Arthur hunches a little further in his seat anyway. But it appears that falling behind a little has taken a little fire out of the chasers’ bellies because they fall back even further now, disappearing behind another curve in the road. Arthur dares to take a cautious shaky breath of relief.
He looks up to Eames’s face now, lit only by the backsplash of their own headlights. His laser-focused intensity hasn’t let up -- it can’t as long as the others are still behind them. Arthur allows himself a moment to be grateful for Eames’s steadfast determination and lifelong obsession with fast cars.
Arthur adjusts his position in his seat, turns to look at the road ahead, but before his head is fully turned, he sees a flash, a glimpse of a surprised deer.
The rest is a confusing mess of sickening metal sounds, gravity flipping impossibly, headlights illuminating pavement, trees, grass, more trees, and most of all the bone-jarring sensation of slamming into the door, the ceiling, the dashboard.
When they come to a rest an eternity later they’re right side up, front end of the car mangled around a tree and Eames is slumped against the miraculously intact driver’s side window. His face is a mess but he’s breathing, heavy eyelids struggling to open.
Arthur takes stock of his own body: ribs cracked, intense thudding in his skull, his whole body aching. He’s hit his head but he can still think reasonably clearly. His leg is trapped, crushed painfully between his seat and the crumpled dash. He tugs at it experimentally and grits his teeth against the pain. He unbuckles himself and reaches across to Eames to shake him fully conscious.
It’s then that he sees a flash of the other car’s headlights in the rearview mirror.
“Eames,” he says urgently. His thudding head hinders his ability to focus, but he tries frantically to sort the data to point to his next action. “Eames!”
Eames’s eyes flutter open.
“They’re coming,” Arthur says, and begins feeling around for one of their various weapons. He lands on one and presses it into Eames’s hand. “Take this, we’re going to have to take them down fast. But... I can’t move, Eames. I’m trapped.”
Eames focuses slowly, blinks. Nods.
Arthur feels around some more, finds another gun and prepares himself as best he can for the men he knows will be there in moments. He slumps, pretending unconsciousness. But from his position he can see Eames in the dim light of the one remaining headlight.
“Eames, if we don’t make it...”
“Arthur,” Eames croaks. “Just take them out.”
“No, Eames. If we don’t.” Fuck, he doesn’t want to think about this. The likelihood is they won’t get their clear shot in time. It would have to be some amazing stroke of luck for them to find an opportunity to shoot the other guys before getting shot first, and luck, it appears, is not on their side tonight. His brain flashes with moments.
The drunken kiss after the Forsythe job, more tender than Arthur ever thought it would be.
The heavy weight of Eames on top, riding him, grinding down and pressing Arthur’s wrists to cool sheets.
The concerned look that deepens Eames’s eyes whenever Arthur gets into dangerous situations.
“If we don’t. I’m glad it’s you.”
Eames meets his gaze, that look settling into his eyes again, making him look years older. He reaches out and brushes his fingers over Arthur’s knuckles, interlocks their fingers. He nods minutely.
The muffled sound of footsteps comes from somewhere behind. Arthur glances at the passenger-side mirror which is askew but angled such that he still catches a glimpse of movement.
He stills. They wait.
***End***