Fic -- Explosive
Title: Explosive
Rating: G
Word Count: 835
Characters: James Jesse, Hartley Rathaway.
Summary: Two men, one bomb.
Warnings: One bad word.
Notes: For runenklinge's birthday! Inspired by a sentence prompt from here.
“I’m like seventy-five percent sure this won’t explode on us.”
Hartley blanched. “That…doesn’t exactly inspire confidence, y’know.”
“Oh come on!” James retorted cheerfully. “I’ve never had an accident yet. Well, not a big one. There have been a couple of really tiny ones, but you could hardly call those explosions…”
“Stop talking!” Hartley groaned, pressing hands over his sensitive robotic ears. At least the sound wouldn't hurt so much if it detonated -- assuming he survived the explosion, that is, and he was trying not to think about it right now.
“You’d think you were worried or something!” his friend replied scornfully as he stared at the device and bit his lip. Not good. James knew his way around explosives, and was well aware that this one was extremely unstable.
“Maybe we should ask Roscoe,” Hartley suggested with some chagrin, but James shook his head forcefully.
“The day I need help from him is the day I quit this business…and also I’ll never hear the end of it if he sees the teddy bear.”
“I don’t want to die from an exploding bear, James.”
“You won’t. Go outside and get well away from here, and I’ll defuse it alone.”
Now it was Hartley’s turn to shake his head. “I’m not leaving you. We’ll do this together. How can I help?”
“I dunno; do you know where I can get a bombproof box within the next four minutes?”
Hartley snapped his fingers and jumped up, almost scaring James into detonating the bomb. “I think so! I can create a musical force field which’ll contain the explosion! Or it should…I hope.”
“That’s a better idea than I’ve had so far,” James admitted ruefully as he scratched his chin in frustration. He really was at a loss for what to do, and he hated feeling so helpless. Part of the conman's schtick was being in control at all times, or at least being able to fake it, and he'd tried to project an aura of confidence since a scared childhood in the circus.
Hartley pulled out his flute and began to play next to the explosive teddy while James paced nervously nearby. The acrobat wasn’t going to leave his friend either, and if the plan failed then he supposed they’d die together (which was only fair, considering that this was technically all James’ fault in the first place. Not that he’d admit it).
The music was particularly eerie even by Hartley’s standards, and James watched the air around the bomb slowly begin to coalesce and solidify in ways he hadn’t even imagined were possible. Seriously, he was going to have to discuss this with the Rogues’ other engineering nerds because he was fairly certain that several major laws of physics were being broken. Soon there was a faint but visible shell around the bomb, and not a moment too soon: there was less than a minute before detonation. And Hartley was obviously starting to tire.
James nervously watched the countdown on the bomb’s clock and braced himself, making all sorts of silent prayers to a God he hadn’t spoken to in years. He couldn’t even begin to guess what Hartley was thinking, although the young musician was clearly running out of strength and James hoped he could keep up the field for another twenty seconds.
Ten seconds.
5…4…3…2…1.
The bomb exploded violently inside the shell, but the container held. And Hartley immediately collapsed onto his back as soon as it was over, gasping and sweating profusely.
“Oh God,” Hartley panted as his friend ran to his side. “I can’t believe that worked.”
“I thought you said it should!”
“James, please: you aren’t the only bullshitter around here.”
“The important thing is that it did work,” James said in a somewhat subdued tone as he helped Hartley to a sitting position, clasping the younger man’s hand for several moments longer than necessary. And after a few seconds of indecisive hesitation, he leaned over to kiss him.
“Um…is there something I’m missing here?” Hartley asked with raised eyebrows, decidedly taken aback. His friend kissed amazingly well, but he’d never suspected a hint of attraction before.
“I guess seeing you as a major badass put things in a kinda different light,” James replied quietly, cheeks slightly reddening. “Sorry, it was silly.”
“No, don’t apologize, that was great,” Hartley grinned. “Though I think it’s something we need to talk about over a beer or two, because you really surprised me. I’m still pretty wiped, so would you grab us a couple of bottles from the fridge?”
“Sure,” James said with obvious relief, his usual merry expression beginning to return. “One normal beer for me, and one artisanal microbrewery craft lager which costs three times as much for you.”
“You can really-" Hartley began to protest, only for James to join in halfway through.
“--taste the quality! I know, I know.”
Hartley smirked at James’ smiling face. There was a pretty good chance that this would actually work out.
Rating: G
Word Count: 835
Characters: James Jesse, Hartley Rathaway.
Summary: Two men, one bomb.
Warnings: One bad word.
Notes: For runenklinge's birthday! Inspired by a sentence prompt from here.
“I’m like seventy-five percent sure this won’t explode on us.”
Hartley blanched. “That…doesn’t exactly inspire confidence, y’know.”
“Oh come on!” James retorted cheerfully. “I’ve never had an accident yet. Well, not a big one. There have been a couple of really tiny ones, but you could hardly call those explosions…”
“Stop talking!” Hartley groaned, pressing hands over his sensitive robotic ears. At least the sound wouldn't hurt so much if it detonated -- assuming he survived the explosion, that is, and he was trying not to think about it right now.
“You’d think you were worried or something!” his friend replied scornfully as he stared at the device and bit his lip. Not good. James knew his way around explosives, and was well aware that this one was extremely unstable.
“Maybe we should ask Roscoe,” Hartley suggested with some chagrin, but James shook his head forcefully.
“The day I need help from him is the day I quit this business…and also I’ll never hear the end of it if he sees the teddy bear.”
“I don’t want to die from an exploding bear, James.”
“You won’t. Go outside and get well away from here, and I’ll defuse it alone.”
Now it was Hartley’s turn to shake his head. “I’m not leaving you. We’ll do this together. How can I help?”
“I dunno; do you know where I can get a bombproof box within the next four minutes?”
Hartley snapped his fingers and jumped up, almost scaring James into detonating the bomb. “I think so! I can create a musical force field which’ll contain the explosion! Or it should…I hope.”
“That’s a better idea than I’ve had so far,” James admitted ruefully as he scratched his chin in frustration. He really was at a loss for what to do, and he hated feeling so helpless. Part of the conman's schtick was being in control at all times, or at least being able to fake it, and he'd tried to project an aura of confidence since a scared childhood in the circus.
Hartley pulled out his flute and began to play next to the explosive teddy while James paced nervously nearby. The acrobat wasn’t going to leave his friend either, and if the plan failed then he supposed they’d die together (which was only fair, considering that this was technically all James’ fault in the first place. Not that he’d admit it).
The music was particularly eerie even by Hartley’s standards, and James watched the air around the bomb slowly begin to coalesce and solidify in ways he hadn’t even imagined were possible. Seriously, he was going to have to discuss this with the Rogues’ other engineering nerds because he was fairly certain that several major laws of physics were being broken. Soon there was a faint but visible shell around the bomb, and not a moment too soon: there was less than a minute before detonation. And Hartley was obviously starting to tire.
James nervously watched the countdown on the bomb’s clock and braced himself, making all sorts of silent prayers to a God he hadn’t spoken to in years. He couldn’t even begin to guess what Hartley was thinking, although the young musician was clearly running out of strength and James hoped he could keep up the field for another twenty seconds.
Ten seconds.
5…4…3…2…1.
The bomb exploded violently inside the shell, but the container held. And Hartley immediately collapsed onto his back as soon as it was over, gasping and sweating profusely.
“Oh God,” Hartley panted as his friend ran to his side. “I can’t believe that worked.”
“I thought you said it should!”
“James, please: you aren’t the only bullshitter around here.”
“The important thing is that it did work,” James said in a somewhat subdued tone as he helped Hartley to a sitting position, clasping the younger man’s hand for several moments longer than necessary. And after a few seconds of indecisive hesitation, he leaned over to kiss him.
“Um…is there something I’m missing here?” Hartley asked with raised eyebrows, decidedly taken aback. His friend kissed amazingly well, but he’d never suspected a hint of attraction before.
“I guess seeing you as a major badass put things in a kinda different light,” James replied quietly, cheeks slightly reddening. “Sorry, it was silly.”
“No, don’t apologize, that was great,” Hartley grinned. “Though I think it’s something we need to talk about over a beer or two, because you really surprised me. I’m still pretty wiped, so would you grab us a couple of bottles from the fridge?”
“Sure,” James said with obvious relief, his usual merry expression beginning to return. “One normal beer for me, and one artisanal microbrewery craft lager which costs three times as much for you.”
“You can really-" Hartley began to protest, only for James to join in halfway through.
“--taste the quality! I know, I know.”
Hartley smirked at James’ smiling face. There was a pretty good chance that this would actually work out.