Fic: Romance in a Bottle (of Gun Oil), Die Hard 4, John/Matt
Title: Romance in a Bottle (of Gun Oil)
Author: eeyore9990
Fandom: Live Free or Die Hard
Pairing/Characters: John McClane/Matt Farrell
Rating/Category: PG-13
Prompt: Learning to play again
Spoilers: Spoilers for the 2007 movie.
Summary: John refuses to leave Matt behind.
Word Count: ~6000
Notes/Warnings: References to other items in Justin Long's acting portfolio, specifically Galaxy Quest and the Mac/PC commercials. Thanks to kathrynthegr8 for putting up with me angsting over every piece of this as it was written and to r_grayjoy for the beta and cheerleading.
July 5, 2007
John makes sure he gets to share a room with Farrell. His insurance won't cover a private room and he figures he spent enough time during that hellacious fucking day with the kid to put up with a few days trapped in a hospital room with him.
Besides, with Farrell there, maybe he won't whine like a baby when the nurses come after him with needles. Fuck, he hates needles. It's a good thing that wasn't on a computer somewhere, or Gabriel would have had him.
The food is atrocious, but it's hospital food, so what can you do? The television only gets about fifteen channels, and the way Farrell flips through them is enough to set John's teeth on edge, but he can shut his eyes and block that out.
What's really annoying him is the fact that they've strapped his arm down. His right arm. There're only two things he can do left-handed: shoot and piss. And he's not really sure about the pissing thing, considering how many times he's hit the edge of the bowl and splashed the wall of their shared bathroom. He's blaming that on the pain killers for now.
The first day passes without much conversation. When Farrell's awake, he does the ADD thing with the TV remote or stares blankly out the window. He giggles a few times for no apparent reason, and occasionally he'll swing his head around to stare through drug-darkened eyes at John, his lips moving silently as if he's trying to form words. Usually about the time he works up the nerve to say, "McClane," his eyes slide closed and he tumbles into a sleep punctuated with light, audible breathing.
It's not really snoring. After living with Holly for all those years, nothing short of ear-shattering can really be termed snoring. Not by John, at least.
John is finally put out of his boredom by the nurse coming in with a needle full of some clear drug that makes him flinch even though the pretty blonde nurse is sticking it into his IV and not his arm. It's still a needle.
But it sends him into dreamlessness pretty damn fast, so John can't complain even if he wants to.
July 6, 2007
The second day dawns with a muttered curse. Not, surprisingly, from John. Farrell is apparently awake already.
Pushing himself onto his good elbow, John groans at the aching places in his body caused by the hard-ass mattress-the perfect irony of complaining about hard-assed anything hits John then and he snorts-as well as the countless wounds he suffered during the fire sale. Fucking Gabriel. John wishes for resurrection just so he can put another bullet in that particular douche-bag.
"What's up, kid?" he asks, his voice scratchy from a combination of sleep, pain, and too much shouting the previous day. Road rash is pulling the skin along his entire backside and he hisses until the invisible razor-wielding psychopath stops slicing the hell out of him.
"I just… uhh…" Farrell shoots a panicky sort of look at John before he chews off the end of a high, nervous-sounding snort. "I have something I need to take care of, but I can't walk to the bathroom with this knee."
"That button, the big green one that says 'Call Nurse'? You'll never believe this, but it'll actually call the nurse for you," John says, lying back down with a heart-felt groan and attempting without much success to find a comfortable position.
"What?" Farrell squawks, flapping his hands around. "I can't call the nurse for this! Jeez, she'd probably file some sort of sexual harassment charge on me. The FBI doesn't need another reason to hate me right now!"
John stares at the ceiling for a long moment before the gist of what Farrell's saying sinks in and he starts to laugh, painful though it is. "Ah. That kind of problem. Well, hell, at least your body knows you're alive. It wants to celebrate."
"What should I do?"
John turns his head and stares through the cut out in the rails of his bed at his temporary roommate. "Kid, you jack off next to me and I'll shoot you."
"With what? The FBI took your gun, remember?" The kid's sloppy, self-satisfied smile is at odds with the light flush on his skin.
"I'll dismantle my IV pole and make a rocket launcher out of it."
"Pfft, you'd need a Swiss-army knife for that at the very least."
John's laugh rumbles up out of his chest even as his ribs protest such movement. "Yeah, right. I ain't Macguyver."
"Ma-who-ver?"
"Oh, shit, tell me you're kidding."
Farrell's grin is sly. "I'm kidding. I've seen re-runs."
John shakes his head even as the knowledge of the gaps between their experiences hits home again. "Fucking Generation Y."
"Nah, we're at least Z squared by this point."
"Shut up, kid." He lets the silence settle for a minute before he says, "Your problem solved yet?"
A surprised sound lilts through the air before John hears a happy chirpy sounding, "Yeah!" Then, softer and relieved, "Thank fuck."
John snorts at that. "The disadvantages of youth."
"Hey, at least I can still get it up."
John stares at the ceiling some more, his mind stuck on that statement. When was the last time he had that particular problem?
His silence must have made the kid nervous because he quickly hears, "That was a joke, man," in a really defensive tone.
"A really bad one," John says gruffly, then decides to twist the knife. "Teasing a man about that when it's a matter of public record that I got shot in the groin three years ago. Thanks kid, really."
"What? Holy shit. I'm sorry. I didn't know! Oh, God, really? God, I'm so sorry."
John maintains his silence for a moment longer before he says, "I thought you were some kind of genius hacker, Farrell."
"Wait, what?"
"I'm lying to you, kid."
"You prick! I can't believe you would lie about something like that! God, aren't you afraid you'll end up, you know, getting shot in the groin now? Karma, dude; it's bad shit."
John fights back a smile, but then wonders why he's trying to hide it. As he lays there, not one part of his body free of pain, he realizes something.
It's been a long time since he's wanted to laugh this hard.
July 7, 2007
The laughter stops pretty damn abruptly the next day with a visit from Farrell's doctor. The woman steps to Matt's side of the room and pulls the curtain-like that's going to give the kid privacy-so John has to roll out of his bed and hobble over to pull it back again.
Matt's laugh makes it worth the pain, though his crack about the hospital gown isn't as funny as he seems to think it is. Little fucker. John graciously gives him a finger before turning around and wincing his way back to his bed. Once he's as comfortable as he's going to be, he glares at the doctor, who's at least a decade younger than he is, and says, "You do know that sound actually will travel through that wannabe bed sheet, don't you?"
"Mr. Farrell is entitled to privacy, Mr…," she glances at his chart and says, "McClane."
He's surprised when Matt frowns at the woman and says, "It's Detective McClane, actually, and I don't care if he knows whatever you're going to tell me. Just… get it over with."
The doctor sighs and pulls her stack of charts around in front of herself, almost a shield for her professionalism, John thinks, and waits a beat before clueing them in. "Mr. Farrell, I'm afraid I have some bad news."
"What? Did someone hack the hospital or something?" Matt asks with a laugh, though his voice is just that pitch higher than it should be and John's immediately on alert.
"No," the doctor says, her lips quirking at one corner even as her eyes stay hard. "I've consulted with the hospital's orthopedic team over the x-rays and MRIs we've taken of your knee. The bullet tore through the cartilage and tissue, which would have been correctable, but then you stood on it, moving it, and the bits of bone that were shattered in the initial impact did further damage to the joint."
"Cut to the chase, doc," John says, concerned at the way Matt's face just lost all color.
Her eyes darting back and forth between them, the doctor finally focuses on Matt again and says, "I'm sorry, but your knee is going to require several surgeries to correct the damage, and even then you may never regain full use of the joint."
"I'm… not going to be able to walk?"
"There is a possibility that you will require assistance in walking even after you've undergone surgery to repair your knee, but there is no reason why you won't be able to be fully ambulatory."
"With assistance?"
"A cane, crutches maybe."
Seeing the devastation on Matt's face makes John wish he'd left the damn curtain closed, and Matt's next statement cuts to the bone. "I guess that gym membership is out, huh John?"
"Nah, kid. We'll still be going to Jimmy's when we're old." Matt's lips twist and a tiny spark lights in his eyes which makes John roll his own and say, "Okay, so when you're old and I'm a rotting corpse in the ground. Besides… chicks dig-"
"Scars." Matt swallows so hard John can hear it and says, "Oh, well, it isn't like I don't have another knee just like it. Two healthy knees is just greedy."
The doctor smiles feebly and says, "I'll send the orthopedic surgeon in when he's finished with his rounds, Mr. Farrell." She starts to leave, and John rips something in his haste to beat her to the hallway.
"Wait… doctor." He has to lean against the wall for a minute until the burning pain eases, then says, "When will we be released?"
"Mr. Mc-"
"Detective-"
"Of course. My apologies, Detective. Your release is scheduled for tomorrow, but Mr. Farrell is listed as indefinite. We'll be performing his first surgery as soon as possible and he'll need at least three days to heal from that before we'll even consider releasing him."
Jaw clenching, John glares at the ceiling as he considers this. "I'm not leaving the kid alone in a strange hospital in a strange city. Have you been able to reach his next of kin?"
"His parents are both deceased and he has no siblings."
"Aunts, uncles, grandparents? There's got to be someone!"
Shaking her head sadly, she says, "I'm sorry, but no."
"Then I'll be staying with him. Do whatever you have to do. I'm not leaving him alone."
"I'm sorry, Detective, but that's just not possible."
"Bullshit! That kid just saved this fucking country. He's not going to be left to rot on his own. Fix it. Now. Or I'll fix it for you. And you don't want me to do things my way." John hates being a bully, but he never dismisses it as an option.
Not surprisingly, John wins.
July 8, 2007
John completely forgets to have someone call Lucy, so she shows up the next day, with Holly in tow, to pick him up. Several exaggerated hand signals and an attack of full-blown eyebrow twitching later and the girls know something is up.
"Looks like I won't be getting out for a while," John rushes to say when Lucy's mouth opens.
The look of utter confusion on his daughter's face will be one of those things John laughs about long and hard later, but for now he wants to kiss Holly for smoothly stepping into the breach. She's always been a smart cookie, much too smart for John.
"You must be Matt Farrell," she says, stepping toward Matt's bed and squeezing his hand with one of her own.
"Heh. Yeah." Matt's eyes go wider than John thinks is possible before he cracks the building tension with a nod to the obvious. "Well, this is really awkward."
"I see John's told you all about me."
"Actually, no, that was pretty much all Gabriel. You might want to check your 401k and stuff. He was having lots of fun with McClane's finances."
Holly smiles and shoots John a very dry look. "Thankfully Lucy already warned me. I got in touch with all my banks and had them look into possible fraud. I keep records of all my statements, so at most I'll only lose a few thousand dollars."
John feels the daggers in that last bit. "Hey! I keep mine, too."
"John, dear, there's a difference between keeping statements filed and organized and throwing your mail in an unopened heap on the table next to the door."
"All right, Mom and Dad. The kids are still in the room," Lucy rushes to say, darting small, apologetic glances at Matt.
"Did you have to stop them? It was just getting interesting. I was sure we'd hear some commentary about John's bedroom technique before it was all over."
Lucy got her eyes straight from her mother, which is obvious when both women stare incredulously at Matt.
"No, kid, now that was an awkward silence." The laughter this time is slightly guarded.
"You're looking good, John." This comes from Holly, who has finally taken time to look over the man she hasn't seen in more than five years.
"Well, you know, a few more holes, but-"
"I was talking about the hair."
"What hair?" Matt interjects with a wide grin.
"You should have seen it when he was still in denial." Holly shudders delicately and somehow his ex wife is sharing a private laugh with his… whatever you call the relationship he's developed with the kid over the last few days.
"Well, regardless of everything else, John doesn't have to worry about his finances." Matt's still talking to Holly, but sound carries in the small room, and since they're talking about him, John doesn't feel bad about eavesdropping.
"What?"
Matt turns to look at John, surprise flitting across his face before he says, "Yeah, I told Bowman what Gabriel did and asked him to take care of it. He said he would."
"And you believed him?" John's voice is as dry as the chicken the hospital gave them for lunch.
"Well, no, but I reminded him that he really didn't want another hacker pissed off at the government and he agreed. The hospital stay is on the FBI, too, of course."
"Matt, that's really sweet," Lucy says, sliding her tiny ass up onto the foot of Matt's bed and staring at him with a touch of hero-worship that makes something lurch in the pit of John's stomach.
"It was the least I could do. If you want to hear sweet, you should have been here yesterday."
The lurching twists into a sense of doom just as Holly asks, "Why? What happened yesterday?"
"John got all big and manly on the doctor for me. Told her he wasn't leaving me here by myself and that she'd better figure out a way to keep him here until I'm released."
"You heard that?!"
Matt reaches over and twitches the curtains. "Not sound-proof, McClane."
John feels his face flush for the first time in a hundred years as Holly starts laughing. "Why John, that was almost romantic."
"Yeah, right," John says gruffly. "If you think gun-oil is romantic."
"Who says we don't?" Matt asks lightly and the next few minutes are spent fussing over Lucy after she falls off Matt's bed.
July 9, 2007
John has been through countless fire-fights and had bombs literally explode under him, but nothing is ever as nerve-wracking as knowing someone you love is under the knife. He can remember every hospital visit his kids ever had and he's sure his ulcer is a direct result of them all.
Not that Matt really fits into the "someone you love" category, but he's definitely on John's short list of people to kill for. The kid saved Lucy's life, after all. John owes him. So as soon as they push the anesthesia into Matt's IV, John gets up and starts pacing.
Three hours and five crying shift nurses later and they finally wheel Matt back in. He's pale and still unconscious and he's got a fucking tube shoved down his throat, but John can see that his pulse is normal by the readout on the machines and his chest is rising and falling with a reassuring regularity.
John climbs back into his bed and starts flipping through the channels on the television, annoyed when all he can find to watch is something about Michael Jackson on Fox News. After 9/11, it doesn't surprise John that it's only taken the American media a week to forget the fire sale.
~*~
Matt wakes up whimpering, and nurses rush into the room at John's frantic calls. Shooting him looks ranging from irritated to amused, they remove the tube from Matt's throat, speak soothingly, and push some more sleep-juice into his IV.
Jesus Christ, but John hates this.
~*~
He's flipping through the channels again when Matt wakes up.
"That's real, you know."
"Hey, nice of you to join me. I was afraid I was going to have to entertain myself some more. I don't think the nurses can handle that. You're doing everyone a favor."
Matt blinks at him, uncomprehending, before he looks back at the television. "That's real."
John looks at the screen, wondering what the hell Matt's talking about.
"It's not just a show. It's real."
A small smile curves John's mouth before he says, "Yeah, sure. And I'm Mickey Mouse."
"No." Matt gets restless, trying to sit up before, with a sharp cry, he falls back. "Galaxy Quest. I was there. The ship. We crashed it. FBI."
John rushes to soothe the kid before he can hurt himself. "Yeah. Yeah, I get it. It's real. I understand. It's okay."
Matt settles again. "They're actors. But they really did it. They really did it." His head falls back and he's out again.
"Those are some nasty drugs, kid," John says to fill the silence. Looking back up at the television, he sees the weird, alien-looking character. Lazarus something. "I never did like him. Reminds me of someone."
~*~
Matt continues to wake infrequently throughout the rest of the day, sometimes completely lucid and sometimes out of his mind.
"I'm so fucking tired of viruses. I think I'm going to splurge on a good Mac system this time."
John whistles. He might not know much about computer systems, but he remembers shopping for Lucy's laptop for school and the Macs were… out of the question. Too damn expensive on a cop's salary.
"It's worth it. It never seems like it at the time until you lose all your shit when your Windows-based programs pull a blue screen of death on you."
"Blue screen of death? Is that a technical term?"
"Actually, yeah, it is."
John smiles. "That's not going to stop terrorists from strapping bombs to your shit, you know."
"Maybe not, but they won't be able to upload a virus this time to make my system explode. They'll have to get more imaginative."
John doesn't say what he's thinking: Imagination is highly overrated in a terrorist.
~*~
The nurses come in again when Matt can't sleep. "You realize I'm going to be strung out on this stuff by the time I'm out of here. I'll have to do some sort of ten-step program."
"Twelve-step," John says.
"What's that?"
"Twelve-step programs for addiction."
Matt just blinks at him. Smart kid. No questions.
His eyes don't take long to glaze over. "I love you, John." It's breathless and husky and John laughs his ass off.
"Oh, kid, I can't wait for you to wake up. I am so gonna remind you of this moment. At least a hundred times."
July 10, 2007
"So, kid, harboring a secret crush on me, huh?" John's grinning like a loon and it takes him a second to realize Matt's not reacting quite the way he expected.
His skin is flushed, but accompanied by the guilty look on his face, it's less embarrassed than it should be.
"What?" There it is. That way he has of chewing the end off a word when he's nervous. The husky little giggle seals it.
Well… that's certainly unexpected. John isn't sure what to think about this.
July 11, 2007
"Good morning, Mr. Farrell."
John hates the doctor on sight and it has nothing to do with the fact that the man is about three and a half feet tall and at least eight hundred years old. It's because Matt's finally fallen into a good sleep and the idiot tromped in with all the grace of a herd of elephants. The fact that it's not yet six-thirty in the morning doesn't help.
Matt's seriously groggy when he finally forces his eyelids up and his head sort of falls from side to side as he tries to find out why he's awake when his body is so obviously in the mood for sleep. John helps him out by redirecting the doctor's attention until Matt can assume some form of higher brain activity.
"What's going on, doc?"
The doctor turns to John, his forehead wrinkling with concern. "You… aren't Matthew Farrell."
John would be a lot more confident in this asshole if he didn't say that like he wasn't entirely sure.
"You the guy who operated on his knee?"
The doctor nods, his lips quirking up in a professional smile. "Yes, I did. Are you family?"
"Close enough," John says just as Matt slurs, "Jesus Christ, he's not my dad!"
"Fate worse than death, huh kid? Welcome to the land of the living. The doctor wants to talk to you."
"What the fuck? Is the sun even up yet?"
The doctor turns to Matt, pulling the damn curtain. John doesn't bother to pull it back, just eavesdrops shamelessly.
"Mr. Farrell, I'm Doctor-"
"Talbot, yeah. We met the other day. What's up?"
John's amused to find that Matt isn't bothering to hide his disgruntlement from the old man. The kid's voice is low and gruff this early in the morning which makes him the slightest bit hard to hear.
"I have the post operative x-rays back from the lab."
"Yay?"
"You may certainly be in a celebratory mood once you've seen these." The doctor's tone is so jovial that John is certain the idiot missed the latent sarcasm in Matt's previous response. "Before… and after."
"Yeah, so you woke me up to show me white blobs?"
"This is the point where the bullet impacted your patella, Mr. Farrell." There's a pregnant pause while the doctor waits for Matt's non-existent radiology training to kick in. When Matt's only response is complete silence, Talbot continues. "The patella was shattered by the impact; yesterday's surgery was to remove the fragments and basically reconstruct the knee."
John heard the rustle of another sheet of film before the doctor said, "This is an x-ray of a healthy knee. Now, look at your post operative x-rays and these."
John hears Matt shifting in his bed before a low, breathy "Wow" filters through the curtain. "Is it… fixed?"
"You'll need to undergo several months of physical therapy and perhaps one more surgery to 'fix' the surrounding muscle and tissue, but you're young enough that your body should do that on its own. Once you've recovered from yesterday's surgery, you'll be free to go."
Matt's laugh is clear and happy; relieved. "You know, he's not really that scary."
John frowns, confused until the doctor says, "Let's just say that I had extra incentive to ensure a perfectly successful surgery, shall we?"
John can hear Matt's grin at that. He rolls his eyes and says, "You can stop talking about me now."
The doctor pushes the curtain back, shaking his head. "We would have been more than happy to take excellent care of Mr. Farrell without the dramatics, Detective."
"Yeah, that's what they all say."
July 12, 2007
Matt's on the phone with Lucy, giving her their new release date when he says, "Okay, here he is."
John raises his eyebrows and gets out of bed to go take the receiver from Matt. "Hey, baby, what's up?"
"Hi, Daddy." So, she's still a McClane, apparently. And talking to him. Things are looking up.
"How's school?"
"It's summer. I'm not taking classes right now."
"Oh." And that's about the extent of John's small talk, so it's a relief when Lucy takes the conversational reins.
"How is Matt?"
"He's good. His surgery was apparently successful."
"That's not what I mean, Daddy." John can tell she's two steps from tacking Gennero back onto her name; what he can't figure out is why.
"Well, okay. What do you mean, then?" Shit, John's not a mind-reader.
"Look, Dad, I get it, okay? I'm a big girl."
"Lucy, honey. I love you. But I have no idea what it is you're trying to tell me."
"Oh my God, you can't be that oblivious."
"Obviously I can."
"He's so gay for you, Dad."
"What? No he isn't!" John's slightly worried that his lack of certainty is communicating itself with his far-too-intelligent daughter.
"Dad. Seriously. Yes, he is. Matt would be your boy-toy if you so much as crooked your finger."
"You know you'll always be six years old to me, right?" Matt's chuckle tells John that he's not bothering to ignore John's half of the conversation. He turns and glares at the kid who simply blinks innocently and points at the muted television.
"I'm making you uncomfortable."
"Hell, yes you are!"
"Dad, tell me something."
"What?"
"Do you have her number yet?"
"What? Whose?"
"The nurse with the big boobs."
John's silence is damning. He hasn't noticed a nurse with big boobs and he's pretty damn sure Lucy knows it. For a minute, he thinks about calling her bluff, but if there really is one, that'd be worse.
"I'm fifty one, Luce."
"So, if this is your mid-life crisis that means you'll live to be a hundred, right?"
"Mid-life crisis?"
"Well, since you're so obviously gay for Matt, too."
"I'm hanging up now, Lucy McClane… Gennero… whatever you're calling yourself these days."
"That'll depend on how well you treat Matt. I like him, Daddy." There's some serious menace behind those words which John cheerfully ignores.
Pushing the 'off' button isn't nearly as satisfying as it should be. Especially when Matt starts laughing.
John chucks a pillow at his head and has to apologize multiple times when it bounces off Matt, hits the readout machine, and sends the nurses into a panic. What really eats him is that the person he ends up apologizing to is a pretty thirtysomething nurse with huge breasts.
She's apparently been their day nurse for the past week.
July 13, 2007
John knows Matt is confused at his surly, silent demeanor, but he ignores that for the moment while he comes to terms with everything Lucy said.
It's not like the kid is going anywhere, after all.
John knows he's far closer to Matt than to just about anyone else in his life. Thinking about it, John realizes that's not quite right. John is closer to Matt than anyone else, even his own kids. He's had real conversations with Matt, told him things he never would have said to Holly.
He's probably spent more 'quality time' with Matt than with either of his two children. Not difficult to do when he's been living with the kid for the past ten days. It's telling though. Especially since he hasn't once felt the need to get away. He's trapped in a room with a remote control freak and people who constantly come at him with needles and he's content to stay there. Not just content, really, he's fought for the privilege. What the hell does that mean?
This whole attraction thing is throwing him for a loop too. It's not like he really wants Matt. Not like he should have wanted Big Breasted Nurse.
Should have.
Didn't.
Fuck.
He's fifty one. That's enough of a reason to not go trailing after the perky young things anymore. That doesn't exactly explain why he feels the need to spend time with Matt. To stay with him. It's not just about Lucy and John knows that.
It hasn't really been just about Lucy from the start.
Something happened that day in between the exploding helicopters and kamikaze jets. John's not sure what it was, but…
He looks over at Matt, who's staring morosely at the flickering television.
Maybe he's just curious enough to find out.
~*~
That night, John dreams. His dreams are filled with psychedelic images of lush lips and soft hair. He doesn't know how he knows it's soft… he can't feel it, after all. He just knows.
The dreams consume him and he doesn't fight them. It's been a long time since he's had anything like a wet dream. It's almost refreshing, to some part of his subconscious.
When he sees Matt's face in his dream, he understands.
July 14, 2007
When he wakes up with an erection hard enough to drive nails through concrete, he's confused all over again.
"Over your pout yet?" Matt's voice jolts him out of his post-dream fog.
John glares at Matt, but apparently the kid is impervious to the McClane stare. "I wasn't pouting. I was thinking."
"Yeah. I know."
"Really? Explain it to me, then, hotshot."
"You were trying to find a way to say something simple." Matt's voice is light, but his expression shows resignation.
"You think you know me that well?"
Matt laughs half-heartedly, like he knows the joke. "I think I do, yeah."
"Maybe you don't know as much as you think." John isn't the sort to hold his breath, but just saying that much feels like he stepped off a really tall building. And he'd know. He's done that.
"Why don't you tell me what you were thinking then?" It's half-challenging, half-scared. John's heard that tone in Matt's voice before, but only when he had a gun pointed at him and John's daughter's life on the line.
"I was thinking… well, mostly I was thinking that I'm too damn old to have a mid-life crisis."
Matt blinks stupidly for a moment and it's sort of refreshing. John doesn't think the kid has ever come up against anything he didn't understand before.
Of course, he's never really come up against John before, so that explains it.
"Look, kid. I'm old. I'm within two years of retiring-"
"Nice!"
"Well… yeah. But what I'm saying is I don't really have a huge life-changing event in me."
Matt sighs and looks down, fiddling with his blanket.
"This is the part where you tell me you're not looking to change me."
Matt's lips twitch and he shrugs before shooting a sly glance at John. "As long as you don't mind me destroying all your 'classic' rock cds…"
John's smile is slow. "No problem, kid." He doesn't have his classic rock on cds anyway.
Nothing sounds as good as vinyl.
July 16, 2007
In the past few days there've been some long, awkward silences, but the times between were filled with the friendly banter John has come to associate with Matt. Now they're waiting for Lucy-after John assured her three times he wasn't making her take that long drive for nothing-and leaving the security of their little sanctuary away from the world.
John's got doubts, and he's not much for worrying about something when he can just open his mouth and find out where he stands.
"So… how exactly is this going to work?"
"Well." Matt eases the wheels on his chair back and forth for a moment as he stares up at John, thoughts flying fast and free behind those big brown eyes. "First, I'll get a place in the city-"
"I have a spare room-"
"No, John." Matt's smile is half amused, half something else that John hasn't seen before. "You're going to need your space to escape to at first. Hell, maybe the whole time. You keep your spare room for Lucy. I have the feeling she's actually going to use it now."
"I dunno. She might be a McClane today, but tomorrow?" John shrugs.
Returning to the subject, Matt continues. "After I get a decent place to live, I'll check in with my contracts, make sure I still have a job. Then, maybe I'll get a membership at Jimmy's-"
"Jimmy doesn't do memberships. He's a pay as you go guy."
Matt nods, processing this information. "Okay, so maybe I'll roll into Jimmy's one day, slap some money down for time with the bags. Or whatever. Surely he's got something I can do from a chair 'til my physical therapy kicks in."
John's grinning at this point, beginning to see the picture Matt's outlining and enjoy it.
"Then after about a week-I won't want you to think I'm too eager, after all-I'll call you. There'll be a long, awkward pause, and then you'll say something like," here Matt affects a pretty good impersonation of John, "'Did you catch the game last night, kid?' and I'll say, 'No, but I have tickets to the next one. Wanna go?' And then you'll get really quiet until I'm thinking you've changed your mind and you'll say…"
It takes John a second to realize Matt's leaving this up to him. Decision time.
"I say, 'Yeah, kid, I'd love to catch the game with you.'"
Matt's smile is blinding, but he picks up like he never left off. "I'll say something suave and cool instead of going into my victory celebration. I won't want you to think I'm a complete dork-"
"Too late. I already know you're a complete dork."
"And then I'll rush out and buy the tickets at ridiculous prices from scalpers and not even care that I just wasted money that I could have donated to Green Peace."
"Green Peace? Jesus." Running a hand over his head, John feels those doubts creeping in again. Green Peace? "Fuck, Matt, I don't know. Hell, most women give up on the first date. They find out what an asshole I am and they're out of there before the waiter can hassle me about dessert."
"No problem. After all, I used my genius hacker skills to give me an advantage."
He's so damn confident that John can't help but feel a spark of it himself. "Yeah? What's that?"
"I already know you're an asshole."
There's exactly a zero percent chance of this actually going anywhere, but John always works best when the odds are against him.
~The End~
Author: eeyore9990
Fandom: Live Free or Die Hard
Pairing/Characters: John McClane/Matt Farrell
Rating/Category: PG-13
Prompt: Learning to play again
Spoilers: Spoilers for the 2007 movie.
Summary: John refuses to leave Matt behind.
Word Count: ~6000
Notes/Warnings: References to other items in Justin Long's acting portfolio, specifically Galaxy Quest and the Mac/PC commercials. Thanks to kathrynthegr8 for putting up with me angsting over every piece of this as it was written and to r_grayjoy for the beta and cheerleading.
July 5, 2007
John makes sure he gets to share a room with Farrell. His insurance won't cover a private room and he figures he spent enough time during that hellacious fucking day with the kid to put up with a few days trapped in a hospital room with him.
Besides, with Farrell there, maybe he won't whine like a baby when the nurses come after him with needles. Fuck, he hates needles. It's a good thing that wasn't on a computer somewhere, or Gabriel would have had him.
The food is atrocious, but it's hospital food, so what can you do? The television only gets about fifteen channels, and the way Farrell flips through them is enough to set John's teeth on edge, but he can shut his eyes and block that out.
What's really annoying him is the fact that they've strapped his arm down. His right arm. There're only two things he can do left-handed: shoot and piss. And he's not really sure about the pissing thing, considering how many times he's hit the edge of the bowl and splashed the wall of their shared bathroom. He's blaming that on the pain killers for now.
The first day passes without much conversation. When Farrell's awake, he does the ADD thing with the TV remote or stares blankly out the window. He giggles a few times for no apparent reason, and occasionally he'll swing his head around to stare through drug-darkened eyes at John, his lips moving silently as if he's trying to form words. Usually about the time he works up the nerve to say, "McClane," his eyes slide closed and he tumbles into a sleep punctuated with light, audible breathing.
It's not really snoring. After living with Holly for all those years, nothing short of ear-shattering can really be termed snoring. Not by John, at least.
John is finally put out of his boredom by the nurse coming in with a needle full of some clear drug that makes him flinch even though the pretty blonde nurse is sticking it into his IV and not his arm. It's still a needle.
But it sends him into dreamlessness pretty damn fast, so John can't complain even if he wants to.
July 6, 2007
The second day dawns with a muttered curse. Not, surprisingly, from John. Farrell is apparently awake already.
Pushing himself onto his good elbow, John groans at the aching places in his body caused by the hard-ass mattress-the perfect irony of complaining about hard-assed anything hits John then and he snorts-as well as the countless wounds he suffered during the fire sale. Fucking Gabriel. John wishes for resurrection just so he can put another bullet in that particular douche-bag.
"What's up, kid?" he asks, his voice scratchy from a combination of sleep, pain, and too much shouting the previous day. Road rash is pulling the skin along his entire backside and he hisses until the invisible razor-wielding psychopath stops slicing the hell out of him.
"I just… uhh…" Farrell shoots a panicky sort of look at John before he chews off the end of a high, nervous-sounding snort. "I have something I need to take care of, but I can't walk to the bathroom with this knee."
"That button, the big green one that says 'Call Nurse'? You'll never believe this, but it'll actually call the nurse for you," John says, lying back down with a heart-felt groan and attempting without much success to find a comfortable position.
"What?" Farrell squawks, flapping his hands around. "I can't call the nurse for this! Jeez, she'd probably file some sort of sexual harassment charge on me. The FBI doesn't need another reason to hate me right now!"
John stares at the ceiling for a long moment before the gist of what Farrell's saying sinks in and he starts to laugh, painful though it is. "Ah. That kind of problem. Well, hell, at least your body knows you're alive. It wants to celebrate."
"What should I do?"
John turns his head and stares through the cut out in the rails of his bed at his temporary roommate. "Kid, you jack off next to me and I'll shoot you."
"With what? The FBI took your gun, remember?" The kid's sloppy, self-satisfied smile is at odds with the light flush on his skin.
"I'll dismantle my IV pole and make a rocket launcher out of it."
"Pfft, you'd need a Swiss-army knife for that at the very least."
John's laugh rumbles up out of his chest even as his ribs protest such movement. "Yeah, right. I ain't Macguyver."
"Ma-who-ver?"
"Oh, shit, tell me you're kidding."
Farrell's grin is sly. "I'm kidding. I've seen re-runs."
John shakes his head even as the knowledge of the gaps between their experiences hits home again. "Fucking Generation Y."
"Nah, we're at least Z squared by this point."
"Shut up, kid." He lets the silence settle for a minute before he says, "Your problem solved yet?"
A surprised sound lilts through the air before John hears a happy chirpy sounding, "Yeah!" Then, softer and relieved, "Thank fuck."
John snorts at that. "The disadvantages of youth."
"Hey, at least I can still get it up."
John stares at the ceiling some more, his mind stuck on that statement. When was the last time he had that particular problem?
His silence must have made the kid nervous because he quickly hears, "That was a joke, man," in a really defensive tone.
"A really bad one," John says gruffly, then decides to twist the knife. "Teasing a man about that when it's a matter of public record that I got shot in the groin three years ago. Thanks kid, really."
"What? Holy shit. I'm sorry. I didn't know! Oh, God, really? God, I'm so sorry."
John maintains his silence for a moment longer before he says, "I thought you were some kind of genius hacker, Farrell."
"Wait, what?"
"I'm lying to you, kid."
"You prick! I can't believe you would lie about something like that! God, aren't you afraid you'll end up, you know, getting shot in the groin now? Karma, dude; it's bad shit."
John fights back a smile, but then wonders why he's trying to hide it. As he lays there, not one part of his body free of pain, he realizes something.
It's been a long time since he's wanted to laugh this hard.
July 7, 2007
The laughter stops pretty damn abruptly the next day with a visit from Farrell's doctor. The woman steps to Matt's side of the room and pulls the curtain-like that's going to give the kid privacy-so John has to roll out of his bed and hobble over to pull it back again.
Matt's laugh makes it worth the pain, though his crack about the hospital gown isn't as funny as he seems to think it is. Little fucker. John graciously gives him a finger before turning around and wincing his way back to his bed. Once he's as comfortable as he's going to be, he glares at the doctor, who's at least a decade younger than he is, and says, "You do know that sound actually will travel through that wannabe bed sheet, don't you?"
"Mr. Farrell is entitled to privacy, Mr…," she glances at his chart and says, "McClane."
He's surprised when Matt frowns at the woman and says, "It's Detective McClane, actually, and I don't care if he knows whatever you're going to tell me. Just… get it over with."
The doctor sighs and pulls her stack of charts around in front of herself, almost a shield for her professionalism, John thinks, and waits a beat before clueing them in. "Mr. Farrell, I'm afraid I have some bad news."
"What? Did someone hack the hospital or something?" Matt asks with a laugh, though his voice is just that pitch higher than it should be and John's immediately on alert.
"No," the doctor says, her lips quirking at one corner even as her eyes stay hard. "I've consulted with the hospital's orthopedic team over the x-rays and MRIs we've taken of your knee. The bullet tore through the cartilage and tissue, which would have been correctable, but then you stood on it, moving it, and the bits of bone that were shattered in the initial impact did further damage to the joint."
"Cut to the chase, doc," John says, concerned at the way Matt's face just lost all color.
Her eyes darting back and forth between them, the doctor finally focuses on Matt again and says, "I'm sorry, but your knee is going to require several surgeries to correct the damage, and even then you may never regain full use of the joint."
"I'm… not going to be able to walk?"
"There is a possibility that you will require assistance in walking even after you've undergone surgery to repair your knee, but there is no reason why you won't be able to be fully ambulatory."
"With assistance?"
"A cane, crutches maybe."
Seeing the devastation on Matt's face makes John wish he'd left the damn curtain closed, and Matt's next statement cuts to the bone. "I guess that gym membership is out, huh John?"
"Nah, kid. We'll still be going to Jimmy's when we're old." Matt's lips twist and a tiny spark lights in his eyes which makes John roll his own and say, "Okay, so when you're old and I'm a rotting corpse in the ground. Besides… chicks dig-"
"Scars." Matt swallows so hard John can hear it and says, "Oh, well, it isn't like I don't have another knee just like it. Two healthy knees is just greedy."
The doctor smiles feebly and says, "I'll send the orthopedic surgeon in when he's finished with his rounds, Mr. Farrell." She starts to leave, and John rips something in his haste to beat her to the hallway.
"Wait… doctor." He has to lean against the wall for a minute until the burning pain eases, then says, "When will we be released?"
"Mr. Mc-"
"Detective-"
"Of course. My apologies, Detective. Your release is scheduled for tomorrow, but Mr. Farrell is listed as indefinite. We'll be performing his first surgery as soon as possible and he'll need at least three days to heal from that before we'll even consider releasing him."
Jaw clenching, John glares at the ceiling as he considers this. "I'm not leaving the kid alone in a strange hospital in a strange city. Have you been able to reach his next of kin?"
"His parents are both deceased and he has no siblings."
"Aunts, uncles, grandparents? There's got to be someone!"
Shaking her head sadly, she says, "I'm sorry, but no."
"Then I'll be staying with him. Do whatever you have to do. I'm not leaving him alone."
"I'm sorry, Detective, but that's just not possible."
"Bullshit! That kid just saved this fucking country. He's not going to be left to rot on his own. Fix it. Now. Or I'll fix it for you. And you don't want me to do things my way." John hates being a bully, but he never dismisses it as an option.
Not surprisingly, John wins.
July 8, 2007
John completely forgets to have someone call Lucy, so she shows up the next day, with Holly in tow, to pick him up. Several exaggerated hand signals and an attack of full-blown eyebrow twitching later and the girls know something is up.
"Looks like I won't be getting out for a while," John rushes to say when Lucy's mouth opens.
The look of utter confusion on his daughter's face will be one of those things John laughs about long and hard later, but for now he wants to kiss Holly for smoothly stepping into the breach. She's always been a smart cookie, much too smart for John.
"You must be Matt Farrell," she says, stepping toward Matt's bed and squeezing his hand with one of her own.
"Heh. Yeah." Matt's eyes go wider than John thinks is possible before he cracks the building tension with a nod to the obvious. "Well, this is really awkward."
"I see John's told you all about me."
"Actually, no, that was pretty much all Gabriel. You might want to check your 401k and stuff. He was having lots of fun with McClane's finances."
Holly smiles and shoots John a very dry look. "Thankfully Lucy already warned me. I got in touch with all my banks and had them look into possible fraud. I keep records of all my statements, so at most I'll only lose a few thousand dollars."
John feels the daggers in that last bit. "Hey! I keep mine, too."
"John, dear, there's a difference between keeping statements filed and organized and throwing your mail in an unopened heap on the table next to the door."
"All right, Mom and Dad. The kids are still in the room," Lucy rushes to say, darting small, apologetic glances at Matt.
"Did you have to stop them? It was just getting interesting. I was sure we'd hear some commentary about John's bedroom technique before it was all over."
Lucy got her eyes straight from her mother, which is obvious when both women stare incredulously at Matt.
"No, kid, now that was an awkward silence." The laughter this time is slightly guarded.
"You're looking good, John." This comes from Holly, who has finally taken time to look over the man she hasn't seen in more than five years.
"Well, you know, a few more holes, but-"
"I was talking about the hair."
"What hair?" Matt interjects with a wide grin.
"You should have seen it when he was still in denial." Holly shudders delicately and somehow his ex wife is sharing a private laugh with his… whatever you call the relationship he's developed with the kid over the last few days.
"Well, regardless of everything else, John doesn't have to worry about his finances." Matt's still talking to Holly, but sound carries in the small room, and since they're talking about him, John doesn't feel bad about eavesdropping.
"What?"
Matt turns to look at John, surprise flitting across his face before he says, "Yeah, I told Bowman what Gabriel did and asked him to take care of it. He said he would."
"And you believed him?" John's voice is as dry as the chicken the hospital gave them for lunch.
"Well, no, but I reminded him that he really didn't want another hacker pissed off at the government and he agreed. The hospital stay is on the FBI, too, of course."
"Matt, that's really sweet," Lucy says, sliding her tiny ass up onto the foot of Matt's bed and staring at him with a touch of hero-worship that makes something lurch in the pit of John's stomach.
"It was the least I could do. If you want to hear sweet, you should have been here yesterday."
The lurching twists into a sense of doom just as Holly asks, "Why? What happened yesterday?"
"John got all big and manly on the doctor for me. Told her he wasn't leaving me here by myself and that she'd better figure out a way to keep him here until I'm released."
"You heard that?!"
Matt reaches over and twitches the curtains. "Not sound-proof, McClane."
John feels his face flush for the first time in a hundred years as Holly starts laughing. "Why John, that was almost romantic."
"Yeah, right," John says gruffly. "If you think gun-oil is romantic."
"Who says we don't?" Matt asks lightly and the next few minutes are spent fussing over Lucy after she falls off Matt's bed.
July 9, 2007
John has been through countless fire-fights and had bombs literally explode under him, but nothing is ever as nerve-wracking as knowing someone you love is under the knife. He can remember every hospital visit his kids ever had and he's sure his ulcer is a direct result of them all.
Not that Matt really fits into the "someone you love" category, but he's definitely on John's short list of people to kill for. The kid saved Lucy's life, after all. John owes him. So as soon as they push the anesthesia into Matt's IV, John gets up and starts pacing.
Three hours and five crying shift nurses later and they finally wheel Matt back in. He's pale and still unconscious and he's got a fucking tube shoved down his throat, but John can see that his pulse is normal by the readout on the machines and his chest is rising and falling with a reassuring regularity.
John climbs back into his bed and starts flipping through the channels on the television, annoyed when all he can find to watch is something about Michael Jackson on Fox News. After 9/11, it doesn't surprise John that it's only taken the American media a week to forget the fire sale.
~*~
Matt wakes up whimpering, and nurses rush into the room at John's frantic calls. Shooting him looks ranging from irritated to amused, they remove the tube from Matt's throat, speak soothingly, and push some more sleep-juice into his IV.
Jesus Christ, but John hates this.
~*~
He's flipping through the channels again when Matt wakes up.
"That's real, you know."
"Hey, nice of you to join me. I was afraid I was going to have to entertain myself some more. I don't think the nurses can handle that. You're doing everyone a favor."
Matt blinks at him, uncomprehending, before he looks back at the television. "That's real."
John looks at the screen, wondering what the hell Matt's talking about.
"It's not just a show. It's real."
A small smile curves John's mouth before he says, "Yeah, sure. And I'm Mickey Mouse."
"No." Matt gets restless, trying to sit up before, with a sharp cry, he falls back. "Galaxy Quest. I was there. The ship. We crashed it. FBI."
John rushes to soothe the kid before he can hurt himself. "Yeah. Yeah, I get it. It's real. I understand. It's okay."
Matt settles again. "They're actors. But they really did it. They really did it." His head falls back and he's out again.
"Those are some nasty drugs, kid," John says to fill the silence. Looking back up at the television, he sees the weird, alien-looking character. Lazarus something. "I never did like him. Reminds me of someone."
~*~
Matt continues to wake infrequently throughout the rest of the day, sometimes completely lucid and sometimes out of his mind.
"I'm so fucking tired of viruses. I think I'm going to splurge on a good Mac system this time."
John whistles. He might not know much about computer systems, but he remembers shopping for Lucy's laptop for school and the Macs were… out of the question. Too damn expensive on a cop's salary.
"It's worth it. It never seems like it at the time until you lose all your shit when your Windows-based programs pull a blue screen of death on you."
"Blue screen of death? Is that a technical term?"
"Actually, yeah, it is."
John smiles. "That's not going to stop terrorists from strapping bombs to your shit, you know."
"Maybe not, but they won't be able to upload a virus this time to make my system explode. They'll have to get more imaginative."
John doesn't say what he's thinking: Imagination is highly overrated in a terrorist.
~*~
The nurses come in again when Matt can't sleep. "You realize I'm going to be strung out on this stuff by the time I'm out of here. I'll have to do some sort of ten-step program."
"Twelve-step," John says.
"What's that?"
"Twelve-step programs for addiction."
Matt just blinks at him. Smart kid. No questions.
His eyes don't take long to glaze over. "I love you, John." It's breathless and husky and John laughs his ass off.
"Oh, kid, I can't wait for you to wake up. I am so gonna remind you of this moment. At least a hundred times."
July 10, 2007
"So, kid, harboring a secret crush on me, huh?" John's grinning like a loon and it takes him a second to realize Matt's not reacting quite the way he expected.
His skin is flushed, but accompanied by the guilty look on his face, it's less embarrassed than it should be.
"What?" There it is. That way he has of chewing the end off a word when he's nervous. The husky little giggle seals it.
Well… that's certainly unexpected. John isn't sure what to think about this.
July 11, 2007
"Good morning, Mr. Farrell."
John hates the doctor on sight and it has nothing to do with the fact that the man is about three and a half feet tall and at least eight hundred years old. It's because Matt's finally fallen into a good sleep and the idiot tromped in with all the grace of a herd of elephants. The fact that it's not yet six-thirty in the morning doesn't help.
Matt's seriously groggy when he finally forces his eyelids up and his head sort of falls from side to side as he tries to find out why he's awake when his body is so obviously in the mood for sleep. John helps him out by redirecting the doctor's attention until Matt can assume some form of higher brain activity.
"What's going on, doc?"
The doctor turns to John, his forehead wrinkling with concern. "You… aren't Matthew Farrell."
John would be a lot more confident in this asshole if he didn't say that like he wasn't entirely sure.
"You the guy who operated on his knee?"
The doctor nods, his lips quirking up in a professional smile. "Yes, I did. Are you family?"
"Close enough," John says just as Matt slurs, "Jesus Christ, he's not my dad!"
"Fate worse than death, huh kid? Welcome to the land of the living. The doctor wants to talk to you."
"What the fuck? Is the sun even up yet?"
The doctor turns to Matt, pulling the damn curtain. John doesn't bother to pull it back, just eavesdrops shamelessly.
"Mr. Farrell, I'm Doctor-"
"Talbot, yeah. We met the other day. What's up?"
John's amused to find that Matt isn't bothering to hide his disgruntlement from the old man. The kid's voice is low and gruff this early in the morning which makes him the slightest bit hard to hear.
"I have the post operative x-rays back from the lab."
"Yay?"
"You may certainly be in a celebratory mood once you've seen these." The doctor's tone is so jovial that John is certain the idiot missed the latent sarcasm in Matt's previous response. "Before… and after."
"Yeah, so you woke me up to show me white blobs?"
"This is the point where the bullet impacted your patella, Mr. Farrell." There's a pregnant pause while the doctor waits for Matt's non-existent radiology training to kick in. When Matt's only response is complete silence, Talbot continues. "The patella was shattered by the impact; yesterday's surgery was to remove the fragments and basically reconstruct the knee."
John heard the rustle of another sheet of film before the doctor said, "This is an x-ray of a healthy knee. Now, look at your post operative x-rays and these."
John hears Matt shifting in his bed before a low, breathy "Wow" filters through the curtain. "Is it… fixed?"
"You'll need to undergo several months of physical therapy and perhaps one more surgery to 'fix' the surrounding muscle and tissue, but you're young enough that your body should do that on its own. Once you've recovered from yesterday's surgery, you'll be free to go."
Matt's laugh is clear and happy; relieved. "You know, he's not really that scary."
John frowns, confused until the doctor says, "Let's just say that I had extra incentive to ensure a perfectly successful surgery, shall we?"
John can hear Matt's grin at that. He rolls his eyes and says, "You can stop talking about me now."
The doctor pushes the curtain back, shaking his head. "We would have been more than happy to take excellent care of Mr. Farrell without the dramatics, Detective."
"Yeah, that's what they all say."
July 12, 2007
Matt's on the phone with Lucy, giving her their new release date when he says, "Okay, here he is."
John raises his eyebrows and gets out of bed to go take the receiver from Matt. "Hey, baby, what's up?"
"Hi, Daddy." So, she's still a McClane, apparently. And talking to him. Things are looking up.
"How's school?"
"It's summer. I'm not taking classes right now."
"Oh." And that's about the extent of John's small talk, so it's a relief when Lucy takes the conversational reins.
"How is Matt?"
"He's good. His surgery was apparently successful."
"That's not what I mean, Daddy." John can tell she's two steps from tacking Gennero back onto her name; what he can't figure out is why.
"Well, okay. What do you mean, then?" Shit, John's not a mind-reader.
"Look, Dad, I get it, okay? I'm a big girl."
"Lucy, honey. I love you. But I have no idea what it is you're trying to tell me."
"Oh my God, you can't be that oblivious."
"Obviously I can."
"He's so gay for you, Dad."
"What? No he isn't!" John's slightly worried that his lack of certainty is communicating itself with his far-too-intelligent daughter.
"Dad. Seriously. Yes, he is. Matt would be your boy-toy if you so much as crooked your finger."
"You know you'll always be six years old to me, right?" Matt's chuckle tells John that he's not bothering to ignore John's half of the conversation. He turns and glares at the kid who simply blinks innocently and points at the muted television.
"I'm making you uncomfortable."
"Hell, yes you are!"
"Dad, tell me something."
"What?"
"Do you have her number yet?"
"What? Whose?"
"The nurse with the big boobs."
John's silence is damning. He hasn't noticed a nurse with big boobs and he's pretty damn sure Lucy knows it. For a minute, he thinks about calling her bluff, but if there really is one, that'd be worse.
"I'm fifty one, Luce."
"So, if this is your mid-life crisis that means you'll live to be a hundred, right?"
"Mid-life crisis?"
"Well, since you're so obviously gay for Matt, too."
"I'm hanging up now, Lucy McClane… Gennero… whatever you're calling yourself these days."
"That'll depend on how well you treat Matt. I like him, Daddy." There's some serious menace behind those words which John cheerfully ignores.
Pushing the 'off' button isn't nearly as satisfying as it should be. Especially when Matt starts laughing.
John chucks a pillow at his head and has to apologize multiple times when it bounces off Matt, hits the readout machine, and sends the nurses into a panic. What really eats him is that the person he ends up apologizing to is a pretty thirtysomething nurse with huge breasts.
She's apparently been their day nurse for the past week.
July 13, 2007
John knows Matt is confused at his surly, silent demeanor, but he ignores that for the moment while he comes to terms with everything Lucy said.
It's not like the kid is going anywhere, after all.
John knows he's far closer to Matt than to just about anyone else in his life. Thinking about it, John realizes that's not quite right. John is closer to Matt than anyone else, even his own kids. He's had real conversations with Matt, told him things he never would have said to Holly.
He's probably spent more 'quality time' with Matt than with either of his two children. Not difficult to do when he's been living with the kid for the past ten days. It's telling though. Especially since he hasn't once felt the need to get away. He's trapped in a room with a remote control freak and people who constantly come at him with needles and he's content to stay there. Not just content, really, he's fought for the privilege. What the hell does that mean?
This whole attraction thing is throwing him for a loop too. It's not like he really wants Matt. Not like he should have wanted Big Breasted Nurse.
Should have.
Didn't.
Fuck.
He's fifty one. That's enough of a reason to not go trailing after the perky young things anymore. That doesn't exactly explain why he feels the need to spend time with Matt. To stay with him. It's not just about Lucy and John knows that.
It hasn't really been just about Lucy from the start.
Something happened that day in between the exploding helicopters and kamikaze jets. John's not sure what it was, but…
He looks over at Matt, who's staring morosely at the flickering television.
Maybe he's just curious enough to find out.
~*~
That night, John dreams. His dreams are filled with psychedelic images of lush lips and soft hair. He doesn't know how he knows it's soft… he can't feel it, after all. He just knows.
The dreams consume him and he doesn't fight them. It's been a long time since he's had anything like a wet dream. It's almost refreshing, to some part of his subconscious.
When he sees Matt's face in his dream, he understands.
July 14, 2007
When he wakes up with an erection hard enough to drive nails through concrete, he's confused all over again.
"Over your pout yet?" Matt's voice jolts him out of his post-dream fog.
John glares at Matt, but apparently the kid is impervious to the McClane stare. "I wasn't pouting. I was thinking."
"Yeah. I know."
"Really? Explain it to me, then, hotshot."
"You were trying to find a way to say something simple." Matt's voice is light, but his expression shows resignation.
"You think you know me that well?"
Matt laughs half-heartedly, like he knows the joke. "I think I do, yeah."
"Maybe you don't know as much as you think." John isn't the sort to hold his breath, but just saying that much feels like he stepped off a really tall building. And he'd know. He's done that.
"Why don't you tell me what you were thinking then?" It's half-challenging, half-scared. John's heard that tone in Matt's voice before, but only when he had a gun pointed at him and John's daughter's life on the line.
"I was thinking… well, mostly I was thinking that I'm too damn old to have a mid-life crisis."
Matt blinks stupidly for a moment and it's sort of refreshing. John doesn't think the kid has ever come up against anything he didn't understand before.
Of course, he's never really come up against John before, so that explains it.
"Look, kid. I'm old. I'm within two years of retiring-"
"Nice!"
"Well… yeah. But what I'm saying is I don't really have a huge life-changing event in me."
Matt sighs and looks down, fiddling with his blanket.
"This is the part where you tell me you're not looking to change me."
Matt's lips twitch and he shrugs before shooting a sly glance at John. "As long as you don't mind me destroying all your 'classic' rock cds…"
John's smile is slow. "No problem, kid." He doesn't have his classic rock on cds anyway.
Nothing sounds as good as vinyl.
July 16, 2007
In the past few days there've been some long, awkward silences, but the times between were filled with the friendly banter John has come to associate with Matt. Now they're waiting for Lucy-after John assured her three times he wasn't making her take that long drive for nothing-and leaving the security of their little sanctuary away from the world.
John's got doubts, and he's not much for worrying about something when he can just open his mouth and find out where he stands.
"So… how exactly is this going to work?"
"Well." Matt eases the wheels on his chair back and forth for a moment as he stares up at John, thoughts flying fast and free behind those big brown eyes. "First, I'll get a place in the city-"
"I have a spare room-"
"No, John." Matt's smile is half amused, half something else that John hasn't seen before. "You're going to need your space to escape to at first. Hell, maybe the whole time. You keep your spare room for Lucy. I have the feeling she's actually going to use it now."
"I dunno. She might be a McClane today, but tomorrow?" John shrugs.
Returning to the subject, Matt continues. "After I get a decent place to live, I'll check in with my contracts, make sure I still have a job. Then, maybe I'll get a membership at Jimmy's-"
"Jimmy doesn't do memberships. He's a pay as you go guy."
Matt nods, processing this information. "Okay, so maybe I'll roll into Jimmy's one day, slap some money down for time with the bags. Or whatever. Surely he's got something I can do from a chair 'til my physical therapy kicks in."
John's grinning at this point, beginning to see the picture Matt's outlining and enjoy it.
"Then after about a week-I won't want you to think I'm too eager, after all-I'll call you. There'll be a long, awkward pause, and then you'll say something like," here Matt affects a pretty good impersonation of John, "'Did you catch the game last night, kid?' and I'll say, 'No, but I have tickets to the next one. Wanna go?' And then you'll get really quiet until I'm thinking you've changed your mind and you'll say…"
It takes John a second to realize Matt's leaving this up to him. Decision time.
"I say, 'Yeah, kid, I'd love to catch the game with you.'"
Matt's smile is blinding, but he picks up like he never left off. "I'll say something suave and cool instead of going into my victory celebration. I won't want you to think I'm a complete dork-"
"Too late. I already know you're a complete dork."
"And then I'll rush out and buy the tickets at ridiculous prices from scalpers and not even care that I just wasted money that I could have donated to Green Peace."
"Green Peace? Jesus." Running a hand over his head, John feels those doubts creeping in again. Green Peace? "Fuck, Matt, I don't know. Hell, most women give up on the first date. They find out what an asshole I am and they're out of there before the waiter can hassle me about dessert."
"No problem. After all, I used my genius hacker skills to give me an advantage."
He's so damn confident that John can't help but feel a spark of it himself. "Yeah? What's that?"
"I already know you're an asshole."
There's exactly a zero percent chance of this actually going anywhere, but John always works best when the odds are against him.
~The End~