Live Free or Die Hard - The Height of Technology is Frozen Pizza (McClane/Farrell, PG-13)
This is for lamardeuse who introduced me to this pairing in the first place.
Live Free or Die Hard
Spoilers for Die Hard 1-4
John McClane/Matt Farrell
Rated PG-13
The Height of Technology is Frozen Pizza
Matt's story starts at the end: post-traumatic stress disorder, therapy, a job with the Feebles, no job with the Feebles, back to Camden, up to Brooklyn, over to Queens, more laptops than Matt can shake a stick at and Red Bull by the carton.
Everything a twenty-five year-old man could want and nothing he could need.
More therapy, more Red Bull, pizza, more pizza, some Chinese for variety, some outside contracting too, one month, two months, six months. A new apartment. More money. More Red Bull. More calluses on his right hand.
Life goes by pretty slow when you're mired in routine, but at least it goes. Routine is not to be underestimated. Ambien is not to be underestimated either, except for the bit where Matt ends up on his fire escape in his underwear watering the neighbor's geraniums with a teapot that he didn't even know he owned.
So, no Ambien then.
The first time Matt calls McClane, it's because he ordered too much pizza. Not that there's such a thing as too much pizza, but if there is, then Matt would have it. Apparently, he took an Ambien instead of a Tylenol. He's just glad he's not outside in his underwear again. And to show McClane his gratitude, Matt hangs up after the first ring.
Wuss.
The thing with Lucy Gennaro McClane is that there's no thing with Lucy Gennaro McClane. She's sweet and spunky and just like her dad. Matt so doesn't need another McClane fucking around in his head. One is more than enough. He and Lucy IM sometimes, though. It's not like Matt's ever far from his laptop; she can reach him anytime. Like at three in the morning when Matt's looking at gay porn on http://copsrobbersandsexohmy.com.
The window popping up in the middle of a cross-examination kind of ruins what Matt's doing, but telling Lucy what she's interrupting isn't even an option.
Lucyinanelevator: all men suck
F4rre11: thanx.
Lucyinanelevator: u don't count
F4rre11: wow. now i feel way better.
Lucyinanelevator: oh, shut up
F4rre11: castrated *and* belittled. i'm feeling really butch
Lucyinanelevator: u want butch, call my dad
F4rre11: i suppose i should be glad ur not telling me about ur feminine needs
Lucyinanelevator: if u lived closer I'd make u buy my tampons
*F4rre11 has left chat*
The second time Matt calls McClane is because he won some pool at the local pub and has tickets to see the Rangers. Matt's not really into sports that aren't played with a Wii, but McClane's a man's man, he must like things like hockey. McClane must like things like getting dirty and sweaty and filthy and eating really fattening food and maybe getting smeared all --
This time, Matt has to hang up after the second ring because all the blood has left his brain.
Big wuss.
Obsessive people are, well, obsessive. They have files on their Macs about the things that they're obsessive about. For example, Matt might have a folder like this on his desktop:
Main folder: McClane, J.
Subfolders: Nakatomi Plaza. Dulles Airport. Federal Reserve. NYPD. LAPD.
Sub-subfolders: Hans Gruber. Sgt. Al Powell. Richard Thornberg, asshole. General Ezperanza. Colonel Stuart. Simon Gruber. Zeus Carver. Holly Gennaro McClane. Lucy McClane.
Sub-sub-subfolder: This is Not Porn. Stop it.
Yeah, might
The third time Matt calls McClane he gets as far as the phone being answered. Except the person answering is so not McClane, and Matt immediately hangs up, because of course there would be some other guy there. It's probably McClane's partner. If McClane were gay. Which he's so not as the father of two kids Matt's age.
McClane is not Govenor Jim McGreevy.
So, there's this thing called Stockholm Syndrome, which is where hostages fall in love with their kidnappers, but Matt Farrell's not suffering from that. It's not like John McClane - Detective John McClane - kidnapped Matt. He only rescued him from death and maiming and being held at gun point and C4 point, like, fifteen thousand million times.
Matt's been prone to exaggeration since he was a kid, but that's really the truth. Okay, maybe he's exaggerating just a little bit. Whatever.
Warlock says it's Hero Worship. Matt's not stupid; he knows what Hero Worship is, but Matt stopped jerking off thinking about Han Solo a long time ago. Heroes don't exist and believing in them will only end badly. McClane though, he's better than a hero, because he's real. The problem being that Matt doesn't deal so well with real. He's a fucking hacker for fucks' sake. Hackers live in a virtual reality.
There's nothing real about it.
There's supposed to be a fourth call, but instead Matt gets a voicemail. Matt's kind of shocked, because he didn't think McClane knew how to set up voicemail. Or an answering machine. Anyway, McClane's out of town. Since McClane doesn't actually have friends -- at least that's what Matt thinks he said once -- Matt can only assume that McClane is visiting his ex-wife. Or maybe that cop from the Nakatomi Plaza mess. Or that guy from that bank heist.
Matt's not jealous or anything. It's not like John can't have other people in his life. Matt is so not obsessed.
Life is what happens while you're busy making other plans. At least this is what John Lennon said. John Lennon obviously never met John McClane. And he certainly never had John McClane show up on his doorstep bright and early at two in the afternoon. Matt is so not expecting visitors, like, oh, ever.
"Kid, if you want my attention, you got it."
Matt's bad in a crisis, really bad. This isn't quite a crisis, but he might be pissing himself all the same. He'd ask how McClane got past the security door, but it is McClane. He might have just scaled the side of the building with his fingers.
"Um, McClane, hey, what's up, man? Long time no see."
McClane does that thing. That half smirk, half-smile, all sexy. This is why Matt's been celibate for like, ever. Men suck. Lucy was right. "No see, maybe, but a whole lot of calling."
Matt blinks. Total crisis meltdown. "I, uh, don’t know what you're talking about."
Matt stumbles a bit as McClane shoulders his way inside. "You know, for somebody with so many brains, you're not too smart. Even I know how to use *69."
Star sixty-nine. Unbefuckinglievable. A man who can't use the internet knows how to trace a phone call. Matt never even thought about blocking that. "My lawyer has advised me not to answer any further questions, in case I incriminate myself," Matt blurts out.
McClane just smirks. "Your lawyer? Kid, you've been indoors too long. Put some clothes on. I'll take you out for coffee."
Matt doesn't get hard with McClane ordering him around. Really he doesn't. He totally means to bite his hand hard enough to leave teeth marks on purpose.
Distraction is awesome.
Oh my fucking god does Matt hate it when McClane calls him 'kid.'
Coffee becomes pizza and pizza becomes Chinese and Chinese becomes Matt opening cans of Spaghetti-O's in his kitchen thirty-six minutes after McClane's supposed to get off work.
Forty minutes.
Fifty minutes.
Sixty minutes.
Burned Spaghetti-Os.
Whatever. It's not like they had a date or anything.
F4rre11: all men suck.
Lucyinanelevator: are u telling me something i don't know?
F4rre11: u knew i was gay?
Lucyinanelevator: gaydar. look it up.
F4rre11: …
Lucyinanelevator: what did my dad do now?
F4rre11: i didn't say anything about ur dad
Lucyinanelevator: u r so new
*F4rre11 has left chat*
Matt is not new. Matt may not be as good with the people skills as other people, but he is not new. And he's not going to make a mountain out of molehill. Especially one that lets McClane's daughter think he's macking on her dad. Or that they're involved. Or having relations. Not that Matt would object to having "relations" with McClane, but he's totally not telling Lucy that.
Do people still mack one another anyway? Whatever. Matt's got bigger problems like charred Spaghetti-O's on the bottom of his pan and that project he's been neglecting since he's been having dinner every night with McClane for the last three weeks.
In fact, Matt's up to his elbows in soap suds and talking himself through about three thousand lines of code when his security door buzzes, because nobody ever calls when he's not doing other stuff.
"Yeah?" Matt gets soap suds smeared on his intercom, which is just fabulous.
"Kid, are you gonna let me in or what?"
Matt's heart doesn't jump at all. "There are no kids here," he retorts. "Just men."
McClane makes a derisory noise. "Fine, I get it. Matt, are you gonna let me in or what? Doc's says I'm not supposed to be --"
All it takes is the mention of a doctor and Matt's banging on the buzzer and running out his front door. He meets McClane on the landing of the second floor. Well, mostly he almost runs McClane over on the second floor.
There are soap suds and butterfly bandages and Matt's heart hits a whole new level of palpitations. "What the hell happened to you?" he barks. "I thought you'd stood me up, why didn't you call and say you'd been in accident?" Matt pauses. "Or were you the accident?"
McClane shrugs and then winces. "I was getting some beer and there was a hold-up."
Matt sighs. His hands are itching to examine the scrapes on McClane's face and the stitches. Jesus, the fucking stitches. "And you decided that you had to stop it with your face?"
"You should see the other guy."
Matt rolls his eyes. "And you didn't even remember the beer? McClane, what kind of date are you?" The words are out before Matt realizes what he's said. He's really got to cut down on the sugar.
McClane raises an eyebrow. "The kind of date you don't call 'McClane'."
Matt blinks. "John, right. I can do that."
"I'm glad you can do something, how about we go upstairs to your apartment and we see what else you can do."
Matt blinks again. "I thought you said the doctor said you were injured."
It's John's turn to roll his eyes. "I'm injured, not dead. If you feed me, you might get lucky."
Matt's halfway up the flight of stairs before he realizes McClane -- John -- isn't behind him. When he turns back, John's just watching him. It makes Matt's ears go hot. "Are you coming or what?"
"Not yet, but I'm hoping that'll change."
Matt snorts as John begins to climb the stairs behind him. "Lame. So very lame."
"This from somebody who crank called me for three months."
"It's not crank-calling if you hang up first."
John snorts back. "Now who's lame?"
"Whatever, you're all banged up, your dick probably doesn't even work," Matt blurts out.
John pauses on the stairs and eyes Matt appraisingly. "Just 'cause it’s an older model doesn't mean it doesn't work."
Parts of Matt besides his ears are starting to get hot. "You know when computers get obsolete, they get thrown out."
John snickers. "Yeah, but do computers suck dick?"
The blood is rushing away from Matt's brain. "Good point."
"Yeah, I thought so too."
"Upstairs, now?"
"Good plan. Got any other good plans?"
Matt thinks about this for a minute. "It'll probably be better if I show you," he says, tugging on John's arm to get them moving.
"I told you there were some things computers can't do," John mocks.
"You were right."
"Imagine that."
-end-
Live Free or Die Hard
Spoilers for Die Hard 1-4
John McClane/Matt Farrell
Rated PG-13
The Height of Technology is Frozen Pizza
Matt's story starts at the end: post-traumatic stress disorder, therapy, a job with the Feebles, no job with the Feebles, back to Camden, up to Brooklyn, over to Queens, more laptops than Matt can shake a stick at and Red Bull by the carton.
Everything a twenty-five year-old man could want and nothing he could need.
More therapy, more Red Bull, pizza, more pizza, some Chinese for variety, some outside contracting too, one month, two months, six months. A new apartment. More money. More Red Bull. More calluses on his right hand.
Life goes by pretty slow when you're mired in routine, but at least it goes. Routine is not to be underestimated. Ambien is not to be underestimated either, except for the bit where Matt ends up on his fire escape in his underwear watering the neighbor's geraniums with a teapot that he didn't even know he owned.
So, no Ambien then.
The first time Matt calls McClane, it's because he ordered too much pizza. Not that there's such a thing as too much pizza, but if there is, then Matt would have it. Apparently, he took an Ambien instead of a Tylenol. He's just glad he's not outside in his underwear again. And to show McClane his gratitude, Matt hangs up after the first ring.
Wuss.
The thing with Lucy Gennaro McClane is that there's no thing with Lucy Gennaro McClane. She's sweet and spunky and just like her dad. Matt so doesn't need another McClane fucking around in his head. One is more than enough. He and Lucy IM sometimes, though. It's not like Matt's ever far from his laptop; she can reach him anytime. Like at three in the morning when Matt's looking at gay porn on http://copsrobbersandsexohmy.com.
The window popping up in the middle of a cross-examination kind of ruins what Matt's doing, but telling Lucy what she's interrupting isn't even an option.
Lucyinanelevator: all men suck
F4rre11: thanx.
Lucyinanelevator: u don't count
F4rre11: wow. now i feel way better.
Lucyinanelevator: oh, shut up
F4rre11: castrated *and* belittled. i'm feeling really butch
Lucyinanelevator: u want butch, call my dad
F4rre11: i suppose i should be glad ur not telling me about ur feminine needs
Lucyinanelevator: if u lived closer I'd make u buy my tampons
*F4rre11 has left chat*
The second time Matt calls McClane is because he won some pool at the local pub and has tickets to see the Rangers. Matt's not really into sports that aren't played with a Wii, but McClane's a man's man, he must like things like hockey. McClane must like things like getting dirty and sweaty and filthy and eating really fattening food and maybe getting smeared all --
This time, Matt has to hang up after the second ring because all the blood has left his brain.
Big wuss.
Obsessive people are, well, obsessive. They have files on their Macs about the things that they're obsessive about. For example, Matt might have a folder like this on his desktop:
Main folder: McClane, J.
Subfolders: Nakatomi Plaza. Dulles Airport. Federal Reserve. NYPD. LAPD.
Sub-subfolders: Hans Gruber. Sgt. Al Powell. Richard Thornberg, asshole. General Ezperanza. Colonel Stuart. Simon Gruber. Zeus Carver. Holly Gennaro McClane. Lucy McClane.
Sub-sub-subfolder: This is Not Porn. Stop it.
Yeah, might
The third time Matt calls McClane he gets as far as the phone being answered. Except the person answering is so not McClane, and Matt immediately hangs up, because of course there would be some other guy there. It's probably McClane's partner. If McClane were gay. Which he's so not as the father of two kids Matt's age.
McClane is not Govenor Jim McGreevy.
So, there's this thing called Stockholm Syndrome, which is where hostages fall in love with their kidnappers, but Matt Farrell's not suffering from that. It's not like John McClane - Detective John McClane - kidnapped Matt. He only rescued him from death and maiming and being held at gun point and C4 point, like, fifteen thousand million times.
Matt's been prone to exaggeration since he was a kid, but that's really the truth. Okay, maybe he's exaggerating just a little bit. Whatever.
Warlock says it's Hero Worship. Matt's not stupid; he knows what Hero Worship is, but Matt stopped jerking off thinking about Han Solo a long time ago. Heroes don't exist and believing in them will only end badly. McClane though, he's better than a hero, because he's real. The problem being that Matt doesn't deal so well with real. He's a fucking hacker for fucks' sake. Hackers live in a virtual reality.
There's nothing real about it.
There's supposed to be a fourth call, but instead Matt gets a voicemail. Matt's kind of shocked, because he didn't think McClane knew how to set up voicemail. Or an answering machine. Anyway, McClane's out of town. Since McClane doesn't actually have friends -- at least that's what Matt thinks he said once -- Matt can only assume that McClane is visiting his ex-wife. Or maybe that cop from the Nakatomi Plaza mess. Or that guy from that bank heist.
Matt's not jealous or anything. It's not like John can't have other people in his life. Matt is so not obsessed.
Life is what happens while you're busy making other plans. At least this is what John Lennon said. John Lennon obviously never met John McClane. And he certainly never had John McClane show up on his doorstep bright and early at two in the afternoon. Matt is so not expecting visitors, like, oh, ever.
"Kid, if you want my attention, you got it."
Matt's bad in a crisis, really bad. This isn't quite a crisis, but he might be pissing himself all the same. He'd ask how McClane got past the security door, but it is McClane. He might have just scaled the side of the building with his fingers.
"Um, McClane, hey, what's up, man? Long time no see."
McClane does that thing. That half smirk, half-smile, all sexy. This is why Matt's been celibate for like, ever. Men suck. Lucy was right. "No see, maybe, but a whole lot of calling."
Matt blinks. Total crisis meltdown. "I, uh, don’t know what you're talking about."
Matt stumbles a bit as McClane shoulders his way inside. "You know, for somebody with so many brains, you're not too smart. Even I know how to use *69."
Star sixty-nine. Unbefuckinglievable. A man who can't use the internet knows how to trace a phone call. Matt never even thought about blocking that. "My lawyer has advised me not to answer any further questions, in case I incriminate myself," Matt blurts out.
McClane just smirks. "Your lawyer? Kid, you've been indoors too long. Put some clothes on. I'll take you out for coffee."
Matt doesn't get hard with McClane ordering him around. Really he doesn't. He totally means to bite his hand hard enough to leave teeth marks on purpose.
Distraction is awesome.
Oh my fucking god does Matt hate it when McClane calls him 'kid.'
Coffee becomes pizza and pizza becomes Chinese and Chinese becomes Matt opening cans of Spaghetti-O's in his kitchen thirty-six minutes after McClane's supposed to get off work.
Forty minutes.
Fifty minutes.
Sixty minutes.
Burned Spaghetti-Os.
Whatever. It's not like they had a date or anything.
F4rre11: all men suck.
Lucyinanelevator: are u telling me something i don't know?
F4rre11: u knew i was gay?
Lucyinanelevator: gaydar. look it up.
F4rre11: …
Lucyinanelevator: what did my dad do now?
F4rre11: i didn't say anything about ur dad
Lucyinanelevator: u r so new
*F4rre11 has left chat*
Matt is not new. Matt may not be as good with the people skills as other people, but he is not new. And he's not going to make a mountain out of molehill. Especially one that lets McClane's daughter think he's macking on her dad. Or that they're involved. Or having relations. Not that Matt would object to having "relations" with McClane, but he's totally not telling Lucy that.
Do people still mack one another anyway? Whatever. Matt's got bigger problems like charred Spaghetti-O's on the bottom of his pan and that project he's been neglecting since he's been having dinner every night with McClane for the last three weeks.
In fact, Matt's up to his elbows in soap suds and talking himself through about three thousand lines of code when his security door buzzes, because nobody ever calls when he's not doing other stuff.
"Yeah?" Matt gets soap suds smeared on his intercom, which is just fabulous.
"Kid, are you gonna let me in or what?"
Matt's heart doesn't jump at all. "There are no kids here," he retorts. "Just men."
McClane makes a derisory noise. "Fine, I get it. Matt, are you gonna let me in or what? Doc's says I'm not supposed to be --"
All it takes is the mention of a doctor and Matt's banging on the buzzer and running out his front door. He meets McClane on the landing of the second floor. Well, mostly he almost runs McClane over on the second floor.
There are soap suds and butterfly bandages and Matt's heart hits a whole new level of palpitations. "What the hell happened to you?" he barks. "I thought you'd stood me up, why didn't you call and say you'd been in accident?" Matt pauses. "Or were you the accident?"
McClane shrugs and then winces. "I was getting some beer and there was a hold-up."
Matt sighs. His hands are itching to examine the scrapes on McClane's face and the stitches. Jesus, the fucking stitches. "And you decided that you had to stop it with your face?"
"You should see the other guy."
Matt rolls his eyes. "And you didn't even remember the beer? McClane, what kind of date are you?" The words are out before Matt realizes what he's said. He's really got to cut down on the sugar.
McClane raises an eyebrow. "The kind of date you don't call 'McClane'."
Matt blinks. "John, right. I can do that."
"I'm glad you can do something, how about we go upstairs to your apartment and we see what else you can do."
Matt blinks again. "I thought you said the doctor said you were injured."
It's John's turn to roll his eyes. "I'm injured, not dead. If you feed me, you might get lucky."
Matt's halfway up the flight of stairs before he realizes McClane -- John -- isn't behind him. When he turns back, John's just watching him. It makes Matt's ears go hot. "Are you coming or what?"
"Not yet, but I'm hoping that'll change."
Matt snorts as John begins to climb the stairs behind him. "Lame. So very lame."
"This from somebody who crank called me for three months."
"It's not crank-calling if you hang up first."
John snorts back. "Now who's lame?"
"Whatever, you're all banged up, your dick probably doesn't even work," Matt blurts out.
John pauses on the stairs and eyes Matt appraisingly. "Just 'cause it’s an older model doesn't mean it doesn't work."
Parts of Matt besides his ears are starting to get hot. "You know when computers get obsolete, they get thrown out."
John snickers. "Yeah, but do computers suck dick?"
The blood is rushing away from Matt's brain. "Good point."
"Yeah, I thought so too."
"Upstairs, now?"
"Good plan. Got any other good plans?"
Matt thinks about this for a minute. "It'll probably be better if I show you," he says, tugging on John's arm to get them moving.
"I told you there were some things computers can't do," John mocks.
"You were right."
"Imagine that."
-end-