Fic: No Apologies (Adam Adamant Lives!)
I kind of wrote this by accident earlier, due to a discussion over at Liadt's LJ, and I'll probably have to check it over before I put it on AO3, but it seems okay & I want to post! ;-)
Title: No Apologies
Author: lost_spook
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1262
Characters/Pairings: Adam Adamant, Georgina Jones
Notes/Warnings: Some mentions of bleeding, injury. No spoilers.
Summary: Georgina is wounded and Adam is unsympathetic - this is exactly the sort of dire consequence he's always warning her about, after all. (From a prompt
john_amend_all generated the other day: Georgie/Adam - intimacy & blood loss. I couldn’t even make it fit a hurt/comfort bingo square as some sort of excuse, what can I say?)
***
It was, Georgie thought, bad enough to be bleeding all over the place without someone lecturing her about how it was her own fault and she should have known better than to come after him.
“There,” said Adam, temporarily halting his moralising as he tightened the makeshift bandage around her waist and knotted the end. “Now, don’t move too much, Miss Jones, and that should suffice. I’d say let this be a lesson to you, but I think the point has already been made rather too emphatically for my liking.”
Georgie closed her eyes. “Plus, it would be a really mean thing to say when I’m dying.”
“Dying?” said Adam, as if such a consequence of stabbing and blood loss was something that had never occurred to him. “Miss Jones, whatever put such a notion into your head? I’m sure you’ll have some much deserved discomfort before you are well enough to be up and about and making a nuisance of yourself again, but dying? I should never allow it, not from a mere scratch like that.”
She thought about sticking her tongue out at him in response, but it seemed like far too much effort. Still, even if he was ungrateful about people who had only been trying to save his life - and she had too, even if he would never admit it - he was pretty handy with the emergency first aid and while he’d been lecturing her, he’d been surprisingly gentle in his handling of her.
“Now, if you can manage to sit still for a change, I shall investigate the rest of these premises - we need to summon an ambulance, if possible. You’ll be perfectly safe, I assure you.”
Georgie gave a whimper of protest at the idea of him going, which was much worse than him staying and being unkind to her. She bit her lip then, embarrassed, but a good half of her pluck seemed to have leaked out of her with the blood, though she tried to recover her error with a wan smile and another nod.
“Good girl,” he said. “I shan’t be long. Try and keep some pressure on that wound, if you can.”
Well, Georgie thought a few minutes later, if this was him being quick, she’d hate to see it when he was being slow. It felt like hours and hours already, lying up against some sacks of lethal toys in an abandoned old house next to a villainous art dealer she’d sort of accidentally killed (because he was trying to murder Adam, obviously, not because she’d had a sudden fit of bloodthirstiness). Still, she thought, she mustn’t panic. Otherwise Adam would only come back and say more things about how girls in general shouldn’t throw themselves into dangerous adventures, and how she in particular should never come near him when he was investigating crooks.
But, she thought, finding it suddenly easy to fear every shadow in her present weak state, what if one of the gang had escaped, after all? What if Adam ran into him (or worse, her) unawares and was injured himself? What would they do then?
“Miss Jones,” said Adam, suddenly back at her side again. He crouched down, and carefully lifted her once more. “Drink this.”
Georgie squinted, a small bottle suddenly much too close to her vision at an odd angle. “What is it?”
“Whisky. Not the finest, I’m afraid, but the best I could manage in the circumstances.”
“Shouldn’t it be a cup of hot tea with sugar in it?”
“Well, the best I can do at this precise moment is a glass of water and this. And since you had progressed to feverish babblings about dying, you should have a sip of this first.”
“All right,” said Georgie, and wanted to prop herself up, but he shook his head at her.
“Best not, Miss Jones. Please, do try and do as you’re told this once.”
She subsided, since she didn’t want to make her injury worse, she allowed him first to help her drink a small mouthful of whisky that made her choke and gasp, and then some of the water.
“What I didn’t manage to find, however,” he said, once that was done, “was a working telephone. I regret to inform you that I will have to leave you here while I go in search of one. Now that the business in hand is over, you must have immediate, professional medical attention.”
That would be good, thought Georgie. Some nice, modern doctor who definitely hadn’t done his last first aid course in the previous century would be great. Even if she didn’t really have any fault to find with Adam’s tackling of the situation as yet - other than the undeserved telling off, and she was used to that.
“Miss Jones,” he said, then, and hesitated before continuing. “Georgina -”
She looked up enquiringly, all large eyes in a pale face.
He pressed something to the hand that she wasn’t using to keep the bandage down, and she closed her fingers around it to find it was the dagger, still sticky with her own blood in places.
“I’m confident that we have dealt with all of those rogues,” he said. “However, one cannot be sure that some associate or further member of the gang might return in the meantime. If they do, keep quiet, pretend to be dead - and if one of them gets that close - well. In this instance, I shall trust your judgment in the matter.”
She wanted to say, “Adam, how sweet of you. I think that might be the nicest thing you’ve said to me all day, possibly all month,” but she didn’t have the energy, and it felt a bit too serious for that anyhow. “You should cover me with some of those empty sacks,” she said. “Then I’ll be safe.”
“An excellent plan,” he said, and swiftly moved across to fetch some of them.
“And,” she said, “if I do die while you’re searching for a phone box that actually works, I’m not sorry.”
“Miss Jones!”
“I mean,” she said with an effort, finding breathing harder work than it ought to be, “that I’m not sorry I saved your life, whatever you say about it, or even if - even if I - Well,” she said, and just about remembered not to shrug. “I’m not. So there.”
Adam, about to place one of the sacks over her, made a sudden, sharp movement away, and then glared at her. “How many times must I tell you that I was in no danger? You need never have any cause to fear for me, Miss Jones.”
“Pfft,” said Georgie, but without any energy for the fight.
Adam placed the first sack over her legs. That should keep him happy, she thought. He’d been telling her off about how abominably inappropriate her mini skirt was all morning.
He then paused, about to put the other one over her top half. “I disagree most strongly with your assessment of the situation,” he said, stiffly. “However, the sentiment - flawed though it is - does you credit.” He then brushed a strand of hair out of her face, before putting the canvass sack in place, and she smiled to herself, knowing it was as about an intimate gesture as she would get from him. “I shall be back before you know it.”
“And,” he added, sounding more disapproving again, “you really must forget this nonsense about dying, Miss Jones. It’s entirely out of the question, I assure you.”
Despite everything, or maybe because of everything, she believed him.
***
Crossposted from Dreamwidth -- Comments there:
Title: No Apologies
Author: lost_spook
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1262
Characters/Pairings: Adam Adamant, Georgina Jones
Notes/Warnings: Some mentions of bleeding, injury. No spoilers.
Summary: Georgina is wounded and Adam is unsympathetic - this is exactly the sort of dire consequence he's always warning her about, after all. (From a prompt
john_amend_all generated the other day: Georgie/Adam - intimacy & blood loss. I couldn’t even make it fit a hurt/comfort bingo square as some sort of excuse, what can I say?)
***
It was, Georgie thought, bad enough to be bleeding all over the place without someone lecturing her about how it was her own fault and she should have known better than to come after him.
“There,” said Adam, temporarily halting his moralising as he tightened the makeshift bandage around her waist and knotted the end. “Now, don’t move too much, Miss Jones, and that should suffice. I’d say let this be a lesson to you, but I think the point has already been made rather too emphatically for my liking.”
Georgie closed her eyes. “Plus, it would be a really mean thing to say when I’m dying.”
“Dying?” said Adam, as if such a consequence of stabbing and blood loss was something that had never occurred to him. “Miss Jones, whatever put such a notion into your head? I’m sure you’ll have some much deserved discomfort before you are well enough to be up and about and making a nuisance of yourself again, but dying? I should never allow it, not from a mere scratch like that.”
She thought about sticking her tongue out at him in response, but it seemed like far too much effort. Still, even if he was ungrateful about people who had only been trying to save his life - and she had too, even if he would never admit it - he was pretty handy with the emergency first aid and while he’d been lecturing her, he’d been surprisingly gentle in his handling of her.
“Now, if you can manage to sit still for a change, I shall investigate the rest of these premises - we need to summon an ambulance, if possible. You’ll be perfectly safe, I assure you.”
Georgie gave a whimper of protest at the idea of him going, which was much worse than him staying and being unkind to her. She bit her lip then, embarrassed, but a good half of her pluck seemed to have leaked out of her with the blood, though she tried to recover her error with a wan smile and another nod.
“Good girl,” he said. “I shan’t be long. Try and keep some pressure on that wound, if you can.”
Well, Georgie thought a few minutes later, if this was him being quick, she’d hate to see it when he was being slow. It felt like hours and hours already, lying up against some sacks of lethal toys in an abandoned old house next to a villainous art dealer she’d sort of accidentally killed (because he was trying to murder Adam, obviously, not because she’d had a sudden fit of bloodthirstiness). Still, she thought, she mustn’t panic. Otherwise Adam would only come back and say more things about how girls in general shouldn’t throw themselves into dangerous adventures, and how she in particular should never come near him when he was investigating crooks.
But, she thought, finding it suddenly easy to fear every shadow in her present weak state, what if one of the gang had escaped, after all? What if Adam ran into him (or worse, her) unawares and was injured himself? What would they do then?
“Miss Jones,” said Adam, suddenly back at her side again. He crouched down, and carefully lifted her once more. “Drink this.”
Georgie squinted, a small bottle suddenly much too close to her vision at an odd angle. “What is it?”
“Whisky. Not the finest, I’m afraid, but the best I could manage in the circumstances.”
“Shouldn’t it be a cup of hot tea with sugar in it?”
“Well, the best I can do at this precise moment is a glass of water and this. And since you had progressed to feverish babblings about dying, you should have a sip of this first.”
“All right,” said Georgie, and wanted to prop herself up, but he shook his head at her.
“Best not, Miss Jones. Please, do try and do as you’re told this once.”
She subsided, since she didn’t want to make her injury worse, she allowed him first to help her drink a small mouthful of whisky that made her choke and gasp, and then some of the water.
“What I didn’t manage to find, however,” he said, once that was done, “was a working telephone. I regret to inform you that I will have to leave you here while I go in search of one. Now that the business in hand is over, you must have immediate, professional medical attention.”
That would be good, thought Georgie. Some nice, modern doctor who definitely hadn’t done his last first aid course in the previous century would be great. Even if she didn’t really have any fault to find with Adam’s tackling of the situation as yet - other than the undeserved telling off, and she was used to that.
“Miss Jones,” he said, then, and hesitated before continuing. “Georgina -”
She looked up enquiringly, all large eyes in a pale face.
He pressed something to the hand that she wasn’t using to keep the bandage down, and she closed her fingers around it to find it was the dagger, still sticky with her own blood in places.
“I’m confident that we have dealt with all of those rogues,” he said. “However, one cannot be sure that some associate or further member of the gang might return in the meantime. If they do, keep quiet, pretend to be dead - and if one of them gets that close - well. In this instance, I shall trust your judgment in the matter.”
She wanted to say, “Adam, how sweet of you. I think that might be the nicest thing you’ve said to me all day, possibly all month,” but she didn’t have the energy, and it felt a bit too serious for that anyhow. “You should cover me with some of those empty sacks,” she said. “Then I’ll be safe.”
“An excellent plan,” he said, and swiftly moved across to fetch some of them.
“And,” she said, “if I do die while you’re searching for a phone box that actually works, I’m not sorry.”
“Miss Jones!”
“I mean,” she said with an effort, finding breathing harder work than it ought to be, “that I’m not sorry I saved your life, whatever you say about it, or even if - even if I - Well,” she said, and just about remembered not to shrug. “I’m not. So there.”
Adam, about to place one of the sacks over her, made a sudden, sharp movement away, and then glared at her. “How many times must I tell you that I was in no danger? You need never have any cause to fear for me, Miss Jones.”
“Pfft,” said Georgie, but without any energy for the fight.
Adam placed the first sack over her legs. That should keep him happy, she thought. He’d been telling her off about how abominably inappropriate her mini skirt was all morning.
He then paused, about to put the other one over her top half. “I disagree most strongly with your assessment of the situation,” he said, stiffly. “However, the sentiment - flawed though it is - does you credit.” He then brushed a strand of hair out of her face, before putting the canvass sack in place, and she smiled to herself, knowing it was as about an intimate gesture as she would get from him. “I shall be back before you know it.”
“And,” he added, sounding more disapproving again, “you really must forget this nonsense about dying, Miss Jones. It’s entirely out of the question, I assure you.”
Despite everything, or maybe because of everything, she believed him.
***
Crossposted from Dreamwidth -- Comments there: