(no subject)
Get up.
He had to get up. It was easier said - or thought, in this case - than done. There were certain things that a man eventually grew accustomed to, working as a spy. The gadgetry, the covers, the costumes. Lying, cheating, stealing. Manipulating, deceiving. The many, many plane rides, and even the jet lag. All of the little things one latched on to in the field, intangible but familiar, and that offered some small degree of comfort. Getting caught in the crossfire was familiar. Getting shot? That was new.
Bryce knew that he was dying. If the amount of blood loss wasn't a clear indicator, the cold sweat, decreasing body temperature, and waning consciousness were all doing their best to convince him. It seemed fitting that his last, dying breath would be exhausted in an attempt to destroy the Intersect. But that would first require that he get up.
Thank God for Chuck Bartowski, dropping in at just the right time. Literally. "Hello, Chuck."
The heap of Chuck - eighty to ninety percent leg, as far as Bryce could tell - that had fallen from the overhead ventilation system now managed to unravel itself and stand, advancing toward Bryce. "Hey! Bryce! Casey and Sarah are pinned down outside."
Shit. "I'm on it." He wasn't on anything, the gunshot wound choosing this most opportune moment to radiate an excruciating amount of pain through his abdomen. Bryce winced, taking in one sharp, shallow breath after another.
"Oh my God... Oh my God, oh my God." Chuck knelt - or tried to, anyway, as it looked more like he'd launched himself forward, landed on his knees and crawled the rest of the way toward Bryce. Not that it mattered. "You've been shot."
"Yeah." Bryce placed a firm hand on his gut and pressed down hard. It was ineffective, the wound still throbbing as much as ever, but he hadn't been expecting any better. "I'm really sorry about this, Chuck." How much that one apology encompassed was anybody's guess, but there it was. They didn't have time to dwell on the past now, with the mission still at stake, but Bryce hoped Chuck knew sorry he was for everything he had done to his friend. He didn't regret it, wouldn't take it back now, even if he could. At the end of the day, Chuck had lived because of what Bryce had done for - or to, depending who you asked - him. But yes, he was sorry.
"No. No, it's okay," Chuck said. "You're gonna be fine, it's not that bad."
Bryce spared a short gaze down at the wound. It was that bad. It felt that bad. He didn't have long, and they still had a lot of ground to cover. First things first: "Take care of her."
"Don't - Don't say that. You're not dying," Chuck insisted. "She needs you, man, okay? You guys are gonna go on missions together and... and do exciting things and save the world. You'll be a team again - it'll be great."
That was the dream, wasn't it? Bryce had hoped. He really had, all the time ignoring the truth that nagged at the back of his mind. "She wasn't gonna come." She was in love with Chuck now. He wasn't sure if that hurt as much as he thought it did at the moment, or if it was the physical pain adding on. That didn't matter much, either. Even if living with it was out of the question, Bryce had accepted the fact that he'd lost Sarah. Take care of her. He could die knowing that she was in good hands. Chuck was a good guy; he deserved her. It was something, and something was better than nothing.
"Hold on. Hold on, hold on, hold on." He was holding on. He was still breathing, he just had to keep doing it long enough to...
"Here," he said, fishing the chip out of his jacket pocket. "This is to destroy the Intersect. This new computer is too powerful. It's too dangerous."
Chuck hesitated, if only for a few seconds, but he took the chip. "But you need the computer to fight Fulcrum."
"Fulcrum doesn't matter," Bryce told him. "They're just - They're just one part of the Ring. They'll use it against us, Chuck. You have to do this. You have to destroy that computer, then get out of here."
They weren't half bad, as far as last words go. The white-washed walls around him had disappeared, and Chuck and the Intersect along with them. He let himself go now, stopped holding on and sitting up, falling over on one side -
- and into the sand and surf just as the next wave rolled in. He swallowed a mouthful of sand and saltwater, then coughed up the sand and blinked the water from his eyes as he struggled to stand yet again. But there was no struggle this time; Bryce pulled himself to his feet with one hand, the other gripped tight around his gun. His finger hovered over the trigger, ready should the need arise, and Bryce suspected that might soon be the case. After all, it would take and endless amount of man power and resources to pull something like this off, and he knew of an organization with all of the above and an added motive for good measure.
[OOC; All tags/times/etc welcome. ]
He had to get up. It was easier said - or thought, in this case - than done. There were certain things that a man eventually grew accustomed to, working as a spy. The gadgetry, the covers, the costumes. Lying, cheating, stealing. Manipulating, deceiving. The many, many plane rides, and even the jet lag. All of the little things one latched on to in the field, intangible but familiar, and that offered some small degree of comfort. Getting caught in the crossfire was familiar. Getting shot? That was new.
Bryce knew that he was dying. If the amount of blood loss wasn't a clear indicator, the cold sweat, decreasing body temperature, and waning consciousness were all doing their best to convince him. It seemed fitting that his last, dying breath would be exhausted in an attempt to destroy the Intersect. But that would first require that he get up.
Thank God for Chuck Bartowski, dropping in at just the right time. Literally. "Hello, Chuck."
The heap of Chuck - eighty to ninety percent leg, as far as Bryce could tell - that had fallen from the overhead ventilation system now managed to unravel itself and stand, advancing toward Bryce. "Hey! Bryce! Casey and Sarah are pinned down outside."
Shit. "I'm on it." He wasn't on anything, the gunshot wound choosing this most opportune moment to radiate an excruciating amount of pain through his abdomen. Bryce winced, taking in one sharp, shallow breath after another.
"Oh my God... Oh my God, oh my God." Chuck knelt - or tried to, anyway, as it looked more like he'd launched himself forward, landed on his knees and crawled the rest of the way toward Bryce. Not that it mattered. "You've been shot."
"Yeah." Bryce placed a firm hand on his gut and pressed down hard. It was ineffective, the wound still throbbing as much as ever, but he hadn't been expecting any better. "I'm really sorry about this, Chuck." How much that one apology encompassed was anybody's guess, but there it was. They didn't have time to dwell on the past now, with the mission still at stake, but Bryce hoped Chuck knew sorry he was for everything he had done to his friend. He didn't regret it, wouldn't take it back now, even if he could. At the end of the day, Chuck had lived because of what Bryce had done for - or to, depending who you asked - him. But yes, he was sorry.
"No. No, it's okay," Chuck said. "You're gonna be fine, it's not that bad."
Bryce spared a short gaze down at the wound. It was that bad. It felt that bad. He didn't have long, and they still had a lot of ground to cover. First things first: "Take care of her."
"Don't - Don't say that. You're not dying," Chuck insisted. "She needs you, man, okay? You guys are gonna go on missions together and... and do exciting things and save the world. You'll be a team again - it'll be great."
That was the dream, wasn't it? Bryce had hoped. He really had, all the time ignoring the truth that nagged at the back of his mind. "She wasn't gonna come." She was in love with Chuck now. He wasn't sure if that hurt as much as he thought it did at the moment, or if it was the physical pain adding on. That didn't matter much, either. Even if living with it was out of the question, Bryce had accepted the fact that he'd lost Sarah. Take care of her. He could die knowing that she was in good hands. Chuck was a good guy; he deserved her. It was something, and something was better than nothing.
"Hold on. Hold on, hold on, hold on." He was holding on. He was still breathing, he just had to keep doing it long enough to...
"Here," he said, fishing the chip out of his jacket pocket. "This is to destroy the Intersect. This new computer is too powerful. It's too dangerous."
Chuck hesitated, if only for a few seconds, but he took the chip. "But you need the computer to fight Fulcrum."
"Fulcrum doesn't matter," Bryce told him. "They're just - They're just one part of the Ring. They'll use it against us, Chuck. You have to do this. You have to destroy that computer, then get out of here."
They weren't half bad, as far as last words go. The white-washed walls around him had disappeared, and Chuck and the Intersect along with them. He let himself go now, stopped holding on and sitting up, falling over on one side -
- and into the sand and surf just as the next wave rolled in. He swallowed a mouthful of sand and saltwater, then coughed up the sand and blinked the water from his eyes as he struggled to stand yet again. But there was no struggle this time; Bryce pulled himself to his feet with one hand, the other gripped tight around his gun. His finger hovered over the trigger, ready should the need arise, and Bryce suspected that might soon be the case. After all, it would take and endless amount of man power and resources to pull something like this off, and he knew of an organization with all of the above and an added motive for good measure.
[OOC; All tags/times/etc welcome. ]