Fic: Ultimate Black Tom/Juggernaut
I finished it! I wrote the last bit today at work. I seem to find it easier to write in a notebook than on a computer. I guess my muse is a luddite or something.
Title: None
Characters: Ultimate'verse Juggernaut and "Black Tom" Cassidy
Word Count: 884
Cain was sitting in the back room of a truck stop bar outside of Vegas. The management were the kind of people that kept quiet, and, miraculously, the jukebox seemed to play something other than country. He had a new outfit and a thousand dollars in his pocket from a quick job he'd done for some mafia guys. At least he thought they were mafia. It wasn't like he was going to come out and ask.
He needed to get another job soon, before the mafia guys wanted him to do something again. He didn't want to get all wrapped up in that stuff. Besides, they were just more humans who would use him. The Brotherhood wasn't an option either; he was sick of big fights and big ideals that never got anywhere. Maybe that's what Rogue had liked about the dumb-ass perv cajun: the guy didn't seem to have an agenda, other than to live like a high roller. He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. This would be so much easier if he had someone to help him plan.
Before he realized it his mind was sliding into neutral and he was dreaming about a training exercise from his early days at Weapon X, except instead of human soldiers he was fighting these robots or something made of glowing red stone. He was just at the part of the memory where he was about to get his fourteen year old ass kicked by Sabertooth when one of the waitresses brought him back to reality.
"There's someone looking for a big dude, could be good work."
Cain blinked rapidly and looked at the dusty clock on the wall. Rhinestone Jumpsuit Elvis told him that he'd checked out for almost two hours. "Is it the Italians?"
"Naw... he sounds kinda like British."
Cain rose to his feet as if his joints were greased. Huh. After two hours of sleep... correction, two hours of sitting still and letting his mind go, he expected to at least be feeling some pins and needles. This was part of the pink rock thing. He was still figuring it out.
The only person in the sparsely populated main room of the bar that he didn't recognize was a medium tall guy with black hair who sat on his bar stool as if God had just casually dropped him there. He was talking to the bartender and making small conversational gestures with his beer bottle. Cain wondered if he should walk up to the guy, but decided he was probably noticeable enough and went to sit at a table near the wall where there was a thick hardwood bench that could support his weight.
The dark-haired guy walked up to Cain's table and sat down opposite him. He was a little younger than Cain had originally thought; maybe in his mid twenties, a few years older than Cain.
He was smiling, even with his eyes. He looked like he was just about to tell some great joke. Cain normally hated jokes, but he really wanted to hear this one.
The guy said "May name's Tom." He did sound kind of British, like the waitress had said.
He said "I'm looking for a long term arrangement. I encounter some dangerous people in my work." He extracted a cigarette case from his shirt pocket and plucked a cigarette out of it. "I can protect myself, of course..." There was a pause as he brought a cigarette to his lips and stroked the tip with his thumb. The cigarette flared and lit. Tom took a long drag and slowly exhaled, watching Cain through a screen of smoke.
"...But I find that a show of force can forestall so many problems."
Cain dragged his eyes away from the tapered fingers holding the cigarette. "You're looking to hire a bodyguard?"
"It's a full-time, semi-permanent position. Lots of travel, opportunities for adventure, good pay, bonuses. No benefits, really, but the money should compensate. Time off is negotiable."
Well, Cain thought, that sounds like some kind of yes. "Travel where?"
"Oh, around." Tom waved his cigarette vaguely. "Where ever I need to go."
"Would we go to New York?"
Tom raised an eyebrow. "Have a dream of seeing the Big Apple?"
Cain shook his head. "I've seen it. Got some things to check up on there." At least, he thought that's where Rogue would go.
"I think we can manage New York," Tom said with a grin. "I'm going to give you a thousand dollar hiring bonus, you're going to give me a handshake, and then we're leaving. I've got one of those god-awful SUV's, you should fit into it well enough."
He picked up his beer bottle and drained it in a series of practiced swallows. Cain was a little envious. While he was with the Brotherhood he'd worked hard to hide how unfamiliar he had become with normal things like beer. He rolled his shoulders as if to shrug off the past and followed Tom, who was already striding out the door.
"Oh, by the way," Tom said as he put on a pair of sunglasses, "what're you called?"
"I'm Cain. Tom didn't seem like the code name type.
"Well Cain," Tom grinned, "I'm sick of this desert. Let's go see some green."
Title: None
Characters: Ultimate'verse Juggernaut and "Black Tom" Cassidy
Word Count: 884
Cain was sitting in the back room of a truck stop bar outside of Vegas. The management were the kind of people that kept quiet, and, miraculously, the jukebox seemed to play something other than country. He had a new outfit and a thousand dollars in his pocket from a quick job he'd done for some mafia guys. At least he thought they were mafia. It wasn't like he was going to come out and ask.
He needed to get another job soon, before the mafia guys wanted him to do something again. He didn't want to get all wrapped up in that stuff. Besides, they were just more humans who would use him. The Brotherhood wasn't an option either; he was sick of big fights and big ideals that never got anywhere. Maybe that's what Rogue had liked about the dumb-ass perv cajun: the guy didn't seem to have an agenda, other than to live like a high roller. He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. This would be so much easier if he had someone to help him plan.
Before he realized it his mind was sliding into neutral and he was dreaming about a training exercise from his early days at Weapon X, except instead of human soldiers he was fighting these robots or something made of glowing red stone. He was just at the part of the memory where he was about to get his fourteen year old ass kicked by Sabertooth when one of the waitresses brought him back to reality.
"There's someone looking for a big dude, could be good work."
Cain blinked rapidly and looked at the dusty clock on the wall. Rhinestone Jumpsuit Elvis told him that he'd checked out for almost two hours. "Is it the Italians?"
"Naw... he sounds kinda like British."
Cain rose to his feet as if his joints were greased. Huh. After two hours of sleep... correction, two hours of sitting still and letting his mind go, he expected to at least be feeling some pins and needles. This was part of the pink rock thing. He was still figuring it out.
The only person in the sparsely populated main room of the bar that he didn't recognize was a medium tall guy with black hair who sat on his bar stool as if God had just casually dropped him there. He was talking to the bartender and making small conversational gestures with his beer bottle. Cain wondered if he should walk up to the guy, but decided he was probably noticeable enough and went to sit at a table near the wall where there was a thick hardwood bench that could support his weight.
The dark-haired guy walked up to Cain's table and sat down opposite him. He was a little younger than Cain had originally thought; maybe in his mid twenties, a few years older than Cain.
He was smiling, even with his eyes. He looked like he was just about to tell some great joke. Cain normally hated jokes, but he really wanted to hear this one.
The guy said "May name's Tom." He did sound kind of British, like the waitress had said.
He said "I'm looking for a long term arrangement. I encounter some dangerous people in my work." He extracted a cigarette case from his shirt pocket and plucked a cigarette out of it. "I can protect myself, of course..." There was a pause as he brought a cigarette to his lips and stroked the tip with his thumb. The cigarette flared and lit. Tom took a long drag and slowly exhaled, watching Cain through a screen of smoke.
"...But I find that a show of force can forestall so many problems."
Cain dragged his eyes away from the tapered fingers holding the cigarette. "You're looking to hire a bodyguard?"
"It's a full-time, semi-permanent position. Lots of travel, opportunities for adventure, good pay, bonuses. No benefits, really, but the money should compensate. Time off is negotiable."
Well, Cain thought, that sounds like some kind of yes. "Travel where?"
"Oh, around." Tom waved his cigarette vaguely. "Where ever I need to go."
"Would we go to New York?"
Tom raised an eyebrow. "Have a dream of seeing the Big Apple?"
Cain shook his head. "I've seen it. Got some things to check up on there." At least, he thought that's where Rogue would go.
"I think we can manage New York," Tom said with a grin. "I'm going to give you a thousand dollar hiring bonus, you're going to give me a handshake, and then we're leaving. I've got one of those god-awful SUV's, you should fit into it well enough."
He picked up his beer bottle and drained it in a series of practiced swallows. Cain was a little envious. While he was with the Brotherhood he'd worked hard to hide how unfamiliar he had become with normal things like beer. He rolled his shoulders as if to shrug off the past and followed Tom, who was already striding out the door.
"Oh, by the way," Tom said as he put on a pair of sunglasses, "what're you called?"
"I'm Cain. Tom didn't seem like the code name type.
"Well Cain," Tom grinned, "I'm sick of this desert. Let's go see some green."