Corduroys and Machine Guns (2/5)
Title: Corduroys and Machine Guns (2/5)
Author: Alsike
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Popular
Pairing: Sam/Brooke
Apologies: Here lie explosions! I stole part of the plot from a gay thriller that i found accidentally at work, no idea what it was called or who wrote it.
Summary: Sam and Brooke haven't spoken for three years, but Brooke is finally graduating from college, and that is about to change. At least if porcupines and terrorists have anything to say about it, it will.
“What is this? Some kind of sick joke?”
“Sam! Hush, everyone can hear you.”
“No! I’m not going to hush! What on earth are you doing here? Are you stalking me? Do you want an apology-“
“I’m working here!”
“No, no you’re not. This is a newspaper. This is journalism. This is my place, not yours.”
“You are such a jerk, Sam.” Brooke scowled. “I’m a photographer. I got a job in photography. I wasn’t even thinking about you when this happened, but why should I have been? It’s not like I’ve seen you for years. It’s not like you ever came to see me when I was in the hospital. It's not like you ever were there to hear about how my life was falling apart and I just couldn’t deal with school and everything. So how could you know that when I went back I changed my major to art.”
“I didn’t.”
Brooke looked down. “This really is just a freakish coincidence. I didn’t even know you had moved to San Francisco.”
“Yeah,” Sam said softly. “Close to home, but far enough away so I have an excuse to never look back.”
“Why didn’t you come back, Sam?”
Sam gave her a look and scowled. “Don’t ask. It wasn’t about you.”
“I never thought it was about me, Sam.”
Sam shook herself and started walking faster. “Come on. We’re almost at the fair.”
They were walking down a street that seemed rather busy for that time of day. Sam glanced at the people, a little bewildered, and unable to focus on anything but the fact that Brooke was walking behind her. Brooke, the girl she thought she had finally forced out of her system, out of her life, but she hadn’t. Here she was, and Sam didn’t think it was possible that the situation could get any worse.
* * *
Brooke groaned as she jogged to try and keep up with Sam. She would just let her go on ahead, but she didn’t know her way around yet, and she wasn’t going to blow this assignment, just because Sam was being irrational. She paused for a moment beside a cart with a man selling Jesus jewelry and watched Sam stalking away, her hair blowing in the wind. It felt so strange seeing her again. After the accident at the end of junior year they had disposed of their animosity and been friends. Brooke knew that it could have been much worse if Sam hadn’t shouted at her in time for Brooke to see the car coming and jump up on the hood. She probably wouldn’t have even sprained her ankle if she hadn’t been wearing those terrible shoes.
Sam was leaving her behind and she jogged after her, glancing down at her sensible tennis shoes and corduroys. That was one thing she had learned from the accident. The other was that lounging on the couch watching TV with Sam was far more enjoyable than fighting with her.
She was jostled by someone pushing past her and realized that people were running down the street in the opposite direction. She caught up to Sam just as a group ran past shouting, “Police! Call the Police!”
Their eyes met and Brooke remembered that she was with a journalist. Sam took off in the direction the people were coming from and Brooke ran after her, fumbling with her camera to get it ready.
It was the bank. A group of people was gathered on the steps. Two of them were carrying machine guns. Sam ducked into the entrance of the building and snagged Brooke’s shirt, as she was about to run past, dragging her in.
“Get some photos.”
Brooke started rummaging in her bag. “God, Sam. We need to get out of here.” She found her telephoto lens and screwed it in, then leaned out. She could see the men’s faces through this. She snapped a few shots.
“Can you hear what they’re saying?”
Sam frowned, leaning forwards. “I can’t. Maybe we could get closer.”
Then suddenly the group of men was running.
Brooke kept snapping pictures as they approached and then ran past. She pulled the camera from her face. “Wait! Was that-“
“Something about a bomb!”
The explosion rippled the air at the same moment Sam tackled her to the ground. She saw the doors of the building implode, and a huge cement gargoyle flying towards them, and lost consciousness.
* * *
Blackness, Pain, the sound of someone sobbing? Brooke tried to move, but the pain spasmed through her back and she groaned, sinking back down. The sobbing stopped.
“Brooke?”
Now Brooke knew she was hallucinating. “Sam?” she muttered, trying to open her eyes. She hadn’t seen Sam in years. She hadn’t seen Sam until… this morning. Her eyes finally opened and she sat up, cringing. The light was a dim grey, and every muscle in Brooke’s body ached. She looked around. Sam was right next to her, staring at her, eyes and face red as they always were when she had been blubbering.
“Brooke…” Sam’s voice quavered. Brooke narrowed her eyes.
“Are you going to be mean to me? Because I have the mother of all headaches right now.”
“No! I- I thought you were dead.” Sam sniffed. “I thought I had screwed up again and you were dead.”
“Again?” Brooke tried to move her arm to press against her aching temple, but her shoulder suddenly flared with pain, and she gasped, shuddering. “Oh, shit!”
“Are you okay?”
“I think I fucked up my shoulder,” Brooke breathed out, cupping her injured arm to her chest. “Oh no!” she suddenly remembered, “My camera!’
“It’s here,” said Sam, sounding weak. Brooke saw it on the floor by Sam’s hand, picked it up and examined it. The lens had cracked, but as far as she could tell the camera itself was sound. Then she looked at Sam, not liking that faded voice.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m glad I come after your camera in importance,” Sam grumbled, and Brooke almost smiled. She hadn’t heard that petulance in so long.
“Well, I was considering trying to work out where we are and what happens next, first, but you sound like crap. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Sam muttered.
Brooke looked her over. She was sitting oddly, her leg twisted under her, and both her hands pressed against the floor, her arms tense, as if she was holding herself up.
“Yeah? So you don’t mind when I do this?” she prodded the twisted leg, and Sam made an airless gasping that was worse than if she had screamed. “Shit! Sam. You’re a mess.”
Tears were trickling down her face. “Just shut up, Brooke.”
“Well, what are we going to do?” Brooke glanced around. Somehow they had ended up in the lobby of the building they had been hiding in the doorway of. Broken glass was under them, and Brooke examined her torn cords and the lacerations on her thighs and shins. A huge slab of concrete had covered the door, rubble filling in the cracks. The light came from far above, and as Brooke watched, it was fading. She must have been unconscious all day.
“Do you have your cell phone?”
“I left it home today,” Sam muttered. “Where’s yours?”
“Wherever my bag is.” Brooke looked for it once more, but there was no sign of it. Sam also tried to turn, but gasped, as an odd scraping noise echoed through the room.
“Are you on glass, Sam?”
There was only a whimper in response. Brooke pursed her lips and then staggered to her feet, trying not to jostle her injured shoulder. She found a piece of curved metal and used it to clear a place of glass. Then she crouched down next to Sam and noticed the blood trickling from the side of her face that she had kept turned away. She had been hit. Tiny lines patterned her skin, all shooting in one direction. There was a piece of glass still embedded in her cheek, wedged against her jaw. It looked deep and it was still bleeding freely. Brooke didn’t know if she should try and take it out or not. She thought she remembered something about glass working its way into wounds if they were left alone. It could have been a myth. She didn’t know and couldn’t remember where she had heard it.
“Can you taste blood in your mouth?”
Sam shook her head a tiny bit. Okay, not punctured.
“Do you know how deep it is? Can you feel the edge on the inside?”
“I can’t feel anything, hurts.” She wasn’t really opening her mouth while talking. Finally Brooke felt well enough to be afraid.
“Open your mouth for me?”
Sam gave her a panicked look, way too much like a frightened animal. But she parted her lips and Brooke slid her fingers inside, and gently brushed her fingers over the inside of Sam’s cheek. Sam made a choked sound that probably would have been a wail without Brooke’s hand in her mouth. Brooke withdrew her wet fingers and searched for her lens polisher.
“Sammy, I’m going to get the glass out of your face, okay?”
Sam sniffled. “I don’t want you to look after me.” Then she flinched. Every time she spoke it must be digging in farther.
“Well, it’s me or no one right now.” Brooke touched Sam’s cheek softly. “Ready?” Sam eyed her with suspicion. Brooke leaned in so their noses brushed. “It’s okay.”
She pressed her fingers up against Sam’s cheek, not touching the glass, not risking pushing it in farther, and then in one move pinched the glass out, and pressed her lips to Sam’s. Still kissing Sam she tossed the glass away and pressed the handkerchief to her face, staunching the blood. She felt Sam jerk as she registered the pain, and pulled away.
Sam was staring at her with a look between horror and mortification. “What? Why did you…?”
Brooke grinned sadly. “Didn’t feel a thing, did you?” It served her right that the first time and likely last she kissed Sam was to distract her from a field operation.
Sam ducked her head, but didn’t jerk away from Brooke’s hand that was pressing the cloth to her face. She was scowling as much as she could. “I think you overestimate the anethesiac effects of your kisses.”
Brooke laughed, and then cringed as it jostled her shoulder. “I thought it was my best bet. Do you think you can move a little to the non-glass area?”
Sam eyed it, and then her leg. “Maybe if you hold me up a little.”
Brooke gave her her good arm and let her cling to it as she swung the few inches over to the clean area. She whimpered when she settled down again. Brooke did her best to adjust her so she wouldn’t have to keep all her weight on her hands. Finally with only a wince, Sam was able to sit on her butt, one leg twisted awkwardly in front of her, and the other bent over it.
“You have any more glass in you?”
Sam brushed absently at her cargo pants. “I’m good.”
“Great.” Brooke sank down and rested her head against Sam’s shoulder. It was strange. They were trapped in a crumbling building. It was getting dark. They were both injured and bleeding. And yet for a moment she felt like they were back at the Palace, on the couch. She wished they were.
* * *
Author: Alsike
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Popular
Pairing: Sam/Brooke
Apologies: Here lie explosions! I stole part of the plot from a gay thriller that i found accidentally at work, no idea what it was called or who wrote it.
Summary: Sam and Brooke haven't spoken for three years, but Brooke is finally graduating from college, and that is about to change. At least if porcupines and terrorists have anything to say about it, it will.
“What is this? Some kind of sick joke?”
“Sam! Hush, everyone can hear you.”
“No! I’m not going to hush! What on earth are you doing here? Are you stalking me? Do you want an apology-“
“I’m working here!”
“No, no you’re not. This is a newspaper. This is journalism. This is my place, not yours.”
“You are such a jerk, Sam.” Brooke scowled. “I’m a photographer. I got a job in photography. I wasn’t even thinking about you when this happened, but why should I have been? It’s not like I’ve seen you for years. It’s not like you ever came to see me when I was in the hospital. It's not like you ever were there to hear about how my life was falling apart and I just couldn’t deal with school and everything. So how could you know that when I went back I changed my major to art.”
“I didn’t.”
Brooke looked down. “This really is just a freakish coincidence. I didn’t even know you had moved to San Francisco.”
“Yeah,” Sam said softly. “Close to home, but far enough away so I have an excuse to never look back.”
“Why didn’t you come back, Sam?”
Sam gave her a look and scowled. “Don’t ask. It wasn’t about you.”
“I never thought it was about me, Sam.”
Sam shook herself and started walking faster. “Come on. We’re almost at the fair.”
They were walking down a street that seemed rather busy for that time of day. Sam glanced at the people, a little bewildered, and unable to focus on anything but the fact that Brooke was walking behind her. Brooke, the girl she thought she had finally forced out of her system, out of her life, but she hadn’t. Here she was, and Sam didn’t think it was possible that the situation could get any worse.
* * *
Brooke groaned as she jogged to try and keep up with Sam. She would just let her go on ahead, but she didn’t know her way around yet, and she wasn’t going to blow this assignment, just because Sam was being irrational. She paused for a moment beside a cart with a man selling Jesus jewelry and watched Sam stalking away, her hair blowing in the wind. It felt so strange seeing her again. After the accident at the end of junior year they had disposed of their animosity and been friends. Brooke knew that it could have been much worse if Sam hadn’t shouted at her in time for Brooke to see the car coming and jump up on the hood. She probably wouldn’t have even sprained her ankle if she hadn’t been wearing those terrible shoes.
Sam was leaving her behind and she jogged after her, glancing down at her sensible tennis shoes and corduroys. That was one thing she had learned from the accident. The other was that lounging on the couch watching TV with Sam was far more enjoyable than fighting with her.
She was jostled by someone pushing past her and realized that people were running down the street in the opposite direction. She caught up to Sam just as a group ran past shouting, “Police! Call the Police!”
Their eyes met and Brooke remembered that she was with a journalist. Sam took off in the direction the people were coming from and Brooke ran after her, fumbling with her camera to get it ready.
It was the bank. A group of people was gathered on the steps. Two of them were carrying machine guns. Sam ducked into the entrance of the building and snagged Brooke’s shirt, as she was about to run past, dragging her in.
“Get some photos.”
Brooke started rummaging in her bag. “God, Sam. We need to get out of here.” She found her telephoto lens and screwed it in, then leaned out. She could see the men’s faces through this. She snapped a few shots.
“Can you hear what they’re saying?”
Sam frowned, leaning forwards. “I can’t. Maybe we could get closer.”
Then suddenly the group of men was running.
Brooke kept snapping pictures as they approached and then ran past. She pulled the camera from her face. “Wait! Was that-“
“Something about a bomb!”
The explosion rippled the air at the same moment Sam tackled her to the ground. She saw the doors of the building implode, and a huge cement gargoyle flying towards them, and lost consciousness.
* * *
Blackness, Pain, the sound of someone sobbing? Brooke tried to move, but the pain spasmed through her back and she groaned, sinking back down. The sobbing stopped.
“Brooke?”
Now Brooke knew she was hallucinating. “Sam?” she muttered, trying to open her eyes. She hadn’t seen Sam in years. She hadn’t seen Sam until… this morning. Her eyes finally opened and she sat up, cringing. The light was a dim grey, and every muscle in Brooke’s body ached. She looked around. Sam was right next to her, staring at her, eyes and face red as they always were when she had been blubbering.
“Brooke…” Sam’s voice quavered. Brooke narrowed her eyes.
“Are you going to be mean to me? Because I have the mother of all headaches right now.”
“No! I- I thought you were dead.” Sam sniffed. “I thought I had screwed up again and you were dead.”
“Again?” Brooke tried to move her arm to press against her aching temple, but her shoulder suddenly flared with pain, and she gasped, shuddering. “Oh, shit!”
“Are you okay?”
“I think I fucked up my shoulder,” Brooke breathed out, cupping her injured arm to her chest. “Oh no!” she suddenly remembered, “My camera!’
“It’s here,” said Sam, sounding weak. Brooke saw it on the floor by Sam’s hand, picked it up and examined it. The lens had cracked, but as far as she could tell the camera itself was sound. Then she looked at Sam, not liking that faded voice.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m glad I come after your camera in importance,” Sam grumbled, and Brooke almost smiled. She hadn’t heard that petulance in so long.
“Well, I was considering trying to work out where we are and what happens next, first, but you sound like crap. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Sam muttered.
Brooke looked her over. She was sitting oddly, her leg twisted under her, and both her hands pressed against the floor, her arms tense, as if she was holding herself up.
“Yeah? So you don’t mind when I do this?” she prodded the twisted leg, and Sam made an airless gasping that was worse than if she had screamed. “Shit! Sam. You’re a mess.”
Tears were trickling down her face. “Just shut up, Brooke.”
“Well, what are we going to do?” Brooke glanced around. Somehow they had ended up in the lobby of the building they had been hiding in the doorway of. Broken glass was under them, and Brooke examined her torn cords and the lacerations on her thighs and shins. A huge slab of concrete had covered the door, rubble filling in the cracks. The light came from far above, and as Brooke watched, it was fading. She must have been unconscious all day.
“Do you have your cell phone?”
“I left it home today,” Sam muttered. “Where’s yours?”
“Wherever my bag is.” Brooke looked for it once more, but there was no sign of it. Sam also tried to turn, but gasped, as an odd scraping noise echoed through the room.
“Are you on glass, Sam?”
There was only a whimper in response. Brooke pursed her lips and then staggered to her feet, trying not to jostle her injured shoulder. She found a piece of curved metal and used it to clear a place of glass. Then she crouched down next to Sam and noticed the blood trickling from the side of her face that she had kept turned away. She had been hit. Tiny lines patterned her skin, all shooting in one direction. There was a piece of glass still embedded in her cheek, wedged against her jaw. It looked deep and it was still bleeding freely. Brooke didn’t know if she should try and take it out or not. She thought she remembered something about glass working its way into wounds if they were left alone. It could have been a myth. She didn’t know and couldn’t remember where she had heard it.
“Can you taste blood in your mouth?”
Sam shook her head a tiny bit. Okay, not punctured.
“Do you know how deep it is? Can you feel the edge on the inside?”
“I can’t feel anything, hurts.” She wasn’t really opening her mouth while talking. Finally Brooke felt well enough to be afraid.
“Open your mouth for me?”
Sam gave her a panicked look, way too much like a frightened animal. But she parted her lips and Brooke slid her fingers inside, and gently brushed her fingers over the inside of Sam’s cheek. Sam made a choked sound that probably would have been a wail without Brooke’s hand in her mouth. Brooke withdrew her wet fingers and searched for her lens polisher.
“Sammy, I’m going to get the glass out of your face, okay?”
Sam sniffled. “I don’t want you to look after me.” Then she flinched. Every time she spoke it must be digging in farther.
“Well, it’s me or no one right now.” Brooke touched Sam’s cheek softly. “Ready?” Sam eyed her with suspicion. Brooke leaned in so their noses brushed. “It’s okay.”
She pressed her fingers up against Sam’s cheek, not touching the glass, not risking pushing it in farther, and then in one move pinched the glass out, and pressed her lips to Sam’s. Still kissing Sam she tossed the glass away and pressed the handkerchief to her face, staunching the blood. She felt Sam jerk as she registered the pain, and pulled away.
Sam was staring at her with a look between horror and mortification. “What? Why did you…?”
Brooke grinned sadly. “Didn’t feel a thing, did you?” It served her right that the first time and likely last she kissed Sam was to distract her from a field operation.
Sam ducked her head, but didn’t jerk away from Brooke’s hand that was pressing the cloth to her face. She was scowling as much as she could. “I think you overestimate the anethesiac effects of your kisses.”
Brooke laughed, and then cringed as it jostled her shoulder. “I thought it was my best bet. Do you think you can move a little to the non-glass area?”
Sam eyed it, and then her leg. “Maybe if you hold me up a little.”
Brooke gave her her good arm and let her cling to it as she swung the few inches over to the clean area. She whimpered when she settled down again. Brooke did her best to adjust her so she wouldn’t have to keep all her weight on her hands. Finally with only a wince, Sam was able to sit on her butt, one leg twisted awkwardly in front of her, and the other bent over it.
“You have any more glass in you?”
Sam brushed absently at her cargo pants. “I’m good.”
“Great.” Brooke sank down and rested her head against Sam’s shoulder. It was strange. They were trapped in a crumbling building. It was getting dark. They were both injured and bleeding. And yet for a moment she felt like they were back at the Palace, on the couch. She wished they were.
* * *