thirty pieces and counting. (Chuck)
Title: thirty pieces and counting.
Pairing/s: Charles Bartowski/Bryce Larkin
Rating: ..PG?
Word count: 310
Warnings: V. much AU. And Bryce and Chuck are dysfunctional. This is not surprising.
Disclaimers: All elements borrowed from Chuck ( = approx. all) are not mine. Also, most of the dialogue is borrowed from Chuck vs the Alma Mater. On purpose, yes. :D?
Summary: 'It’s like playing in the library stacks again, only this time with real guns.' Chuck vs the What-If-He'd-Been-Recruited-By-The-CIA.
It’s like playing in the library stacks again, only this time with real guns. Charles’s eye is well-trained; his finger has pressed this trigger before. “All right,” he says, tones clear but hushed. Silence in the library. “Come out, Bryce.”
A rustle from the right; distraction or the real thing, Charles isn’t sure. “Give it up, Buddy,” he continues, voice friendly and light. “I know you’re out of ammo.” His finger tightens on the trigger momentarily, just a hair from firing. “I’ve been counting.”
Beside him, Bryce makes a move. Charles has his gun trained on him within a second; Bryce’s hands shoot up reflexively. “Buddy,” he says, eyes not leaving Charles’s. “You wouldn’t fire on an unarmed guy.”
Charles shifts his weight for better balance, twists his mouth up into something that is not quite a grimace. “I might. It’s hardly sportsmanlike, but.”
They’re almost close enough to touch, much closer than they should be. Bryce counts nine ways he could disarm Charles, all of them lethal; Charles has almost limitless possibilities for dispatching Bryce. They are locked in check, neither one willing to make the first move.
Bryce extends a hand, lets it graze a deep cut on Charles’s cheek. His voice is soft, concerned, at odds with their current position: “What’s this?”
The crack of the butt of Charles’s gun hitting Bryce’s head fills the stacks. Charles catches Bryce before he can fall, sets him down gently, pats down his pockets for the electronic device he was sent to retrieve. Once he has it in his grasp, he presses a rough kiss to Bryce’s lips. “Call an ambulance for you later.”
His phone is small, compact, scrambled frequencies and untraceable. “This is Major Charles Bartowski. I have located Bryce Larkin and retrieved the Intersect. I repeat, I have retrieved the Intersect. Proceeding to the drop-off point now.”
Pairing/s: Charles Bartowski/Bryce Larkin
Rating: ..PG?
Word count: 310
Warnings: V. much AU. And Bryce and Chuck are dysfunctional. This is not surprising.
Disclaimers: All elements borrowed from Chuck ( = approx. all) are not mine. Also, most of the dialogue is borrowed from Chuck vs the Alma Mater. On purpose, yes. :D?
Summary: 'It’s like playing in the library stacks again, only this time with real guns.' Chuck vs the What-If-He'd-Been-Recruited-By-The-CIA.
It’s like playing in the library stacks again, only this time with real guns. Charles’s eye is well-trained; his finger has pressed this trigger before. “All right,” he says, tones clear but hushed. Silence in the library. “Come out, Bryce.”
A rustle from the right; distraction or the real thing, Charles isn’t sure. “Give it up, Buddy,” he continues, voice friendly and light. “I know you’re out of ammo.” His finger tightens on the trigger momentarily, just a hair from firing. “I’ve been counting.”
Beside him, Bryce makes a move. Charles has his gun trained on him within a second; Bryce’s hands shoot up reflexively. “Buddy,” he says, eyes not leaving Charles’s. “You wouldn’t fire on an unarmed guy.”
Charles shifts his weight for better balance, twists his mouth up into something that is not quite a grimace. “I might. It’s hardly sportsmanlike, but.”
They’re almost close enough to touch, much closer than they should be. Bryce counts nine ways he could disarm Charles, all of them lethal; Charles has almost limitless possibilities for dispatching Bryce. They are locked in check, neither one willing to make the first move.
Bryce extends a hand, lets it graze a deep cut on Charles’s cheek. His voice is soft, concerned, at odds with their current position: “What’s this?”
The crack of the butt of Charles’s gun hitting Bryce’s head fills the stacks. Charles catches Bryce before he can fall, sets him down gently, pats down his pockets for the electronic device he was sent to retrieve. Once he has it in his grasp, he presses a rough kiss to Bryce’s lips. “Call an ambulance for you later.”
His phone is small, compact, scrambled frequencies and untraceable. “This is Major Charles Bartowski. I have located Bryce Larkin and retrieved the Intersect. I repeat, I have retrieved the Intersect. Proceeding to the drop-off point now.”