Fic: International Men of Mystery and Mishaps.
Title: In which there are explosions and a helicopter and Fyre is rather incompetent.
Verse: International MEN OF MYSTERY.
Characters/pairing: Fyre, Avery, Ricker
Rating: PG. I do blow things up however! Also, rather obvious Man!Adoration!
Summary: It's been six days and it's about time Avery comes home.
Disclaimer: Avery and Ricker are Downloadstone's!
Avery looked like shit.
Fyre’s hands shook as he got out his knife, cutting the plastic that bound Avery’s wrists together behind the chair. He used his other arm to catch the man as he pitched forward, a low rumbling sound emerging from the back of his throat as he felt the other man jerk. The room they were in was fairly basic, white tiled walls with a mirror along one side, looking far too much like the ones they had back at HQ for his piece of mind.
Fyre’d killed the men standing behind the mirror himself. They’d been laughing about something until his knife made it through the first man’s neck, hand reaching out and crushing the windpipe of the second. The benefit of having the brute strength to do that meant it was less messy than it could have been.
The blood spraying against the backside of the mirror was satisfying, though.
Avery’s cheek was split open down to his jaw, his lips cracked and bleeding. His left eye was swollen shut, the skin black with a fresh bruise. A cut above his eye had caked that side of his face in blood and the rumbling became a full snarl as Fyre pulled Avery up, getting his arms over his shoulders and sliding an arm under his legs, hefting him up and holding him while keeping his left hand free for his gun. He didn’t like the way Avery’s right arm was hanging against his shoulder but there wasn’t much he could do about that now.
Ricker was almost jittery when he walked out, and went to speak before he saw the look on Fyre’s face. The Italian man looked like he was about to start killing people if it wasn’t for Avery slumped against him and Ricker’s stomach jumped.
“We have to find another way out. They know we’re here.” He said instead and Fyre nodded, raising his free hand to steady Avery’s head against his neck before he spun on his heel, heading down the hall the opposite way they’d come. Their boots sounded loud against the concrete floor, echoing a little. So much for stealthy, but they couldn’t break in without tripping SOME sort of alarm, no matter how hard they’d tried.
It was strange, that Avery would feel that light. Fyre knew the physics of it. The longer he carried the man the heavier he would seem until it felt like he was crawling through molasses but right now he felt like he could carry five of him.
Six days. Avery’d been gone for six days and he already felt lighter than he should. He still had all his own clothes on and Fyre was grateful for that. He wouldn’t know exactly what had happened to him until they got him back but he was so -light-.
Ricker held up a hand to stop him and he halted, free hand going down and pulling his gun out of the holster. The lights flickered overhead before steadying and Ricker swore softly, grabbing the man walking by them by the scalp and twisting his arms, snapping his neck and pulling him back into the side hallway with them in one swift movement. He’d had reservations about having the American on their team at first but he was now used to the sometimes scary level of competence the man exuded when he was on the job. Ricker flashed him a grin, all green eyes and blonde hair (boy next door) before he looked around the corner again, waving him forward.
Avery chose at that moment to wake up a little. Fyre tightened his hold on him, tilting his head and keeping up a low grade mumble, making sure the smaller man could hear him as they walked briskly down the hallway.
“Ciao, l'amore. Benvenuti indietro.” He muttered, keeping his eyes on the hallway ahead of them as Avery’s bruised and bloody arms tightened around his neck. He tensed, a soft, pained noise let out against his shoulder and Fyre’s grip on him tightened. “You’re okay. We’re going home, caro. You’re going to be fine.”
Avery swore in response as he started to get feeling back and Fyre walked that little bit faster, arm tightening over his legs. He could hear them shouting now. Fucking Germans.
“Dude, we’re going to have to run.” Ricker called over his shoulder, his gun out and in his hand. Fyre’s stomach clenched in apprehension and Avery’s arms tightened on him as if he knew, though the haze of pain, that it was going to hurt even more before they were done.
“Mi spiace, l'amore. This won’t take long.” He said as he shifted his hold on Avery, breaking into a run. The younger man bit back a groan of pain, his arms tight around Fyre’s neck, dark hair brushing the underside of his jaw as he ran. Avery’s eyes were screwed shut against the sheer agony of being moved around like that and Fyre was worried he was exacerbating some existing wound or condition but they had to get -out- of there. There was literally light at the end of the tunnel and they froze near the doorway, trapped between the sounds of people running down the corridor after them and the sounds of the helicopter outside.
They certainly hadn’t brought a helicopter. Ricker swallowed, using his knife to look around the corner.
“Our truck’s just out there. I’ll go get it.” Ricker said, his voice tight and thick with fear. He flashed them a grin and darted off and Avery laughed against Fyre’s neck, mumbling against his collar.
“He’s not human.”
Fyre snorted, everything he was feeling shut tight in the little box at the back of his mind. He tried to formulate a response but was cut off by the sound of a machine gun, his grip on Avery tightening as he watched for the truck Ricker had promised to get. The roar of an engine let him release a little of the tension and when Ricker pulled up Fyre didn’t hesitate to run out there, bundling Avery in the back and clambering in after him.
“-Drive-.”
Ricker floored it and Avery was pressed into his side, his arm going around the smaller man automatically to shield him from impact. Avery made a soft, pained noise and squeezed his eyes closed before, mercifully, he passed out. Fyre jammed the seatbelt on him, knowing it would only take seconds to get it off and it was safer with it than without before pulling his gun again, clambering through the back of the cab towards the front, eyes on the sky. It was overcast, which worked in their favour before. But now, knowing there was a chopper out there but not being able to see it? It was infuriating,
“How long until we get to the tunnel?” He asked, ignoring the way the skin around Ricker’s mouth tightened as he frowned. They had a car stashed in the tunnel, faster than the jeep. And outfitted with guns he could use. Better than this fucking peashooter he had.
“Four minutes, give or take.” The blonde said, veering off a little as the light from the helicopter flashed beside them, followed by a line of bullets that smashed through the rearview mirror. Ricker swore loudly when the glass cut into his arm but he didn’t react otherwise, keeping his eyes on the road and his hands on the wheel, blood dripping down onto his pants.
The whir of the blades cut through the air as they came around for another shot and Fyre pulled his window down, snarling. He got it halfway before he settled for breaking it with the butt of his gun, shattering the remainder and firing out at the cockpit.
He was right about the gun not being very effective. He’d hoped he’d get a lucky shot in but no dice; the woman piloting the helicopter just laughed, veering off to the side to avoid the cliff face, bringing the aircraft around for another shot. Ricker was speeding dangerously, especially on a windy road like this one, boxes in the back of the truck shifting to the side.
Hit by a sudden flash of inspiration he clambered into the back of the jeep, reaching to open one of the boxes as the chopper came over the cliff for another try.
“Ricker, keep as steady as you can!” He called, lifting the machine gun out of the crate. He checked the clip quickly, relieved to find that it was loaded before he shoved the top off the truck, cutting through the material with his knife and tearing it out of the way.
The woman’s eyes widened, pink hair falling comically across her goggles before she veered off to the side as Fyre shot at her, bullets plinking against the side of the machine. He must’ve hit the fuel tank because the craft wobbled, a thin stream of liquid bursting out the side. The hole wasn’t nearly big enough to stop her from killing them if she really, honestly wanted to but she veered off, turning back towards their base.
He heard the roar of another engine and swore, holding onto the side of the truck for balance as Ricker turned sharply.
“Does it ever fucking STOP?” Ricker snarled at him as spun the wheel, the tunnel looming ahead like the mouth of some giant beast.
Fyre didn’t reply, his mouth set in a thin, determined line as he rummaged around for another clip, the gun a little hot in his hand. Cheap piece of shit. He shot the tires out on the lead car and it seemed to leap off the road, careening down the cliff face like some demented snowball. The other car veered as he shot at it and pulled up closer, the passenger sticking his head out the window with his gun. The Italian man was more surprised than the man he was shooting at when his head hit an outcropping on the cliff face with a sickening crunch, his face peeling off along with most of his lower jaw. The driver swore and pulled aside, slowing down and giving them the extra lead they needed to get ahead and away.
Swallowing bile, Fyre ducked back down as they entered the tunnel and Ricker pulled up, turning the car off and watching as the cars that were following them sped past in the dark. The first one tried to break as they scrambled out of the truck, Ricker helping him get Avery out and into the car they had waiting, popping the boot on the way through.
Fyre grabbed the first grenade he could get his hands on, throwing it into the window of the second car to go through. The driver braked as his passenger tried to throw it out of the car but it was too late as they were plowed into by the following car. The first, having already come back, hit them from the front and they exploded in a rather impressive looking fireball, both men watching as Avery made pained noises from the back seat of the car. The debris sprang back down the tunnel and Fyre tugged Rice rout of the way, feeling a sharp sting on his face and the soft sizzle of a burn, cauterizing the wound. It still -hurt- though and he brought his arm up to protect himself.
“Guys?” came a querulous voice from the back seat, shocked awake fully by the explosion. Fyre leaned in the back door almost instantly, dark hair falling in his face and talking to him as Avery started to pass out again.
“It’s okay. We’ll be home soon.”
---
Avery woke up with a sharp jolt when they were putting the IV in his arm, disoriented and pained. His thrashing was abruptly halted by a large, warm hand on his shoulder, Fyre talking to him quietly as he struggled to hold still and listen.
“It’s just Tai. We’ve got you, Avery. You’re safe.”
Fyre’s hand was warm as it slipped down his arm to his hand and he had a moment to spare to say “You look like utter arse,” before his eyes closed and he was down and out again.
The second time he woke up, Fyre was still holding his hand. He had it raised to his lips, his eyes closed and Avery tried to speak but his throat felt constricted and dry. Fyre had his eyes squeezed shut, his mouth moving against his fingers and Avery’s stomach twisted a little as he started to make out what he was saying.
“Ave, o Maria, piena di grazia, il Signore è con te. Tu sei benedetta fra le donne, e benedetto è il frutto del tuo seno, Gesù. Santa Maria, Madre di Dio, prega per noi peccatori, adesso e nell'ora della nostra morte. Amen.”
He’d never had someone pray for him before. He managed to make some sort of noise because Fyre’s head snapped up, fingers tightening around his hand for a moment before he lowered their hands, looking him over. His skin was warm and Avery suppressed the urge to just crawl all over him and hide. The beeping sound of the heart monitor was set to drive him insane however, and the roof really was very, very white.
Fyre seemed to know what he wanted before he even opened his mouth, reaching over and getting the glass of water and the straw that someone’d left on the bedside table. Probably Tai. Turning his head, he started in surprise when he saw Ricker asleep in the chair on the opposite side of the bed, his mouth half open in a snore.
“Small sips. I don’t want you throwing up.”
He looked worried, which Avery had realized long ago wasn’t a good thing. He did as he was told, thirsty and -tired- and Fyre’s voice followed him into sleep, a strange quality to it, free hand warm around his own.
“Padre nostro che sei nei cieli, sia santificato il tuo nome...”
Verse: International MEN OF MYSTERY.
Characters/pairing: Fyre, Avery, Ricker
Rating: PG. I do blow things up however! Also, rather obvious Man!Adoration!
Summary: It's been six days and it's about time Avery comes home.
Disclaimer: Avery and Ricker are Downloadstone's!
Avery looked like shit.
Fyre’s hands shook as he got out his knife, cutting the plastic that bound Avery’s wrists together behind the chair. He used his other arm to catch the man as he pitched forward, a low rumbling sound emerging from the back of his throat as he felt the other man jerk. The room they were in was fairly basic, white tiled walls with a mirror along one side, looking far too much like the ones they had back at HQ for his piece of mind.
Fyre’d killed the men standing behind the mirror himself. They’d been laughing about something until his knife made it through the first man’s neck, hand reaching out and crushing the windpipe of the second. The benefit of having the brute strength to do that meant it was less messy than it could have been.
The blood spraying against the backside of the mirror was satisfying, though.
Avery’s cheek was split open down to his jaw, his lips cracked and bleeding. His left eye was swollen shut, the skin black with a fresh bruise. A cut above his eye had caked that side of his face in blood and the rumbling became a full snarl as Fyre pulled Avery up, getting his arms over his shoulders and sliding an arm under his legs, hefting him up and holding him while keeping his left hand free for his gun. He didn’t like the way Avery’s right arm was hanging against his shoulder but there wasn’t much he could do about that now.
Ricker was almost jittery when he walked out, and went to speak before he saw the look on Fyre’s face. The Italian man looked like he was about to start killing people if it wasn’t for Avery slumped against him and Ricker’s stomach jumped.
“We have to find another way out. They know we’re here.” He said instead and Fyre nodded, raising his free hand to steady Avery’s head against his neck before he spun on his heel, heading down the hall the opposite way they’d come. Their boots sounded loud against the concrete floor, echoing a little. So much for stealthy, but they couldn’t break in without tripping SOME sort of alarm, no matter how hard they’d tried.
It was strange, that Avery would feel that light. Fyre knew the physics of it. The longer he carried the man the heavier he would seem until it felt like he was crawling through molasses but right now he felt like he could carry five of him.
Six days. Avery’d been gone for six days and he already felt lighter than he should. He still had all his own clothes on and Fyre was grateful for that. He wouldn’t know exactly what had happened to him until they got him back but he was so -light-.
Ricker held up a hand to stop him and he halted, free hand going down and pulling his gun out of the holster. The lights flickered overhead before steadying and Ricker swore softly, grabbing the man walking by them by the scalp and twisting his arms, snapping his neck and pulling him back into the side hallway with them in one swift movement. He’d had reservations about having the American on their team at first but he was now used to the sometimes scary level of competence the man exuded when he was on the job. Ricker flashed him a grin, all green eyes and blonde hair (boy next door) before he looked around the corner again, waving him forward.
Avery chose at that moment to wake up a little. Fyre tightened his hold on him, tilting his head and keeping up a low grade mumble, making sure the smaller man could hear him as they walked briskly down the hallway.
“Ciao, l'amore. Benvenuti indietro.” He muttered, keeping his eyes on the hallway ahead of them as Avery’s bruised and bloody arms tightened around his neck. He tensed, a soft, pained noise let out against his shoulder and Fyre’s grip on him tightened. “You’re okay. We’re going home, caro. You’re going to be fine.”
Avery swore in response as he started to get feeling back and Fyre walked that little bit faster, arm tightening over his legs. He could hear them shouting now. Fucking Germans.
“Dude, we’re going to have to run.” Ricker called over his shoulder, his gun out and in his hand. Fyre’s stomach clenched in apprehension and Avery’s arms tightened on him as if he knew, though the haze of pain, that it was going to hurt even more before they were done.
“Mi spiace, l'amore. This won’t take long.” He said as he shifted his hold on Avery, breaking into a run. The younger man bit back a groan of pain, his arms tight around Fyre’s neck, dark hair brushing the underside of his jaw as he ran. Avery’s eyes were screwed shut against the sheer agony of being moved around like that and Fyre was worried he was exacerbating some existing wound or condition but they had to get -out- of there. There was literally light at the end of the tunnel and they froze near the doorway, trapped between the sounds of people running down the corridor after them and the sounds of the helicopter outside.
They certainly hadn’t brought a helicopter. Ricker swallowed, using his knife to look around the corner.
“Our truck’s just out there. I’ll go get it.” Ricker said, his voice tight and thick with fear. He flashed them a grin and darted off and Avery laughed against Fyre’s neck, mumbling against his collar.
“He’s not human.”
Fyre snorted, everything he was feeling shut tight in the little box at the back of his mind. He tried to formulate a response but was cut off by the sound of a machine gun, his grip on Avery tightening as he watched for the truck Ricker had promised to get. The roar of an engine let him release a little of the tension and when Ricker pulled up Fyre didn’t hesitate to run out there, bundling Avery in the back and clambering in after him.
“-Drive-.”
Ricker floored it and Avery was pressed into his side, his arm going around the smaller man automatically to shield him from impact. Avery made a soft, pained noise and squeezed his eyes closed before, mercifully, he passed out. Fyre jammed the seatbelt on him, knowing it would only take seconds to get it off and it was safer with it than without before pulling his gun again, clambering through the back of the cab towards the front, eyes on the sky. It was overcast, which worked in their favour before. But now, knowing there was a chopper out there but not being able to see it? It was infuriating,
“How long until we get to the tunnel?” He asked, ignoring the way the skin around Ricker’s mouth tightened as he frowned. They had a car stashed in the tunnel, faster than the jeep. And outfitted with guns he could use. Better than this fucking peashooter he had.
“Four minutes, give or take.” The blonde said, veering off a little as the light from the helicopter flashed beside them, followed by a line of bullets that smashed through the rearview mirror. Ricker swore loudly when the glass cut into his arm but he didn’t react otherwise, keeping his eyes on the road and his hands on the wheel, blood dripping down onto his pants.
The whir of the blades cut through the air as they came around for another shot and Fyre pulled his window down, snarling. He got it halfway before he settled for breaking it with the butt of his gun, shattering the remainder and firing out at the cockpit.
He was right about the gun not being very effective. He’d hoped he’d get a lucky shot in but no dice; the woman piloting the helicopter just laughed, veering off to the side to avoid the cliff face, bringing the aircraft around for another shot. Ricker was speeding dangerously, especially on a windy road like this one, boxes in the back of the truck shifting to the side.
Hit by a sudden flash of inspiration he clambered into the back of the jeep, reaching to open one of the boxes as the chopper came over the cliff for another try.
“Ricker, keep as steady as you can!” He called, lifting the machine gun out of the crate. He checked the clip quickly, relieved to find that it was loaded before he shoved the top off the truck, cutting through the material with his knife and tearing it out of the way.
The woman’s eyes widened, pink hair falling comically across her goggles before she veered off to the side as Fyre shot at her, bullets plinking against the side of the machine. He must’ve hit the fuel tank because the craft wobbled, a thin stream of liquid bursting out the side. The hole wasn’t nearly big enough to stop her from killing them if she really, honestly wanted to but she veered off, turning back towards their base.
He heard the roar of another engine and swore, holding onto the side of the truck for balance as Ricker turned sharply.
“Does it ever fucking STOP?” Ricker snarled at him as spun the wheel, the tunnel looming ahead like the mouth of some giant beast.
Fyre didn’t reply, his mouth set in a thin, determined line as he rummaged around for another clip, the gun a little hot in his hand. Cheap piece of shit. He shot the tires out on the lead car and it seemed to leap off the road, careening down the cliff face like some demented snowball. The other car veered as he shot at it and pulled up closer, the passenger sticking his head out the window with his gun. The Italian man was more surprised than the man he was shooting at when his head hit an outcropping on the cliff face with a sickening crunch, his face peeling off along with most of his lower jaw. The driver swore and pulled aside, slowing down and giving them the extra lead they needed to get ahead and away.
Swallowing bile, Fyre ducked back down as they entered the tunnel and Ricker pulled up, turning the car off and watching as the cars that were following them sped past in the dark. The first one tried to break as they scrambled out of the truck, Ricker helping him get Avery out and into the car they had waiting, popping the boot on the way through.
Fyre grabbed the first grenade he could get his hands on, throwing it into the window of the second car to go through. The driver braked as his passenger tried to throw it out of the car but it was too late as they were plowed into by the following car. The first, having already come back, hit them from the front and they exploded in a rather impressive looking fireball, both men watching as Avery made pained noises from the back seat of the car. The debris sprang back down the tunnel and Fyre tugged Rice rout of the way, feeling a sharp sting on his face and the soft sizzle of a burn, cauterizing the wound. It still -hurt- though and he brought his arm up to protect himself.
“Guys?” came a querulous voice from the back seat, shocked awake fully by the explosion. Fyre leaned in the back door almost instantly, dark hair falling in his face and talking to him as Avery started to pass out again.
“It’s okay. We’ll be home soon.”
---
Avery woke up with a sharp jolt when they were putting the IV in his arm, disoriented and pained. His thrashing was abruptly halted by a large, warm hand on his shoulder, Fyre talking to him quietly as he struggled to hold still and listen.
“It’s just Tai. We’ve got you, Avery. You’re safe.”
Fyre’s hand was warm as it slipped down his arm to his hand and he had a moment to spare to say “You look like utter arse,” before his eyes closed and he was down and out again.
The second time he woke up, Fyre was still holding his hand. He had it raised to his lips, his eyes closed and Avery tried to speak but his throat felt constricted and dry. Fyre had his eyes squeezed shut, his mouth moving against his fingers and Avery’s stomach twisted a little as he started to make out what he was saying.
“Ave, o Maria, piena di grazia, il Signore è con te. Tu sei benedetta fra le donne, e benedetto è il frutto del tuo seno, Gesù. Santa Maria, Madre di Dio, prega per noi peccatori, adesso e nell'ora della nostra morte. Amen.”
He’d never had someone pray for him before. He managed to make some sort of noise because Fyre’s head snapped up, fingers tightening around his hand for a moment before he lowered their hands, looking him over. His skin was warm and Avery suppressed the urge to just crawl all over him and hide. The beeping sound of the heart monitor was set to drive him insane however, and the roof really was very, very white.
Fyre seemed to know what he wanted before he even opened his mouth, reaching over and getting the glass of water and the straw that someone’d left on the bedside table. Probably Tai. Turning his head, he started in surprise when he saw Ricker asleep in the chair on the opposite side of the bed, his mouth half open in a snore.
“Small sips. I don’t want you throwing up.”
He looked worried, which Avery had realized long ago wasn’t a good thing. He did as he was told, thirsty and -tired- and Fyre’s voice followed him into sleep, a strange quality to it, free hand warm around his own.
“Padre nostro che sei nei cieli, sia santificato il tuo nome...”