Live Free or Die Hard Fanfic: "Committed"
Title: Committed
Fandom: Live Free or Die Hard
Characters: John/Matt
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1547
Summary: Apparently corralling wild cops is one of his life skills, Matt thinks as he hurries down the hall. Who knew?
Notes: Written for smallfandomfest for the prompt "committed".
Committed
by Severina
Matt is chatting with Rosie at the nurse's station when he hears the bellowing from John's room.
Okay, maybe bellowing is an overstatement. Matt has heard John bellow, and it's a lot gruffer and meaner than the noise that's currently spilling into the hall. Bellowing also usually means that someone's about to get run down by an SUV or dropped down an elevator shaft, and the chances of a random bad guy appearing in John's room have got to be at least three to one. Also, the elevator is way the hell down at the other end of the hall. So yeah, this is not bellowing. But it sure sounds like bellowing may be on the horizon.
Matt holds up a hand to Rosie, who raises her eyebrows and gestures him down the hall. In the week and a half that they've been in the hospital, all the nurses have happily acquiesced to his new role as McClane Wrangler, especially after they saw how adeptly he handled the Lime Green Jello incident.
Apparently corralling wild cops is one of his life skills, Matt thinks as he hurries down the hall. Who knew?
* * *
"…out of your goddamn mind," John is saying when Matt pushes the door open.
Matt takes in the situation with one quick glance. The doctor has his lips pressed together and is doing his best to maintain a modicum of bedside manner and John is slouched atop his covers in ratty sweatpants and an old wifebeater, but it's still classic gunfighter mode. Get McClane out of that bed and transport them back a hundred years and they'd both have hands twitching at their holsters.
The doctor takes a deep breath, fingers white on his clipboard. "As I've said," he says primly, "it's impossible for us to release you at this time, Officer McClane."
"It's Detective," McClane says. "Jeeeesus, how many times I gotta tell you that?"
"He really hates it when you get that wrong," Matt says helpfully when the doctor sighs. He lifts a hand, proud that he only wobbles a little on the crutches when both men look in his direction. "Hey."
The doctor shakes his head before looking back to McClane. "You live alone. Do you have anyone that could stay with you for the next ten days? A relative, a neighbour?"
"Believe it or not, I can take care of myself. Been doing it for a hell of a lot of years."
"If you have no one to stay with you, then it's simply unreasonable to consider that you'll be able-"
"Listen to me, doc," McClane growls out, "I'm going home. Whether you like it or not."
"Detective McClane," the doctor says, "you still have a minimum of three shell fragments lodged in your-"
"I know what's there," John says irritably. "I'm the one that put 'em there, ain't I?"
"Until we're certain that the fragments are stationary, you have to be monitored for the next week to make sure-"
"If you think I'm going to lay around in here on my ass while-"
"I could stay with him," Matt interrupts. He swallows nervously when two sets of heads swivel abruptly in his direction, waves at his crutches. "I'm getting around a lot better on these things now. I could, you know, keep an eye on him. Make sure his shoulder's okay. Make sure he does his exercises."
The doctor regards him through his glasses, and Matt can practically see the wheels turning. He raises an eyebrow as the doctor weighs his options. And with Lucy out west with Holly and John being kind of a dick, there really isn't any other choice. The doctor's best bet is letting one invalid look after another, with the big advantage of both invalids being out of his hair. Finally the man's eyes narrow and he sighs again as he turns back to John. "Would that be acceptable to you, Detective?"
Matt tries not to look too eager, suddenly aware that he's sort of holding his breath. If John refuses, this might be one of the last times he sees the man. He'll just be expected to walk out the front door of the hospital tomorrow when he's discharged and go back to his old life. His boring, pointless non-John-McClane-filled life. And he didn't know it until just this second, but he wants to go home with John McClane. Wants to make sure that John takes his meds and does his physio and doesn't… fragment.
John leans back on the pillow, crosses his arms at his chest. "Doesn't look like I've got a choice, does it?" he grouses.
The doctor slaps his clipboard together with a decisive snap. "Then that’s settled. I'll begin processing the paperwork."
Matt waits until the door has slipped closed behind the doctor before he hobbles over to the chair and lower himself into it with a grunt. He's getting around better, but that doesn't mean he's actually good. In fact, his knee hurts like a son of a bitch, he's late for his painkillers and he really, really hopes there's no stairs at McClane's place. He leans his crutches against the bed, puts the worries aside to smile tentatively at John. "So," he says. "We're gonna be roomies."
McClane grunts.
"Wow," Matt muses, "I haven't had a roommate since freshman year of college. Of course, that was also my only year of college. I didn't really fit in, with the whole conforming to a rigid academic and social structure thing. Institutions of higher learning don't care about letting you be creative, you know? Oh, they say they do, but it's really all about conforming to standardized testing and parroting back whatever bullshit archaic theory the professor is spouting, when meanwhile the really interesting thing that you've spent months developing and could literally change the world languishes because it doesn't correspond to…" Matt swallows at John's blank stare, shakes his head. "Ancient history. Anyway. Grant Schumann. That was my roommate. Geez, I haven't thought about him in years. He used to get up in the middle of the night to wash his sweat socks in the sink. It was weird."
When McClane merely looks away and fumbles for the TV remote with his good arm, Matt sighs. "Look, I know I sort of just invited myself to live with you-"
John stops his groping at the sheets to give him the patented eyebrow lift of which he's become so accustomed over the past week and a half. "Sort of?"
"You didn't exactly give the doctor much of a choice! And it's not like I have anywhere else to go now that my apartment's been blown to smithereens. Not," he adds quickly, "that that's the reason why I wanted to be with… there's other reasons that… I mean, you need help, McClane. There's nothing wrong with asking for help. Besides, you have to admit it might be nice to have someone around for a change. And hey, you won't have to eat alone."
John side-glances him. "Do you know how to cook?"
"Pfft!" Matt says, leaning back in the chair. "Do I know how to cook? Do I know how to cook."
"S'what I asked."
"Well… okay… no," Matt admits. "But I am adept at heating up frozen pizza. And I have the phone numbers of at least, oh, seven Chinese delivery places committed to memory."
"Frozen pizza is one of the biggest advances of modern times," John says solemnly.
"Right?" Matt says. "And the best part is, there's no clean up. Eat it right out of the box."
"You're a man after my own heart," John says.
Matt looks down, fiddles with his hands. Intellectually he knows it's just a saying, but… maybe he didn't think this through. He's going to be living with John McClane. Seeing him first thing in the morning and last thing before he goes to bed. Helping him do his exercises, watching his muscles bend and flex, smelling the sweat on his skin. Breathing his air and getting to know him better and maybe, just maybe, this thing he's already feeling for John will only get bigger and stronger until he can't control it.
What is it John always says? Maybe this is a very bad idea.
"You sure you wanna do this, kid?" John asks. "I know I'm not the easiest guy to get along with."
Matt looks up quickly. It's an out, if he wants to take it. But much as he fears what might happen, he also realizes he's got everything riding on it, too. He simply can't go back to his life the way it was. He can't go back to a world without John McClane in it. He hopes the anxiety doesn't show in his face when he shrugs. "We'll be fine. Besides, I can't get out of it now. The doctor's already filling out forms, he'd have to start all over, he'd probably lower my Demerol dosage in retribution or something." He shakes his hair out of his eyes, takes a deep breath and smiles. "I'm already committed, McClane."
John holds his gaze for a long moment before he nods once, slowly. "I'm gonna hold you to that, kid," he says.
.
Fandom: Live Free or Die Hard
Characters: John/Matt
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1547
Summary: Apparently corralling wild cops is one of his life skills, Matt thinks as he hurries down the hall. Who knew?
Notes: Written for smallfandomfest for the prompt "committed".
Committed
by Severina
Matt is chatting with Rosie at the nurse's station when he hears the bellowing from John's room.
Okay, maybe bellowing is an overstatement. Matt has heard John bellow, and it's a lot gruffer and meaner than the noise that's currently spilling into the hall. Bellowing also usually means that someone's about to get run down by an SUV or dropped down an elevator shaft, and the chances of a random bad guy appearing in John's room have got to be at least three to one. Also, the elevator is way the hell down at the other end of the hall. So yeah, this is not bellowing. But it sure sounds like bellowing may be on the horizon.
Matt holds up a hand to Rosie, who raises her eyebrows and gestures him down the hall. In the week and a half that they've been in the hospital, all the nurses have happily acquiesced to his new role as McClane Wrangler, especially after they saw how adeptly he handled the Lime Green Jello incident.
Apparently corralling wild cops is one of his life skills, Matt thinks as he hurries down the hall. Who knew?
* * *
"…out of your goddamn mind," John is saying when Matt pushes the door open.
Matt takes in the situation with one quick glance. The doctor has his lips pressed together and is doing his best to maintain a modicum of bedside manner and John is slouched atop his covers in ratty sweatpants and an old wifebeater, but it's still classic gunfighter mode. Get McClane out of that bed and transport them back a hundred years and they'd both have hands twitching at their holsters.
The doctor takes a deep breath, fingers white on his clipboard. "As I've said," he says primly, "it's impossible for us to release you at this time, Officer McClane."
"It's Detective," McClane says. "Jeeeesus, how many times I gotta tell you that?"
"He really hates it when you get that wrong," Matt says helpfully when the doctor sighs. He lifts a hand, proud that he only wobbles a little on the crutches when both men look in his direction. "Hey."
The doctor shakes his head before looking back to McClane. "You live alone. Do you have anyone that could stay with you for the next ten days? A relative, a neighbour?"
"Believe it or not, I can take care of myself. Been doing it for a hell of a lot of years."
"If you have no one to stay with you, then it's simply unreasonable to consider that you'll be able-"
"Listen to me, doc," McClane growls out, "I'm going home. Whether you like it or not."
"Detective McClane," the doctor says, "you still have a minimum of three shell fragments lodged in your-"
"I know what's there," John says irritably. "I'm the one that put 'em there, ain't I?"
"Until we're certain that the fragments are stationary, you have to be monitored for the next week to make sure-"
"If you think I'm going to lay around in here on my ass while-"
"I could stay with him," Matt interrupts. He swallows nervously when two sets of heads swivel abruptly in his direction, waves at his crutches. "I'm getting around a lot better on these things now. I could, you know, keep an eye on him. Make sure his shoulder's okay. Make sure he does his exercises."
The doctor regards him through his glasses, and Matt can practically see the wheels turning. He raises an eyebrow as the doctor weighs his options. And with Lucy out west with Holly and John being kind of a dick, there really isn't any other choice. The doctor's best bet is letting one invalid look after another, with the big advantage of both invalids being out of his hair. Finally the man's eyes narrow and he sighs again as he turns back to John. "Would that be acceptable to you, Detective?"
Matt tries not to look too eager, suddenly aware that he's sort of holding his breath. If John refuses, this might be one of the last times he sees the man. He'll just be expected to walk out the front door of the hospital tomorrow when he's discharged and go back to his old life. His boring, pointless non-John-McClane-filled life. And he didn't know it until just this second, but he wants to go home with John McClane. Wants to make sure that John takes his meds and does his physio and doesn't… fragment.
John leans back on the pillow, crosses his arms at his chest. "Doesn't look like I've got a choice, does it?" he grouses.
The doctor slaps his clipboard together with a decisive snap. "Then that’s settled. I'll begin processing the paperwork."
Matt waits until the door has slipped closed behind the doctor before he hobbles over to the chair and lower himself into it with a grunt. He's getting around better, but that doesn't mean he's actually good. In fact, his knee hurts like a son of a bitch, he's late for his painkillers and he really, really hopes there's no stairs at McClane's place. He leans his crutches against the bed, puts the worries aside to smile tentatively at John. "So," he says. "We're gonna be roomies."
McClane grunts.
"Wow," Matt muses, "I haven't had a roommate since freshman year of college. Of course, that was also my only year of college. I didn't really fit in, with the whole conforming to a rigid academic and social structure thing. Institutions of higher learning don't care about letting you be creative, you know? Oh, they say they do, but it's really all about conforming to standardized testing and parroting back whatever bullshit archaic theory the professor is spouting, when meanwhile the really interesting thing that you've spent months developing and could literally change the world languishes because it doesn't correspond to…" Matt swallows at John's blank stare, shakes his head. "Ancient history. Anyway. Grant Schumann. That was my roommate. Geez, I haven't thought about him in years. He used to get up in the middle of the night to wash his sweat socks in the sink. It was weird."
When McClane merely looks away and fumbles for the TV remote with his good arm, Matt sighs. "Look, I know I sort of just invited myself to live with you-"
John stops his groping at the sheets to give him the patented eyebrow lift of which he's become so accustomed over the past week and a half. "Sort of?"
"You didn't exactly give the doctor much of a choice! And it's not like I have anywhere else to go now that my apartment's been blown to smithereens. Not," he adds quickly, "that that's the reason why I wanted to be with… there's other reasons that… I mean, you need help, McClane. There's nothing wrong with asking for help. Besides, you have to admit it might be nice to have someone around for a change. And hey, you won't have to eat alone."
John side-glances him. "Do you know how to cook?"
"Pfft!" Matt says, leaning back in the chair. "Do I know how to cook? Do I know how to cook."
"S'what I asked."
"Well… okay… no," Matt admits. "But I am adept at heating up frozen pizza. And I have the phone numbers of at least, oh, seven Chinese delivery places committed to memory."
"Frozen pizza is one of the biggest advances of modern times," John says solemnly.
"Right?" Matt says. "And the best part is, there's no clean up. Eat it right out of the box."
"You're a man after my own heart," John says.
Matt looks down, fiddles with his hands. Intellectually he knows it's just a saying, but… maybe he didn't think this through. He's going to be living with John McClane. Seeing him first thing in the morning and last thing before he goes to bed. Helping him do his exercises, watching his muscles bend and flex, smelling the sweat on his skin. Breathing his air and getting to know him better and maybe, just maybe, this thing he's already feeling for John will only get bigger and stronger until he can't control it.
What is it John always says? Maybe this is a very bad idea.
"You sure you wanna do this, kid?" John asks. "I know I'm not the easiest guy to get along with."
Matt looks up quickly. It's an out, if he wants to take it. But much as he fears what might happen, he also realizes he's got everything riding on it, too. He simply can't go back to his life the way it was. He can't go back to a world without John McClane in it. He hopes the anxiety doesn't show in his face when he shrugs. "We'll be fine. Besides, I can't get out of it now. The doctor's already filling out forms, he'd have to start all over, he'd probably lower my Demerol dosage in retribution or something." He shakes his hair out of his eyes, takes a deep breath and smiles. "I'm already committed, McClane."
John holds his gaze for a long moment before he nods once, slowly. "I'm gonna hold you to that, kid," he says.
.