Fic: Jack/Renee [Broken Heroes]
Oct. 21st, 2010 02:37 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
leigh57Well! It's pretty clear that comment fic is not my forte. I need to learn from ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sardonicynic. In any case, four out of five so far have come in under comment length, and I'm absolutely determined the last three will, too. So for cybertoothtiger, here's one more that did: Jack/Renee [Not Without].
And this one is forcentury_fox, inspired by this lovely prompt. AU (I guess it could be either post S7 or S8), a little language. marinw, he's not in the hospital (I had to shelve that one for the moment), but at least he's all vulnerable? *G*
adrenalin211 and lowriseflare, you rock for commenting even on silly ficlets and being the best cheerleaders ever:)
“Can you lift your shoulder a little? I need to see if the bleeding is slowing down.” Renee looked toward the window. She’d drawn the cheap polyester curtains as soon as she’d locked and chained the hotel room door behind her and eased Jack’s trembling, sweaty body down on the slippery bedspread. Headlights from the highway lit the window at frequent but unpredictable intervals, and she could hear the wail of a siren, but the sound was becoming fainter so she didn’t add that to her list of reasons to panic.
She had enough of those already.
Eyes closed, Jack obediently leaned sideways, and Renee peeled back the fresh bandage she’d slapped over his shoulder when she pulled off the road half an hour ago. There was blood, but much less than last time. “It’s better. I’ll change the dressing again as soon as I check the room.”
“We can’t stay here.” Jack’s voice was a rough whisper. “We need to keep moving.”
Renee lifted her gun from the bedside table and walked to the door, listening. The hallway outside was silent, which wasn’t surprising at 2:30 a.m. “We’re not going anywhere until you can keep down half a fucking Vitamin Water, Jack. You almost passed out in the elevator.” He’d vomited three times in the last hour, and although she had no way of taking his temperature, she could tell by touching him that it was rising fast. While she was doing everything possible to keep her expression and her demeanor neutral, Renee knew she wasn’t fooling him.
She was terrified.
“Then you should keep going.” This time his voice was firm.
“And you’re delirious if you think I’m leaving you here like this.” She wiped a clammy hand on her blood-stained jeans.
“They’ll find us within half an hour.” His words vibrated a little with the tremors in his body.
“You’re so feverish you’re shivering. We’ll have to risk it. If we’re lucky, they don’t know we switched cars,” she replied, walking into the bathroom to grab a washcloth. She turned the hot tap on full force and looked down quickly after she made the mistake of glancing in the mirror. Her shirt and jeans were covered with blood – mostly Jack’s, but some of her own mixed in. Blood had congealed around a cut on her wrist, and her right cheek was bruised and swollen where that asshole from Division had punched her. The navy trench coat she’d grabbed before they ditched her car had covered the blood on her clothes while she checked in, but the desk clerk had still gotten a strange expression and asked if she was all right. Renee had tried to seem nonchalant, muttering something about the hazards of being responsible for mental patients. She was grateful that Jack had been able to hide in the car; explaining away his appearance would have been a lot harder.
She wrung excess water from the steaming washcloth and (rearranging her face back into neutrality) walked back out to Jack. The mold, grease, and stale tobacco scent of the room was making her nauseous; it had to be ten times as bad for him. “Can you lay on your side or does that make you feel worse?” she asked, rummaging in the bag for the plastic bottle of alcohol.
“It’s fine,” Jack answered, rolling toward her onto his good shoulder. His face was grey and covered with sweat.
Renee gently peeled away the adhesive tape where she had sloppily affixed the blood-stained gauze. She poured alcohol over the wound for the second time in as many hours. Jack didn’t flinch; but the fingers on his right hand clenched the fabric of the ugly orange and brown bedspread. Patting his shoulder dry with a hotel towel (vivid contrast of red on white), Renee ripped more adhesive with her teeth and recovered the wound. When she was done, she found a clean portion of the towel and smoothed it over his forehead. “Your shoulder looks fine.” She cleared her throat, hating the panicked tone she knew he could hear. “I can’t figure out why your fever won’t break.”
“Maybe it’s because I’m pissed off.” Jack turned her wrist toward him, surveying her cut. “Did that sonofabitch do this to you, too?” He reached up to touch her cheek, rubbing his thumb softly an inch or so below the throbbing bruise.
“No. I caught the wall in the parking garage.” She closed her hand over his, willing herself not to lose it now. “You should try to drink a little more.” She uncapped the Vitamin Water and handed it to him.
After a few swallows, he passed it back to her. “You bought the blueberry crap again. No wonder I can’t keep anything down.”
“Jack-”
“We’ve got to figure out how to contact Chloe. She can end this shit right now if we can find a way to transmit those files.”
“I’ll call her,” she replied. “Right now I’m more concerned with getting you to the point where you can stand up without help.”
He fell silent. Renee heard another siren, its scream rising in their direction this time. She tensed, looking toward the window. After a few seconds, swirling globes of red and blue light flickered past the ragged taupe curtains and the sound of the siren faded away. She checked once more to be sure her gun was within reach and waited.
_________________________
“Can I have some more water?” Jack shifted, and the bedspread made a funny crinkling noise.
“You don’t think it’s too soon?”
“No. If anything it’s getting better. I don’t think the fever’s worse either.”
She handed him the bottle of maroon liquid and leaned over to put her unbruised cheek against his forehead. She exhaled, relief heating her from the inside. “You’re right,” she whispered, kissing his cheek. “But you still need to rest.”
“We need to call Chloe.”
“And if you’re still okay in the morning, I’ll go to the strip mall next door, buy one of those Trac phones, and call her.”
“We can’t wait-”
“Yes. We can,” Renee interrupted. “This isn’t up for discussion. When I’m the one who can’t walk without throwing up, you get to decide. But not this time.”
Jack smiled. “You’re so fucking stubborn.”
“Wonder where I learned that,” she retorted.
“Right. Before I showed up you did what you were told.”
“I did!” she exclaimed. “When I felt like it,” she added, grinning slightly. “Can you scoot over a little? I want to be closest to the door.”
Jack slid sideways a couple feet. Renee picked up her Glock and lay down on the bed facing him. He stroked her cheek. “When we get back, I’m gonna hurt him.”
“Not if I hurt him first.” Her voice was cold. “He shot you.”
“With aim like that I’d hate to be his partner in the field,” Jack muttered.
Renee shook her head. “He’s the least of our problems. Forget it.”
Jack didn’t reply. He was sort of blinking, but each time he closed his eyes, they stayed shut longer. His face wasn’t quite so grey now. She laced her fingers with his. “Go to sleep.”
“We can’t both be asleep,” he mumbled.
“God, Jack!” She sighed. “You think I’m going to sleep?”
“I’m sorry.” His words were starting to blend.
She rubbed the pad of her thumb over his palm. “It’s fine.”
He forced his eyes fully open again and looked at her, serious. “No, it’s not. I’m sorry. I’m used to-” He paused. “Running by myself.”
“Well I’m not going anywhere, so you’ve got until morning to adjust.”
“Okay.” His eyes drifted shut again. Renee looked toward the window, watching the lights stream by on the highway, her body on high alert for changes in color or motion. “Hey,” Jack said.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I didn’t do it just for you.”
“I know,” he whispered, and she felt his fingers relax in hers as he submitted to exhaustion.
She lay silent, listening to the way the bedspread swished if she moved her leg or Jack startled in his sleep. With her Glock secure against her stomach, she stared at the window and waited for the sliver of black between the tattered curtains to lighten.
sardonicynic. In any case, four out of five so far have come in under comment length, and I'm absolutely determined the last three will, too. So for cybertoothtiger, here's one more that did: Jack/Renee [Not Without].And this one is for
century_fox, inspired by this lovely prompt. AU (I guess it could be either post S7 or S8), a little language. marinw, he's not in the hospital (I had to shelve that one for the moment), but at least he's all vulnerable? *G*adrenalin211 and lowriseflare, you rock for commenting even on silly ficlets and being the best cheerleaders ever:)“Can you lift your shoulder a little? I need to see if the bleeding is slowing down.” Renee looked toward the window. She’d drawn the cheap polyester curtains as soon as she’d locked and chained the hotel room door behind her and eased Jack’s trembling, sweaty body down on the slippery bedspread. Headlights from the highway lit the window at frequent but unpredictable intervals, and she could hear the wail of a siren, but the sound was becoming fainter so she didn’t add that to her list of reasons to panic.
She had enough of those already.
Eyes closed, Jack obediently leaned sideways, and Renee peeled back the fresh bandage she’d slapped over his shoulder when she pulled off the road half an hour ago. There was blood, but much less than last time. “It’s better. I’ll change the dressing again as soon as I check the room.”
“We can’t stay here.” Jack’s voice was a rough whisper. “We need to keep moving.”
Renee lifted her gun from the bedside table and walked to the door, listening. The hallway outside was silent, which wasn’t surprising at 2:30 a.m. “We’re not going anywhere until you can keep down half a fucking Vitamin Water, Jack. You almost passed out in the elevator.” He’d vomited three times in the last hour, and although she had no way of taking his temperature, she could tell by touching him that it was rising fast. While she was doing everything possible to keep her expression and her demeanor neutral, Renee knew she wasn’t fooling him.
She was terrified.
“Then you should keep going.” This time his voice was firm.
“And you’re delirious if you think I’m leaving you here like this.” She wiped a clammy hand on her blood-stained jeans.
“They’ll find us within half an hour.” His words vibrated a little with the tremors in his body.
“You’re so feverish you’re shivering. We’ll have to risk it. If we’re lucky, they don’t know we switched cars,” she replied, walking into the bathroom to grab a washcloth. She turned the hot tap on full force and looked down quickly after she made the mistake of glancing in the mirror. Her shirt and jeans were covered with blood – mostly Jack’s, but some of her own mixed in. Blood had congealed around a cut on her wrist, and her right cheek was bruised and swollen where that asshole from Division had punched her. The navy trench coat she’d grabbed before they ditched her car had covered the blood on her clothes while she checked in, but the desk clerk had still gotten a strange expression and asked if she was all right. Renee had tried to seem nonchalant, muttering something about the hazards of being responsible for mental patients. She was grateful that Jack had been able to hide in the car; explaining away his appearance would have been a lot harder.
She wrung excess water from the steaming washcloth and (rearranging her face back into neutrality) walked back out to Jack. The mold, grease, and stale tobacco scent of the room was making her nauseous; it had to be ten times as bad for him. “Can you lay on your side or does that make you feel worse?” she asked, rummaging in the bag for the plastic bottle of alcohol.
“It’s fine,” Jack answered, rolling toward her onto his good shoulder. His face was grey and covered with sweat.
Renee gently peeled away the adhesive tape where she had sloppily affixed the blood-stained gauze. She poured alcohol over the wound for the second time in as many hours. Jack didn’t flinch; but the fingers on his right hand clenched the fabric of the ugly orange and brown bedspread. Patting his shoulder dry with a hotel towel (vivid contrast of red on white), Renee ripped more adhesive with her teeth and recovered the wound. When she was done, she found a clean portion of the towel and smoothed it over his forehead. “Your shoulder looks fine.” She cleared her throat, hating the panicked tone she knew he could hear. “I can’t figure out why your fever won’t break.”
“Maybe it’s because I’m pissed off.” Jack turned her wrist toward him, surveying her cut. “Did that sonofabitch do this to you, too?” He reached up to touch her cheek, rubbing his thumb softly an inch or so below the throbbing bruise.
“No. I caught the wall in the parking garage.” She closed her hand over his, willing herself not to lose it now. “You should try to drink a little more.” She uncapped the Vitamin Water and handed it to him.
After a few swallows, he passed it back to her. “You bought the blueberry crap again. No wonder I can’t keep anything down.”
“Jack-”
“We’ve got to figure out how to contact Chloe. She can end this shit right now if we can find a way to transmit those files.”
“I’ll call her,” she replied. “Right now I’m more concerned with getting you to the point where you can stand up without help.”
He fell silent. Renee heard another siren, its scream rising in their direction this time. She tensed, looking toward the window. After a few seconds, swirling globes of red and blue light flickered past the ragged taupe curtains and the sound of the siren faded away. She checked once more to be sure her gun was within reach and waited.
_________________________
“Can I have some more water?” Jack shifted, and the bedspread made a funny crinkling noise.
“You don’t think it’s too soon?”
“No. If anything it’s getting better. I don’t think the fever’s worse either.”
She handed him the bottle of maroon liquid and leaned over to put her unbruised cheek against his forehead. She exhaled, relief heating her from the inside. “You’re right,” she whispered, kissing his cheek. “But you still need to rest.”
“We need to call Chloe.”
“And if you’re still okay in the morning, I’ll go to the strip mall next door, buy one of those Trac phones, and call her.”
“We can’t wait-”
“Yes. We can,” Renee interrupted. “This isn’t up for discussion. When I’m the one who can’t walk without throwing up, you get to decide. But not this time.”
Jack smiled. “You’re so fucking stubborn.”
“Wonder where I learned that,” she retorted.
“Right. Before I showed up you did what you were told.”
“I did!” she exclaimed. “When I felt like it,” she added, grinning slightly. “Can you scoot over a little? I want to be closest to the door.”
Jack slid sideways a couple feet. Renee picked up her Glock and lay down on the bed facing him. He stroked her cheek. “When we get back, I’m gonna hurt him.”
“Not if I hurt him first.” Her voice was cold. “He shot you.”
“With aim like that I’d hate to be his partner in the field,” Jack muttered.
Renee shook her head. “He’s the least of our problems. Forget it.”
Jack didn’t reply. He was sort of blinking, but each time he closed his eyes, they stayed shut longer. His face wasn’t quite so grey now. She laced her fingers with his. “Go to sleep.”
“We can’t both be asleep,” he mumbled.
“God, Jack!” She sighed. “You think I’m going to sleep?”
“I’m sorry.” His words were starting to blend.
She rubbed the pad of her thumb over his palm. “It’s fine.”
He forced his eyes fully open again and looked at her, serious. “No, it’s not. I’m sorry. I’m used to-” He paused. “Running by myself.”
“Well I’m not going anywhere, so you’ve got until morning to adjust.”
“Okay.” His eyes drifted shut again. Renee looked toward the window, watching the lights stream by on the highway, her body on high alert for changes in color or motion. “Hey,” Jack said.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I didn’t do it just for you.”
“I know,” he whispered, and she felt his fingers relax in hers as he submitted to exhaustion.
She lay silent, listening to the way the bedspread swished if she moved her leg or Jack startled in his sleep. With her Glock secure against her stomach, she stared at the window and waited for the sliver of black between the tattered curtains to lighten.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2010-10-23 03:50 am (UTC)Because, selfishly, I want to read it SO badly.
I'm gonna find an icon that makes me smile now.
*pondersJack'sjunk*
no subject
Date: 2010-10-23 02:00 pm (UTC)Hee. Amen, sister. :)
no subject
Date: 2010-10-23 02:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-10-23 02:02 pm (UTC)Pondering Jack's junk is always an excellent plan. But that wouldn't help with writing most of the story. Most.
no subject
Date: 2010-10-23 02:09 pm (UTC)Panicking is for the disco. Not for the word document.
It would TOO help write the story. If Jack's junk is your motive then you'll have great inspiration for Renee to get to it! How come I deleted that junk icon from my icons? *reachesandgrabs*
no subject
Date: 2010-10-23 02:23 pm (UTC)Panic! at the disco. That is me. Only not in a disco. In my ugly light blue fleece sweatpants!
Mmmmm Jack's junk.
*is distracted*
*has grabbyhands*
But ahahahaha at using it for inspiration for Renee to want to get to it. You do have a point there . . .
no subject
Date: 2010-10-23 02:41 pm (UTC)Sometimes caffeine is just the best drug there is.
*crosses fingers that massive doses of caffeine help your outlook*
P.S. *insert coffee icon here*
no subject
Date: 2010-10-23 02:51 pm (UTC)SOOOOO. Inopportunistic scenario #1. Sometimes your brain is overflowing with great ideas, but you don't have the time to sit down and write.
Inopportunistic scenario #2. Sometimes you finally do have the time to write, but feel seized with panic that when you do so all of the ideas you had will come out wrong and that will be the end of them.
But do you step back and logically review the situation? It seems like you are so stuck on the idea that whatever comes out first is all that possibly CAN be. Let me take this moment to tell you that I'm suddenly (as in, as of this moment) a big proponent of the idea of *drafts* and reworking. What if you sit down and, instead of trying to write it word for word exactly as you want the final product to be, write a more vague overview of what you'd like to see come to fruition? (No, I don't write fiction so Idk if this is how it works, but...) Then you can flesh out the vague skeleton as the inspiration strikes you.
I realize I might sound a bit ridiculous, like a child trying to advise a parent in how to handle a situation they have no grasp of, but seriously. You're not thinking proactively enough, you're just letting yourself dwell in the comfortable realms of your own insecurities. Try to break out of that box.
*hopes that wasn't insulting or whatever*
no subject
Date: 2010-10-24 02:53 pm (UTC)But do you step back and logically review the situation?
Well, in theory I should be able to, but especially when I'm worked up over something, my logic goes right out the window. I'm trying to improve on that one. However, you're absolutely right that any writing can be improved through revision and editing. I am just a dork because, given that I know how easy it can be when things are flowing, sometimes I get really ticked off when they're not. It's lame. Also, when things aren't working and I send stuff out to my betas, then I really have to buck up and be ready for their awesome constructive criticism. ANYWAY. I'm probably making no sense. The short version is thank you for trying to improve my outlook on this, and I will do my best to remember that editing can make a huge difference in writing, and that it does NOT have to be perfect on the first try:)
p.s. You are so right that my insecurity is comfortable. Boy do you have me busted there!
no subject
Date: 2010-10-24 08:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-10-24 08:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-10-25 01:46 am (UTC)Is there such a thing as being TOO into Jack Bauer? :\
no subject
Date: 2010-10-25 02:38 am (UTC)NO! You guys don't have to worry. You can never have enough Jack Bauer love. Think of all the love Jack DOESN'T get in his life and all how much it's gonna take to compensate! We're just doing a good deed.
no subject
Date: 2010-10-25 02:52 am (UTC)I hate it when my own icons make me swoony, because that is like, gross and obnoxious. AND YET.
Also, I just said that your comment was below and it is not, which means that I still fail to understand comment nesting. Moar woe.
no subject
Date: 2010-10-26 02:38 am (UTC)And I figured if anyone would understand the concept of "TOO MUCH" in regards to this it would be you guys.So if it doesn't make me a ludicrous freak for doing so, I'll continue with the Jack!love, in the interest of... *ahem* good deeds ;) :)no subject
Date: 2010-10-25 02:51 am (UTC)AUGH HE NEEDS RENEE.
Woe.
no subject
Date: 2010-10-26 02:46 am (UTC)insanityinterest appeared over-the-top even to YOU, b/c if that was the case then HOLD THE PHONE it would be time to slam on those (metaphorical) brakes and try to do a reality reassessment.And yes AUGH he DOES need Renee. *pouts like a child* I take it back. No more reality.
no subject
Date: 2010-10-26 12:07 pm (UTC)