ACTION TIME

[aphelionix]

The two days had come and gone since Locke stayed over at Weiler's. He was tipsy when Weiler had called that night and made their two day check-in rule - not that he forgot, but he couldn't stop the nagging feeling that something was off when he went to bed that night.

On the morning of the third day, he remembered.

The rule was to get out. He tried calling Weiler once, in case he had forgotten his own rule, but Locke was sure by now that it wasn't like him. It was all the sign he needed when the call went straight to voice mail. He headed right out the door of his room, only gathering his pistol and communicator. Through the bustling of the soldiers' morning routines, he managed to keep himself fairly blended in. No one seemed to be looking on him any differently. Locke was on the last stretch of the emergency escape route of Gladsheim's base - for Circle members, that was - when someone called his name.

His real name.

Comments

[tactician]

There was something about the sudden and unwanted forcefulness of that that made Weiler jolt, jerking back on the bed and kicking the ground. "I said stop!"

[aphelionix]

Locke eased back at the outburst, looking at Weiler with about as surprised as an expression as he was capable of making. He released his hand.

[tactician]

Weiler stayed where he was for a moment, body laid out like he had been fighting to get away not even a moment prior (because that was what he had been doing), and blinked at Locke. Then, he seemed to come back to himself, sitting up and holding a hand out.

"I'll do it myself."

[aphelionix]

He dropped the materials into Weiler's palm, his brow tight.

"Sorry."

[tactician]

An easy smile slid onto Weiler's face. He chuckled as he turned down to inspect his fingers, very carefully splinting them and sucking in breaths between his teeth as he moved from one to the other. There were four broken fingers in all, but the damage wasn't too bad or permanent. "You just surprised me, soldier. Don't worry about it."

[aphelionix]

Locke was staring at his hands. Typical Gladsheim, using a method like that to draw out information. When they drew close to a handful of broken fingers, they figured the subject wasn't going to talk. They would've resorted to worse if Weiler hadn't escaped when he did. Which reminded him-

"How did you get out, anyway? Someone on the inside?"

[tactician]

"Something like that," Weiler said, keeping his eyes on his hands as he tilted his head. "I was in interrogation when there was a small sweep on the cell division of the ship. Call it dumb luck, but the guard interrogating me got up to check what all the noise was and bam, next thing I know, he's lying on the ground choking on his own blood. So I took his access cards and gun and made a break for it."

[aphelionix]

"I see," he said, with a small smile. "Ever the opportunist, aren't you?"

[tactician]

"I make a living out of it," Weiler answered, apparently somewhat closer to his normal self as he waggled four splinted fingers at Locke with a grin. "Are you happy now, Mutti?"

[aphelionix]

Locke rolled his eyes. He did feel a little bad, though, having realized exactly why Weiler had jerked before. "Not yet."

It was rather foreboding when he picked up the syringe again, looking at Weiler out of the corner of his eye...

[tactician]

It wasn't hard to notice.

Weiler laughed. "That's cute - are you worried? They didn't shoot me up with anything."

[aphelionix]

He frowned at it being called cute.

"I would've known," he said. "It still hurts, doesn't it? Your back."

[tactician]

"You could just kiss it better," Weiler offered, flashing teeth.

[aphelionix]

"That doesn't sound very sanitary."

[tactician]

He looked thoughtful for only a split second.

"You're right. Try here," he said instead, tapping the quirked line of his smirk. "Maybe it'll transfer."

[aphelionix]

"Don't be stupid," he mumbled, looking away and turning his focus to carefully extracting the clear fluid in the glass bottle into the syringe.

[tactician]

Weiler reeled back in mock-hurt. "And here I thought you said you liked me, Herr Cupid."

[aphelionix]

"Do you just flirt no matter-" He stopped mid-sentence, going rigid. "Stop calling me that."

[tactician]

Weiler blinked back. "You didn't mind so much before."

[aphelionix]

Locke thought back. Before?

...Ah.

"I was... distracted."

Was he blushing?

[tactician]

Weiler's laughter was much louder this time. "What are you so uptight about?"

[aphelionix]

Locke sighed, pulling his pants leg out from his boot, exposing his wound. It wasn't pretty, but the earlier cloth had kept it fairly clean while it clotted. He stabbed the tip of the needle into various parts of the cut, squeezing bits of the solution into it. His brow wrinkled again.

"You can't tell me you'd be proud of a name like mine," he said, voice a little strained.

[tactician]

Despite his aversion to pain, Weiler watched the process impassively, frowning only in sympathy at the obvious amount of discomfort involved. Yes - he would much rather like to wait for an actual medical facility, now that pain in his back had become familiar enough for him to not be terribly crippled.

"It's a name," Weiler argued flippantly, shrugging one shoulder. He sounded cheerful as he continued, "Not one I'd choose for myself but...at least people can pronounce it."

[aphelionix]

Locke's shoulders relaxed against at the painkiller started to take effect. He stuck the used syringe back in the bag, pulling out the sanitized pads to clean around the wound.

"I'd rather take a name people can't pronounce," he said. "Isn't it something like... H-ay-neh?"

[tactician]

"Something like that," Weiler agreed, but there was a small smile playing on his mouth suggesting it wasn't entirely one hundred percent correct. Still, he had really only said it to Locke once and it was the closest anyone had gotten to it in along time, let alone one of the rare cases where someone even knew of his given name to begin with. It was a very valiant try. "But go with 'Weiler.' It's easier for everyone."

He yawned, loudly, burying half his face in the medical bed pillow. It smelled sterile and felt starchy like paper, but he could probably sleep here for days. "I'm sure people wouldn't mind calling you 'Cupid' though."