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

[aphelionix]

Locke allowed a tense smile. "Good."

He jerked the controls forward, sending them hurtling even quicker into the gate's direction. It was considerably weakened by the blazing fire now, until it all at once collapsed under its weakened form, riddled with holes from the guns. The fire dissipated immediately with the lack of oxygen, and Locke braced himself.

The ship crashed through the opening, knocking into a couple pieces of debris that didn't quite clear out, making for a loud and bumpy get away. The dark of space greeted them outside the Seventh, and perhaps with the haste of their getaway - and the rarity of an attack on Seventh anyway - no fighter ships were waiting to shoot them down.

"Man that until we're clear," he instructed.

[tactician]

Weiler didn't respond in words but he did make a small sound of acknowledgement, mouth snapped shut and pressed tight in concentration as his eyes fixed on the screen, a momentary lapse in his usual glib witticisms in favor of extended survival.

There were no fighter ships, but as they gradually pulled away from the main Seventh vessel, the distant but sure rumbling wave of energy that hit them told them that the defense artillery every Circle ship was equipped with was readying itself for an attack. They would have to evade those initial shots and then hopefully break out far enough so that the Seventh's tracking capabilities wouldn't be able to tag their heat signature or lock them into a never-ending cat-mouse game until their fuel gave out.

A lucky strike managed to dent one of the anti-spacecraft guns before it could let off its first blast, but the gun right beside it managed to fire, barely missing the breadth of their rightmost wing. "Get clear faster!" Weiler said urgently, re-calibrating the targeting mechanics as best he could. He wasn't actively trained for this, and there was only so much that rudimentary Circle classes could really cover.

[aphelionix]

Locke's brow was tight in concentration, hitting a few more buttons on the panels and shifting a couple levers. The only way they'd get out without a hit was in overdrive, and on a ship like this, it took a lot out of it.

But survival was priority.

The ship gave another jerk as it strained against its capabilities. (They were going to need fuel desperately after this.) On the radar, it showed their proximity to Seventh growing distant quicker. It was hard to escape and hide when you were surrounded by literally nothing, but just a bit further, and they'd be out of range. Damn these small vehicles and their lack of faster-than-light travel.

[tactician]

Giving a muffled grunt at being thrown about, Weiler nonetheless managed to stay in place and in his seat thanks to the modern wonders of seatbelts and his no-short-of-a-death-grip on his armrest.

In the chaos they had caused with their takeoff, it seemed as though they were having trouble with sending out flyers of their own. Another laser swerved their way, narrowly missing them as they cleared the last stretch of space needed to bring them out of the Seventh's target locking system, as no other shots came after that. Soon enough, the Seventh grew smaller and smaller in hindsight, swallowed up by the vastness of space and its stars.

Weiler let out a shuddering breath only after they were clear, slumping in his seat only to hiss loudly as his aggravated injury brushed up against the back. All that jumping, running, jerking and dodging had opened it up again, leaving a damp dark stain on the seat when he unbuckled himself to check.

"Well," he said dryly. "That wasn't too difficult."

[aphelionix]

Locke set the ship in auto-pilot then fell back in his seat, releasing the controls. He rubbed the back of his palm across his forehead, still in disbelief that they pulled that off. Being in the military, he'd definitely been through some tense situations, but nothing quite like that.

He looked over at Weiler, and down at the reopened wound with a frown.

"Finally going to let me patch that for you, by any chance?" he asked.

[tactician]

"The Captain should keep an eye out until we're definitely in the clear," Weiler said as he gingerly eased himself off his chair in one slow but fluid motion.

Then, he promptly sat right back down when his knees buckled once under his weight.

He stared down at the dashboard and all its blinking lights (low fuel, low fuel) for a moment and let out a breathy laugh. For the past twelve years, he had only been a secretary. He needed a little more than thirty seconds for it to catch up to him, especially if he was only running on five hours of sleep after four days. "Mein Gott, that was right out of an adventure film."

[aphelionix]

Despite Weiler's advice, Locke unstrapped himself from the seat. Upon noticing that Weiler was laughing (how was this guy so smiley), he stayed put, nonetheless concerned.

"Something like that, I suppose," he said, still frowning slightly. Locke turned his gaze back to the dash, where a yellow light signalling their fuel levels blinked at him. "We probably should've just surrendered."

[tactician]

"Probably," Weiler murmured, eyes still fixed to the low fuel light. Slowly, he let go of his arm rests, asking conversationally, "Should we do something about that?"

[aphelionix]

"We're already headed for the next fuel station," he said. Locke ran fingers through his mustache thoughtfully. "We should be careful, though. They're likely on the lookout."

What a predicament. Wanted by both the Circle and the Military.

[tactician]

"Careful," Weiler repeated, smiling lopsidedly, because wasn't that just the mildest way of putting it?

He succeeded much better with getting up and staying up the second time around, pulling himself up using the back of his seat and straightening with only the smallest of winces. Now that medical help wasn't a surefire thing in the imminent future, maybe leaving the wound as it was wouldn't be the best of ideas. "Give me a hand here. I guess I should at least get some gauze on it, but I'm not agreeing to the needle."

[aphelionix]

"Good to hear you've come to your senses," Locke said lightly. Despite the roll of his eyes, though, he stood up and followed him back to the small medical room. "We should place a transmission to the First after this. Securing the line's going to be a hassle though."

But another thought occurred to him - would the First even believe their story? How had the breech gotten that bad?

[tactician]

Weiler ran a hand through his already mussed hair, sighing. Securing a transmission to the First was no small measure - few people even knew the nature of the First, let alone how to contact them, and they didn't exactly have specific contacts within the First Circle to fall back upon. Almost all of an informant's interaction with the First took place with the Seventh as an intermediary, if there was any interaction to begin with, that was. There would have to be some long hours of searching and digging around for them to manage a feat like this, with just the two of them.

"First the gauze," Weiler said, half-smiling half-wincing as he slipped back into the makeshift medical bay of the small craft. It wasn't outfitted for serious medical care, but gauze was easy enough to find, sitting in a big labeled box in one of the first cabinets he checked. Weiler handed the white, pristine roll to Locke before pulling his shirt over his head. "Hold this."

[aphelionix]

Locke sat down next to him, taking the gauze. Once Weiler's shirt was off, he inspected the redone damage to his wound, sighing. It wasn't gushing blood or anything violent like that, but it definitely had reopened in several places. Most of it had clotted, but it was definitely strained under all the action that just took place.

"Are you sure you don't want to numb it? It's worth the couple of pinpricks."

[tactician]

Weiler narrowed an eye at the very thought. "I'll pass."

He raised his arms and turned his back to Locke, pushing a small sanitized alcoholic wipe packet at him across the bed before bracing himself. For someone in such a dangerous line of work, he didn't seem inclined to cause himself any more discomfort than was strictly necessary, but maybe that was to be expected of a paper-pusher. Other than the open wound, there were a few darkening bruises near his shoulder that hadn't been visible prior to now, round and vaguely fist-shaped, or long and narrow he had been pushed back against a chair often enough for the skin to discolor.

"All right," Weiler nodded, "Nice and easy, soldier."

[aphelionix]

If there were anything to be done about bruises, Locke would have surely pestered him about it. But as it were, there was only one wound he could do anything about. Perhaps in that aspect, Weiler was lucky.

Locke tore open the packet, cleaning around the wound gingerly. The rag came back almost completely reddened. He tossed it into a nearby bin, then stretched out the roll of gauze. He reached around Weiler's middle, using his undamaged side as a starting point and wrapped it around his waist. It was a bit snug, but not painfully so. (Though as it was, Weiler's idea of 'painful' was very lenient indeed.)

After a couple layers, Locke tucked the gauze securely into itself. Better than nothing.

Locke reached for a few other things in the room - a bottle of medication and a clean tee (plain gray), handing them to Weiler.

[tactician]

Taking the offered items, Weiler let out a small breath. "That wasn't so bad," he announced, even if he looked a little paler than a few minutes ago. He definitely seemed very glad to be done, though, and after slipping the T-shirt on (a little too wide in the shoulders and waist; it had clearly been made with a bigger man in mind), he stood up and examined himself with an amused laugh. Dress shoes, wrinkled suit pants and a drab gray t-shirt made for an interesting look in deed. It practically screamed 'Recent Fugitive chic'.

Weiler looked up, clapping Locke soundly and allowing his hand to linger there, at the junction of neck and shoulder. "Thank you," he said, leaning down until their faces were mere inches apart. He grinned. "Do you need me to redress you too?"

[aphelionix]

Locke took a moment, staring at Weiler for a good couple seconds, before looking down at himself. Actually, wearing around a wrinkly, torn up and slight bloodied military uniform really wasn't a good idea. He gave a short, dry laugh.

"Would you?" he asked, sarcastically. In truth, he wasn't sure how to address Weiler's flirting now. How did he act exactly the same? Especially with an injury like that.

[tactician]

Weiler looked down as well, leaning back. Oh.

"Hand over that gauze, then."

[aphelionix]

Locke blinked up at him.

"Ah- I was... joking. I've got it."

[tactician]

Weiler looked unconvinced, a newly-retrieved wipe in hand. "Are you sure? I'm not that much of an ignorant. I can dress a wound."

[aphelionix]

"But it's my knee," he said plainly, the implications clear to Locke at least. Redressing it properly meant taking his trousers off.

[tactician]

Weiler looked even more incredulous. "Yes, I can see that," he said slowly, lowering his eyes to said knee, wondering if something particularly jarring about the knee injury would pop up if he stared long enough.

Then he raised his eyes, looking like he was trying very desperately not to laugh. "...Are you shy?"

[aphelionix]

Locke's lips pressed into a thin line, and to his credit, he looked very composed otherwise.

"I'm not," he said, and began to untie his boot.

[tactician]

He sat back to allow Locke room to maneuver, but there was a small smirk fixed on Weiler's face now. Tossing the sanitized wipe packet from hand to hand, he asked, "Then you just don't want to be touched?"

[aphelionix]

"I just thought you were kidding too." One boot clunked to the floor, and he untied the other, it following in suit.