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.

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[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.

[tactician]

Catching the packet in one hand, Weiler closed his fist over it and canted his head, no longer smiling, but not frowning either. "I can return a favor. We are in this together, now."

[aphelionix]

Locke stopped after he unzipped the top part of the outer layer of his uniform. They were indeed the only people they had to rely on at this point.

He nodded as the thought sunk in, easing his arms out of the sleeves. They already established, in a sort of indirect way, that they trusted each other. What other choice did they have now? They couldn't work together without trusting one another.

"Right," he agreed, looking Weiler in the eye. "Absolutely."

[tactician]

For all of Locke's hard-shown honesty, Weiler only quirked a brow. "Did that only occur to you now?"

[aphelionix]

"No," Locke assured, pushing off his trousers. (How's that for shy? Though he had rather modest black boxers on, anyway.) "But things have been rather... chaotic in the past hour. There's a lot to think about."

[tactician]

Weiler all but yanked the injured leg onto the bed, propping it up on a pillow as he tore off the paper packaging of the wipe with his teeth.

"That's right," he agreed, dabbing at the wound. It was doing much better than his, but it wasn't as if he could get a good look at his own back anyway, so he made a distasteful face at the clotted blood nonetheless. "There's the matter of whether or not we even have enough fuel to get to the next destination, if they're willing to sell to an unnamed military-grade ship without the proper documentation, if we'll get recognized because there's an APB out for the ships serial code already, if we can manage to dig around well enough to find other Circle members.

"Then, assuming that we can contact someone, there's probably leap after leap regarding the question of whether or not we can prove to them that the Seventh's been compromised, since we technically have no real evidence other than our word. There's probably a good deal of people to get through before we can even get to anyone who has connections to the First, but even before that, there's the matter of how we're going to sustain ourselves if our accounts and identification have been frozen, as they probably have. Gladsheim's most definitely taken care of our fake accounts, and the Seventh's probably handled our real identification.

"Basically," Weiler concluded, tugging the gauze tight around the knee and clipping the tail end closed before looking up. "We're at a dead end."

[aphelionix]

Locke leaned against the opposite wall as his knee was tended to, listening in silence. It made things feel pretty damn hopeless at this point. He watched as Weiler worked, only wincing once, when his leg was pulled up onto the bed.

"The shadier fuel stations don't check for documentation. I have us headed for one now," he said after Weiler had finished. "As for money, I always keep my account disconnected from my employers, and under a different name. I have a few connections for those things. We're pretty close to Erclesse. I've got a couple there we can turn to." As he said the planet's name, there was a small twitch in his features, but he quickly moved on.

"We're cornered, but I wouldn't say it's a dead end."