(no subject)
It was another sleepless night. Gideon was more than used to it by now, allowing his sleep schedule to get more and more fucked up by just laying down when he was tired instead of trying to sleep when he was supposed to. The night was no different, and he busied himself in random shit in his hut as the night wore on. It eventually got to the point he gave in and laid himself down, trying to ignore, like he always did, the empty spot in bed next to him.
--
It was a planned heist that would go down in history. It took Gideon seconds to psych himself up, and with a nod to Rupert, they went right toward the door.
"Hands in the air!"
Their rush inside almost felt like it was going in slow motion, and he was spouting any aggressively threatening lines he could think of at the people he was now pointing his gun at. It was what made every bank robbery he'd seen in movies and on television great, and it was what he knew would keep everyone in line. He had nothing to worry about, and that thought was heightened by the fact the workers were doing exactly what he was saying.
Fuck, it definitely was a power rush. Any doubts that had come to mind had been pushed aside, replaced instead by an exhilarated feeling. He was going to get out of this a fucking rich man. He was going to be somebody someone made a fucking movie about one day.
"Asses and hands on the ground. Those are the rules, he barked, ignoring the obvious glare from Desmond as he sat down. He only glanced away when he heard Rupert struggling. Of course. The sidekick had to fucking screw up in some way, even if it was only a mild annoyance.
It was easy to stay in control, even if Rupert was a fucking moron.
But Gideon knew they had to work fast.
"Now I'm going to need a helper," he said, even though he fucking had just the person in mind even before he said it. The overeager bank manager stood up to volunteer, but Gideon wasn't having that shit - he knew how they worked. When she was back on the ground, he turned right to Desmond, gun poised at his face.
"Get up," he growled, eventually picking him up by the shirt when he wouldn't listen. Of course he thought he could just get away with that because they had been friends. Gideon wasn't fucking around, which he thought he was making perfectly clear. Desmond finally had to give up the tough guy look and eventually did what he was told.
They strode into the vault together.
He had done a good job (with plenty of alcohol the night before) numbing his feelings on the matter of Desmond bailing and fucking screwing them over. Pulling off his mask once they were inside, he ignored Desmond questioning his motives and went straight to taking the fucking money. He had to keep fucking at it, though.
"Why the fuck do you CARE, Desmond?" he asked, turning to shoot a look over his shoulder at him after he fucking asked again why he was doing what he was fucking doing. "You're not involved."
And he didn't care. He wouldn't fucking care. Gideon thought they were done talking, but of course they apparently weren't.
"Not the orange ones."
Gideon didn't even fucking know what that meant. Still, even he couldn't keep up being fucking angry when the asshole had just saved him from all his money getting covered with ink. For a moment - a brief moment - he felt the anger subside.
It wasn't the time for that kind of bullshit, though. He thanked him and it was back to fucking business. Until he heard the commotion outside, of course. Without even thinking, he was up and dragging Desmond out with him. Rupert was pointing his gun right at some guy he didn't recognize. Someone that had just strolled inside like it was fucking nothing.
"Fuck, the door's unlocked," Rupert shouted, and Gideon felt a brief twist of panic as he let that settle in. The cops would fucking be there eventually even if they weren't alerted. They'd get in without a fucking problem at this point.
Shit. Shit.
This wasn't how it was fucking supposed to be. He wracked his brain, trying to decide what he was fucking going to do next.
"Uh, uh," he stammered, trying to get his brain to catch up with his actions. It finally hit him that he probably ought to have someone fucking lock shit up. Turning to Desmond, he tossed the keys to him.
"Desmond, go lock the doors," he said, and it was only until he started fucking screaming at him that he realized what he did.
It all went to fucking hell after that. Everyone realizing Desmond knew them, Desmond saying his fucking name, and then the realization sirens were closing in on them. All Gideon could think about was getting the fuck out of there. Even that was derailed by the realization he left half of their money back in the vault. By the time he'd gotten back out, he could hear the squealing of tires.
They were all going to be fucking caught.
It was around this time in a movie where one of the robbers either started shooting everything up (not an option), took hostages (too fucking risky, and those never worked), or one of them heroically gave up their freedom for the other robbers. Gideon knew there was only one real option. Despite protests, his mind was fucking made up.
If he was going to get caught, he was going to fucking get caught in the most dramatic way possible. It took all of twenty seconds for the police to swarm him and throw him to the ground when he came out, and he didn't fucking resist it, knowing it'd give them more time.
He could have sworn he heard a gunshot not long after he was cuffed and stood up. He didn't think all that fucking much about it.
---
It was a planned heist that would go down in history. That thought was the first thing that came to mind as Gideon and Rupert got ready for what they were about to do. Strangely, though, he found himself hesitating for the first time since this plan was fucking put into place.
Why did it feel like it was going to go badly? He shook the thought off when Rupert slapped him in the arm, deciding it was just a fucking passing worry. He had a fucking bank to rob now.
"Hands in the air!"
Their rush inside almost felt like it was going in slow motion, and he was spouting any aggressively threatening lines he could think of at the people he was now pointing his gun at. It was what made every bank robbery he'd seen in movies and on television great, and it was what he knew would keep everyone in line. He had nothing to worry about, and that thought was heightened by the fact the workers were doing exactly what he was saying.
Fuck, it definitely was a power rush. Any doubts that had come to mind had been pushed aside, replaced instead by an exilerated feeling. He was going to get out of this a fucking rich man. He was going to be somebody someone made a fucking movie about one day.
"Asses and hands on the ground. Those are the rules, he barked, ignoring the obvious glare from Desmond as he sat down. He only glanced away when he heard Rupert struggling. Of course. The sidekick had to fucking screw up in some way, even if it was only a mild annoyance.
It was easy to stay in control, even if Rupert was a fucking moron.
But Gideon knew they had to work fast.
"Now I'm going to need a helper," he said, even though he fucking had just the person in mind even before he said it. The overeager bank manager stood up to volunteer, but Gideon wasn't having that shit - he knew how they worked. When she was back on the ground, he turned right to Desmond, gun poised at his face.
"Get up," he growled, eventually picking him up by the shirt when he wouldn't listen. Of course he thought he could just get away with that because they had been friends. Gideon wasn't fucking around, which he thought he was making perfectly clear. Desmond finally had to give up the tough guy look and eventually did what he was told.
They strode into the vault together.
He had done a good job (with plenty of alcohol the night before) numbing his feelings on the matter of Desmond bailing and fucking screwing them over. Pulling off his mask once they were inside, he ignored Desmond questioning his motives, though he found himself feeling strangely guilty. His anger, which had been high before, had all but dissipated as he realized what he was fucking doing. And why was he thinking about him getting shot all of a sudden? A picture in his mind of watching some cop do him in on a screen came to mind, and he wasn't sure what to fucking think about it.
"Don't worry. They'll never fucking know," he promised instead of snapping at him. Desmond stared at him for a long moment before going back to work. Desmond looked at him with a dubious expression. As sincere as he could ever fucking be, he added, "I get it. Just fucking do what I say and you can go see your fucking big time artist dealer."
Desmond shut up, then, obviously taking the hint. Gideon went back to work, purposely not taking any of the orange bundles - he just had a feeling they were bad fucking news. As he finished putting the last of the money in, he heard a shitload of commotion out in the main area. It definitely didn't sound good.
"Fuck, the door's unlocked," Rupert shouted, and Gideon felt a brief twist of panic as he let that settle in. The cops would fucking be there eventually even if they weren't alerted. They'd get in without a fucking problem at this point.
Shit. Shit.
This wasn't how it was fucking supposed to be. He wracked his brain, trying to decide what he was fucking going to do next.
"Uh, uh," he stammered, and he opened his mouth to speak, staring right at Desmond. Something fucking stopped him, though - kept him from talking while he was fucking panicking. He just tossed the fucking keys to Rupert instead.
"Lock the fucking doors. I forgot something," he said, pointing the gun right at Desmond as he took his bag away. "Sit the fuck down or I'm going to blow your brains out."
He did, with no protest.
Rupert kept his gun trained on the people sitting down as he went to lock the door. Gideon could hear him fucking screaming at them enough to know they were staying in line. With the bags in hand, he was already ready to start running.
"Fuck, come on, Rupert," he said, trying to hurry him up as he came to catch up to him. He glanced Desmond's way one more time before hurrying out toward what would likely be a fucking back exit.
They were home free. They had to fucking be. Everyone would try to rush the front and not even think about any side doors immediately. That didn't fucking last long.
"Stop or I'll shoot!"
Gideon didn't even have time to react, but Rupert did. The sound of a gun being fired from right behind him was enough to make him fucking jump. Being that startled also meant he had no fucking time to react when the cop shot back.
As it turned out, seeing someone get shot in the movies definitely didn't hold a fucking candle to having it done in real life. The blast was close enough that it fucking made him fall over, searing pain ripping through him. He clutched at where it hurt the most and came away with a hand covered in blood.
Panic set in quickly. He could vaguely hear Rupert yelling at him to get up. Then he heard the sound of retreating footsteps, and it was only then that he realized he was being fucking left behind. Rupert didn't give a shit about him - he just cared about the money.
Breath coming quicker and quicker, Gideon struggled to stay awake. It didn't do shit in the end.
The last thoughts to come to mind before he passed out was how much it sucked he was going to fucking die in an alley from one shot and that he was fucking leaving behind people who gave a shit about him.
--
Gideon took a sharp intake of breath when his arm was suddenly hit. Glancing over, Rupert was looking at him expectantly. His expression changed quickly when Gideon started fucking checking his stomach for a wound.
Didn't he just get fucking shot? Wasn't he fucking bleeding out?
"What the hell are you doing, man? Are we going or not?" Rupert demanded, snapping him out of his thoughts. He stared hard at the other man, bewildered and more than a little pissed.
"You fucking left me," he accused, even though he obviously wasn't fucking dying. He didn't know what was going on. Memories were starting to swirl in his head more and more as he thought about it. Didn't they already go through this? Didn't "You'd fucking leave me to die if I got shot, wouldn't you?"
Rupert's expression quickly mirrored his. "What are you talking about? Are you fucking going nuts?"
Maybe he was. He had pushed aside the thought of it just being his imagination the last time he was in this very position. Now, all of a sudden, he felt like he remembered this very conversation more than once now. Focusing on it instead of pushing it aside made him remember even more shit. This was wrong. No matter what they fucking did, someone was going to get hurt. It was the last thing he wanted to happen, even if it was easy cash.
"I'm not doing this," he said suddenly, pulling off the fucking stupid looking panty hose. Rupert grabbed his shirt, glaring at him.
"What do you mean you're not doing it?" he asked.
Something didn't fucking feel right about this. Hell, he was suddenly even thinking that he was better than pulling a stunt like this. Instead of focusing on the action, all he could see in his mind was the people's panicked faces. Hitting Rupert's hand away, he shook his head. "I'm not doing this. People are going to fucking get hurt and we're going to get our asses thrown in jail. I just...have a feeling, man."
That didn't seem to sway Rupert too much. "I'm not here to fucking follow your random feelings, Gideon. Either you come with me or I'm doing this shit on my own. You can have fun being fucking poor as hell."
Gideon looked past him toward the bank, then back at Rupert. He knew he was right, but shit, he'd take being alive over being dead or having guilt on his shoulders. Stepping away, he shook his head.
"I'm not going," he replied. "And you shouldn't fucking go either. You really want to fucking chance this shit? We'll think of something else."
Rupert didn't say anything for a long moment, and he knew he was considering it. It was a long enough silence that his loud sigh startled the hell out of him.
"Don't even fucking talk to me," he muttered, stalking past him.
All things considered, he knew he had every right to be pissed. Still, as he saw Rupert walk past the bank and not go in, he found himself feeling weirdly accomplished even as he was technically losing a shitload of cash because of this.
Pocketing his "mask" and holstering his gun, he headed in an opposite direction. Fuck, he needed a drink.
--
Gideon opened his eyes, momentarily startled by the familiar surroundings of his hut. He sat up groggily, rubbing his face and glancing around in confusion. Had he just been dreaming or something? He'd had plenty of dreams of that time, but never like the one he experienced. It wasn't like that time he was fucking sent home, either - things didn't just fucking repeat over and over. Sighing, he glanced at his clock, expecting it to be early as hell.
It was exactly one minute after the last time he glanced at his watch.
That caught his attention. He knew it was possible to doze off, but having that detailed a dream in a span of less than a minute? That shit was unheard of. Was he just being fucked aound with again? If it was, he wasn't sure what the fucking point was. Redoing that shit over and over wouldn't change what actually happened. He had to admit, though - he kind of liked seeing hmself actually figure out what was best. It wasn't much, but it was something.