In Plain Sight - Drop
Off to CONvergence for most of the weekend. I have not been to one of these in years. The theme is Steam Punk and it will be the boys first big con. This totally goes down in the geek baby books, right?
Anyway, before I go I wanted to post a fic in a fandom maybe three people belong to. With this current season, I just could not resist.
Title: Drop
Fandom: In Plain Sight
Genre: Gen
Rating: PG-13
Length: ~1,330 words
Spoilers: through 4.07
Synopsis: “You’re going to shoot a pregnant woman?”
Author’s Notes: Yes, I should be finishing the Fringe Mini-Bang fic. This wanted to be written instead.
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters and am making no profit from this.
Mary was really beginning to hate this whole pregnancy thing. The weight gain, the wardrobe changes, the needing to pee damn near every hour - all of it sucked. Plus, Marshall assured her that it did not count as a “midnight feeding” if she was only waking up to make herself a sandwich. He then told her muumuus were coming back into style for certain populations. Shortly thereafter, he whimpered like a girl when she punched him in the arm.
Not that any of that mattered right now. Her most pressing concern at the moment was that Junior or Juniorette had made her ungainly enough to slow her down enough to actually get cornered by the bad guys. Bad guys with a decent amount of weaponry, she felt the need to add.
“Drop it!” Bad Guy Number One ordered. His name was actually Jonas Lightweight, but she pitied him enough to give him a better name, at least mentally. Not that he was actually a lightweight. In truth he was quite the heavyset and unfit man and, really, that irked her even more that he managed to get the drop on her. Maybe she would call him Lightweight after all.
“I don’t think so,” she shrugged. The movement made her bulging belly undulate and she tried to ignore the rather distracting sensation.
Lightweight cocked his gun like he thought such an action was imposing or even surprising. His aim was high and to the right though, and she was fairly certain she could dodge, even with the current clumsiness.
“I said drop it,” he growled, and she wondered if he had used that voice when he shot, robbed, and set fire to her witness’ family.
“I said no,” she replied blithely. She tried to decide if she should aim for his head or his kneecaps. Kneecaps would hurt worse and he’d be reminded of her for the rest of his life, but it also meant the tax payers would foot the bill for the rest of that life, so there was that to consider as well.
He lowered his aim and brought it center ever so slightly, eyebrow raised in silent dare. Her stomach flipped and she was fairly certain it was not just from the burrito she crammed down in the car.
Lightweight’s lackey, a man with an unfortunate mustache and the boring name of Smith stood at his side, but his own weapon wavered. “You’re going to shoot a pregnant woman?” he asked incredulously.
Mary watched Marshall swing into position behind them and tried not to roll her eyes at the panicked look he wore. Really, it was two on two so it should be no problem. Well, technically two and a half on two and yes, she planned to teach her kid how to fight and possibly shoot at an early age regardless of it being forced to wear the little blue or little pink outfits that awaited it. Anyway, if she knew Marshall, and she unfortunately did, the situation was not going to stay that way for long.
“No, he’s not,” Mary answered for the idiot with the gun trained on her belly. “He’s going to put down his own weapon and put his hands in the air. There are marshals swarming this building as we speak. You think they get pissed when you shoot one of their own? Try shooting their soon-to-be godchild.”
Marshall now mouthed something that looked eerily like an accusation of antagonizing the nice men with the guns, so she ignored him and focused her attention on Lightweight instead. He turned his head to the side slightly as though contemplating something vast and grand like his preferred brand of kerosene, but luckily did not seem to catch sight of her partner quite yet.
Lightweight apparently made his decision as, in the next moment, he bit his lip, turned back, and took the shot. She ducked instinctively, but still felt the pain of the tiny piece of metal as it tore through her body even as the entire warehouse echoed with the sound of gunfire.
She assumed they won, they being the U.S. Marshals of course, because soon enough she heard her partner’s panicked voice shout, “Marshal down! Marshal down! Get an ambulance here now!”
She found herself rolled to her back without ever knowing how she ended up on her side. Her stomach hurt, but she was fairly certain that was only from the fall and not from a bullet. When she looked down and saw the large amount of red on her previously maternity-green shirt, she had to question that assumption. She breathed through the first bit of what resolutely was not fear to trace the source of the red to the burn and agony just below her shoulder instead.
Marshall propped up her head and pressed something that might have been his own jacket to her wound. “Are you okay?” he asked. From the tone of his voice, he needed the reassurance more than she did at this point, and she was not sure how that made her feel.
“Of course I’m not okay,” she snapped back at him. “That asshole shot me. What kind of man shoots a pregnant woman?”
He sighed as though her attitude gave him comfort of a sort. “The kind of man that’s going away for a long time,” he assured her.
She grunted as he shifted his grip and unknowingly made the pain spike. “Please tell me you shot him,” she pleaded. “Like, shot him a lot.” Either her vision was going dark at the edges or there were enough people in dark jackets swarming about to make it seem that way. Either worked, really. One let her pass out and the other let her know the guy who shot her was about to be made even more uncomfortable than she currently was.
“I shot him,” Marshall confirmed. He had that resigned, far away look to his eyes and she really hoped he was not going to turn all angst puppy on her again.
“I notice you’re not adding the ‘a lot’ to the end of that,” she pointed out. She tried to push herself up to get a better view and was quickly reminded why that was a bad idea.
“I didn’t have to,” he told her. Before she could question him, he added, “I shot him, Gina shot him, Michael shot him, and I think even Stan shot him.”
Mary sank back down, content justice was served. Well, content until she realized that meant there were at least that many people who just saw her bloated ass get shot and how that would translate into a whole new level of over-protectiveness. “You guy are totally not going to let me chase people down any more, are you?” she pouted.
Marshall just shook his head. “Given the recuperation time you’ll need for your gunshot wound, mixed with your inevitable bed rest and maternity leave, I think it’s safe to assume the answer to that question is a resounding no.” She opened her mouth, but he cut her off with, “Don’t even think you can talk your way out of this one.”
She pouted. Again. He looked far too smug for her liking, so she could not resist the urge to find something to wipe that look off of his face. “Thank you, for your daring rescue and all that, but there is something I do need to say.”
“What’s that?” he asked. Smug was now replaced with the quiet panic again so all was right with the world.
She looked him in the eye and, with as much sincerity as she could muster, told him, “I really have to pee.”
His little snort of a chuckle reassured her that all was right with the world more than anything else. She lay back and closed her eyes and listened to the rumble of her coworkers mixed with the sounds of the approaching sirens and smiled.
Feedback is always welcomed.
This entry was originally posted at http://cat-77.dreamwidth.org/356592.html. Current comments
Anyway, before I go I wanted to post a fic in a fandom maybe three people belong to. With this current season, I just could not resist.
Title: Drop
Fandom: In Plain Sight
Genre: Gen
Rating: PG-13
Length: ~1,330 words
Spoilers: through 4.07
Synopsis: “You’re going to shoot a pregnant woman?”
Author’s Notes: Yes, I should be finishing the Fringe Mini-Bang fic. This wanted to be written instead.
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters and am making no profit from this.
Mary was really beginning to hate this whole pregnancy thing. The weight gain, the wardrobe changes, the needing to pee damn near every hour - all of it sucked. Plus, Marshall assured her that it did not count as a “midnight feeding” if she was only waking up to make herself a sandwich. He then told her muumuus were coming back into style for certain populations. Shortly thereafter, he whimpered like a girl when she punched him in the arm.
Not that any of that mattered right now. Her most pressing concern at the moment was that Junior or Juniorette had made her ungainly enough to slow her down enough to actually get cornered by the bad guys. Bad guys with a decent amount of weaponry, she felt the need to add.
“Drop it!” Bad Guy Number One ordered. His name was actually Jonas Lightweight, but she pitied him enough to give him a better name, at least mentally. Not that he was actually a lightweight. In truth he was quite the heavyset and unfit man and, really, that irked her even more that he managed to get the drop on her. Maybe she would call him Lightweight after all.
“I don’t think so,” she shrugged. The movement made her bulging belly undulate and she tried to ignore the rather distracting sensation.
Lightweight cocked his gun like he thought such an action was imposing or even surprising. His aim was high and to the right though, and she was fairly certain she could dodge, even with the current clumsiness.
“I said drop it,” he growled, and she wondered if he had used that voice when he shot, robbed, and set fire to her witness’ family.
“I said no,” she replied blithely. She tried to decide if she should aim for his head or his kneecaps. Kneecaps would hurt worse and he’d be reminded of her for the rest of his life, but it also meant the tax payers would foot the bill for the rest of that life, so there was that to consider as well.
He lowered his aim and brought it center ever so slightly, eyebrow raised in silent dare. Her stomach flipped and she was fairly certain it was not just from the burrito she crammed down in the car.
Lightweight’s lackey, a man with an unfortunate mustache and the boring name of Smith stood at his side, but his own weapon wavered. “You’re going to shoot a pregnant woman?” he asked incredulously.
Mary watched Marshall swing into position behind them and tried not to roll her eyes at the panicked look he wore. Really, it was two on two so it should be no problem. Well, technically two and a half on two and yes, she planned to teach her kid how to fight and possibly shoot at an early age regardless of it being forced to wear the little blue or little pink outfits that awaited it. Anyway, if she knew Marshall, and she unfortunately did, the situation was not going to stay that way for long.
“No, he’s not,” Mary answered for the idiot with the gun trained on her belly. “He’s going to put down his own weapon and put his hands in the air. There are marshals swarming this building as we speak. You think they get pissed when you shoot one of their own? Try shooting their soon-to-be godchild.”
Marshall now mouthed something that looked eerily like an accusation of antagonizing the nice men with the guns, so she ignored him and focused her attention on Lightweight instead. He turned his head to the side slightly as though contemplating something vast and grand like his preferred brand of kerosene, but luckily did not seem to catch sight of her partner quite yet.
Lightweight apparently made his decision as, in the next moment, he bit his lip, turned back, and took the shot. She ducked instinctively, but still felt the pain of the tiny piece of metal as it tore through her body even as the entire warehouse echoed with the sound of gunfire.
She assumed they won, they being the U.S. Marshals of course, because soon enough she heard her partner’s panicked voice shout, “Marshal down! Marshal down! Get an ambulance here now!”
She found herself rolled to her back without ever knowing how she ended up on her side. Her stomach hurt, but she was fairly certain that was only from the fall and not from a bullet. When she looked down and saw the large amount of red on her previously maternity-green shirt, she had to question that assumption. She breathed through the first bit of what resolutely was not fear to trace the source of the red to the burn and agony just below her shoulder instead.
Marshall propped up her head and pressed something that might have been his own jacket to her wound. “Are you okay?” he asked. From the tone of his voice, he needed the reassurance more than she did at this point, and she was not sure how that made her feel.
“Of course I’m not okay,” she snapped back at him. “That asshole shot me. What kind of man shoots a pregnant woman?”
He sighed as though her attitude gave him comfort of a sort. “The kind of man that’s going away for a long time,” he assured her.
She grunted as he shifted his grip and unknowingly made the pain spike. “Please tell me you shot him,” she pleaded. “Like, shot him a lot.” Either her vision was going dark at the edges or there were enough people in dark jackets swarming about to make it seem that way. Either worked, really. One let her pass out and the other let her know the guy who shot her was about to be made even more uncomfortable than she currently was.
“I shot him,” Marshall confirmed. He had that resigned, far away look to his eyes and she really hoped he was not going to turn all angst puppy on her again.
“I notice you’re not adding the ‘a lot’ to the end of that,” she pointed out. She tried to push herself up to get a better view and was quickly reminded why that was a bad idea.
“I didn’t have to,” he told her. Before she could question him, he added, “I shot him, Gina shot him, Michael shot him, and I think even Stan shot him.”
Mary sank back down, content justice was served. Well, content until she realized that meant there were at least that many people who just saw her bloated ass get shot and how that would translate into a whole new level of over-protectiveness. “You guy are totally not going to let me chase people down any more, are you?” she pouted.
Marshall just shook his head. “Given the recuperation time you’ll need for your gunshot wound, mixed with your inevitable bed rest and maternity leave, I think it’s safe to assume the answer to that question is a resounding no.” She opened her mouth, but he cut her off with, “Don’t even think you can talk your way out of this one.”
She pouted. Again. He looked far too smug for her liking, so she could not resist the urge to find something to wipe that look off of his face. “Thank you, for your daring rescue and all that, but there is something I do need to say.”
“What’s that?” he asked. Smug was now replaced with the quiet panic again so all was right with the world.
She looked him in the eye and, with as much sincerity as she could muster, told him, “I really have to pee.”
His little snort of a chuckle reassured her that all was right with the world more than anything else. She lay back and closed her eyes and listened to the rumble of her coworkers mixed with the sounds of the approaching sirens and smiled.
Feedback is always welcomed.
This entry was originally posted at http://cat-77.dreamwidth.org/356592.html. Current comments