Search and Destroy
Title: Search and Destroy
Rating:: PG-13
Fandom/Pairing Killjoys, Fun Ghoul/ Party Poison
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue, don't take this too seriously.
Summary: Written for hc_bingo prompt, "Stockholm Syndrome."
A/N: Set earlier on in a possible 'verse timeline.
---
We've all agreed that we're going to rescue Party, even if it means killing the Drac wearing his face under his mask when we get there.
---
He's lying strapped to the bed when we break through the cell door, and when he turns his head our way, he's following the noise- they've got a heavy leather blindfold on him.
He's not covered in blood, though, and he still has all his limbs attached, and he's still breathing. Mostly I'm relieved, but he looks a little skinny, and his skin is bruising faintly around the sensors they've attached all over his body.
They've stripped him down to nearly nothing, and it's not just the clothes. Even his hair, it's pulled back sharply back against his skull, and the color's been bleached right out. I wonder why they didn't just shave it off.
When I unfasten the mask, his eyes slam shut against the light and he groans unhappily, but honestly? It's the best sound I've heard in three weeks.
Because Draculoids feel nothing. Not even unhappiness.
We've got to get him out of this cell, though. The light in here is making him look transparent.
---
The IV drip bag is labeled Belacop, which is odd, because Show Pony said that they were dosing him with the usual Drac-in-training mix of deadeners and brain-buzzers, but that's not the only needle that needs to come out of his arm.
There are tiny, short needles anchoring about half of the sensors, the others are basic electrodes, but there's no telling which is which until the blood beads on the surface of his skin. They've got to come out either way, but the bloody ones make Party nervous.
He's fine, so far, but if he panics, he might shout, and if he shouts loud enough, we might all end up like this. We get a system going- Jet removes the electrode while Kobra dives in with a bandage when he needs to. Me, I stand over him in the bed, hands already over the restraints- the moment they're done with the sensors, I'm getting him the fuck off of this damned bed- and in the meantime, I keep him looking at me, at the door, at anything besides the tech being pulled off of him.
Finally, it's done, and while I'm helping Party find his feet, Kobra covers the corridor while Jet rummages for clothing in the rooms across the hall.
Party feels light in my arms, but his grasp on my shoulder is tight.
"Hey," he murmurs, knocking his head against mine. "Good to see you."
"You too. They're getting you some clothes," I start, but Jet's returning,
He looks wary, a little pissed off, carrying a plastic-wrapped Drac uniform like it'll infect him. In his other hand, he's even got the shoes and mask. "It's all I could find," he apologizes, and Kobra glances down at the label slapped to the plastic before turning horrified eyes on his brother.
"It's already got your name on it."
"Yeah." There's this split second where I think he might say something else about it, but instead he reaches his arm out, and it's awesome, I can practically feel the change when it comes over him, when he slides back into the ideas guy. "Give it here anyway. Three of you plus naked me means we're all coming back in here. Three of you plus Drac escort means we make it out."
"But-"
"Don't, Kobra. Not now."
"Right," Kobra shrugs, and while everyone pretends not to notice that I have to take over when it came to the buttons on Party's shirt, Kobra starts talking through the exit plan.
---
Pulling the mask off once we've cleared the habitat levels, Party glances over his shoulder as we head into the 4th sub-level supply access tunnel. It almost looks like he's worried. Sad. But he doesn't slow down.
---
Nobody relaxes until we clear Battery City, but nobody speaks until we get back to our base at the diner.
"I'm gonna get some food going," Jet decides, and I draw my gun for the security sweep and follow him in. Kobra's looking like he wants a minute alone with Party, he'll make sure he gets inside.
None of our sensors have been disturbed, and nobody's there waiting, so we holster our guns and I search out some dog food dinners while Jet jets down into storage. When he comes up, he's grinning wildly, brandishing three tomatoes. They're tiny, but they're red, and fuck, I hadn't thought he could get them to work, but Show Pony hadn't been lying about the seeds. Think we're going to owe him one.
Fuck it. He got us the intel on Party. We already owe him everything.
---
Kobra more or less shoves Party in my direction and nods towards our room- the manager's office. It's small and there are no windows, but Kobra had maintained it was for his own mental health more than anything.
He's taken over the old smoking section. There are, like, eight windows in there.
Party follows me back up to the office, Drac mask clenched in his hand. He's being real quiet, but I don't know that I'd feel much like talking, either. And I don't know why Kobra insisted I come with him.
Fuck, unless he's still having trouble with his hands.
---
"Look, I'll tell you about it when I get it straight in my head, okay? It's fuzzed out. Too much static, you know?"
"Sure," I say, watching him pull his jeans on. They're a bit loose, as is the shirt, and we're going to have to do something about boots and a jacket, soon.
And maybe set his hair back to rights. Because fuck, this barely looks like him. He's kind of creeping me out.
---
It's been three weeks since we've eaten together.
It feels more like three years.
Kobra keeps looking like he's going to start freaking the fuck out, and Jet, when Kobra's turned away, keeps shooting him these wary, concerned glances.
It's not until I realize that Jet's doing the same to me that I get it.
Party, far as I can tell, doesn’t notice anything.
---
"I've got first watch," I decide, figuring that Party might not want me in close quarters right now.
I'm sitting in the car for about ten minutes when the front door opens and Party comes out. He's got Kobra's boots on, and what might be one of his old sweaters, as well.
"You should probably be sleeping," I tell him when he slumps in the passenger seat.
He smirks, tiredly. "Figured I'd keep you company, make sure you don't fall asleep on the job. And I haven't gotten out much, lately. Wanted to make sure the stars haven't all burnt out in my absence."
I almost say that it felt like they had, but it sounds stupid even thinking about it, and I don't think that's the point he's trying to make, anyway.
Three weeks in that cell. There weren't windows in there, either.
---
He's been sitting here for the better part of an hour.
Neither of us feel like talking but we both know we're supposed to, and it's getting unbearable, this silence, so I flip on the radio. Same old BL/Ind propaganda, but there's nothing else on.
I'm not sure either of us is really paying attention until it's reported that a Dr. Montano died in a car crash this afternoon.
"The accident occurred out on Route G, three miles west of Battery City. He was making an attempt to outrun charges that he had leaked sensitive information and engaged in industrial espionage against his employers at Better Living. Citizens are being asked to notify S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W if they see a brightly colored van in their neighborhood, as the driver was seen speeding from the scene."
And maybe it's just that BL/Ind communications are very good at what they do, but I'm remembering, now, seeing a van slamming past, heading out as we were heading into Battery City. I don't know if it's a real memory, though. For all I know five minutes on the station is enough to wipe your brain, these days. Man, I'm sick of their shit. I don't want to think about them any more. Besides, it's a distraction, because I'm remembering something else, too.
"Isn't he the doctor you were trying to find a few months ago?"
"Yeah. Didn't think he worked for Better Living, though." He frowned. "Guess I found him.
"Think he was one of the doctors overseeing your case?"
"Dunno. There were a lot of them. None of them spoke to me. Only person who did went by the name Korse."
"Who was he?"
"No idea. Didn't dress like a doctor, but. Like. He'd come by, every day. When the shocks were getting too bad, he'd get the techs to shut it all down, and when the treatments weren't working, he'd go off on them. Was weird. I kept thinking he was going to take it out on me, you know?"
"But he never did?"
Party shrugs, shakes his head. "Even after they bleached my hair, he said he'd let me keep it. I mean. Not much, but. He was a good guy."
Of course there'd be good guys involved. Only thing is that I thought it would be us.
Fuck, it's him, but his loyalties are bent.
"The hair's not exactly regulation." It's my turn to shrug, and I know that I'm just playing along. It still sounds seven kinds of jacked, but Party's looking too fucking lost to argue with right now. "I don't know. Maybe it's him. He did try to help you, sounds like. Could be our guy."
"I don't know," Party admits, putting his feet up on the dash. "Doesn't matter now."
And we're back to the silence again. Aces.
---
"You're really okay? And you're really you?"
"I think so," he said, after a few moments. "I still feel like me. Dressed wrong and tired, but not zombied." He sounds bitter. "You don't have to worry about me killing you in your sleep or anything."
"I wasn't."
"You should've been."
Rolling my eyes, I try and figure out which one of us is trying to start something. "Tough."
"You just heard me telling you about my Better Living buddy. Their shit, whatever they were pumping into me, it worked." He growls.
"No it didn't," I ease back in my seat, relaxing because I know it'll tick him off. "One, you haven't tried killing me yet. Two, you're pissed off. You're just-"
"Busted in the brain pan," he sneers. "Yeah, I get it."
"-coming off three weeks in lockdown."
"Sympathizing with the enemy."
"It'll go away."
"How do you know?"
"Because you're still you."
---
There's only another half hour or so left on my shift, and Party looks like he's nearly falling asleep. I wish he would. Every time he drifts off and startles himself awake again, he looks worse.
And it's not as if there's a lot worth staying up for, right now. Just the same old desert, the same old dashboard.
"Hey, you should go in, get some real sleep."
"Later." He looks out his window, jaw clenched tight, being annoyed at me again.
"Party," I don't honestly know what I'm going to say- I've been trying to guess for two hours now and coming up with nothing- but I reach out and shake his shoulder. "I'm serious. You're exhausted. You're not going to do yourself- or any of us- any favors by not sleeping."
"Yeah, but if I crash when you do, you won't wake me up when you come to bed," he says, smirking. He's lying again but it's not like I'm enough of an ass to make him admit that he's too freaked to be alone.
And it's not like I actually want him anywhere but in my line of sight right now, anyway.
"Fair point," I say, keeping my tone light. "You're a total bitch when you get woken up."
"Like you're any better." He's grinning apologetically now, and when he turns to face me, my hand shifts to the side of his neck. He leans into it when my thumb brushes along his collarbone, I don't even know that he's aware of it until he's grabbing my wrist and running his fingers up my arm. It's not sexy, not at all. It's more like he's making sure I'm still there- what he does when he's convinced Kobra's lying about the number of hits he's taken in a dustup- but it changes when he reaches my elbow. "But I missed your ass anyway."
"Likewise. Had us freaking out."
"Sorry?"
"Not your fault. Unless you meant to run out of charge."
"Fuck," he says, head rocking back against the seat again, eyes screwed shut. "Lost my gun, too."
"Easier to come by than water, you know that. We'll take care of it in the morning, run out to see Tommy." Trying to cheer him up, I added, "and before you ask, we recovered your rebreather. They didn't even singe the fur."
No response, just the terminally cheerful newscaster advertising the new line of products required for purchase, so I tap him on the chest. "Aces?"
"Aces." He eventually nods, and for some reason, it's like he's saying yes to an entirely different question, he's giving permission, and hell, he's pulling me in anyway, so I might as well kiss the guy.
It's not like I haven't wanted to do that for weeks, anyway.
---
This close, his skin smells strange. Astringent, too clean. He smells like Battery City and it's going to take a while for it to wear off. And he smells a bit like Kobra, too, which is odd. It's the sweater.
"It's me, okay?" He hurries to explain when I pull away, but I'm just trying to stop the gearshift from digging into my knee, and my hands haven't even left him yet.
"I know."
I've known him my entire life, and even before, and his skin feels the same under my fingers, and it's brilliant, kissing him again, hands in his hair. He's finally realizing that I'm not going to run the moment he loosens his death grip on my shoulders, but then he's got me trapped in his arms.
I don't try and escape, but I do shift again, dragging him closer.
His breathing's as erratic as mine, and in a moment we're going to need to put this one hold until we're back inside, unless we want Jet catching us with our pants down again, but. Fuck, I wasn't sure he was still breathing eight hours ago. I wasn't sure he was still him.
The chemically calmed voice of the newscaster explodes into static. Fuzz, an explosion, and more fuzz, and Party's pulling back, hard. "What was that?"
"I don't know- I think you kicked the radio-"
"Hang on," straddling me, he twists and reaches behind himself for the dial. His hips are sharp ridges under my steadying hips and I wonder what the hell he's on about.
But I don't worry about it. For the first time in weeks, everything's fine. Back to normal. I scratch at his belly, and he laughs, swats my hand away.
But then I hear it, sliding in through the noise. Music. Loud, raucous music, nothing like the heavy rotation of Battery City Radio 1. Not calming. Fast. Loud. Fucking ecstatic.
I'm down when it ends. Party glances over like he's feeling it too, like he can't believe that it's over, like he can't believe he'd heard it at all. His legs tighten around mine, but it's nothing like the grip he's got on my hand.
But then a man starts talking, and if we're worried about our worlds spinning out, there's no time, because it's about to happen again.
---
"And that's another blast from your lost past. Iggy and the Stooges with "Search and Destroy," going out to all who don't make the target market and everyone who the market makes a target.
We're still coming to you live and still alive, from the side of the road, and we'll be gone when you scared crows get here. We'll be out running in the desert gathering sun, storin' it all up in jars and oil cans, and when we dump that light down your ears we're gonna be able to see through your skin, everything that's in there and everything that ain't.
My partner in crime, running this show and all the shows that keep your plasma flowing, is telling me that we've got some exterminaction heading our way. Since we're no good to you dead or Drac'ed, we're gonna burn out of here for now. But here's two last things to love before I leave you.
We've got no sponsors, but this highly illegal and oh-so-sexy broadcast is brought to you by Belacop. In a world where chicken-soup pills won't fix what's wrong, why not re-word the world and fix what's right? This placebo will save your souls, boys and girls, and that's a fact. I know, because I made it myself. And you can too, I'll tell you how next time.
Godspeed and congratulations, finally, going out to the blonde wonder and the party patrol that sprung him. I hope you're all out there tearing up the roads, souls intact and breathing fire, and that you stay that way for a very long while. This desert don't need more lizards, but it sure as hell could use a few more dragons.
Gotta run and gun now, kids, but we'll be back, longer and louder, real damned soon. Don't stay tuned, stay scanning. This is Doctor Deathdefying, signing off."
Rating:: PG-13
Fandom/Pairing Killjoys, Fun Ghoul/ Party Poison
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue, don't take this too seriously.
Summary: Written for hc_bingo prompt, "Stockholm Syndrome."
A/N: Set earlier on in a possible 'verse timeline.
---
We've all agreed that we're going to rescue Party, even if it means killing the Drac wearing his face under his mask when we get there.
---
He's lying strapped to the bed when we break through the cell door, and when he turns his head our way, he's following the noise- they've got a heavy leather blindfold on him.
He's not covered in blood, though, and he still has all his limbs attached, and he's still breathing. Mostly I'm relieved, but he looks a little skinny, and his skin is bruising faintly around the sensors they've attached all over his body.
They've stripped him down to nearly nothing, and it's not just the clothes. Even his hair, it's pulled back sharply back against his skull, and the color's been bleached right out. I wonder why they didn't just shave it off.
When I unfasten the mask, his eyes slam shut against the light and he groans unhappily, but honestly? It's the best sound I've heard in three weeks.
Because Draculoids feel nothing. Not even unhappiness.
We've got to get him out of this cell, though. The light in here is making him look transparent.
---
The IV drip bag is labeled Belacop, which is odd, because Show Pony said that they were dosing him with the usual Drac-in-training mix of deadeners and brain-buzzers, but that's not the only needle that needs to come out of his arm.
There are tiny, short needles anchoring about half of the sensors, the others are basic electrodes, but there's no telling which is which until the blood beads on the surface of his skin. They've got to come out either way, but the bloody ones make Party nervous.
He's fine, so far, but if he panics, he might shout, and if he shouts loud enough, we might all end up like this. We get a system going- Jet removes the electrode while Kobra dives in with a bandage when he needs to. Me, I stand over him in the bed, hands already over the restraints- the moment they're done with the sensors, I'm getting him the fuck off of this damned bed- and in the meantime, I keep him looking at me, at the door, at anything besides the tech being pulled off of him.
Finally, it's done, and while I'm helping Party find his feet, Kobra covers the corridor while Jet rummages for clothing in the rooms across the hall.
Party feels light in my arms, but his grasp on my shoulder is tight.
"Hey," he murmurs, knocking his head against mine. "Good to see you."
"You too. They're getting you some clothes," I start, but Jet's returning,
He looks wary, a little pissed off, carrying a plastic-wrapped Drac uniform like it'll infect him. In his other hand, he's even got the shoes and mask. "It's all I could find," he apologizes, and Kobra glances down at the label slapped to the plastic before turning horrified eyes on his brother.
"It's already got your name on it."
"Yeah." There's this split second where I think he might say something else about it, but instead he reaches his arm out, and it's awesome, I can practically feel the change when it comes over him, when he slides back into the ideas guy. "Give it here anyway. Three of you plus naked me means we're all coming back in here. Three of you plus Drac escort means we make it out."
"But-"
"Don't, Kobra. Not now."
"Right," Kobra shrugs, and while everyone pretends not to notice that I have to take over when it came to the buttons on Party's shirt, Kobra starts talking through the exit plan.
---
Pulling the mask off once we've cleared the habitat levels, Party glances over his shoulder as we head into the 4th sub-level supply access tunnel. It almost looks like he's worried. Sad. But he doesn't slow down.
---
Nobody relaxes until we clear Battery City, but nobody speaks until we get back to our base at the diner.
"I'm gonna get some food going," Jet decides, and I draw my gun for the security sweep and follow him in. Kobra's looking like he wants a minute alone with Party, he'll make sure he gets inside.
None of our sensors have been disturbed, and nobody's there waiting, so we holster our guns and I search out some dog food dinners while Jet jets down into storage. When he comes up, he's grinning wildly, brandishing three tomatoes. They're tiny, but they're red, and fuck, I hadn't thought he could get them to work, but Show Pony hadn't been lying about the seeds. Think we're going to owe him one.
Fuck it. He got us the intel on Party. We already owe him everything.
---
Kobra more or less shoves Party in my direction and nods towards our room- the manager's office. It's small and there are no windows, but Kobra had maintained it was for his own mental health more than anything.
He's taken over the old smoking section. There are, like, eight windows in there.
Party follows me back up to the office, Drac mask clenched in his hand. He's being real quiet, but I don't know that I'd feel much like talking, either. And I don't know why Kobra insisted I come with him.
Fuck, unless he's still having trouble with his hands.
---
"Look, I'll tell you about it when I get it straight in my head, okay? It's fuzzed out. Too much static, you know?"
"Sure," I say, watching him pull his jeans on. They're a bit loose, as is the shirt, and we're going to have to do something about boots and a jacket, soon.
And maybe set his hair back to rights. Because fuck, this barely looks like him. He's kind of creeping me out.
---
It's been three weeks since we've eaten together.
It feels more like three years.
Kobra keeps looking like he's going to start freaking the fuck out, and Jet, when Kobra's turned away, keeps shooting him these wary, concerned glances.
It's not until I realize that Jet's doing the same to me that I get it.
Party, far as I can tell, doesn’t notice anything.
---
"I've got first watch," I decide, figuring that Party might not want me in close quarters right now.
I'm sitting in the car for about ten minutes when the front door opens and Party comes out. He's got Kobra's boots on, and what might be one of his old sweaters, as well.
"You should probably be sleeping," I tell him when he slumps in the passenger seat.
He smirks, tiredly. "Figured I'd keep you company, make sure you don't fall asleep on the job. And I haven't gotten out much, lately. Wanted to make sure the stars haven't all burnt out in my absence."
I almost say that it felt like they had, but it sounds stupid even thinking about it, and I don't think that's the point he's trying to make, anyway.
Three weeks in that cell. There weren't windows in there, either.
---
He's been sitting here for the better part of an hour.
Neither of us feel like talking but we both know we're supposed to, and it's getting unbearable, this silence, so I flip on the radio. Same old BL/Ind propaganda, but there's nothing else on.
I'm not sure either of us is really paying attention until it's reported that a Dr. Montano died in a car crash this afternoon.
"The accident occurred out on Route G, three miles west of Battery City. He was making an attempt to outrun charges that he had leaked sensitive information and engaged in industrial espionage against his employers at Better Living. Citizens are being asked to notify S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W if they see a brightly colored van in their neighborhood, as the driver was seen speeding from the scene."
And maybe it's just that BL/Ind communications are very good at what they do, but I'm remembering, now, seeing a van slamming past, heading out as we were heading into Battery City. I don't know if it's a real memory, though. For all I know five minutes on the station is enough to wipe your brain, these days. Man, I'm sick of their shit. I don't want to think about them any more. Besides, it's a distraction, because I'm remembering something else, too.
"Isn't he the doctor you were trying to find a few months ago?"
"Yeah. Didn't think he worked for Better Living, though." He frowned. "Guess I found him.
"Think he was one of the doctors overseeing your case?"
"Dunno. There were a lot of them. None of them spoke to me. Only person who did went by the name Korse."
"Who was he?"
"No idea. Didn't dress like a doctor, but. Like. He'd come by, every day. When the shocks were getting too bad, he'd get the techs to shut it all down, and when the treatments weren't working, he'd go off on them. Was weird. I kept thinking he was going to take it out on me, you know?"
"But he never did?"
Party shrugs, shakes his head. "Even after they bleached my hair, he said he'd let me keep it. I mean. Not much, but. He was a good guy."
Of course there'd be good guys involved. Only thing is that I thought it would be us.
Fuck, it's him, but his loyalties are bent.
"The hair's not exactly regulation." It's my turn to shrug, and I know that I'm just playing along. It still sounds seven kinds of jacked, but Party's looking too fucking lost to argue with right now. "I don't know. Maybe it's him. He did try to help you, sounds like. Could be our guy."
"I don't know," Party admits, putting his feet up on the dash. "Doesn't matter now."
And we're back to the silence again. Aces.
---
"You're really okay? And you're really you?"
"I think so," he said, after a few moments. "I still feel like me. Dressed wrong and tired, but not zombied." He sounds bitter. "You don't have to worry about me killing you in your sleep or anything."
"I wasn't."
"You should've been."
Rolling my eyes, I try and figure out which one of us is trying to start something. "Tough."
"You just heard me telling you about my Better Living buddy. Their shit, whatever they were pumping into me, it worked." He growls.
"No it didn't," I ease back in my seat, relaxing because I know it'll tick him off. "One, you haven't tried killing me yet. Two, you're pissed off. You're just-"
"Busted in the brain pan," he sneers. "Yeah, I get it."
"-coming off three weeks in lockdown."
"Sympathizing with the enemy."
"It'll go away."
"How do you know?"
"Because you're still you."
---
There's only another half hour or so left on my shift, and Party looks like he's nearly falling asleep. I wish he would. Every time he drifts off and startles himself awake again, he looks worse.
And it's not as if there's a lot worth staying up for, right now. Just the same old desert, the same old dashboard.
"Hey, you should go in, get some real sleep."
"Later." He looks out his window, jaw clenched tight, being annoyed at me again.
"Party," I don't honestly know what I'm going to say- I've been trying to guess for two hours now and coming up with nothing- but I reach out and shake his shoulder. "I'm serious. You're exhausted. You're not going to do yourself- or any of us- any favors by not sleeping."
"Yeah, but if I crash when you do, you won't wake me up when you come to bed," he says, smirking. He's lying again but it's not like I'm enough of an ass to make him admit that he's too freaked to be alone.
And it's not like I actually want him anywhere but in my line of sight right now, anyway.
"Fair point," I say, keeping my tone light. "You're a total bitch when you get woken up."
"Like you're any better." He's grinning apologetically now, and when he turns to face me, my hand shifts to the side of his neck. He leans into it when my thumb brushes along his collarbone, I don't even know that he's aware of it until he's grabbing my wrist and running his fingers up my arm. It's not sexy, not at all. It's more like he's making sure I'm still there- what he does when he's convinced Kobra's lying about the number of hits he's taken in a dustup- but it changes when he reaches my elbow. "But I missed your ass anyway."
"Likewise. Had us freaking out."
"Sorry?"
"Not your fault. Unless you meant to run out of charge."
"Fuck," he says, head rocking back against the seat again, eyes screwed shut. "Lost my gun, too."
"Easier to come by than water, you know that. We'll take care of it in the morning, run out to see Tommy." Trying to cheer him up, I added, "and before you ask, we recovered your rebreather. They didn't even singe the fur."
No response, just the terminally cheerful newscaster advertising the new line of products required for purchase, so I tap him on the chest. "Aces?"
"Aces." He eventually nods, and for some reason, it's like he's saying yes to an entirely different question, he's giving permission, and hell, he's pulling me in anyway, so I might as well kiss the guy.
It's not like I haven't wanted to do that for weeks, anyway.
---
This close, his skin smells strange. Astringent, too clean. He smells like Battery City and it's going to take a while for it to wear off. And he smells a bit like Kobra, too, which is odd. It's the sweater.
"It's me, okay?" He hurries to explain when I pull away, but I'm just trying to stop the gearshift from digging into my knee, and my hands haven't even left him yet.
"I know."
I've known him my entire life, and even before, and his skin feels the same under my fingers, and it's brilliant, kissing him again, hands in his hair. He's finally realizing that I'm not going to run the moment he loosens his death grip on my shoulders, but then he's got me trapped in his arms.
I don't try and escape, but I do shift again, dragging him closer.
His breathing's as erratic as mine, and in a moment we're going to need to put this one hold until we're back inside, unless we want Jet catching us with our pants down again, but. Fuck, I wasn't sure he was still breathing eight hours ago. I wasn't sure he was still him.
The chemically calmed voice of the newscaster explodes into static. Fuzz, an explosion, and more fuzz, and Party's pulling back, hard. "What was that?"
"I don't know- I think you kicked the radio-"
"Hang on," straddling me, he twists and reaches behind himself for the dial. His hips are sharp ridges under my steadying hips and I wonder what the hell he's on about.
But I don't worry about it. For the first time in weeks, everything's fine. Back to normal. I scratch at his belly, and he laughs, swats my hand away.
But then I hear it, sliding in through the noise. Music. Loud, raucous music, nothing like the heavy rotation of Battery City Radio 1. Not calming. Fast. Loud. Fucking ecstatic.
I'm down when it ends. Party glances over like he's feeling it too, like he can't believe that it's over, like he can't believe he'd heard it at all. His legs tighten around mine, but it's nothing like the grip he's got on my hand.
But then a man starts talking, and if we're worried about our worlds spinning out, there's no time, because it's about to happen again.
---
"And that's another blast from your lost past. Iggy and the Stooges with "Search and Destroy," going out to all who don't make the target market and everyone who the market makes a target.
We're still coming to you live and still alive, from the side of the road, and we'll be gone when you scared crows get here. We'll be out running in the desert gathering sun, storin' it all up in jars and oil cans, and when we dump that light down your ears we're gonna be able to see through your skin, everything that's in there and everything that ain't.
My partner in crime, running this show and all the shows that keep your plasma flowing, is telling me that we've got some exterminaction heading our way. Since we're no good to you dead or Drac'ed, we're gonna burn out of here for now. But here's two last things to love before I leave you.
We've got no sponsors, but this highly illegal and oh-so-sexy broadcast is brought to you by Belacop. In a world where chicken-soup pills won't fix what's wrong, why not re-word the world and fix what's right? This placebo will save your souls, boys and girls, and that's a fact. I know, because I made it myself. And you can too, I'll tell you how next time.
Godspeed and congratulations, finally, going out to the blonde wonder and the party patrol that sprung him. I hope you're all out there tearing up the roads, souls intact and breathing fire, and that you stay that way for a very long while. This desert don't need more lizards, but it sure as hell could use a few more dragons.
Gotta run and gun now, kids, but we'll be back, longer and louder, real damned soon. Don't stay tuned, stay scanning. This is Doctor Deathdefying, signing off."