Watchmen fic: Intervention
Title: Intervention
Characters: Laurie, Jon.
Rating: Mature, but only due to the usual vigilante violence. Gen.
Word count: 1277
Summary: Jon interferes.
===
The dealer says "...You stupid bitch, you're asking..." and then Laurie hits the guy's jaw so hard that she feels something in her hand crunch, but she doesn't care.
The punch is enough to spin him around on his feet. Before he can recover, she's putting her hand on the back of his head and smashing his face against the alley wall. Her hand cradles his skull; she grinds his nose against the brick, then steps back so she has room to kick at his legs.
His knees give out, and he collapses into a crouching position, fighting to remain upright. Laurie wants him prone, but he isn't going down that easily. He tries to face her, and reaches inside his jacket to draw a gun - he should've reached for it earlier, but maybe he didn't think he'd need it.
He's too clumsy. Laurie knocks the weapon out of his hand.
The gun clatters to the floor. Laurie glances to it, momentarily transfixed - she can see herself picking it up, forcing the barrel into the dealer's mouth, just enough to watch his eyes widen as he feels the metal scrape against his teeth, and then...
"Fucking whore," the dealer hisses, stupidly defiant despite everything. Somehow, he manages to stand, although he has to lean against the wall for support.
Dogged persistence isn't a quality that Laurie finds attractive in a man.
Laurie grabs the dropped gun.
She levels the barrel at his stomach, as she's heard that's a very painful way to die. Perhaps he's heard the same thing, because he freezes, and there's definitely fear in his eyes. Perhaps the fear has been there all along, and she's only just noticed it. The dealer looks slightly younger than she is, although it's not as if that counts for anything. The adrenaline running through her veins doesn't make her particularly inclined to feel sympathy.
Laurie licks her lips, acutely aware of the soapy taste of lipstick, and lines up the gun's sights. The weapon really is an ugly thing, but it feels comfortingly solid.
"What did you just say?" she asks.
The dealer doesn't say anything. She's won. But it's just not quite enough. She could back down, but... she doesn't really want to.
And then it doesn't matter what Laurie wants.
Because.
The dealer just vanishes.
He leaves behind a faint afterimage, as if Laurie's brain can't quite accept it. She blinks, and lowers the gun. Realization dawns on her.
The puddles on the alley floor reflect an eerie blue glow.
"Jon," Laurie says, and she knows that he's standing behind her. She turns around, and there he is. "How long have you been watching me?"
Jon's face is a picture of infuriating serenity. "I was concerned for your welfare."
"Answer my question," Laurie says.
"I've been observing your patrol for the past hour."
Laurie is momentarily speechless. She knows that Jon can observe her whenever he wants, but they've been together for a few years now, and she'd just assumed that he'd respect her boundaries. When she can find her voice again, she says, "That's messed up, Jon."
"I was concerned for your welfare," Jon repeats. Then he seems to realize that he's being an asshole, so he adds, "I... I didn't wish to upset you, though."
Laurie just shakes her head.
He reaches out, and Laurie knows that he wants her to give him the gun. There's something nauseatingly paternal about the gesture. "I'm sorry," he says. "But I didn't want you to do anything that you'd regret later."
"Fuck you," Laurie says, because she's not in the mood to be preached at by a government-sponsored superweapon. "I wasn't going to do anything. And whatever I did do, that would be my choice to make, not yours. What next? Are you going to teleport me away, the next time you think I'm about to do something you disagree with?"
Jon looks a little defeated, as if he knows that whatever he says will likely anger her further. "I don't want you to be unhappy."
Yeah, well, it's not always about you, Laurie thinks. Her fingers tighten around the gun, and she holds on to it, even though giving it to Jon would be the easiest way to dispose of the stupid thing. She looks away from him, and tries to get a grip on her temper. Eventually, at a loss, she mutters, "C'mon, it isn't safe to hang around here. I'm going to quit for the night. Let's walk home."
And they do walk, even though Jon doesn't even need to, and there's always the risk that they'll attract unwanted attention.
"So, where'd you teleport the guy to?" Laurie asks, once she's feeling relatively calm.
"The roof of the Supreme Court building," says Jon. "Without his clothes."
"...Oh."
"It's a warm night. I'm sure he'll be fine."
"You're kidding me."
"I'm told that I don't have much of a sense of humor," Jon admits. "But I thought you might appreciate the gesture."
Laurie tries to imagine a very confused, very naked drug dealer on the Supreme Court's roof. She's not sure if she does appreciate the gesture, although she can see why it might be perceived as... funny, maybe. In a horrible way. (And besides, teleporting the guy away is probably more humane than what she might've done to him, given the chance.)
"Er. Thanks," she says.
Her adrenaline fades. She thinks about the dealer. She wonders if he's still scared, or if he's just angry and perplexed. Hopefully, he'll get noticed pretty quickly. He was just some punk kid who was running his mouth off, really; Laurie doesn't know if she can sustain a grudge against the guy, although she feels no regret about beating him up.
She examines her knuckles. The skin is split, and a bruise is already beginning to form, but bitter experience tells her that her hand is unlikely to be broken. She just threw a punch that was badly aligned, that's all.
"I don't think I really would've shot him, you know," she murmurs.
"I don't believe you," Jon replies.
Laurie just says, "Heh."
Laurie reflects: Jon's precognitive. Since when was anything ever a matter of belief for him?
"And if I had shot him," she says, "what would've happened?"
"It would have changed you," Jon says, blandly.
"Are you afraid of me changing, then?"
Jon does something unusual: he blinks. The gesture is brief and spontaneous. "That's irrelevant," he replies. "People change anyway, in time."
The comment sounds slightly ominous, but it's still vague enough to be meaningless. Of course people change. Well... all people except Jon, anyway. Laurie is torn between rolling her eyes and feeling sorry for him.
She offers him the gun, and he takes it from her. The weapon gives off heat and light as it is rendered down to its component atoms, burning like a magnesium flare. Laurie glances away from the brightness, looking down at the ground; her shadow stretches out across the pavement, alone. Jon, of course, has no shadow.
"For someone who's meant to be a fatalist or whatever," she mutters, "you're not very consistent."
Jon gives her a blank look, as if he doesn't follow.
When the light fades and the gun is gone, she holds his hand, for his sake rather than hers. His fingers are careful, and their coldness makes them soothing. He doesn't reply, but he gives her one of his careful smiles - it's a little distracted, perhaps, but it's earnest. It's true: he doesn't want her to be unhappy.
Laurie supposes she's just lucky that Jon doesn't want very much else.
Characters: Laurie, Jon.
Rating: Mature, but only due to the usual vigilante violence. Gen.
Word count: 1277
Summary: Jon interferes.
===
The dealer says "...You stupid bitch, you're asking..." and then Laurie hits the guy's jaw so hard that she feels something in her hand crunch, but she doesn't care.
The punch is enough to spin him around on his feet. Before he can recover, she's putting her hand on the back of his head and smashing his face against the alley wall. Her hand cradles his skull; she grinds his nose against the brick, then steps back so she has room to kick at his legs.
His knees give out, and he collapses into a crouching position, fighting to remain upright. Laurie wants him prone, but he isn't going down that easily. He tries to face her, and reaches inside his jacket to draw a gun - he should've reached for it earlier, but maybe he didn't think he'd need it.
He's too clumsy. Laurie knocks the weapon out of his hand.
The gun clatters to the floor. Laurie glances to it, momentarily transfixed - she can see herself picking it up, forcing the barrel into the dealer's mouth, just enough to watch his eyes widen as he feels the metal scrape against his teeth, and then...
"Fucking whore," the dealer hisses, stupidly defiant despite everything. Somehow, he manages to stand, although he has to lean against the wall for support.
Dogged persistence isn't a quality that Laurie finds attractive in a man.
Laurie grabs the dropped gun.
She levels the barrel at his stomach, as she's heard that's a very painful way to die. Perhaps he's heard the same thing, because he freezes, and there's definitely fear in his eyes. Perhaps the fear has been there all along, and she's only just noticed it. The dealer looks slightly younger than she is, although it's not as if that counts for anything. The adrenaline running through her veins doesn't make her particularly inclined to feel sympathy.
Laurie licks her lips, acutely aware of the soapy taste of lipstick, and lines up the gun's sights. The weapon really is an ugly thing, but it feels comfortingly solid.
"What did you just say?" she asks.
The dealer doesn't say anything. She's won. But it's just not quite enough. She could back down, but... she doesn't really want to.
And then it doesn't matter what Laurie wants.
Because.
The dealer just vanishes.
He leaves behind a faint afterimage, as if Laurie's brain can't quite accept it. She blinks, and lowers the gun. Realization dawns on her.
The puddles on the alley floor reflect an eerie blue glow.
"Jon," Laurie says, and she knows that he's standing behind her. She turns around, and there he is. "How long have you been watching me?"
Jon's face is a picture of infuriating serenity. "I was concerned for your welfare."
"Answer my question," Laurie says.
"I've been observing your patrol for the past hour."
Laurie is momentarily speechless. She knows that Jon can observe her whenever he wants, but they've been together for a few years now, and she'd just assumed that he'd respect her boundaries. When she can find her voice again, she says, "That's messed up, Jon."
"I was concerned for your welfare," Jon repeats. Then he seems to realize that he's being an asshole, so he adds, "I... I didn't wish to upset you, though."
Laurie just shakes her head.
He reaches out, and Laurie knows that he wants her to give him the gun. There's something nauseatingly paternal about the gesture. "I'm sorry," he says. "But I didn't want you to do anything that you'd regret later."
"Fuck you," Laurie says, because she's not in the mood to be preached at by a government-sponsored superweapon. "I wasn't going to do anything. And whatever I did do, that would be my choice to make, not yours. What next? Are you going to teleport me away, the next time you think I'm about to do something you disagree with?"
Jon looks a little defeated, as if he knows that whatever he says will likely anger her further. "I don't want you to be unhappy."
Yeah, well, it's not always about you, Laurie thinks. Her fingers tighten around the gun, and she holds on to it, even though giving it to Jon would be the easiest way to dispose of the stupid thing. She looks away from him, and tries to get a grip on her temper. Eventually, at a loss, she mutters, "C'mon, it isn't safe to hang around here. I'm going to quit for the night. Let's walk home."
And they do walk, even though Jon doesn't even need to, and there's always the risk that they'll attract unwanted attention.
"So, where'd you teleport the guy to?" Laurie asks, once she's feeling relatively calm.
"The roof of the Supreme Court building," says Jon. "Without his clothes."
"...Oh."
"It's a warm night. I'm sure he'll be fine."
"You're kidding me."
"I'm told that I don't have much of a sense of humor," Jon admits. "But I thought you might appreciate the gesture."
Laurie tries to imagine a very confused, very naked drug dealer on the Supreme Court's roof. She's not sure if she does appreciate the gesture, although she can see why it might be perceived as... funny, maybe. In a horrible way. (And besides, teleporting the guy away is probably more humane than what she might've done to him, given the chance.)
"Er. Thanks," she says.
Her adrenaline fades. She thinks about the dealer. She wonders if he's still scared, or if he's just angry and perplexed. Hopefully, he'll get noticed pretty quickly. He was just some punk kid who was running his mouth off, really; Laurie doesn't know if she can sustain a grudge against the guy, although she feels no regret about beating him up.
She examines her knuckles. The skin is split, and a bruise is already beginning to form, but bitter experience tells her that her hand is unlikely to be broken. She just threw a punch that was badly aligned, that's all.
"I don't think I really would've shot him, you know," she murmurs.
"I don't believe you," Jon replies.
Laurie just says, "Heh."
Laurie reflects: Jon's precognitive. Since when was anything ever a matter of belief for him?
"And if I had shot him," she says, "what would've happened?"
"It would have changed you," Jon says, blandly.
"Are you afraid of me changing, then?"
Jon does something unusual: he blinks. The gesture is brief and spontaneous. "That's irrelevant," he replies. "People change anyway, in time."
The comment sounds slightly ominous, but it's still vague enough to be meaningless. Of course people change. Well... all people except Jon, anyway. Laurie is torn between rolling her eyes and feeling sorry for him.
She offers him the gun, and he takes it from her. The weapon gives off heat and light as it is rendered down to its component atoms, burning like a magnesium flare. Laurie glances away from the brightness, looking down at the ground; her shadow stretches out across the pavement, alone. Jon, of course, has no shadow.
"For someone who's meant to be a fatalist or whatever," she mutters, "you're not very consistent."
Jon gives her a blank look, as if he doesn't follow.
When the light fades and the gun is gone, she holds his hand, for his sake rather than hers. His fingers are careful, and their coldness makes them soothing. He doesn't reply, but he gives her one of his careful smiles - it's a little distracted, perhaps, but it's earnest. It's true: he doesn't want her to be unhappy.
Laurie supposes she's just lucky that Jon doesn't want very much else.