Blake Thorne ; Sirius Black (ex_toujours322) wrote in musingslogs, @ 2011-01-09 19:54:00 |
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Entry tags: | elizabeth bennet, highwayman, viola |
Who: Preston, Blake, and Eli
What: A rescue attempt mounted with good intentions and lots of hatred.
Where: Aubade
When: During the Reavers plot
Warnings: Lots of swearing, some violence, standard zombie apocalypse type warnings.
Preston had been right. It took Eli three hours to make it through the city to Aubade. He’d taken as many backstreets as he could manage, in order to avoid the Guard, which the radio in the beaten up car told him was everywhere, shooting first and asking questions after, and he managed to avoid most of the roadblocks. He’d lived in Seattle long enough to know his way around, and it had come in helpful. He tried not to think about the fact that he was risking his arse to save a man he couldn’t bloody well stand. No. No. He was doing it to keep Preston safe in his blasted Sparke safezone. That didn’t make Eli feel any better. As he rounded the corner to Aubade, the first thing he noticed was the demolished gate, and he groaned, tucking the Bluetooth back in his ear and dialing Preston. “Which unit?” he asked.
When Preston picked up, the usual crisp nothingness of the connection was the first greeting. A moment later he was answering, doing a very fine job of hiding his relief Eli had managed to get to his destination. He was afraid to look away from the refreshing screens, afraid to blink, and he’d spent the time assembling data on where it was safe to hide and where it wasn’t. Sometimes the silent images horrified him, and in the empty confines of Anton’s lab, the low tones of the radio announcer just made the whole thing closer rather than farther away. He was watching Eli’s appropriated vehicle, now a familiar shape, and his voice was hesitant. “I... don’t know.” There was a tap tap tap of buttons, and a ring as Preston conference called Blake’s number. “If he doesn’t pick up,” Preston said anxiously, “maybe it was published somewhere and I can find it.”
Blake picked up almost immediately, a touch out of breath but otherwise sounding none the worse for wear. “Hello?” The strength of New York in that word testified to the fact that he was focused almost entirely on something else, namely watching the long window in the room he was currently in. He sounded more terse than scared, if on edge.
“What unit are you in, you daft fuck?” Eli asked, and there was the sound of a door opening and an engine shutting down, followed by the reloading of a gun. There was movement inside, in the lobby, and Eli very much hoped that Blake had the decency to live on a floor that was low enough to be accessible from the outside.
Preston was so relieved to hear Blake’s voice that he didn’t chastise Eli for his attitude. “Eli’s there, Blake.” This simultaneously made it clear that he wasn’t with him, but he had obviously made the call for him. “I’m working on an exit route for you as you leave. If the car is still there.”
"The daft fuck is in 507 on the top floor. Watch the body in the doorway on your way in." Blake wished he was kidding. Wished. When this was over, he was fairly sure he was going to do to Eli what he'd done to the guy in the door, so fucking help him. If the car is still there. "Well that's just reassuring as fuck. I don't know if the elevator's still working, if you want to risk it. Otherwise, take the back stairs, no one is ever on those."
Eli had no faith in the car being there, but there were plenty of them around, and he was pretty sure he could find one with something dead inside with very little effort. First things first, he needed to get inside. “You couldn’t have possibly been on a lower floor, could you? It just wouldn’t have done?” There was the sound of shots being fired, of something shrieking as it came closer and closer, more gunfire and then nothing but Eli’s heavy breathing on the line as he walked into the lobby and headed for the stairs.
“Don’t risk the elevator,” Preston said, unnecessarily, a disembodied voice in the air. The inability to do anything directly was killing him, and the strain was just barely audible.
"Sorry to inconvenience you by living on the wrong fucking floor." It had been quiet in the background of Blake's call until that moment, and then a woman began screaming in the adjacent apartment. "Christ."
Eli cursed, and he ran faster up the stairs. Numerous Reavers had taken shelter there, and he couldn’t go more than a few steps before helping someone down, helping someone up, or shooting something’s head off. As he rounded the landing at the halfway point, something slammed into him, winding him for a moment, the thing growling near the Bluetooth.
Blake had already been headed toward the front door. There was nothing in his apartment - not yet anyway - but there were several somethings in the hall. The best he'd been able to come up with for a weapon was a large kitchen knife, which he thankfully knew how to hold properly and how to wield, but had the negative of requiring closeness for effectiveness. "Coming down the stairs," he said. A few seconds later he was kicking the legs out from under a gnashing something and then moving in with the knife while it was down, while the woman it'd had hold of ran screaming down the stairs.
Eli had managed to push the thing off between the growling into the earpiece and Blake speaking, and he held his position. If Blake wanted to risk his arse to come partway down, so be it. He covered the turn in the stairs, back pressed to the corner as he ripped off the hem of the shirt he wore and tied it around his knuckles. By the time Blake came into view, there was something trailing him, and he shot just over Blake’s head and took it out. “Took you long enough,” he said.
Blake didn't flinch, to his credit. Adrenaline had numbed him to anything but the goal of getting out of the building and somewhere safe. "Give me the gun, and I promise to move faster," he said, going past him and down the stairs, the knife in his hand dripping blood.
By the time they made it down the stairs, the lobby was a disaster, and Eli pulled his back up weapon out from the back of his jeans and he tossed it to Blake (safety on) along with the keys to the car. “You know how to drive, I take it?” he asked. So much for Blake being helpless, as Preston seemed to believe he was.
Blake caught the keys and the gun and flipped the safety off the latter. Helpless, he was not. Less than willing to try to muscle his way out of the building when his car was parked in a garage a block away, maybe. "Surprisingly enough. What's the car look like?" He could just see some of the street from the lobby, now, and he swore under his breath. It had been bad from above, but distant. It was worse than he'd imagined on the ground.
“It’s the one with zombie guts all over the grill,” Eli said, and he nodded toward the broken glass doors at the entrance, where the car was visible. “I’ll cover you.”
"Today keeps getting fucking better." Blake moved around a bloodied, mangled corpse by the door and pushed it open, then ran for the smashed front gate. He saw something moving and snarling out of his peripheral vision, and he shot it with rough but decent accuracy, hitting it somewhere in the chest, never slowing down. Then he was outside the gate and on the street, running around the side of the car thinking hail marys he didn't believe in and wrenching the driver's side door open.
Blake’s aim was true, and Eli chuckled. “Preston was under the impression that you were helpless,” he said, looking over his shoulder when a young woman’s screams could be heard over his shoulder. He pulled his Bluetooth out of his ear, tossed it at Blake, and jerked his head toward the sound. “Go. I’m going to stay here. They need me more than your arse does.” He turned, already dismissing Blake entirely, and then he looked back over his shoulder. “And you better keep Preston the fuck inside, or we’re going to come to blows, you and I.”
Blake stared at him. "Are you fucking insane?" He was back out of the car and walking around it. "Don't fucking tempt fate by being a hero. I'm not interested in having Preston chew my ass out because I let you walk back in there and get killed. Get in the goddamn car."
“This is what I was doing before I stole that car to come get you. You get your arse inside it, and you go,” Eli insisted.
Preston, who had some difficulty with connection while they were deep in the building, reconnected with a sharp crackle. “Get in the fucking car, Blake.” His voice brooked no argument. It was almost like he was going to reach through the line and throw him in there himself.
Blake hung close to the edge of the car for a few short, tense seconds, then went back around to the other side, swearing a blue streak. He started the car, window rolled down enough to be heard. "You want to be a hero, fine. Heroes get themselves fucking killed. You're not calling in one piece in an hour, I swear on my mother's grave I'm coming back here and tying you to the roof of the fucking car."
“You just keep him inside, and you let me do my bloody job,” Eli said, turning and going back up the stairs and toward the screaming.
Blake peeled out from in front of Aubade, and it took every inch of self-preservation not to rip the Bluetooth from his ear and just run down Reavers the rest of the night. "Now where the fuck am I going?"
“Wait--” The connection scattered, then steadied. The conference call was still in effect. “Eli--no, dammit, Blake. Turn around!” Preston’s voice rose slightly. “I thought he was coming with you!!”
More swearing. Nothing coherent, just swearing, and then something about not giving orders unless you knew what the hell you were saying. Then the sound of the car screeching to a stop, gunfire, and Blake was back inside the building.
Eli had only managed one set of stairs, but his expression when he saw Blake could only be described as livid. “I told you to get the fuck out of here.”
"And your neighbor is insisting you come." Blake jerked his head toward the front door. "Remember what I said about tying you to the roof? I meant it." A Reaver came tumbling down the stairs with what appeared to be a woman's hand in its mouth, and Blake shot it neatly between the eyes. The question of why the hell he knew how to handle a weapon was really one for another time, however.
“You both come,” Preston said, to whoever would fucking listen, more angrily than anyone else had ever heard him sound. “You both get here, or I will come there, and you won’t fucking like what I bring with me.” He stabbed at his computer screen with his finger, not that anyone could see.
Eli had handed his Bluetooth to Blake, and he couldn’t hear whatever Preston was yelling, but he could tell he was yelling. He actually reached for Blake’s ear, yanked the damned Bluetooth off none-too gently, and he spoke into. “Dammit, Ash, you know bloody well these people need help. I came to make sure this bastard wasn’t trapped. He’s not. Now, tell him to get the fuck out of here and let me help clear out this bloody building.”
“BOTH OF YOU SAFE,” Preston shouted into the microphone. It got away from him, and he realized it, and fell abruptly silent with the outburst.
Blake had put the other Bluetooth in his pocket, and pulled it out just soon enough to hear the Preston. He stared at Eli, and he stared hard. He had more than a sneaking suspicion that Eli, whatever his protestations about his sexuality might be, had more than friendly feelings for Preston, mostly based on his clear-as-day jealousy. Either way, he and Preston were clearly invested in each other as more than neighbors, so if Preston shouting at him wasn't going to shake him, nothing would. Or, more accurately, if that wasn't enough he was going to hit him over the head and make this whole process easier on everyone.
“No,” Eli said, and it was a simple as that. They were wasting time, and wasting time meant wasting lives. “I chose this life, Ash,” he said, and he sounded angry, oh did he sound angry. “I’ll keep the damn Bluetooth in my ear, but I’m not leaving until we get these stairs cleared.” He turned to Blake. “You better move your arse, or I’m going to shoot you.” Deadpan.
Preston couldn’t see what they were doing, not there. “Blake.” The name was a plea, desperate. Do something. He didn’t want either of them to get hurt, and he couldn’t do a damn thing so many miles away.
"If you choose to be a fucking idiot who gets himself killed because he thinks it's noble, be my fucking guest. But if that's the case, I'm staying here to make sure you don't get permanently maimed until you agree to get in the car leave." With that, Blake went up the stairs ahead of him.
Eli grabbed Blake’s shoulder, stopping him. There was no way in hell he was going to let an untrained man go back up those bloody steps.
Preston groaned into the microphone, but a second later he seemed to recover himself. “Just... tell me what’s happening, and tell me if I need to send in reinforcements.” He had no idea who, or what, he would call, but he was sure he could do something.
Eli made a sharp, angry sound into his Bluetooth. “Blake is getting in the damned car, and I’ll meet you two as soon as this place is cleared out,” he said, and there was a hard sort of command in the words that said he would not be swayed. “He has no idea how to fight, Ash. He cannot remain here.” To Blake, he just said, “GO</i>.”
Blake was about two inches from grabbing Eli by the collar and throwing him face first down the stairs if he said one more goddamn thing about him being helpless, and he said nothing, turning on heel and beginning the work of shooting his way back to the car. He was going to kill Preston when he saw him again.