#robotae

"STOP PUTTING YOURSELF INTO DANGER!" PROMPTS // @robotae

"Yes, like you say every time," she says, as she sifts through the papers she had compiled for Leon to make sure she hadn't left anything out, "and while I can't stop you from marching off on your own, I can still do something to help. I know you're not one to walk blindly into a situation, but I still felt doing a little more research for you before you left could only be to your benefit."

Sherry finishes shuffling the paperwork back in order and into its folder before she turned around and leaned against the desk. She extended the folder to him expectantly.

“Credit for what?” She practically spits, taking another shot at the target at the end of the range, the crack of the Hydra echoing off the stone walls as the pellets clattered to the floor. “For shoulder flipping the new recruits and shooting down targets? This isn’t productive.”

“They keep sending you alone into outbreaks without anyone but Hunnigan backing you up. I thought we were supposed to be partners in all this. I haven’t seen any kind of real action since they sent us to Wisconsin in 2014.” Another growl, and she fires another shot before letting the gun dangle at her side. “I’m tired of sitting around and doing nothing while they’ve got you risking your neck out there alone, Leon. Clearly nothing I do seems to be good enough, though, so I don’t know why I bother trying.”

Leon's hands were practiced and Chris could do little more than watch as fingers danced across his parted skin. "You look like you've done this before." Chris didn't wince when the needle pierced his skin nor when the thread slid through. Not even when his skin was pulled taught against the other side, joining his wound together in a basic stitch.

No, he could only focus on Leon.

Chris was glad he'd been the one to require stitches because despite his training, he wasn't certain that he'd be able to keep his own hands steady in the same way--not when Leon was injured and bleeding out. He'd already lost too many people that he cared about. "It would've been fine had you left it alone," Chris said grumpily. "This is wasting precious time." The exhaustion coursed through his veins and he wanted nothing more than to close his eyes. But they still had a job to finish.

          he doesn't get a text or call.  he barely gets a knock at the door before he opens it.  xerox is faster,  curling around zakir's leg to get a better look at juwon.  how annoying.  in juwon's defense,  zakir did say he'd rather have him come over rather than suffer alone at his own place with injuries he refuses to get looked at.  he sighs and picks xerox up,  holding the cat in one arm as he steps aside to let juwon in.     "     is any of that yours  ?     "     he takes the logo printed paper bag from him,  carefully avoiding the blood stains.  door is shut with his heel once juwon walks in and he sets xerox down.  the cat immediately approaches juwon and zakir doesn't hide the roll of his eyes.     "     use the guest shower.  i'll get you clothes.  don't touch anything.     "

          he might pace a hole in the tiled floor of his workshop.  back and forth and back and forth and back and — and he stops in front of juwon,  jaw clenched and eyes scanning over him like he's a gadget that refuses to work properly despite every attempt at fixing it.  hands clench at his sides and he's back to pacing.  it should be juwon's handler that's tearing into him,  but zakir needs to drill it through his head first.  

          you know,  if zakir can compose himself.

          he stops in front of juwon again.  pinches the bridge of his nose.  exhales.  looks at juwon.  really looks at him.  the red in his vision ebbs,  encroaching juwon's beat up form,  then disappears.  calmly,  voice lacking inflection,  he asks,     "     what were you thinking  ?     "     somewhere in the water past the pier is an aston martin that zakir has spent over a year cumulatively working on.  the loss of the car is substantial,  but nothing that can't be billed back to the agency.  it's not that which makes his heart jackrabbit against his ribcage,  it's the muffled audio from the comms as the car sank,  the lack of response from juwon,  the increasingly imaginative bad endings racing through zakir's head.  he bites the inside of his cheek until he draws blood,  the metallic taste anchoring him to reality.

          "     are you okay  ?     "     quiet,  honest.  too vulnerable for comfort.  he knows juwon must be alright if he's here and not at the bottom of a terrifying body of water.  did the car work  ?  did it do what you needed to  ?  was it useful  ?  was i  ?     "     have you swung by medical yet  ?     "     the answer is the same as always:  no.  it doesn't stop him from asking,  doesn't stop him from lingering on what cuts and bruises are visible.