The Holly and the I.V.
(Prompt by clucksy)
When John opened his eyes a pair of big brown ones was inches from his own.
“He’s awake!” Matt’s mouth was much too loud for John’s head.
Then, it was too damn close – warm lips pressing themselves far-too-briefly to the top of his scalp, before Matt jumped elatedly out of his chair.
“I’m gonna run and tell the nurse,” he told somebody, squeezing through the door to reveal the person leaning against its frame.
“Merry Christmas,” Holly twinkled, eyebrows raised. “Looks like this year you finally got lucky.”
John just smiled and reached for the morphine button on his I.V.
To face unafraid the plans that we’ve made
(Prompt by severina2001)
“Anyone but me getting the feeling this is a very bad idea?” John panted, turning to put his back to the bricks once they’d made their way to the door.
“You’re backing out now?” Matt hissed, eyes wide. “This plan was your idea, McClane.”
“It’s dangerous,” John argued. “You could get hurt in there.”
Matt shook his head, laid a reassuring hand on John’s bicep.
“It’s going to be fine,” he insisted. "Hell, we’ve been training for this for months. And the more time we give them, the more powerful they get, right? …Look, John. We’re partners now and you’re gonna have to start trusting me one day. I’m covering you, I’ve totally got your back. Let’s do this.”
The kid was right. It was now or never. John mustered up a nod and checked their arsenal.
They were armed to the teeth with fruitcake, poinsettia , and a bottle of scotch that came with a pretty hefty price tag but Matt swore would win his father over even if it came at the hands of Dick Cheney himself.
John took a deep breath and raised his knuckles to the centre of the wreath on the Farrell family’s front door.
Free Comic Book Day
(Prompt by glittersprite)
“So this is somehow my fault?” Matt coughed, crawling out of the pile of plastic robot parts and autographed Nimoy headshots. “The machine-gun guy we took out in the vestibule, the C4 in the underground parking-lot – oh the bank vault, guess that’s my bad too.”
“I warned ya about sayin’ the H-word.”
“Harddisk interleave? Hexadecimal? …Holly?”
A Lee Majors statuette toppled from somewhere and bounced off John’s head. Matt grunted, heaving the smouldering bookshelf high enough for John to drag his ass from underneath.
“Free Comic Book Day is an official holiday McClane!” The nasally, nerdy voice was admittedly nothing like Matt’s. “It’s my favourite day of the year ’cause I’m a gigantic, brainiac egghead.” …Maybe those weren’t quite the words he used, either.
Matt just gave him a hand up, brushed carefully at his chest.
“Hmm. Rubble, blood, one slightly battered-looking Detective John McClane… the evidence is in my favour.”
John put his hands out for Matt’s shoulders – partly to check him over, but maybe to steady himself a little, too. His head ached and the throb in his knee didn’t bode well.
The joke was old, and probably never all that good, but it still surprised him when he looked up to see Matt finally getting it.
He wasn’t laughing, he was just sliding a hand around the back of John’s neck. He pulled until their foreheads touched; until their noses nudged and their lips were just shy of brushing together.
The ringing in his ears was probably from the explosion, and if John’s chest felt a little tight, it was most likely the smoke in the air. But as his fists closed in the fabric of the kid’s jacket, pulling him close, he thought today just might be his new favourite holiday too.