[LFoDH fic] In for a Penny, In for a Pound

[permetaform]

Title: In for a Penny, In for a Pound
Word Count: ~1800
Rating/Pairing/Fandom: PG-13, John/Matt (Live Free or Die Hard)
Disclaimer: Not mine, not making money.
Thanks to: poisontaster for audiencing. mypsychoticself for the prompt.

Summary: The guy was tire'd.

Okay, Matt thought, okay. This... is starting to get not-cool.

They were in a junkyard. Matt was being A Distraction and was chatting with the guard while John was setting things up to Go Boom and he knew that the guard was hitting on him, but if John was going to take any longer he might have to--

A big black spinny thing whizzed out of nowhere and slammed into the guy.

Matt stared. He looked over at John who was stalking towards him in a very determined way. Matt looked back at the crumpled guard.

"You...you just killed that guy with a tire."

John just looked at him sourly. Checked his watch.

Then the world went fffffwooosssh and Matt found himself on the hood of a car, mouth being ravished, he took a breath and nearly breathed John's toungue in; he found himself kissed like he found himself touched like every bit of him mattered and it mattered that he was safe, and whole, John hands large on his neck and his shoulders, skimming down his sides and.

Suddenly ripped away.

"Nyargh?" Matt managed, speaking at the sky, not sure if he was more confused that he was kissed or that it ended.

He was yanked off the car and into a stumbling run.

"We have about five minutes before the whole thing explodes," John muttered, not looking at Matt, dragging him along. "Come on."

Matt thought about ignoring the kiss, like John was, for a second. Then shoved the thought away, because if there was nothing else he'd learned from John McClane over their past five years of acquaintance it was how to be a stubborn son-of-a-bitch.

"Dude, so," Matt began, briefly glad of their early morning jogs now. "So...you like me?" John gave him stink-eye over a shoulder, they were both sprinting, then they dove behind the corner of a building.

The ground shook with the explosion, followed by the sound of sirens and shouts.

"What do you--" John began, then pressed them both down and backwards as guards spewed out and opened fire.

"Do you like like me?" Matt pressed, giddy, skootching along the wall. He grabbed John's gun from the small of John's back and handed it to him.

"What is this, high school?" John growled, not looking behind him, shooting. Matt jimmied open the electronic lock to the office building's service entrance, grabbed a handful of the back of John's shirt, and hauled them both behind the solid door.

"Not high school," Matt insisted, panting, looking around. John tapped his shoulder and pointed up at the security camera, then dragged him forward into the open-layout cubicle-filled office space. Matt tucked himself under a flimsy cubicle-desk, away from the cameras, and pulled out his gear. A snap of his wrist whipped open a keyboard and unrolled his portable screen. John reloaded beside him.

"I've had a crush on you for two years," Matt said, typing, not looking, "that I know of. Maybe more."

John's snort made him look up and the look on John's face, fond, amused, stilled Matt's fingers.

"Five years," John said.

Matt's surprise was echoed by the sound of glass breaking towards the front of the building. He quickly finished bringing up the security feeds and turned the screen so John could see the perps breaking in.

"Five years?" Matt hissed into his ear, as John peered around the edge of the grey-carpeted dividers. "But that was when we first--" Matt stopped as John abruptly turned his head, face an inch away.

"Yeah," John quietly agreed.

And then quickly brought his gun up-around to shoot the guy over Matt's shoulder.

"Shit." Matt ducked, then turned and scrambled towards the dead guy to grab his gun and ammo. He tossed the gun to John, who'd kept shooting, then texted the station their address. Muttered, pissed at himself, "Five years. Two wasted on gay porn."

"Educational?" John laughed, cackled almost, as he quickly herded them sideways across the aisles, Matt just barely managing to grab his screen and keyboard, though not his bag.

"Not as much as the clubs," Matt said under his breath.

It was loud in the brief lull of gunfire.

John's face screwed up in an odd way. Then he picked up the screen, aimed using the security camera feed, and shot two guys through the cubicle wall with a silencer he'd picked up somewhere. And reloaded.

Matt huffed and grabbed John's shoulder, so John would look at him.

"It," Matt shook the hair away from his face, stared straight into John's eyes. "It was okay, but they weren't you and--" Matt cut himself off, having caught movement out of the corner of his eye on the screen and signaled with his eyes and pointed at it. John grimaced, and then braced himself against one of the huge 5ft tall metal filing cabinets acting as room dividers, gesturing at Matt to help him out.

But Matt pushed himself close first, quickly, quietly, whispered against John's back against the hunch of John's shoulder, "I-I stopped going because they just wasn't what I wanted."

John pushed him away gently, and Matt panicked for a quick moment before he looked at John's face and realized that John'd only wanted him to go over and take his position. Matt did, and they toppled the cabinet on John's cue, smushing a guy beneath it.

"Paperwork kills," John said, and Matt groaned while smiling.

Then crumpled in surprise at the pain in his side.

"Fuck." Matt said. John hauled him towards cover, and then removed his own shirt. Matt was a bit confused, and in pain, but not unappreciative of the sight; then John pressed the bundled shirt against the wound and pressed Matt's hand on top and it stung like a bitch.

"Promise?" John met his eyes for a moment, gaze worried.

"What?" Matt tried to remember what he last said around the sharp burning on his lower chest.

"Promise?" John insisted, sea-glass eyes hard and intense, palm pressing down on Matt's hand pressing down on the pulse of what felt like beating, but that can't be right, his heart was higher. John laced his fingers with Matt's and gripped, hard. Matt focused on that, instead of the ache right beneath, focused on the worry and the care and the fury in John's eyes.

"Yeah," Matt breathed. "I do."

John kissed him, then kissed his forehead, then took off with all but one of the guns, which he pressed into Matt's hand.

Matt oddly feels like grinning, which he blames on the adrenaline and the sorta distant sound of firing and the fact that the head boss was somewhere in the office screaming his head off about how 'everything is ruined' and people were 'not staying dead'. But the voice was coming closer and closer and, though it might've just been wooziness messing with his hearing, Matt slowly took off the safety.

The guy crested the edge of Matt's cubicle and Matt felt like he was raising the gun through pudding-thick air as the boss's head slowly turned.

And became a red smear on the wall.

John shot the boss a couple of more times in the chest, as he hurried over. He dropped the guns, lifted Matt up and got Matt's right arm around John's shoulder as John wrapped his left around Matt's waist. They headed towards the front door.

Now Matt could hear the sirens and the helicopters, and snarked, "The cavalry. Late as always?"

John smiled sideways, using one hip to open the door dumping them into a shower of blinding white flood lights and the strobe of red and blue.

"I'm NYPD," John shouted. "I need a paramedic." Matt looked at John, but before he could open his mouth or anything the EMTs came up, got him on a stretcher, and started working on him, and they were separated.

---

John watched as they pushed Matt's gurney towards the ambulance.

"Man, just go." His section chief pushed him forward.

"What?" John said, turning.

"Everyone knows." He said with a Significant Look. "Just go already and make sure Farrell's okay or you'll drive the rest of us insane."

"But." John started. "We're not..."

They stared each other down.

"Not yet." John admitted.

"Well I'll be damned." The man snorted. "Lost a twenty on that one. Anyways, you've done your part. Get some rest and I'll see you back in two weeks. Now go before they leave."

Sounded like good advice, and the ambulance was starting up. John decided not to worry about the department, since it's not like he ever bothered with gossip. He took his leave with a nod and managed to sqeeze in beside Matt's gurney just before they closed the door.

---

"How is he?"

That sounded like John, Matt thought.

"Not as bad as it could've been, nicked the thoracic diaphragm but missed major organs."

"John?" Matt said, peering towards the voices. John worked his way towards the front of the ambulance and leaned over.

"Hey," John murmured. "You good?" He flicked Matt's hair away from his eyes and rested his hand on Matt's shoulder.

"Not gonna die right now." Matt smiled. "So--" Matt reached up and yanked John towards him, and John mouth tasted sour of fear but warm of concern and carefulness. Matt felt more than saw John unbalance and brace himself over Matt at an angle and Matt laughed silently into the kiss. John raised his head and squinted at him.

"Morphine?"

"Morphine!" Matt said happily.

John shook his head and sat down with a grunt and a sigh.

"You didn't get shot this time," Matt said.

"But you did."

"It happens. Hazard of the company I keep." Matt poked at John's knee.

"I could stop you," John grumbled.

"Can't get rid of me even if you tried." Matt grinned at him. John had tried five years before, kept on trying, off and on, but Matt just kept following. Matt impulsively reached out, and laced their fingers together.

"And if I get tired of you?" John didn't look at him, but the smile dodging around his lips gave it away.

"Then I'll find a nice, friendly nurse." Matt said, and leered at the pretty paramedic who just rolled her eyes at them, amused. John gripped his hand, tight, but Matt didn't mind.

"I hear of any 'friendly nurses' and I'll shoot you myself." John said, even as his thumb drew circles into Matt's hand.

"I'll hide your bullets," Matt warned.

"Then I'll use a tire."

And Matt laughed, hard enough that he's crying with it, hard enough to have his ribs shake, and hard enough that despite the morphine Matt's side burst open with a fresh jolt of pain. But it was worth it to let himself make the sound, to let the quaking hysteria go through him, to have John laugh with him, warm and rumbling and there, feeling John's finger's shake against his with mirth and weariness and nerves and life.

"Worth it," Matt managed, when he caught his breath, looking at John through the tears.

And, by the look on John's face, Matt knew that John knew exactly what he meant.

[crossposted to hard4brains]