I couldn't pass up the chance to write Mag/Zone ...
Free Until They Cut Me Down --------------------
He's pretty sure that he knows every single scar on her body, but he's never seen a one. Been traveling--fuck, "traveling?" What a joke. Surviving is more like it. Getting by and not much else. Blowing up shit. Been doing that with Mag for about two months. It's the longest any companion of his has managed to stay alive, and he wants to say that it's a surprise--that she's too much of a girl sometimes, cries at night when she thinks he's asleep. He says so constantly, just to mock her, but he doesn't really believe that. She's tough, deep down. Knows when she's gotta be strong and comes through. So far.
She's probably got a long, jagged scar on her right shoulder blade. She'd been trying to help some pimple-faced tween they'd never even met before, and a butcher had gotten her there with an ax. It was a glancing blow, didn't cause too much damage, but she bled everywhere and refused to let him sew her up. He guesses that she didn't trust him yet--'cause the next time she needed it, she did. Bitched and moaned the whole time, but let him.
She's got one on her right bicep, that he's pretty damn sure of, since it's the one he stitched up. He hopes that it's neater and better healed than the rest of 'em, but it's not like he's a fuckin' doctor or anything. He's not to blame if it isn't. In fact, he doesn't care. At all. She shouldn't have risked going out on her own just for a shot at some year old Oreos. They were still pretty tasty, though. Fucking chemicals, he'd thought then. It all goes back to the tech. But that doesn't mean they waste the rest of them or anything. They're not stupid.
She's got the start of a new one on her left ankle, and it's making her walk slightly stilted and slower than usual. He's lucky she's kinda tall--it makes supporting her as they follow some old train tracks west easier, 'cause her arm around his neck isn't tugging him down too much.
"Are you doing okay?" His voice is scratchy and strained, so he clears his throat and tries again. "You gonna be able to fight if push comes to shove and shove comes to sharp metal objects?"
"I'm pretty sure I can point and shoot, yeah."
She seems kind of distant, but he'll be fucked with a chainsaw before he offers a penny for whatever thoughts are running through that crazy brain of hers.
"You seem--"
"I seem what, Zone?" she interrupts, eyes squinting through the dark at him, daring him to say one mean thing.
"Forget it," he backs down. But only because the reason she's limping along with him this time is because, well, she'd kind of saved his ass. Just a little. Barely. And she looks tired as hell, so when he spots some kind of railroad station he starts leading her there. "Sorry."
"Excuse me?" she teases, gun raised in preparation for scouting out the small building. "What was that strange word I just heard come out of your mouth?"
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Dollhouse, Mag/Zone, scars, NC17
Date: 2010-04-22 11:05 am (UTC)Free Until They Cut Me Down
--------------------
He's pretty sure that he knows every single scar on her body, but he's never seen a one. Been traveling--fuck, "traveling?" What a joke. Surviving is more like it. Getting by and not much else. Blowing up shit. Been doing that with Mag for about two months. It's the longest any companion of his has managed to stay alive, and he wants to say that it's a surprise--that she's too much of a girl sometimes, cries at night when she thinks he's asleep. He says so constantly, just to mock her, but he doesn't really believe that. She's tough, deep down. Knows when she's gotta be strong and comes through. So far.
She's probably got a long, jagged scar on her right shoulder blade. She'd been trying to help some pimple-faced tween they'd never even met before, and a butcher had gotten her there with an ax. It was a glancing blow, didn't cause too much damage, but she bled everywhere and refused to let him sew her up. He guesses that she didn't trust him yet--'cause the next time she needed it, she did. Bitched and moaned the whole time, but let him.
She's got one on her right bicep, that he's pretty damn sure of, since it's the one he stitched up. He hopes that it's neater and better healed than the rest of 'em, but it's not like he's a fuckin' doctor or anything. He's not to blame if it isn't. In fact, he doesn't care. At all. She shouldn't have risked going out on her own just for a shot at some year old Oreos. They were still pretty tasty, though. Fucking chemicals, he'd thought then. It all goes back to the tech. But that doesn't mean they waste the rest of them or anything. They're not stupid.
She's got the start of a new one on her left ankle, and it's making her walk slightly stilted and slower than usual. He's lucky she's kinda tall--it makes supporting her as they follow some old train tracks west easier, 'cause her arm around his neck isn't tugging him down too much.
"Are you doing okay?" His voice is scratchy and strained, so he clears his throat and tries again. "You gonna be able to fight if push comes to shove and shove comes to sharp metal objects?"
"I'm pretty sure I can point and shoot, yeah."
She seems kind of distant, but he'll be fucked with a chainsaw before he offers a penny for whatever thoughts are running through that crazy brain of hers.
"You seem--"
"I seem what, Zone?" she interrupts, eyes squinting through the dark at him, daring him to say one mean thing.
"Forget it," he backs down. But only because the reason she's limping along with him this time is because, well, she'd kind of saved his ass. Just a little. Barely. And she looks tired as hell, so when he spots some kind of railroad station he starts leading her there. "Sorry."
"Excuse me?" she teases, gun raised in preparation for scouting out the small building. "What was that strange word I just heard come out of your mouth?"
"I ain't saying it again."
continued at my LJ, 'cause I seriously fail at brevity ...