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Entry tags:
24 AU fic, Near the Inevitable End, PG13
disclaimer: these characters certainly do not belong to me. Except for Lydia.
warning: If you like 24, this is not the fic for you. If you like Jack Bauer and think he's magnificent and interesting, awesome and woobie or whatever, this is not the fic for you. If you think 24 can do no wrong, this is definitely not the fic for you. Please do not complain when you don't like what you read. I will laugh at you. And probably post your comments in a later journal post to mock the frell out of you with.
warning 2: there is a large amount of ridiculous hyperbole in this.
warning 3: character death
rating: PG13, violence, hints of torture, questionable morality, blatant disregard for canon, language
genre: AU
notes: I have seen all of two minutes of this show, and thus, my grasp of its plot is slim. Which is fine, since this bears very little resemblance to it. That two minutes was also more than enough to prove that I would punch someone who made me watch it again.
Lydia is v. obviously cast with Tricia Helfer in mind. Garcia is a toss-up between Antonio Banderas and Oded Fehr.
spoilers: um. Whatever the episode on Monday was. And possibly my own psyche.
character: Dana Walsh
I think this is the longest set of author's notes I've ever written, bar the original massive page-long thing I used to slap on top of TRaFotHoD
Near the Inevitable End
by ALC Punk!
She hurt. Chest and abdomen were chiming in with counter-points to go with the headache from smacking down against the concrete. Not the most graceful of falls, but it had been better than Jack catching on.
"Dana."
Plastic shifted in the breeze, but she remained still, eyes open and unblinking.
"Dana." The whisper was more insistent.
A moment later, someone crunched across the plastic and knelt at her side. Warm fingers brushed against her face, then pressed against her throat.
"You can stop faking, he's gone."
"'M sticky," Dana complained, reaching up to wipe at the mess on her face. It stuck, and she really wished that there had been a better plan in place.
"Be grateful he didn't go for a head shot," her conspirator shot back, getting to her own feet.
"You profiled him," Dana pointed out, rolling and pushing herself to her feet. Ugh. She was going to have bruises under her vest. "Asshole shot me point blank. Fucking point blank!"
"I know. I saw." The taller woman tugged at her, pulling her in the opposite direction that Bauer had gone. "You gave him the Trojan?"
"Shit, no, I gave him the real one."
Lydia glanced back and rolled her eyes, "Don't snarl at me, this whole thing was your idea."
"That I let you talk me into," Dana muttered. She grabbed Lydia's hand as they went out the window and began walking down the fire escape. "I take it Garcia has us covered?"
"Fire called in two blocks over. Should snarl up traffic good for a while."
"Good." Pulling up the bottom of her shirt, she started swiping at her face and neck once they'd reached the ground. Lydia kept watch until she was done, then handed over a larger shirt, which covered most of the stained and torn mess she was wearing. Dana could still smell it, though, and that mixed with the cordite from the bullets would probably set most police dogs after her. "We need to get me underground."
"No shit. Come on."
It took time to travel from the building where she'd died. Dana was trying not to think about that--her heart was still a little jumpy, and her neck and shoulders ridiculously tense. And all she'd done was play a part. Her fingers itched to have a gun in them, but it wouldn't be comforting to attract the wrong sort of attention with it. Lydia might be able to get away with it; most people wouldn't be looking at her hands, after all. Not with her face and figure on display.
Useful camouflage, of course. And Dana did appreciate the view as Lydia moved ahead of her. She grinned a little and kept her eyes up, tracking the crowds around them. There were sirens in the distance and she sent a word of thanks to Garcia and his ability to cause mayhem without actually blowing anything up.
"This way--" Lydia grabbed her hand suddenly and pulled her into a tiny store. The proprietor gave them only a cursory glance before they were through the room and out into the alley behind. Pushing at a section of wall next to the dumpster, Lydia opened a panel. "In."
Dark, cramped, smelly... just another day's work at the office. Dana wrinkled her nose and crawled until she couldn't feel her knees and the light at the end of the tunnel was close enough to see by.
"You two done pretending to be gerbils?" Garcia stuck a hand down into the tunnel and pulled Dana out of it.
She stretched while he retrieved Lydia. "Shit. Tell me you've got water down here?"
"Cooler in the corner."
She grabbed a bottle and sucked down a long swallow before sitting on the cooler and looking at them. "So. Do we have enough?"
"We better." Lydia tossed herself into the chair Garcia had been using and spun around for a moment. She looked sober when she faced them. "This won't end if we don't. You both know that."
Dana shivered, remembering.... she didn't want to remember. There was still blood sticky on her neck and she ducked her head to swipe at it.
"Gimme the disc."
She handed it over and pressed the heels of her palms against her eyes, thinking about what had happened, what could happen if they finally succeeded.
There was a beep from Garcia's computer before the disc began playing, sound filtering out. It was distorted by the recording quality, but it was clear. Dana clapped her hands over her ears, not wanting to hear. She began humming blocking the sounds out as best she could.
Lydia dropped next to her, fingers cool on her wrists. Her forehead pressed against Dana's, giving them both a moment of peace.
The recording stopped.
"If this doesn't do it..."
"I'll kill him myself." Dana replied, her tone flat. Reaction was beginning to set in, and she realized she was shaking.
Lydia hugged her, kissing her cheek. "You taste like grape popsicle."
"Screw you." The words were shakier than she'd like, but there was life in them.
"You wish."
"Only if I can watch."
Both of them silently flipped him off.
-
The problem was that Jack Bauer had friends in high places: friends who enjoyed his exploits. More than one was a collector of his work, and Dana wondered if this was how people felt when hearing women wanted to have sex with serial killers. Of course, most of them were men, but she wasn't going to speculate on their orientation. It was difficult enough trying to get their information where it might do some good.
He built elaborate fantasies around himself, conspiracies and spies, terrorists and bad guys. And in all of them, he fought and won. And people died. People who were innocent, who were terrified 'til the end, trying to understand why he was torturing them for information they knew nothing about.
-
"No one's listening." Lydia was slumped in Garcia's chair, her fingers idly playing with the cracked plastic on one of the arms.
"I know." Staring at the ceiling, Dana sighed. "We're going to have to do it, you know. It's the only way."
The whole thing had started as a joke. Someone had tipped Lydia off to Jack Bauer's predisposition and they'd watched. He didn't seem to kill except for once or twice a year, usually while spouting off about terrorists and plots and things that were utterly convincing to everyone around him. It was sometimes terrifying, how many women he'd killed. How many men he'd tortured. How many innocent bystanders had just been in the wrong place, at the wrong time.
And then Garcia's brilliant idea with radios, cell phones and cameras had been born. It had taken them two years plus establishing Dana somewhere far too visible to bring it off.
But it had worked. They had evidence of the things he did to people in the name of justice.
And no one wanted to hear it. No one cared anymore. It wasn't moral decay, it was apathy, blindness. It was walking down the street and ignoring the trash under your feet and the starving people on the corners (not that there was much of that allowed, the police were very strict).
-
Dana didn't particularly like hanging around on rooftops, but Lydia had been right when she pointed out that Dana's face couldn't really be seen down there. The street was full of bustling people, including Lydia. Her blonde hair flashed in the sunlight as she wove her way deftly towards the man standing with his cop buddies.
Behind her, Garcia was trailing her, nonchalantly chattering on his phone to a girlfriend in Florida.
Sinking into a relaxed pose, Dana focused down the barrel of the rifle, estimating the wind resistance by licking her finger (again, this was the fourth check) and holding it up. Still the same.
Bauer shifted slightly, turning to say something to one of the men and Lydia walked past him.
Now.
They hadn't needed a signal, but Dana could almost feel Garcia's glance up at the roof.
Dana squeezed the trigger, feeling the kick in her shoulder a moment later.
Chaos erupted on the street below, shouts and screams that she could hear even up where she was. Turning away, she began disassembling the rifle, rolling the pieces into a duffel and kicking gravel over her spot. She made a cursory survey of the roof, then headed across it to stand looking down the other side.
Swinging down to the fire escape she grabbed onto the clothesline linking one building to the next and swiftly pulled herself across and into the tiny kitchen there.
The apartment was empty and she kept her movements slow and careful as she pushed the bag under the bed, then made her way out into the hallway.
She didn't strip her gloves off until she'd gotten outside. Stuffing them into her pocket, she flipped on her shades and moved into the crowd, strolling away from the panic occurring behind them all.
-
"It was cleaner that way," Lydia said.
Dana didn't answer. The stars above were bright and shiny, and she was beginning to forget what it felt like... she shifted and nudged Lydia with her elbow, "We should get ice cream sundaes."
The air in the desert was clear and dry, sucking the moisture out of her skin. But it also felt right to be there. The heat from the day was dissipating, leaving her shoulders and back just right after spending all day riding. If she turned her head, she'd see Garcia fiddling with their bikes again, mumbling to himself about ratios and oil and torque.
Lydia grabbed her hand. "I'm glad we made it."
Somewhere, the president was finalizing a treaty, somewhere, the world was taking a new step towards peace.
Dana smiled. "So am I."
-f-
warning: If you like 24, this is not the fic for you. If you like Jack Bauer and think he's magnificent and interesting, awesome and woobie or whatever, this is not the fic for you. If you think 24 can do no wrong, this is definitely not the fic for you. Please do not complain when you don't like what you read. I will laugh at you. And probably post your comments in a later journal post to mock the frell out of you with.
warning 2: there is a large amount of ridiculous hyperbole in this.
warning 3: character death
rating: PG13, violence, hints of torture, questionable morality, blatant disregard for canon, language
genre: AU
notes: I have seen all of two minutes of this show, and thus, my grasp of its plot is slim. Which is fine, since this bears very little resemblance to it. That two minutes was also more than enough to prove that I would punch someone who made me watch it again.
Lydia is v. obviously cast with Tricia Helfer in mind. Garcia is a toss-up between Antonio Banderas and Oded Fehr.
spoilers: um. Whatever the episode on Monday was. And possibly my own psyche.
character: Dana Walsh
I think this is the longest set of author's notes I've ever written, bar the original massive page-long thing I used to slap on top of TRaFotHoD
Near the Inevitable End
by ALC Punk!
She hurt. Chest and abdomen were chiming in with counter-points to go with the headache from smacking down against the concrete. Not the most graceful of falls, but it had been better than Jack catching on.
"Dana."
Plastic shifted in the breeze, but she remained still, eyes open and unblinking.
"Dana." The whisper was more insistent.
A moment later, someone crunched across the plastic and knelt at her side. Warm fingers brushed against her face, then pressed against her throat.
"You can stop faking, he's gone."
"'M sticky," Dana complained, reaching up to wipe at the mess on her face. It stuck, and she really wished that there had been a better plan in place.
"Be grateful he didn't go for a head shot," her conspirator shot back, getting to her own feet.
"You profiled him," Dana pointed out, rolling and pushing herself to her feet. Ugh. She was going to have bruises under her vest. "Asshole shot me point blank. Fucking point blank!"
"I know. I saw." The taller woman tugged at her, pulling her in the opposite direction that Bauer had gone. "You gave him the Trojan?"
"Shit, no, I gave him the real one."
Lydia glanced back and rolled her eyes, "Don't snarl at me, this whole thing was your idea."
"That I let you talk me into," Dana muttered. She grabbed Lydia's hand as they went out the window and began walking down the fire escape. "I take it Garcia has us covered?"
"Fire called in two blocks over. Should snarl up traffic good for a while."
"Good." Pulling up the bottom of her shirt, she started swiping at her face and neck once they'd reached the ground. Lydia kept watch until she was done, then handed over a larger shirt, which covered most of the stained and torn mess she was wearing. Dana could still smell it, though, and that mixed with the cordite from the bullets would probably set most police dogs after her. "We need to get me underground."
"No shit. Come on."
It took time to travel from the building where she'd died. Dana was trying not to think about that--her heart was still a little jumpy, and her neck and shoulders ridiculously tense. And all she'd done was play a part. Her fingers itched to have a gun in them, but it wouldn't be comforting to attract the wrong sort of attention with it. Lydia might be able to get away with it; most people wouldn't be looking at her hands, after all. Not with her face and figure on display.
Useful camouflage, of course. And Dana did appreciate the view as Lydia moved ahead of her. She grinned a little and kept her eyes up, tracking the crowds around them. There were sirens in the distance and she sent a word of thanks to Garcia and his ability to cause mayhem without actually blowing anything up.
"This way--" Lydia grabbed her hand suddenly and pulled her into a tiny store. The proprietor gave them only a cursory glance before they were through the room and out into the alley behind. Pushing at a section of wall next to the dumpster, Lydia opened a panel. "In."
Dark, cramped, smelly... just another day's work at the office. Dana wrinkled her nose and crawled until she couldn't feel her knees and the light at the end of the tunnel was close enough to see by.
"You two done pretending to be gerbils?" Garcia stuck a hand down into the tunnel and pulled Dana out of it.
She stretched while he retrieved Lydia. "Shit. Tell me you've got water down here?"
"Cooler in the corner."
She grabbed a bottle and sucked down a long swallow before sitting on the cooler and looking at them. "So. Do we have enough?"
"We better." Lydia tossed herself into the chair Garcia had been using and spun around for a moment. She looked sober when she faced them. "This won't end if we don't. You both know that."
Dana shivered, remembering.... she didn't want to remember. There was still blood sticky on her neck and she ducked her head to swipe at it.
"Gimme the disc."
She handed it over and pressed the heels of her palms against her eyes, thinking about what had happened, what could happen if they finally succeeded.
There was a beep from Garcia's computer before the disc began playing, sound filtering out. It was distorted by the recording quality, but it was clear. Dana clapped her hands over her ears, not wanting to hear. She began humming blocking the sounds out as best she could.
Lydia dropped next to her, fingers cool on her wrists. Her forehead pressed against Dana's, giving them both a moment of peace.
The recording stopped.
"If this doesn't do it..."
"I'll kill him myself." Dana replied, her tone flat. Reaction was beginning to set in, and she realized she was shaking.
Lydia hugged her, kissing her cheek. "You taste like grape popsicle."
"Screw you." The words were shakier than she'd like, but there was life in them.
"You wish."
"Only if I can watch."
Both of them silently flipped him off.
-
The problem was that Jack Bauer had friends in high places: friends who enjoyed his exploits. More than one was a collector of his work, and Dana wondered if this was how people felt when hearing women wanted to have sex with serial killers. Of course, most of them were men, but she wasn't going to speculate on their orientation. It was difficult enough trying to get their information where it might do some good.
He built elaborate fantasies around himself, conspiracies and spies, terrorists and bad guys. And in all of them, he fought and won. And people died. People who were innocent, who were terrified 'til the end, trying to understand why he was torturing them for information they knew nothing about.
-
"No one's listening." Lydia was slumped in Garcia's chair, her fingers idly playing with the cracked plastic on one of the arms.
"I know." Staring at the ceiling, Dana sighed. "We're going to have to do it, you know. It's the only way."
The whole thing had started as a joke. Someone had tipped Lydia off to Jack Bauer's predisposition and they'd watched. He didn't seem to kill except for once or twice a year, usually while spouting off about terrorists and plots and things that were utterly convincing to everyone around him. It was sometimes terrifying, how many women he'd killed. How many men he'd tortured. How many innocent bystanders had just been in the wrong place, at the wrong time.
And then Garcia's brilliant idea with radios, cell phones and cameras had been born. It had taken them two years plus establishing Dana somewhere far too visible to bring it off.
But it had worked. They had evidence of the things he did to people in the name of justice.
And no one wanted to hear it. No one cared anymore. It wasn't moral decay, it was apathy, blindness. It was walking down the street and ignoring the trash under your feet and the starving people on the corners (not that there was much of that allowed, the police were very strict).
-
Dana didn't particularly like hanging around on rooftops, but Lydia had been right when she pointed out that Dana's face couldn't really be seen down there. The street was full of bustling people, including Lydia. Her blonde hair flashed in the sunlight as she wove her way deftly towards the man standing with his cop buddies.
Behind her, Garcia was trailing her, nonchalantly chattering on his phone to a girlfriend in Florida.
Sinking into a relaxed pose, Dana focused down the barrel of the rifle, estimating the wind resistance by licking her finger (again, this was the fourth check) and holding it up. Still the same.
Bauer shifted slightly, turning to say something to one of the men and Lydia walked past him.
Now.
They hadn't needed a signal, but Dana could almost feel Garcia's glance up at the roof.
Dana squeezed the trigger, feeling the kick in her shoulder a moment later.
Chaos erupted on the street below, shouts and screams that she could hear even up where she was. Turning away, she began disassembling the rifle, rolling the pieces into a duffel and kicking gravel over her spot. She made a cursory survey of the roof, then headed across it to stand looking down the other side.
Swinging down to the fire escape she grabbed onto the clothesline linking one building to the next and swiftly pulled herself across and into the tiny kitchen there.
The apartment was empty and she kept her movements slow and careful as she pushed the bag under the bed, then made her way out into the hallway.
She didn't strip her gloves off until she'd gotten outside. Stuffing them into her pocket, she flipped on her shades and moved into the crowd, strolling away from the panic occurring behind them all.
-
"It was cleaner that way," Lydia said.
Dana didn't answer. The stars above were bright and shiny, and she was beginning to forget what it felt like... she shifted and nudged Lydia with her elbow, "We should get ice cream sundaes."
The air in the desert was clear and dry, sucking the moisture out of her skin. But it also felt right to be there. The heat from the day was dissipating, leaving her shoulders and back just right after spending all day riding. If she turned her head, she'd see Garcia fiddling with their bikes again, mumbling to himself about ratios and oil and torque.
Lydia grabbed her hand. "I'm glad we made it."
Somewhere, the president was finalizing a treaty, somewhere, the world was taking a new step towards peace.
Dana smiled. "So am I."
-f-
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That aside, however, I am pretty sure I ship Dana/Lydia, too. =D
Thank you!
Ahahah. That was my epic Mary Sue thingie, under the ridiculously long name of 'The Rise and Fall of the House of DeZorga'.
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I was all prepared to care about 24, but, um, it really sort of made me want to punch it instead?
Er, and no one cared because I am too lazy to go find out who the People in Power are, so they can lock him up properly and stuff.
Thank you! =D
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You are welcome. =D
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I think I'll go have some pleasant dreams of Katee, Tricia, and Antonio Banderas circa 1995 saving the world from Jack, and probably snuggling afterwards.
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(and to be fair, I would probably have enjoyed it just fine if my two minutes wasn't Dana getting shot in cold blood)