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joiedecombatSo I went a little nuts with the Gundam SEED fics. As a break from all of that, here's some crossover crack - a fic I promised ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
persephoneflame back in February. It's only three months late, sorry about that.
February fourteenth, New York City: gunfire, broken glass, scorched air, and blood.
Underneath a desk somewhere in the middle of a labrat's maze of cubicles, as Squall peered out with sharp and narrowed eyes between the dividers, Jubilee grabbed a pink heart-shaped Post-It and reached out to stick it to the warm metal of the pistol gripped in his hand.
"Happy Valentine's Day!" she whispered cheerfully, and when he jerked back down into the dubious shelter of the lee of the desk and turned an incredulous stare her way, she grinned at him with eyes crinkling at the corners in amusement.
He peeled the paper heart off the gunbarrel and it stuck to his gloved fingers instead, earning a scowl that made Jubilee hastily smother her giggling. "It's a heart," she said in a helpful undertone when he fixed the glare on her instead. "You know, for Valentine's - don't tell me you don't know what Valentine's Day is."
Instead of answering, he yanked the Post-It free of his fingers and held it pinched between finger and thumb like it might try to bite him, eyeing it critically for a moment before stuffing it into a jacket pocket. "You know that doesn't look anything like a heart."
"Gross." She rolled her eyes expressively. "Could you be any more morbid?"
"Quiet," he gritted, shoving the handgun back into its shoulder holster and hefting his gunblade again in its place, all the warning she needed to tell her it was time to move.
Footsteps scuffed softly on the carpet on the other side of the cubicle, and as Squall surged into motion Jubilee caught the edge of the desk and swung herself nimbly up onto it, springing off the desktop to vault the cubicle divider and come down feet-first on the head of one of the two business-suit-anonymous gunmen on the other side.
The next moments were a scramble of impact and flashing neko-te and acrobatics and when her feet hit the floor there were two guns pointing in her direction, but she flung out both hands with an explosive spray of dazzling multicolored plasmoids that sent both men staggering backward, and by then Squall was there to meet them with two quick and brutally efficient swings of his gunblade.
He stepped on one of the bodies as it bled out on the dull grey carpet, and grabbed at Jubilee's upper arm long enough to give her a tug as he passed her in lieu of a 'this way'.
"See," she said as they dashed along the row of cubicles, Squall focused on the destination with typical single-minded intensity, Jubilee loping alongside as though there weren't people stalking them all through the cube farm with guns in hand, "Saint Valentine was this guy way back in, like, Ancient Rome or something and the emperor made it illegal for soldiers to get married 'cause it made 'em not want to fight - you're thinking it's a good idea, I can tell, stop it--"
Squall hit the door ahead of them shoulder-first and braced it open long enough to yank Jubilee through, then jerked the handgun out from under his jacket and fired several shots back towards the cubicles; from the hallway she couldn't tell if he'd hit anything or not, but she'd never known him to waste bullets.
"Anyway," she went on when he let the door fall closed behind him and started determinedly down the hallway with gunblade in one hand and handgun in the other, "Saint Valentine was a priest or something, and he kept on helping soldiers get married even though it was against the law, so they put him in jail and I guess he got executed eventually, but before that he sent letters out of jail talking about love - or maybe it was love letters to some girl, but wouldn't that be bad if he was a priest? Anyway, so they made him a saint and named a holiday after him and it's supposed to be a day for telling people you care and all that warm fuzzy shit. Except now it's all commercial and if you don't buy flowers and candy and jewelry and crap, you don't love them enough, it's disgusting. The candy companies just do it to make money--"
It was about then that she realized she'd outpaced Squall somehow, and stopped to glance back just in time to see him unload three shots from his handgun into the front of a vending machine, the report of gunfire in the narrow confines of the hall loud enough to make her jump.
"Dude!" she yelped. "Dude - like, I know ya got issues an' all, but d'ya mind telling me why the snack machine deserved to die?"
He gave her a withering look - he was better at those than anybody she knew, it was great - and instead of answering he raised an arm to knock shattered Plexiglas free of the vending machine's display, then jammed the handgun back into its holster and reached through the hole he'd created to liberate a candy bar and wordlessly shove it towards her.
She giggled all the way down to the parking lot.
persephoneflame back in February. It's only three months late, sorry about that. February fourteenth, New York City: gunfire, broken glass, scorched air, and blood.
Underneath a desk somewhere in the middle of a labrat's maze of cubicles, as Squall peered out with sharp and narrowed eyes between the dividers, Jubilee grabbed a pink heart-shaped Post-It and reached out to stick it to the warm metal of the pistol gripped in his hand.
"Happy Valentine's Day!" she whispered cheerfully, and when he jerked back down into the dubious shelter of the lee of the desk and turned an incredulous stare her way, she grinned at him with eyes crinkling at the corners in amusement.
He peeled the paper heart off the gunbarrel and it stuck to his gloved fingers instead, earning a scowl that made Jubilee hastily smother her giggling. "It's a heart," she said in a helpful undertone when he fixed the glare on her instead. "You know, for Valentine's - don't tell me you don't know what Valentine's Day is."
Instead of answering, he yanked the Post-It free of his fingers and held it pinched between finger and thumb like it might try to bite him, eyeing it critically for a moment before stuffing it into a jacket pocket. "You know that doesn't look anything like a heart."
"Gross." She rolled her eyes expressively. "Could you be any more morbid?"
"Quiet," he gritted, shoving the handgun back into its shoulder holster and hefting his gunblade again in its place, all the warning she needed to tell her it was time to move.
Footsteps scuffed softly on the carpet on the other side of the cubicle, and as Squall surged into motion Jubilee caught the edge of the desk and swung herself nimbly up onto it, springing off the desktop to vault the cubicle divider and come down feet-first on the head of one of the two business-suit-anonymous gunmen on the other side.
The next moments were a scramble of impact and flashing neko-te and acrobatics and when her feet hit the floor there were two guns pointing in her direction, but she flung out both hands with an explosive spray of dazzling multicolored plasmoids that sent both men staggering backward, and by then Squall was there to meet them with two quick and brutally efficient swings of his gunblade.
He stepped on one of the bodies as it bled out on the dull grey carpet, and grabbed at Jubilee's upper arm long enough to give her a tug as he passed her in lieu of a 'this way'.
"See," she said as they dashed along the row of cubicles, Squall focused on the destination with typical single-minded intensity, Jubilee loping alongside as though there weren't people stalking them all through the cube farm with guns in hand, "Saint Valentine was this guy way back in, like, Ancient Rome or something and the emperor made it illegal for soldiers to get married 'cause it made 'em not want to fight - you're thinking it's a good idea, I can tell, stop it--"
Squall hit the door ahead of them shoulder-first and braced it open long enough to yank Jubilee through, then jerked the handgun out from under his jacket and fired several shots back towards the cubicles; from the hallway she couldn't tell if he'd hit anything or not, but she'd never known him to waste bullets.
"Anyway," she went on when he let the door fall closed behind him and started determinedly down the hallway with gunblade in one hand and handgun in the other, "Saint Valentine was a priest or something, and he kept on helping soldiers get married even though it was against the law, so they put him in jail and I guess he got executed eventually, but before that he sent letters out of jail talking about love - or maybe it was love letters to some girl, but wouldn't that be bad if he was a priest? Anyway, so they made him a saint and named a holiday after him and it's supposed to be a day for telling people you care and all that warm fuzzy shit. Except now it's all commercial and if you don't buy flowers and candy and jewelry and crap, you don't love them enough, it's disgusting. The candy companies just do it to make money--"
It was about then that she realized she'd outpaced Squall somehow, and stopped to glance back just in time to see him unload three shots from his handgun into the front of a vending machine, the report of gunfire in the narrow confines of the hall loud enough to make her jump.
"Dude!" she yelped. "Dude - like, I know ya got issues an' all, but d'ya mind telling me why the snack machine deserved to die?"
He gave her a withering look - he was better at those than anybody she knew, it was great - and instead of answering he raised an arm to knock shattered Plexiglas free of the vending machine's display, then jammed the handgun back into its holster and reached through the hole he'd created to liberate a candy bar and wordlessly shove it towards her.
She giggled all the way down to the parking lot.
