"I wish you'd shut the fuck up about your yogurt," Bradley says desperately, tugging Misha around a corner.
Momentum works against them. Misha yelps and loses his balance, and they both crash to the ground, Misha on his back, Bradley flush on top him. In the vague and disconnected clarity that accompanies near-death experiences, Bradley thinks, His eyes are really fucking blue. But there's no time to linger on that. Bradley begins to scramble to his feet, when Misha yells, "STAY DOWN."
And Bradley lets himself collapse on top of Misha, feeling Misha raise his gun, feels the heat of the laser as Misha shoots the abominations that were probably about to eat Bradley alive.
"Braai--" gibbers something behind him, and then it is silenced, and then he hears a thud.
"Come on," Misha hisses. "Come on, let's go." And when Bradley stands up and pulls Misha up with him, he says, "Lemme go, I can run."
Bradley says, "Can you run fast?"
"I can run a hell of a lot faster if you're not dragging me around."
So Bradley lets go, and the moans and groans behind them fade as they rush down the corridor.
+
"How's that? That good?" Bradley has ripped off his shirt and transformed it into a makeshift bandage for Misha's shoulder. The relief that filled him when he discovered the wound was not a zombie bite, he will never tell Misha about.
"It's fine." Misha swats away his arms.
"I never thought it would end this way, you know," Bradley says, trying to make light of the situation.
"It won't," Misha says tightly. "Besides, they'd probably go after me before they go after you. I have bigger brains."
"I don't know, your head's pretty small."
"It's bigger on the inside than it is on the ouside."
Bradley wonders if that's the blood loss talking or just Misha being Misha. It's hard to tell. It's cold in the spaceship and Bradley's getting goosebumps already, but that is of course the least of his worries.
"Do you think the CW or the BBC have received our distress calls by now?" Bradley asks.
no subject
Momentum works against them. Misha yelps and loses his balance, and they both crash to the ground, Misha on his back, Bradley flush on top him. In the vague and disconnected clarity that accompanies near-death experiences, Bradley thinks, His eyes are really fucking blue. But there's no time to linger on that. Bradley begins to scramble to his feet, when Misha yells, "STAY DOWN."
And Bradley lets himself collapse on top of Misha, feeling Misha raise his gun, feels the heat of the laser as Misha shoots the abominations that were probably about to eat Bradley alive.
"Braai--" gibbers something behind him, and then it is silenced, and then he hears a thud.
"Come on," Misha hisses. "Come on, let's go." And when Bradley stands up and pulls Misha up with him, he says, "Lemme go, I can run."
Bradley says, "Can you run fast?"
"I can run a hell of a lot faster if you're not dragging me around."
So Bradley lets go, and the moans and groans behind them fade as they rush down the corridor.
+
"How's that? That good?" Bradley has ripped off his shirt and transformed it into a makeshift bandage for Misha's shoulder. The relief that filled him when he discovered the wound was not a zombie bite, he will never tell Misha about.
"It's fine." Misha swats away his arms.
"I never thought it would end this way, you know," Bradley says, trying to make light of the situation.
"It won't," Misha says tightly. "Besides, they'd probably go after me before they go after you. I have bigger brains."
"I don't know, your head's pretty small."
"It's bigger on the inside than it is on the ouside."
Bradley wonders if that's the blood loss talking or just Misha being Misha. It's hard to tell. It's cold in the spaceship and Bradley's getting goosebumps already, but that is of course the least of his worries.
"Do you think the CW or the BBC have received our distress calls by now?" Bradley asks.
Misha says, "We need more ammo."