Title: Rules for Survival
Summary: Razor, Miss Briggs, a cave-in, and survivalism: sometimes enough is not really enough. [Mature Razor/Callie, mentions of others]
A/N: A few things—this is going to be labeled M later. I am letting it sit as PG13 so it doesn't get masked away by the filters. Second, this story is actually finished, so it will update consistently, and be, well, finished. Third, it is unbetaed. If you do see a mistake, or something of the like, I would love to hear it. Fourth, this is actually a long PWP (as in, porny, sexual innuedoes, the whole nine yards without any actual yards), that I needed to write after I saw The Pastmaster's Bride again this summer. Also, this is really just a long one-shot I was forced to cut down otherwise it would be a monster to read. It is still a monster to read.
Well, if you're still with me:
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Rule number one: Do not panic.
It isn't very far the topic of Dr. Viper could hold, and after thirty minutes of walking, and small conversation rotating around the mad scientist, Razor and the deputy major Briggs arrive at a shaky, if not deeply flawed conclusion. And an embankment of weird shaking carnivorous flowers, but Razor isn't nearly as worried about those as he is about Dr. Viper.
The lizard-kat is trying to remake the world into a swamp. They're pretty sure about that, or so they like to believe, but under certain circumstances like these, belief is a rather tricky plaything.
This time Dr. Viper is achieving his conquers in small and slow steps. First, by taking the abandoned underground train system, and then the sewer adjoining it, and slowly the plants will evolve into a more complex organism with their own movement, and consciousness, gradually and inconspicuously taking over the city from below the ground to the very sky they used to fly in!
Razor makes a crack about his science-fiction dreams finally coming to life, but the deputy mayor does not find it, or him, amusing.
He doesn't really blame her, it would be hard to do so when one of the actual creatures stands in front of them, sap (or at least he thinks it's sap) dripping out of its strangely shaped mouth, as its arm-like vines lash violently towards them.
Callie moves out of the way before he has a chance to even point his 'handy' weapon at it, which surprised him more than the actual creature in front of them. It distracts him long enough said monster nearly snaps his neck.
Despite this, the creature is not hard to defeat, though it did get a good bite out of his leg before he blasted it with his glovatrix and it showered down on a frightened Callie. The gunk wasn't as sickening as the time he was covered in bug mucus he figures, though Callie did retch behind some of the fallen wall debris, and he regained feeling on his leg after a few hours.
The brunt of the damage was received by his helmet when the plant attached itself in an attempt to crush his head. Razor could always rebuild another, that wasn't the problem; the problem manifested in the more intricate aspect of the helmet, and it sudden uselessness.
He doesn't even have any of his more advanced tools with him, not even a soldering iron to work on the loose wiring, so any work done will be, at best, primitive and most likely not to operate properly.
Razors sighs turning the helmet in his hands, granted, it wasn't the most technologically advanced object he had ever created but it contained a tracer T-bone could of have used to localize them. Now it is decommissioned, like his glovatrix, and like his injured leg, but those were only temporary. His helmet on the other hand, he isn't sure his helmet will bear the same fate.
He turns to report the damage to the deputy, but he finds she is distracted by the wild vegetation above them. He looks up too, amazed, if not a bit irritated at how quickly the plants had reorganized themselves and closed off the hole in which they came through.
He's also annoyed they were forced to move away from said point, but had figured the tracer had them at an advantage, and staying around to fight off so many of Viper's monsters was an expenditure of resources they couldn't afford to make at the time.
But, Razor knows the mistake was his overconfidence and dependence on his tracer, now it could very well cost them their lives. Staring at the greenery above him, Razor vows to make things right and find a way to escape their self-imposed prison. Somehow.
When he tucks the helmet under his arm, deciding to tell her about his plan, he notices she's distracted by something above them. He limps closer to her, curious to see what exactly was holding her attention. He looks up to find it's nothing.
Callie turns to him frowning a little, "You know, Razor, we really gotta stop meeting this way."
Razor looks down at her hand. Agrees, and belatedly apologizes.
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After his leg regains feeling, but no strength to speak of, Callie helps him crawl into a crevice, and there they spend the first night together. Cramped, covered in smelly flower sap, exhausted, and a bit hungry. And a nice blend of horror and mortification, though that was mostly him when he babbled incoherently at her tired teasing retorts. This is T-bone's area of expertise anyway.
He volunteers first watch, figuring he may as well use his left-over adrenaline (embarrassment) for something good. What he wasn't counting on was that his leg wound would burn so damned much, despite the care, he'd be hunched over gripping his legs until tears rolled down his cheeks and barf splatter on the corner of his jumpsuit.
Or that after wiping away his face and he could control his breath again and felt like a punching bag would after a round against Chance, waking the deputy would be damn-near impossible.
Callie rolled into him when he tried to shake her awake, and he nearly lost an eye avoiding her flailing elbow. Razor spends his shift -- and hers too since she refuses to even move when he shakes her again-- trying to ignore the deputy. Easier said than done.
Callie's hands kept seeking for him despite their earlier attempt to strangle him; she also tends to purr rather loudly. It's almost endearing. Almost. He swore he lost his left hand when he was gullible enough to let her grab unto it. He doesn't pull it back.
Mostly, though, mostly he thinks of how absurd her resemblance to Callista is. Blond hair, fair fur complexion, same stubborn resilience, the hopefulness of her smiles, her need to be in constant contact with others.
Her hands.
Razor's suddenly struck, and a little bit troubled, by how much he misses the queen. So he wretches his hand away from Callie. Flexes it slowly. Open, close.
In the dark, he can't see her face, in the dark he can't get rid of the feel and weight of her hand. In the dark, Callie is suddenly Callista.
Razor stares off into the dark. It's a long shift.
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AN: Reviews and criticisms are all welcomed.