No Good Deed (Goes Unpunished)
A/N: Kids, don't try this one at home. What Benji does later, my honors chem teacher did something of the sort just yesterday. It doesn't work out well in RL, just in case you're wondering. I couldn't find a good final line after fifteen minutes of agonizing, so I gave up and let it flop there.
Just a little humorous fic inspired by Halo. I was aiming for whump, but it ended up a light-hearted gunfight. Figured I would finish this up now that I have some free time.
"Oh my God,"Benji said, looking fairly impressed. "That's a lot of blood."
Beside him, Brandt gave a noncommittal mutter of agreement before firing off another two shots in rapid succession and reloading.
"FocusBenji," Brandt grumbled, ducking as a bullet impacted the metal less than six inches from his head. It punched neatly through the metal and thudded into the ground.
So much for state-of-the-art equipment.
"Bullets flying at our heads. A little difficult to focus here," Benji snapped, pulling the trigger on his gun again. There was a small click that signaled he was out of bullets. "Shit. Got an extra clip?"
"I have one of Jane's hair-" Brandt dove flat onto the ground as their adversaries renewed their firing rate. "-clips but I doubt that's what you want."
Benji pointedly ran a hand over his short hair. "Do I want to know why you have it?"
"It was help Jane with her hair or be Ethan's punching dummy for an hour. I chose the former," Brandt admitted cheerfully as he rummaged through his small bag to double-check that he didn't have any ammo.
"So it was your fault I got stuck with a fractured wrist," Benji said as he ducked a shower of blood. "Seriously – yuck."
"Yuck?" Brandt repeated incredulously. "Of all the blood-related humor out there, you go with 'yuck'?"
"Unlike some people, I don't need to ponticate to prove anything," Benji snapped, snatching away Brandt's gun and firing it rapidly. There was a yelp as he sent the assailants into a hasty retreat for cover.
"Ponti- what?" Brandt cast Benji a confused look as he chucked his bag to the side.
"Talk out of my ass," Benji snapped.
"The word you're looking for is pontificate," Brandt supplied helpfully, ignoring Benji's playful swat as they slipped behind another metal shelf. "Don't you think we should get out of here?"
"I don't know. The whole 'showdown in the blood bank thing' seems to be working. We should call Ethan and get him to stock up on the disinfectant. Next time you plan to get me in some stupid situation like this, you better warn me to bring a jacket," Benji said as he caught his breath. The other men were beginning to move forward again.
"Igot you in this? You were the one that wanted to donate," Brandt threw his hands up in the air as he realized he too was out of bullets.
"You were the one that thought the laughing creepy guy was suspicious," Benji pointed out. "We met our monthly quota of preserving the safety of the United States of bloody America last week but noooyou had to go and point out the gun in his pocket."
"You do realize that creepy men are normally suspicious, right?" Brandt asked before grabbing Benji's arm and yanking the tech behind him. Benji barely had time to scoop up Brandt's bag before they were moving.
"You could have at least waited until I finished my orange juice," the tech muttered sulkily as they slunk toward the back exit. "Or maybe realized that this was not in fact an exit and more of a blood storage room!"
"It's not a blood storage room. They just had a few vials of blood in here," Brandt sighed, yanking Benji out of the way as another bullet pinged into the metal and rebounded into the wall.
"Just a few vials? This place could be a buffet, if I were a sparkly vamp," Benji hissed as they crouched. "I don't suppose you have an extra knife on you?"
In the midst of the chaos, Brandt took a second to give Benji an annoyed look. "You broke anotherknife?"
"Ethan borrowed it," came Benji's sheepish response.
Oh. That explained a lot of things, now that Brandt thought about it.
"You better give this one back," Brandt ordered as he pointed to his bag. "I don't have enough knives to support Ethan's hobbies."
"I don't think throwing knives at posterboard cut-outs of German assassins can be called a hobby," Benji grumbled. "You're not bleeding anywhere, are you? Because I wouldn't be able to tell, given the fact that you got knocked into the packets."
"Not badly," Brandt muttered absentmindedly, pulling something from his pocket. After just a second, he handed Benji a hair clip.
"What do you expect me to do with this?" Benji stared in disbelief at the clip.
"I don't know. Improvise?" Brandt looked distracted and Benji felt as if the breath had been knocked out of him.
"You're not-"
"Yes."
"Because seriously, if you are-"
"No. You can't have my laptop."
"Don't you think this is a-"
"Bad idea? No."
"I think it's a terrible idea. You're lightheaded from donating, bulletless, there are men with guns firing at us and you want to-"
"I'm glad you have the basic idea. Sit. Stay." Brandt ordered.
"Woof," Benji snapped, gripping the knife Brandt had given him in his hand. "Want me to roll over?"
Brandt was already gone, slipping back toward the assailants.
"Of course," he heard Benji mutter. "Of coursehe runs back to the guys with guns."
Brandt knew he'd get one chance so he slunk forward. There was a slight thump as he heard Benji creep up behind him.
"You better have a plan," the tech hissed.
Brandt hesitated. His plan mainly consisted of using his gun as a club and hoping the crook's friend didn't shoot him. "Of course I have a plan. I'm not Ethan."
"Right," Benji replied, sounding a little amused. "What's in this plan?"
Brandt fell silence and heard Benji's knowing snort. "Stop it," he breathed. "You'll give us away."
"I'll give us away? You're walking louder than a pissed elephant," Benji grumbled but after just a few moments fell silent. The silence only lasted a few seconds. "You do have a plan, right?"
"Huh? Yeah," Brandt mused as he hastily constructed a plan in his mind. Cautiously he snatched a small glass container from the bag Benji was still hauling around and winced. "Throw this in their faces."
"Hydroflouric acid?" Benji asked, looking both sickened and impressed. "Why the hell do you carry this stuff with you?"
"It seemed like a good idea at the time," Brandt admitted, a little sheepish. "You never know what you might need."
"What were you, a Boy Scout?" Benji grumbled as he tried to yank open the stopper. To his dismay, he found that it was stuck. "Seriously, Brandt, this is a little much even for you."
"Save it for Ethan," Brandt snapped. "Just get the damn bottle open already."
Benji glared at Brandt before moving back to the bottle. With a well-intentioned curse directed toward his partner, Benji shoved the hair clip into the bottle and frantically tugged at the lid.
The top went flying across the room.
Like two well-trained terriers with semi-automatics, their attacker's heads followed the stop as they let lose with more gunfire.
"Christ, when did they reload?" Benji snapped as Brandt lunged forward. Benji didn't follow Brandt, but instead threw the bag across the room to keep the men occupied as Brandt skittered around behind them.
Brandt held up three fingers and exaggerated the countdown.
Benji counted with him, and when Brandt's fist closed, the tech was ready. He lunged into the open space, barely noticing the guns being brought to bear on him – Brandt was already jumping one of them and the other one couldn't aim fast enough.
"Get out of the way!" Benji ordered Brandt. The analyst scarcely had time to jump clear before Benji hurled the vial at the men.
"Go!" Brandt yelled. "Get out of here."
"Already on it," Benji muttered as they raced past the men. "Sorry mate," he muttered to the one who was yelling as he tried to cover his eyes.
Brandt scooped up his small bag on the way, and then they were home free.
The pair barely made it to the car before they burst into laughter. "Shit," Benji swore. "Why does this always happen to us?"
Brandt simply shook his head helplessly as his shaking hands tried to put the key in. He was forced to sit there for a moment and smother his laughter, shoulders reverberating with the effort of containing it.
"Let's not tell Ethan," Brandt gasped as he managed to pull the car out. "The cops will probably have it handled."
Benji snorted, looking giddy with relief. "Yeah, sure. Imagine how that conversation would go down. 'Guys, did you have anything to do with the crazy armed men at the blood donation center?' 'No, Ethan, where would we find hydrofluoric acid? It's not like they keep that around blood banks or anything.'"
The phone rang, blaring out the Imperial March.
"Ethan?" Benji asked, looking worried.
Brandt made a face. "Unfortunately. That man has to be psychic." With the expression of the Knights Templar going to interrogation, he answered the phone. "Hey Ethan," he drawled cheerfully.
Benji, grateful it wasn't him under the microscope, watched with humor as Brandt's face went chalk-pale.
Evidently Ethan wasn't happy.
"No," Brandt said sheepishly. "No, we didn't run into any trouble. Oh? A gang of armed men – that's strange. Why on Earth did they think pouring hydrofluoric acid in their eyes was a good idea?'
Benji, upon catching Brandt's eye, drew a line across his throat. Brandt stuck his tongue out in reply. "No, we didn't get hurt. Seriously, we were long gone by the time they entered. Two men matching our description getting shot at? Ethan, that's really strange. Do you think the DOD's misplaced hallucinogenic shit is still in your system? You might want to go get some blood work done for that."
Another pause, in which Brandt mimed Ethan's talking by opening and closing his hand with a bored expression, ignoring Benji's snort of laughter.
"Yes mother," the analyst said, rolling his eyes. "Benji and I were good little boys and stayed out of trouble. No assaulting psycho, blonde-haired gunmen. No, you said they were blonde, remember? We're on our way back to my hotel room, we'll meet you there in…" Brandt glanced uncertainly at Benji who held up three fingers. "Thirty minutes? Sounds good."
Brandt hung up the phone, glancing at Benji's bloodstained shirt. "That gives us fifteen minutes to get back and change," he said.
"It's a thirty minute drive," Benji was obligated to point out.
"Give me seven," Brandt winked at the tech, who felt a nauseous feeling boil up.
"You have got to be-" the tech dived for the backseat as Brandt accelerated. "Seriously, who gave you your license?"
Benji ignored Brandt's instant quip, instead settling for cowering in the back. At this point, he didn't care how angry Ethan was – it would be better than Brandt's driving.
When they met Ethan's stony face at Brandt's door twenty minutes later, Benji wondered what he did to deserve this.