Chapter Seven-Bad Moon Rising
I see the bad moon arising. I see trouble on the way. I see earthquakes and lightnin'. I see bad times. today.
The sound of an explosion roused John from his slumber, his eyes flashing wide as he bolted upwards. He raised a hand to wipe at the corners of his eyes impatiently, the last thing he needed was to run into Fury and give him more reasons to think he wasn't worthy. He wound his arms around himself as tried to push back the memories of gunfire and bombs which often plagued his unconscious mind. God, even after so long how could he not find a way to deal with them. But he had...once upon a time. Sherlock had played for him, the violin had always soothed away the nigh terrors.
Cursing he began to rise to his feet, only then did he notice the smoke beginning to fill the room followed by several more loud bangs. The blond cursed and hurried to dress, pulling on a pair black trousers and a padded black jacket. Christ, this wasn't a dream and it definitely wasn't a drill. He paused to gather his pistol and a knife from his desk before he raced out into the corridors.
It took all of John's self control not to drop down to aid the first injured staff member he came across, a young male with a large gash to his left thigh, though he knew it wasn't a serious injury from looks alone he couldn't help the small pang of guilt that rose inside him at ignoring someone in need. But that wasn't his duty now. He was on here to fight, to help to defend the base against threats.
Oxygen burned his lungs with the pace of his run, John ducking and diving under and between several fallen support beams as he raced towards whatever carnage awaited. The first attacker he came across was dispatched in a cruder manner than he'd have liked, his hunters knife drawing a sharp slice over the man's throat, severing open muscle and windpipe alike. He had just a brief moment to worry about why that thought didn't trouble him before he spotted several enemies onrushing, their bodies and faces obscured by full black body suits. It took several rounds per man to kill the three. Damn it. Not good enough, he needed to improve or he would never last against Moriarty's network.
The sound of yelling up ahead snapped him out of his trance, spurring him on once more. Christ could Clint and Natasha have chosen a worse time to head to Budapest. Though he most definitely was going to never let Clint live down his boasting over the Hellicariers impenetrable defences. If he lived that was. Finally rounding the corner he felt pain flare across his chest, a bullet slamming into him from just down the hallway. Fuck. John shuffled till he was obscured by the corner of the wall, only then did he reach up and fiddle with the torn fabric of his jacket. At least he knew the answer to his question now. Did bullet proof material really stop the pain. He rubbed at the sore spot with a huff. That would definitely bruise. Heck, what's one more bruise, he'd looked like a patchwork quilt every day since his first training session with the others.
As a bullet ricocheted off the wall beside him John took the opportunity to glance around the corridor. Only the one, he just had to time it right then. Draw his fire then attack when he was reloading. Closing his eyes tightly he took several long, deep breaths, drawing enough oxygen into his lungs for the sprint he anticipated. Adrenaline flooded him as he launched up from the ground, pumping through his veins as he raced around the corner. Oh God, Oh God this is it he thought as the other man raised his gun. Don't just see, observe. Hearing the deep baritone in his mind struck a new wave of determination in his voice. The sight before him widened. No longer did he just see a man crouching behind a crate. Now he took in everything around him the blood stain at the bottom of the crate, an injured man then. The dropped cartridges around him, not a fantastic marksman then if he is expending so much ammo. Logic indicated that he must be qualified in hand to hand combat then, why else would he be here. Then he mustn't engage him up close.
The gun raising once more up ahead him had blood rushing to John's ears, the sound of the pulsing blocking out everything around him. Here came the onslaught. He just had to time it right. He raised his own pistol up as the man stepped out from behind the crate pushing down the trigger in a swift motion. For a moment the world stood still, the bullet streaking through the air to its target. The doctor took in a sharp inhale as he watched blood blossom from between the man's eyes, the crimson liquid splattering the walls around him as he twisted crudely and slumped to the floor. John had only a second to look at the dead enemy before two more faces came into view.
He had just enough focus to hold his finger off the trigger as he took in the familiar races of Fury and Maria Hill. The woman raised an appreciative eyebrow at the dead body lay at John's feet, impressed by his accuracy. "Nice shot." She quipped, patting him on the shoulder as she hurried on down the corridor yelling orders to various appearing S.H.I.E.L.D agents.
Fury holstered his own gun as John lowered his, his eye narrowing in an analytical fashion. "Seems there may be some hope for you yet Captain Watson." he mused as he stepped over the body to stand beside the blond. The slightest hint of a smirk began to rise upon his lips after a moment. "Coulson will tell you where the mops and buckets are. Up here you clean up your own messes." His black coat swirled around him as he turned away and stalked out of sight.
John groaned audibly, glancing around to see the chaos he'd left behind. So much for a restful night whilst his trainers were away then. He holstered his gun and stowed his knife, turning back to the body of the recently killed enemy and gripped him by the legs. No point putting it off then he decided. Well, at least he'd have a story to tell the others when they returned.
