AUTHOR: Maritza

RATING: R (violence and language)

SUMMARY: Harry hasn't died (shut the hell up, as it's my fic, I'll have it as I please) and so Jack and him do another life-threatening (aren't they all?) mission which has some very formidable consequences.

WARNING: Semi-graphic at parts and some not-so-nice language.. If yer underage to be reading this, I don't want yer parents sending me hate-mail or getting me in shit with my ISP et al so do the right thing: don't read if yer under the age of sixteen. Don't ruin it for us both.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I can give two shits if this is out of character or un-canon. I had an inspiration and so I wrote. For the first time in a year thanks to writers block so cut the bullshit and don't bother leaving flames. I will just laugh and publicly humiliate you.

THANKS: Thanks to Moxie-Proxie for grabbing that one line from the movie Speed for me - it was a pain, I know but I do thank you!! -glomp-

"Of Luck and Explosives"
a Speed ficlet

"Come on! Take that sonofabitch down! Move! MOVE!! MOVE!!!!!"

That's all I heard the night Harry died. My best friend, confidant and co-worker of many years. We knew each other in elementary school when we were in the remedial classes and loved to torment the girly-girls, in highschool when we were making moves on and dating said girly-girls and even through college, as we worked towards our job today: working on the LAPD bomb squad. I knew, some day, one of us was going to die before the other. We were too emulous and eager to get the job done and always did things two steps higher than we should of. Like taking on that bomber, Howard Paine, on our own. How goddamned stupid that was. Harry almost died during that mission, but amazingly, the blast only sent him flying outside of Paine's residence, knocking him out for a few but Harry was still with us.

Until now.

Jolting out of my thoughts I looked at the dismembered body that'd once been my friend and instantly, the hamburgers we'd had for lunch that day just before this call came in, rose in my throat. I forced the bile down and ran full-speed towards him, despite the futile attempts of the other squad members to keep me away. Another blast at the other end of the building and the rest of my team rushed the opposite side where the left-over hostages were being freed as the flames seemed to draw closer. Harry had been running towards the building, shooting, having spotted our man on the rooftop when he'd been hit with a cbu cluster bomblet unit that'd ejected enough bomblets near him to of dismembered and instantly killed him. The rest of us were far enough away to of not been hurt, and even now, that angers me. Why the hell was it him? And how the hell did our man get military artillary?

I couldn't even recognize him as I knelt down, forgetting my team, forgetting the hostages, the potential danger of me being so close to the building and especially my job; my mission. At that direct moment, I didn't care. I just stared down at Harry's lifeless, bloody eyes, reflecting the flames and staring up at the illuminated night sky which appropriately started spilling rain that very moment. Something inside me snapped then, and all sadness and human emotion slipped out of my veins and liquid-hot anger took it's place. Emitting an animalistic noise, shocking most in the vincinity, I ran at the building, jumping up and taking hold of the fire escape ladder leading to the roof, feeling the hottness of the metal through my gloves. having to pause twice from the thick, acrid smoke, I lost a few seconds but made it to the part of the roof that wasn't collapsed or consumed by the flames and found him anyway.

Timothy Gendron. Militia officer of six years before convicted of killing a fellow soldier to save himself. He'd gotten out of jail fast as there wasn't much evidence to hold him and had spent two more years setting this plan up. The plan to blow up the four storey conference building as the lawyers -including the one that failed to keep him out of jail- were in while said lawyers had an eight PM conference. Now, eleven thirty PM, Timothy knew he was running out of options, and I knew it too. He had no weaponry not even anything to set off or throw at me. If the building held out, and there weren't anymore timed explosives in the building I'd be able to take him out in a matter of seconds if it came to that.

Repeating a line I remembered saying years back, my muscles tensed and hardened as I pointed my gun at him. "." Of course, to him, that wasn't an option. He'd failed his mission, and didn't feel the need to be interrogated and told he'd have life in jail or death in court.. so Timothy took the only other way out: he jumped into the gaping, flaming hole a couple of feet from the both of us. I started shooting the moment he moved, hitting him twice before he left the ground and went into the hole. Over the roar of the fire, I could hear my Captain yelling through that damn megaphone of his that the place was gonna blow. Turning to face them, I ran towards where I'd come from just as I felt the rumble. Everything went silent then, time going in slow motion as I felt myself lifted up and tossed in the air, off the building. I knew I wasn't dead.. I never died.

I'm Jack Traven and I seem to have a damned horseshoe up my ass.

©Maritza , 2004