Ok. Holidays. TIME TO ACTUALLY DO SOME WRITING.

Requests? GONNA DO EM.

Starting with some blowhole and skipper.


The earth rotates at one thousand six hundred and seventy kilometres per hour.

But in this moment he was sure it must have frozen in place, everything else had.

A wide sea green eye stared up at the cold metal, not flinching from the muzzle of the gun centimetres away from pressing against the space between his eyes. One a glinting red piece of machinery embedded into the metal wrapping around part of his skull, the other living tissue and muscle. His chest was still and his hands froze at his sides, body going from sunlight over water to solid stone in a heartbeat. Even the blood pooling down the side of his face had frozen on its journey.

Skipper knew he must look similar, it felt like his heart had stopped pounding and was now sitting quietly in his chest, waiting for something, anything, to happen. But he didn't even know what it was he was waiting for at this point. The gun was in his hand, the safety was off and his finger was pressing down slightly on the trigger.

The ball was metaphorically in his court now.

It was everything he had been dreaming about for years now, planning quietly as he lay awake at night feeling the rage coil beneath his skin. Lying in the dark he would feel the cool metal of the gun in his palm as it was held level with the bastards eyes, feel the sea coloured eye meet his own in a levelled stare.

And he would feel the recoil of the gun as he pulled the trigger.

A single shot and he would fall like a puppet with the strings severed. Blood would start to pool over the concrete and he would be filled with this crushing relief that it was over.

And yet he was finally there, gun locked and hand steady, and all he felt was this blood setting hesitance. The green eye slid along the barrel of the gun, over his hand and up his torso. They rose steadily until they settled on his piercing blue irises. There was a look of calm in that eye, like it had seen this coming and was just waiting for the same thing Skipper was. He stared back, deliberate to keep the emotions he was facing concealed.

There was an eerie quiet. No wailing alarms or pitched screams. No grating metal or howling wind, just this perfect silence that seemed to crush the air around them.

Finally he broke the silence.

"You can't shoot me." The voice was a murmur, barely breathed from between his parted jaw. It didn't come out like an accusation, or a taunt, but like he was stating a fact he had never seen before. And skipper couldn't work out is this made it better or worse.

His hand was starting to get slippery against the metal of the gun, but he didn't dare adjust his grip, refusing to be the one to break first.

"I believe you can see my finger on the trigger. I think you'd find I can." He replied tone even as he kept his gaze neutral and detached like he didn't care. Like his heart wasn't racing.

The scientist's eye shifted, eyelid slipping down to half cover his eye. "No, you can't shoot me." He stated, lifting his chin the barest fraction as he continued to stare calmly up the barrel of the loaded pistol.

"And why not?" Skipper growled.

"Because if you could you would have done it by now." He stated simply, lips curving ever so faintly into a smirk.

Skipper shrugged. "I'm building tension"

"No." He stated, voice growing a hard edge as his eye shifted into a narrowed slit. "You're stalling because you physically cannot pull that trigger."

"I can and I will-"

"Then do it!" Before the soldier could react the scientist rose up higher on his knees and pressed his forehead against the gun, staring up with a feral challenge in his eye. "I am right here Skipper! Show me. Show me that I'm wrong, show me how big of a man you are and how cold the blood in your veins flows!" He was shouting by now, body quivering as he grit his teeth together. The Red piece of glass was shifting wildly, LED display on the surface swinging rings around focusing and un focusing them until it became nothing more than a blur of reds.

He felt his jaw tighten, every muscle in his body tighten as he watched the mechanical parody of the living tissue that was once there. Everything pulled towards him, except his finger. It remained poised lightly on the trigger, sweat slicking his hand against the gun as he held it firm.

"See?" there was a bitter laugh in his voice as he sat back, putting some distance between the gun and his forehead. "You can't do it! And I know exactly why."

"Why!?" He snapped.

"Because you need me."

Skipper felt his eyes narrowing. "I don't need you-

"You need me Skipper because as great as being the hero is, when there is no one to stop or detain or thwart the plans of you start chasing your own tail like a dog." He hissed, eye practically ablaze as his hands tightened into fists.

He snorted, passing off the insane idea before it could grab hold, before he would have to face it fully. "There are thousands of people with bad intentions-"

"But none of them are me."

He didn't have a response, instead clamping his jaw shut and finally giving into the urge to shuffle the gun in his palm.

He hadn't even drawn a breath. "None of them have our history, our story, the bitter rivalry that sets their bodies on fire when they draw close!" His voice grew higher and higher as he spoke, building it up like a passionate story-teller. "You need me."

His mouth was dry. "What makes you so sure of this? So sure I won't kill you here."

"Because I need you."

For a few seconds no one said anything, the silence commanding the conversation as the gap between words grew wider and wider with every passing heartbeat.

Another bitter laugh cut the quiet. "I've tried. Oh trust me I've tried to see it through with other self-proclaimed hero's but none of them cut it. None of them are you. Let me tell you, being the villain is all good fun until there is no one there to stop you." He was shaking again, muscles all pulled thin from the tension inside him. "Like a dog. Round and round and round you chase yourself."

There were words. But they were all jumbled, and no matter how hard he focused he couldn't get them to come together in a sentence. Everything felt like it was falling and he was suspended in the middle of it watching as it shattered. There was a pressure on his hand and the scientist was back up on his knees and pressing against the muzzle of the gun again, one eye defiant and the other going into over drive.

"Do it. Prove me wrong." He hissed.

"I-"

"Pull the trigger!" He was shouting, one hand gripping Skippers own to keep his aim steady. He couldn't think, there was no time to think there was no time no time no time-

"I-"

No time no time- "You can't Skipper! You'll never be able too!"

He couldn't breathe, and he couldn't think. But he could act. He pulled back a fist and slammed it into the side of the scientists face, startling him enough to wrench the gun back, and fling it aside. The punch was weak, barely making an impact. But there was no gun now, there was nothing but lips and teeth and hands as they fell together somewhere in the middle. It was messy and uncoordinated and Skippers lips were bruising but he tangled his hands into the silvery hair and pulled the Scientist closer anyway. There was blood from biting but he didn't know whose it was and it didn't matter because the whole thing was so utterly ruthless and angry and needy and it just fit. An incessant urge to be both close and far away was tugging him in two but there were hands everywhere and he didn't know which were his but they were clawing and ripping and they were tearing at the wounds from the fight and spilling more blood but none of it mattered because he needed this.

They needed this.

Because their romance was never going to be something that wasn't covered in blood and sweat and held together by nothing more than a selfish need for something they couldn't get anywhere else.

"Sir?" Kowalski was looking up from the gauze he was winding around privates arm, eyes narrowed as the figure approached from the building, nothing more than a black outline against the sun that was setting against the horizon. "Is that-"

"Its Skippah!" Private shouted, frowning as the figure grew closer. "He looks really badly hurt…"

"Uh-hu-" Rico was cut off by his own short scream of pain as his shoulder suddenly snapped back into its socket from him trying to re-set it.

Kowalski was already on his feet and limping towards his leader. "Sir are you alright?"

The team leader nodded, wincing as blood continued to pool from his lips and nose, trying to stifle it with his hand. It was also starting to drip into his eyes from a gash on his forehead and what could only be presumed as more gashes in on his scalp that were leaking red from his hairline. "I'm fine."

"What about Blowhole, did you-"

Skipper withdrew his hand and lifted his head, looking his lieutenant in the eyes when he spoke. "He got away. I accidentally shot a pipe and the smoke leaking from it filled the room. Bastard pushed me down the stairs and bolted. I couldn't find hi- Oh god, can I get a tissue?" His voice was thick as the blood continued to flow.

Private passed him a cloth he was using to dab at a shallow wound on his leg. "It's ok Skipper, we'll get him soon enough!" He laughed.

"It's almost like he wants to be found as much as you want to find him."


Sorry, I'm not very familiar with this pairing ^-^' hope you all liked it anyway.

Next up is Clemson/fem!Hans

See ya'll next time :)