Die Hard 4.0
Jul. 2nd, 2007 09:09 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
chase_acow
Matt Farrell has eaten my brain. This is part of something shaping up to be much longer. It's a retelling of the movie, in the small moments. Also, with a big gay crush up front and center (well, a little to the left actually).
Some dialog taken directly from the movie, some altered slightly, and most made up by me.
Farrell/McClane
Matt dabbed at some more of the blood clotting over McClane’s forehead, and flaked off some of the dried stuff as he went. It was mostly an exercise in futility as all he did was push the dark red blood around with his already soaked rag. He pulled out the travel pack of tissues from his bag and fished one out, wetting it on his tongue and going back to work.
He was crouched awkwardly above the other man trying hard not to breathe too deeply in all the exhaust and potentially noxious fumes. Who knew a helicopter blown out of the sky would smell so bad? Matt was trying desperately to ignore the chaos reigning around him, if he got out of this alive then he was never playing Grand Theft Auto again. He’d stick with Frogger.
Below him, McClane was starting to breathe faster, moving his head and letting out little grunts as he woke up. He’d only been out for a couple of minutes, but they were the longest couple of minutes of Matt’s life. “Oh Shit, thank god,” Matt said, wetting another Kleenex and dipping it down to swipe at the corner of McClane’s mouth. “You just killed that helicopter with your car!”
That was, pretty amazing, actually if rather stupid and suicidal, Matt thought ignoring the moment his heart stopped because he thought McClane was still in the fireball of an auto wreck. It was only because without McClane he wouldn’t make it ten minutes before getting filled with a million holes from a machine gun. Or squashed by another helicopter, or another of the hundred or so incredibly painful scenarios floating around his head.
“Yeah, well I was out of bullets,” McClane said, shifting his head from side to side trying to crack his vertebra. He blinked his eyes open grimacing at Matt and then shoved him away. “What the hell are you doing, kid?”
Because of the way he’d been squatting, Matt end up sprawled on his butt between McClane’s thighs with his legs spread around the other man’s waist. His palms stung from slapping the concrete and he brought them up to rub on his jeans. “Shit, I was just trying to clean up your face,” he muttered, thinking that next time he wouldn’t bother. Let the guy’s eyelids cement shut for all he cared. He didn’t care.
“Jesus,” McClane said holding up the wadded tissue before he chucked it away. The sweat and blood on his head shone in the light of the headlamps aimed at them. “Next time keep your spit to yourself.”
“Yeah, yeah, fine,” he mumbled trying to pick himself up without jostling the other man too much. Probably only a trained psychiatrist would be able to tell if there were any further brain damage, but there might be internal bleeding or something.
McClane heaved himself up using the car for as much leverage as he could, favoring his right leg. He was scarred, scorched, and smelly, and Matt had never seen anyone like him before. It was like Arnold Schwarzenegger come to life, except smaller and more redneck. The jocks back in high school hadn’t even had a tenth the masculinity that McClane carried around in his pinky finger.
“You all right, kid?” McClane asked his soft voice cutting through the noise of the tunnel and straight to Matt’s groin. He reached down to hold out a bloody hand for Matt to take.
Other than apparently having a sexual identity crisis at the tender age of twenty two? Fine, Matt thought staring up at McClane’s dirty face. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he clasped McClane’s hand but barely had time to set his feet before he was jerked upright. He hopped trying not to collide with McClane from his momentum. “Skinned my knee and I think my asthma is acting up.”
Yes, because babbling will win him over.
Chuckling, McClane rolled his eyes and checked his gun handling it with care that made Matt itch to have those hands on his body. People were starting to group together in the tunnel, the mob closest to them starting to point fingers and raise their voices, “Nice. C’mon let’s go.”
“Where are we going?” Matt asked looking wildly around at the destruction they’d caused. He’d caused. He was following hot on McClane’s footsteps so when the other man stopped, Matt ran smack into his back and wrapped an arm around McClane to keep from falling.
McClane cranked his head over his shoulder to look at Matt, “Ya mind, kid?”
“What?” Matt asked, lifting his head and getting caught up in McClane’s glare. McClane raised an eyebrow and dropped his eyes to Matt’s hand on his stomach. Matt blushed and took his hand back, wiping it on his shirt and then running it through his hair. “Sorry. Uh, sorry.”
“Just watch better, get it?” McClane said as jumping up on the hood of a car and turning in a circle looking at god knew what. “I’ve got enough trouble without you taking pot shots at me too.”
“I’m no blackhat,” Matt mumbled, dropping his gaze and scuffing his shoe on the cement. He wasn’t, not anymore. This wasn’t his fault; well not on purpose anyway, it could have happened to anyone. Anyone on the FBI’s hacker list, that is.
This was insane. His life wasn’t supposed to be an action movie. Matt was content with his apartment, his pre-kaboom apartment, and his life. Sure he wasn’t flush with fame or money yet and his only friends were the guys next door who were even more pathetic than he was, but it was his. And no one had been trying to kill him. The only things he had to worry about were carpel tunnel syndrome and his inevitably slowing metabolism.
Having either found or not found what he was looking for, McClane jumped back down and grabbed Matt’s elbow, pulling him along beside the wall. “What’s that mean anyway?” he asked, taking much longer strides than Matt was used to forcing him to almost jog to keep up. “You said that before, ‘whitehats and blackhats’.”
“It’s the American myth of the west,” Matt said, trying not to gasp to keep his breath up. His knee really was twinging now and any second the sweat would hit the scrapes and it’d start burning. “You know, good guys always wore the white hats and bad guys always wore the black hats. Simplification at its most basic. Binary.”
McClane looked back at him, studying his face in the growing daylight until he nodded to himself and said, “I like cowboys.”
“I thought you didn’t give a shit,” Matt said, not sulking, absolutely not sulking but mostly only because McClane was pulling him again and they were about to break into daylight.
“Maybe, I’ve changed my mind,” McClane said catching Matt without looking when Matt tripped over some loose concrete. He patted Matt on the chest and then they were off again, “Keep up kid, I’ve got some jerk offs to kill.”
*****
Some dialog taken directly from the movie, some altered slightly, and most made up by me.
Farrell/McClane
Matt dabbed at some more of the blood clotting over McClane’s forehead, and flaked off some of the dried stuff as he went. It was mostly an exercise in futility as all he did was push the dark red blood around with his already soaked rag. He pulled out the travel pack of tissues from his bag and fished one out, wetting it on his tongue and going back to work.
He was crouched awkwardly above the other man trying hard not to breathe too deeply in all the exhaust and potentially noxious fumes. Who knew a helicopter blown out of the sky would smell so bad? Matt was trying desperately to ignore the chaos reigning around him, if he got out of this alive then he was never playing Grand Theft Auto again. He’d stick with Frogger.
Below him, McClane was starting to breathe faster, moving his head and letting out little grunts as he woke up. He’d only been out for a couple of minutes, but they were the longest couple of minutes of Matt’s life. “Oh Shit, thank god,” Matt said, wetting another Kleenex and dipping it down to swipe at the corner of McClane’s mouth. “You just killed that helicopter with your car!”
That was, pretty amazing, actually if rather stupid and suicidal, Matt thought ignoring the moment his heart stopped because he thought McClane was still in the fireball of an auto wreck. It was only because without McClane he wouldn’t make it ten minutes before getting filled with a million holes from a machine gun. Or squashed by another helicopter, or another of the hundred or so incredibly painful scenarios floating around his head.
“Yeah, well I was out of bullets,” McClane said, shifting his head from side to side trying to crack his vertebra. He blinked his eyes open grimacing at Matt and then shoved him away. “What the hell are you doing, kid?”
Because of the way he’d been squatting, Matt end up sprawled on his butt between McClane’s thighs with his legs spread around the other man’s waist. His palms stung from slapping the concrete and he brought them up to rub on his jeans. “Shit, I was just trying to clean up your face,” he muttered, thinking that next time he wouldn’t bother. Let the guy’s eyelids cement shut for all he cared. He didn’t care.
“Jesus,” McClane said holding up the wadded tissue before he chucked it away. The sweat and blood on his head shone in the light of the headlamps aimed at them. “Next time keep your spit to yourself.”
“Yeah, yeah, fine,” he mumbled trying to pick himself up without jostling the other man too much. Probably only a trained psychiatrist would be able to tell if there were any further brain damage, but there might be internal bleeding or something.
McClane heaved himself up using the car for as much leverage as he could, favoring his right leg. He was scarred, scorched, and smelly, and Matt had never seen anyone like him before. It was like Arnold Schwarzenegger come to life, except smaller and more redneck. The jocks back in high school hadn’t even had a tenth the masculinity that McClane carried around in his pinky finger.
“You all right, kid?” McClane asked his soft voice cutting through the noise of the tunnel and straight to Matt’s groin. He reached down to hold out a bloody hand for Matt to take.
Other than apparently having a sexual identity crisis at the tender age of twenty two? Fine, Matt thought staring up at McClane’s dirty face. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he clasped McClane’s hand but barely had time to set his feet before he was jerked upright. He hopped trying not to collide with McClane from his momentum. “Skinned my knee and I think my asthma is acting up.”
Yes, because babbling will win him over.
Chuckling, McClane rolled his eyes and checked his gun handling it with care that made Matt itch to have those hands on his body. People were starting to group together in the tunnel, the mob closest to them starting to point fingers and raise their voices, “Nice. C’mon let’s go.”
“Where are we going?” Matt asked looking wildly around at the destruction they’d caused. He’d caused. He was following hot on McClane’s footsteps so when the other man stopped, Matt ran smack into his back and wrapped an arm around McClane to keep from falling.
McClane cranked his head over his shoulder to look at Matt, “Ya mind, kid?”
“What?” Matt asked, lifting his head and getting caught up in McClane’s glare. McClane raised an eyebrow and dropped his eyes to Matt’s hand on his stomach. Matt blushed and took his hand back, wiping it on his shirt and then running it through his hair. “Sorry. Uh, sorry.”
“Just watch better, get it?” McClane said as jumping up on the hood of a car and turning in a circle looking at god knew what. “I’ve got enough trouble without you taking pot shots at me too.”
“I’m no blackhat,” Matt mumbled, dropping his gaze and scuffing his shoe on the cement. He wasn’t, not anymore. This wasn’t his fault; well not on purpose anyway, it could have happened to anyone. Anyone on the FBI’s hacker list, that is.
This was insane. His life wasn’t supposed to be an action movie. Matt was content with his apartment, his pre-kaboom apartment, and his life. Sure he wasn’t flush with fame or money yet and his only friends were the guys next door who were even more pathetic than he was, but it was his. And no one had been trying to kill him. The only things he had to worry about were carpel tunnel syndrome and his inevitably slowing metabolism.
Having either found or not found what he was looking for, McClane jumped back down and grabbed Matt’s elbow, pulling him along beside the wall. “What’s that mean anyway?” he asked, taking much longer strides than Matt was used to forcing him to almost jog to keep up. “You said that before, ‘whitehats and blackhats’.”
“It’s the American myth of the west,” Matt said, trying not to gasp to keep his breath up. His knee really was twinging now and any second the sweat would hit the scrapes and it’d start burning. “You know, good guys always wore the white hats and bad guys always wore the black hats. Simplification at its most basic. Binary.”
McClane looked back at him, studying his face in the growing daylight until he nodded to himself and said, “I like cowboys.”
“I thought you didn’t give a shit,” Matt said, not sulking, absolutely not sulking but mostly only because McClane was pulling him again and they were about to break into daylight.
“Maybe, I’ve changed my mind,” McClane said catching Matt without looking when Matt tripped over some loose concrete. He patted Matt on the chest and then they were off again, “Keep up kid, I’ve got some jerk offs to kill.”
