The Ongoing Adventures of Blonsky/Chris: Part 5

[moralimperative]

life is like a mean machine, it made a mess out of me it left me caught between like an angry dream I was stranded-- I was stranded

For all their limited resources and the setbacks inherent to having to utilize such an indiscreet vehicle, they had managed to reach the middle of bumfuck nowhere before the Humvee called it quits; it rattled and sputtered and overheated before finally succumbing to whatever poor luck or lack of maintenance had driven it to the edge of its capabilities, coming to a stop along the side of a secluded road surrounded in all directions by nothing of note nor landmark, all trees and fields and undeveloped land. Of all the places for a breakdown, at least it offered the rogue soldier and his companion some amount of privacy before the ever-present threat of being caught up to once again.

Chris tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, glancing expectantly over to the older man. There hadn't been much in the way of talking after they'd set out, this time; he didn't chance to break the silence here, either. Instead: a cautious dart of tongue to wet his lips, awaiting Blonsky's instructions (while already he began to dig through a mental catalog of automotive parts and problems, attempting to evaluate the probability that any of it might apply to the unfamiliar Humvee).

Comments

[moralimperative]

It was the first audible--painful, if only to hear--snap of breaking bone that arrested Chris's immediate attention to the complete disregard of all else, bringing him to his feet in the same instant that Blonsky hit the ground.

"Blonsky!" He was at the soldier's side in an instant, dropping to his knees for blood-soaked hands to hover at his shoulders in a moment of brief, blind panic before he rolled the older man onto his back. The lack of pain in Blonsky's expression (or his mastery over it, it was difficult to tell from an outside perspective) calmed him by a few degrees, but only some. Chris still leaned over him protectively, one hand at his collarbone, the other at his jaw, both inadvertently painting the soldier's skin red as the last vestiges of the transformation left him in their wake. "Blonsky. Hey, come on. A little warning? ...Are you okay?"