When he shakes his head and smiles, there are dimples evident on his cheeks. For once, he ain't makin' 'em pop out on purpose. Imagine that: a genuine smile over stuff gettin' shot up. Him and Freckles, they spent most of the shootout downstairs in the garage and he ain't been back there since they got back from the city. Out here, there's a little bit of damage but not a whole lot.
"Good thing repair robots don't need no sleep." They could just keep goin' and goin' on fixing stuff, he imagines, without a break or nothin'. It's a crap job but he don't have to do it, so he don't care. Idly, one of his hands goes to a bullet hole in the wall; a few cracks radiate out from it. That could've been his leg. Hell, it was his leg.
He'd take one for Freckles any damn day. It's a change for him, that kind of behavior: he's usually the kind of man who steps out of the way of a moving car, not one who walks into it. And all 'cause it might harm a hair on her pretty head.
What is it about her, he wonders, that makes him act like that? It ain't just to get her into bed. He would've done near anything for her even without that promise dangling. Hell, he did do it without expectations. That ache in his leg? It don't have squat to do with tryin' to impress Freckles. What it has to do with is this unexpected and damn unusual protective streak. The only thing he's ever protected before was his own sorry ass.
Strangest part? He didn't even think twice. That don't make him no hero. Just makes him like any other guy who ever wandered the halls of any hotel anywhere. Or the paths through an island jungle. And he ain't usually just like most other guys.
Freckles? Her name as a question's just about to fall off his lips, but he bites it back.
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"Good thing repair robots don't need no sleep." They could just keep goin' and goin' on fixing stuff, he imagines, without a break or nothin'. It's a crap job but he don't have to do it, so he don't care. Idly, one of his hands goes to a bullet hole in the wall; a few cracks radiate out from it. That could've been his leg. Hell, it was his leg.
He'd take one for Freckles any damn day. It's a change for him, that kind of behavior: he's usually the kind of man who steps out of the way of a moving car, not one who walks into it. And all 'cause it might harm a hair on her pretty head.
What is it about her, he wonders, that makes him act like that? It ain't just to get her into bed. He would've done near anything for her even without that promise dangling. Hell, he did do it without expectations. That ache in his leg? It don't have squat to do with tryin' to impress Freckles. What it has to do with is this unexpected and damn unusual protective streak. The only thing he's ever protected before was his own sorry ass.
Strangest part? He didn't even think twice. That don't make him no hero. Just makes him like any other guy who ever wandered the halls of any hotel anywhere. Or the paths through an island jungle. And he ain't usually just like most other guys.
Freckles? Her name as a question's just about to fall off his lips, but he bites it back.
Not yet.