50,000 Volts
Apr. 20th, 2008 02:04 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kiyakotari
Written in response to the Week #24 challenge/prompt on Resinality's ABJD Writing usergroup. Prompt was "the fondest memory." A bit longer this time around, more up to my usual length. Inspired also by a recent experience of my own at the hospital (I owe one of my fellow officers for the fact that I can still type and my arm is not in a cast right now - it took nine people to subdue the patient in that instance, and I really wish the cop had thought to use his taser, rather than holding onto the guy's other arm along with two other people and leaving me to deal with the left arm all on my own).
It was a bad situation to begin with, and it became immeasurably worse when the man got his left arm away from Hunter, who was trying to help Wren hold him down, and managed to grab onto her bad hand. She wasn’t wearing her brace, because this was supposed to be an office day and the damned thing interfered with her typing speed – her spare was in her locker, ready in case a sudden call to a field scene came in. So there was nothing resisting the suspect’s attempts to twist her hand off but bone and muscle and abused tendons. Which really wasn’t sufficient.
Wren turned, trying to get her hand free, but she was hampered by the need to hold the suspect’s right arm down, and had to be careful to keep her head out of range of his flailing feet. Hunter was already down, dazed on the floor from catching a booted toe to the temple. He wouldn’t be able to help any time soon, and she couldn’t break away and leave him vulnerable. Wren was on her own – normally not a problem, but the man had a good two-hundred pounds and nearly a foot of height on her, and to top it off he was hopped up on some kind of uninhibitor. And he had her arm.
It was starting to look like she would have to seriously injure the man to subdue him without being badly hurt herself – though her arm was going to ache for days at this point, she could already tell. Hurting him would not go over well with WUNPO’s Loss Prevention and Public Relations departments. Not that she really cared about that, but the thought of the lecture she’d get about it made her hesitate for just a moment.
Then Jian was there, his hands around the suspect’s wrist, fingernails digging crescent trenches into the man’s tendons, his face a mask of cold fury as he snarled in the man’s face, “Let go of her right now.” Wren hadn’t even seen him enter the room.
It was probably shock more than anything else that made the suspect loosen his grip on her hand, and she wrenched her arm away from him, pulled it in tight against her body and stepped back. Jian already had his taser out of his belt, and he jabbed the prongs into the side of the man’s neck, let go of his wrist, and delivered 50,000 volts directly into his nervous system.
Wren caught Hunter around the upper arm with her uninjured hand and hauled him to his feet, dragging him toward the door and away from the spasming man on the floor.
It took five jolts to take the fight out of the suspect. Jian didn’t give him any time to recover, simply grabbed him still-twitching and yanked him up into the steel chair bolted solidly to the floor. He cuffed the man to the chair one-handed, and didn’t reholster his taser until all three agents were outside of the little room. After five dry-stuns, it would need to be recharged before he could be sure of its effectiveness again.
Jian turned to her and helped her body-walk Hunter over to a bench along the wall, a hard wooden affair with thin black pads on it, often occupied by witnesses waiting to be interviewed but empty at the time. Hunter slumped on it, propped up against the wall, blinking and disoriented. Wren heard feet pounding up the hallway behind them just as Jian reached out and grabbed her arm, pulling her toward him so he could feel along her wrist. Laith reached them, agents and another medic trailing along behind, and pushed them out of the way to start checking Hunter’s pupil response. Jian’s eyes were narrowed with concentration as he examined her arm. Wren stood calmly, and let him look without protest. Eventually, he raised his gaze to her face. “You need to get Laith to look at that when he’s done with Hunter.”
“Of course,” Wren answered blandly. She arched one eyebrow, asking without words just how stupid he thought she was. He stared back at her, not giving ground at all, and she had to bite back a smile.
He let go of her hand and turned to the observation window, looking in at the man cuffed to the chair, his arms crossing over his chest. “Someone will need to check him, as well. He did not go down easily.” It was addressed to the other agents and medical staff gathering around, not to Wren. Their discussion was already over.
They found out later that the man had been on PCP, riding high enough that a kick from a horse probably wouldn’t have done more than phase him.
Her Jian is a man of passions tightly reigned, his emotions strictly restrained and channeled, and certainly never made visible in public. His temper burns hotly, and he does loose it when it serves his purposes, but such a course of action is always a carefully calculated choice, always subdued by his intellect. Even now, thinking back on the anger on his face, the intensity in his voice as he growled that command, she is filled with warmth. That was for her. His control slips only for her.
Wren can take care of herself, and no one who knows her doubts it in the slightest. She certainly doesn’t need someone to protect her, to feel anger on her behalf. But it’s nice to know there is someone who would, if the time for it came. Even better that it’s the man she loves.
50,000 Volts
It was a bad situation to begin with, and it became immeasurably worse when the man got his left arm away from Hunter, who was trying to help Wren hold him down, and managed to grab onto her bad hand. She wasn’t wearing her brace, because this was supposed to be an office day and the damned thing interfered with her typing speed – her spare was in her locker, ready in case a sudden call to a field scene came in. So there was nothing resisting the suspect’s attempts to twist her hand off but bone and muscle and abused tendons. Which really wasn’t sufficient.
Wren turned, trying to get her hand free, but she was hampered by the need to hold the suspect’s right arm down, and had to be careful to keep her head out of range of his flailing feet. Hunter was already down, dazed on the floor from catching a booted toe to the temple. He wouldn’t be able to help any time soon, and she couldn’t break away and leave him vulnerable. Wren was on her own – normally not a problem, but the man had a good two-hundred pounds and nearly a foot of height on her, and to top it off he was hopped up on some kind of uninhibitor. And he had her arm.
It was starting to look like she would have to seriously injure the man to subdue him without being badly hurt herself – though her arm was going to ache for days at this point, she could already tell. Hurting him would not go over well with WUNPO’s Loss Prevention and Public Relations departments. Not that she really cared about that, but the thought of the lecture she’d get about it made her hesitate for just a moment.
Then Jian was there, his hands around the suspect’s wrist, fingernails digging crescent trenches into the man’s tendons, his face a mask of cold fury as he snarled in the man’s face, “Let go of her right now.” Wren hadn’t even seen him enter the room.
It was probably shock more than anything else that made the suspect loosen his grip on her hand, and she wrenched her arm away from him, pulled it in tight against her body and stepped back. Jian already had his taser out of his belt, and he jabbed the prongs into the side of the man’s neck, let go of his wrist, and delivered 50,000 volts directly into his nervous system.
Wren caught Hunter around the upper arm with her uninjured hand and hauled him to his feet, dragging him toward the door and away from the spasming man on the floor.
It took five jolts to take the fight out of the suspect. Jian didn’t give him any time to recover, simply grabbed him still-twitching and yanked him up into the steel chair bolted solidly to the floor. He cuffed the man to the chair one-handed, and didn’t reholster his taser until all three agents were outside of the little room. After five dry-stuns, it would need to be recharged before he could be sure of its effectiveness again.
Jian turned to her and helped her body-walk Hunter over to a bench along the wall, a hard wooden affair with thin black pads on it, often occupied by witnesses waiting to be interviewed but empty at the time. Hunter slumped on it, propped up against the wall, blinking and disoriented. Wren heard feet pounding up the hallway behind them just as Jian reached out and grabbed her arm, pulling her toward him so he could feel along her wrist. Laith reached them, agents and another medic trailing along behind, and pushed them out of the way to start checking Hunter’s pupil response. Jian’s eyes were narrowed with concentration as he examined her arm. Wren stood calmly, and let him look without protest. Eventually, he raised his gaze to her face. “You need to get Laith to look at that when he’s done with Hunter.”
“Of course,” Wren answered blandly. She arched one eyebrow, asking without words just how stupid he thought she was. He stared back at her, not giving ground at all, and she had to bite back a smile.
He let go of her hand and turned to the observation window, looking in at the man cuffed to the chair, his arms crossing over his chest. “Someone will need to check him, as well. He did not go down easily.” It was addressed to the other agents and medical staff gathering around, not to Wren. Their discussion was already over.
They found out later that the man had been on PCP, riding high enough that a kick from a horse probably wouldn’t have done more than phase him.
Her Jian is a man of passions tightly reigned, his emotions strictly restrained and channeled, and certainly never made visible in public. His temper burns hotly, and he does loose it when it serves his purposes, but such a course of action is always a carefully calculated choice, always subdued by his intellect. Even now, thinking back on the anger on his face, the intensity in his voice as he growled that command, she is filled with warmth. That was for her. His control slips only for her.
Wren can take care of herself, and no one who knows her doubts it in the slightest. She certainly doesn’t need someone to protect her, to feel anger on her behalf. But it’s nice to know there is someone who would, if the time for it came. Even better that it’s the man she loves.
