Prompt: Winded / Breathless
Title: In The Arms Of A Stranger [Pt. 2]
Fandom: Jack Reacher (2012)
Warnings: Gun violence, mentions of cuts and blood, dead/injured bodies.
Word Count: 2,664
Synopsis: After having been rescued by a drifter by the name of Jack Reacher, Y/N L/N finds herself not straying from his side as the pair quickly realize that her ex-boyfriend and his thugs they'd encountered at the bar were just the beginning of the forces out to bring her back into an organization she has no idea the massive scale of. Can the pair leave Pittsburgh and the chaos behind for good? Or will Y/N have to spend the rest of her days peering over her shoulder, fearing for her life?
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In The Arms Of A Stranger [Pt. 2]
You awake with a gasp, bolting upright from where you'd been previously lying, your heart hammering against your chest.
Though a firm hand gently urges you back against the mattress, a certain sternness in his movements.
"Gunshots," The man at your side explains softly, though his tone carries a trace of urgency.
Your heart skips a beat as the shadowy figure of Jack Reacher slowly slips out of bed from beside you, cautiously nearing the window, drawing back the curtain to expose a warmly illuminated snowy parking lot.
The snow is still falling as it had been when you'd first trudged through it and into the bar, mere hours ago.
Though now, it spirals down in gentle, fat flakes, coating every surface it lands on in a fluffy white layer.
Including the two darkly tinted SUVs sitting in front of the window, their blinding LED headlights making you squint.
Jack also seems genuinely surprised at the development in the parking lot, hastily stumbling backwards before regaining his footing, whipping around to face you.
"You seriously were never made aware of how large of an organization you were actually in?" He questions aloud, wordlessly urging you to your feet, tossing his shirt back over his head in one swift motion. "Because now would be the time to let me know what we're about to be getting into!"
You simply stand there, blinking the grain away from your eyes and willing your heart rate to settle down to a manageable level as you allow your gaze to wander over the man in front of you.
"You think those SUVs and the people in them - those gunshots - they're here for me?"
Sighing, he nods stiffly, glancing towards where the door is still deadbolted and locked before once more turning to hold your gaze, a stern yet compassionate glimmer in his eyes.
But before Reacher can even utter a word, you find yourself being pulled to the floor, the sound of glass shattering coupled with a sudden barrage of gunshots flooding your senses.
"I think that clears it up!" He shouts over the ruckus, risking a glance upwards before ducking back down with you again, the ping of yet another bullet burying into the wall behind you reaching your ears.
The noise is deafening.
Dust from the already ancient plaster and paint on the walls is beginning to spread, a series of coughs wracking through your already trembling frame.
The winter wind is also howling through the now shattered window, pieces of the glass no doubt littered throughout your hair.
"Here's what we're gonna do," Jack muses loud enough over the noise, once more pulling you down with him, an arm shielding your head. "We go out the back window."
"The bathroom?"
"That's the only back window!"
"I'll barely be able to make it through! How the hell are you gonna get out of here?!" You exclaim, a rush of genuine concern dancing through you that catches you off guard slightly as you gesture to his larger figure.
At this, Jack Reacher just smirks, a certain gleam in his gaze.
"Don't worry about me," He assures, urging you forward. "But let's get moving while they cease fire to reload."
Nodding, you draw yourself to a crouching position before taking off at a sprint, practically slamming into the splintered bathroom door, the small window in sight.
"We gotta break it," You pant, coughing yet again, sighing heavily.
This dust and the cold is not helping.
It doesn't help either that you've never been one to have the best endurance in the world.
Your wild gaze scans the quaint bathroom, searching for anything, something, to break the glass that stands in the way of your objective.
"Any ideas?"
Wordlessly, Jack steps in front of you, a hand urging you back as he picks up the soap dispenser, a metal pump on the top of it.
Weighing it in his hand, he seems to ponder something for a moment before unscrewing the cap and sliding the metal in between his fingers, forming a fist with the metal sticking out.
"This could go sideways real quick," He mutters, once more urging you away from the glass mere seconds away from shattering.
And in the blink of an eye, Reacher's fist and the metal portion of the soap dispenser makes contact with the window, the once solid object now littering the floor in a thousand tiny pieces.
Inwardly, you're thanking yourself for having kept your boots beside where you'd fallen asleep earlier, having managed to jump into them before this chaos ensued.
"It's now or never! Let's go!"
Hurrying towards where your rescuer stands beneath the window, he hastily helps you through the relatively small opening, the broken glass on the edges scraping your bare arms, though the cold winter wind numbs them slightly.
With your boots landing in the snow outside with a thud, you stumble for a moment, nearly faceplanting into the cold, hard ground, though you somehow miraculously manage to recover, steadying yourself with a shivering sigh of relief.
Now where the hell do I go?
You're not given much time to ponder that question, though, as the barrage of gunfire resumes, startling you half to death.
You find yourself instantly running towards the wall of the motel beneath the window you'd just come from, pressing your back against the freezing bricks, your heart pounding the blood to your ears, willing your breathing to settle down.
You're feeling absolutely breathless and whatever the hell this is all about has only just begun.
But, you sum up whatever ounce of courage you have left and begin towards the edge of the building, your back not leaving the bricks and the shadows the back wall provides.
Peering out into the parking lot, a genuine gasp of surprise, coupled with alarm, is pulled from your lips.
The man who'd saved your life hours prior is pinned behind a parked minivan, his face clearly adorned with an array of cuts and scrapes, though a handgun sits idle at his side and a rifle in his grasp.
He doesn't appear the slightest bit afraid of the darkly clad figures gradually approaching where he hides, instead, it almost seems like he's waiting for them.
And as a shout rings out in the momentarily silent late night winter air, you watch as the man who calls himself Jack Reacher leaps from where he'd been previously crouched, the sudden piercing sound of shots being fired making you wince, your eyes closing instinctively.
Quiet.
Absolutely quiet.
An eerie silence falls across the blizzardy motel parking lot as you risk yet another glance back out into the open.
Bodies, though some not appearing to be dead, litter the pavement, the blood from wounds quickly staining the blanket of white a rather sickening crimson.
But Jack Reacher is standing amongst it, almost unfazed, as he nears you, slinging the rifle over his shoulder, the pistol still in his grasp.
You can feel the shock setting in, your eyes no doubt as wide as ever at the mere sight of blood alone.
But the shock of the sudden realization of the gravity of the situation.
"You okay?" He muses softly, his gaze skimming over you, frowning at the assortment of bloody cuts along your arms.
"I should be asking you that same question," Is all you can figure out to say, a rather nasty looking gash across his cheek catching your attention.
A momentary beat of silence passes between the pair of you, the adrenaline chorusing through your body enough to keep you warm as the relentless winter wind continues to blow, the once lazy, fat snowflakes now a sharp, piercing sleet.
Wordlessly, Jack's free hand grabs yours as he takes off, momentarily dragging you along with him before you catch up and match his strides, the two of you practically sprinting through the snowy shadow of the motel's back, making quick work of rounding it and coming to a halt at the other end of the parking lot.
"You got a plan or something?"
Jack just shakes his head, gaze scanning the assortment of vehicles in front of you both before seeming to make up his mind, the hand still holding yours firmly pulling you into him as his back hits the wall.
"A Glock seventeen. Nine millimeter," He hums lowly, sliding the grip of the handgun into your free hand, sharp realization swelling within you. "Has a standard mag of seventeen rounds. He used at least two on me, I used one on him after I grabbed it, so you should have about fourteen left."
"You want me to..."
Your voice trails off as you raise your gaze to meet his, a certain understanding yet urgency glimmering there.
"If you have to," The man holding you close practically whispers, the sound of screeching tires peeling into the parking lot filling the silence. "Just take your mark with the sight on the barrel, point and pull the trigger."
A rather sickening feeling swells within you, a sudden dizziness clouding your headspace as you both step apart, his rifle finding it's way back into his grasp.
'Just follow my lead,' He seems to say with his eyes as he takes off running, the snow crunching beneath his boots and yours, immediately following his strides.
Making it to the oldest looking car in the lot, surprisingly unlocked, the pair of you jump in, slamming and locking the doors behind you as the man in the driver's seat begins to tear apart the dash, clearly attempting to hotwire it.
"You tell me when they clue onto us," He orders with a frustrated sigh, slamming his fist against the mixture of wooden and plastic interior.
Nodding, you set your sights on the troves of dark tactical gear clad figures practically pouring out of equally as dark SUVs, their weapons all being trained on the motel's entrances as they make their way towards where Reacher had left the bodies, laying in the cold.
And with one final aggravated huff, the engine abruptly roars to life as he clambers back into the driver's seat and steps on it, peeling out of the parking lot at a rate so fast, you're surprised to see the snowy road on a straight path in front of you when you open your eyes after they'd closed in terror once again.
"They're not following us."
Jack's tone carries an air of genuine surprise an confusion to it as he gradually slows down to just above the speed limit, a heavy sigh falling from his lips.
"That's good, isn't it?" You muse hoarsely, the absence of the brutally cold weather making the wounds littering your figure that much more evident.
And the fatigue radiating through your body isn't doing much to help the ache of your black eye, either, it's vision blurry.
"Yes and no," Comes the reply, a glance being passed your way, his heavy tone of compassion worming its way in. "We've got a bit of a drive to go yet. Get some rest, Y/N."
Yawning, you give into Reacher's suggestion and the exhaustion radiating through you... almost instantly falling into a light slumber.
****
"Those cuts on her arms there, those are bound to get infected if you don't clean them out."
"You got a First Aid kit laying around?"
"Lemme go check in the back for ya."
You awake with a groan of protest, your back lying against something relatively hard, though it's softer than the bricks earlier.
"You're alright," A certain soothing tone sounds from beside you, even though there isn't a trace of softness to it.
Just his presence is comfort enough.
Blinking a few times, you tilt your head towards the source of the voice, offering a weak grin to the man sitting beside you, his gaze resting heavy on you.
His own cuts have been cleaned up a bit, though the brown jacket he once wore is no longer in sight, instead replaced by a dark button down flannel layered atop his white Henley shirt.
"Ah! And would you look at that! The lady's awake!" Another, unfamiliar tone sounds from your other side, the warm features of an older gentleman appearing over you, moments later.
"Y/N, this is Martin Cash. Martin, this is Y/N."
"I heard you had one heck of a run-in with some rather interesting folks back in Pittsburgh," Mr. Cash chuckles, a grin falling upon his features as he gestures towards Jack. "Though this fella stepped up and taught those punks a lesson - I wish I could still do that in my old age. None of those younger blokes seem to have any respect for women, let alone anyone else, these days."
All you can do is offer another weak smile as he passes a white and red box over to the man at your side, the older gentleman's footsteps retreating.
"There should be everything you need in there. But I open in ten, so I've gotta get going. If you need me, you know where to find me."
"Thanks, Gunny."
And with that, Martin Cash heads on his way, the rather metallic sound of a door closing echoing in the room you're in.
A room that's piled with what appears to be every hunting and fishing product you could ever want, as well as a brightly illuminated glass case lined with all sorts of ammunition and a shelf lined with various firearms.
"Where the hell are we, Jack?" You find yourself musing aloud, genuine confusion in your tone, passing him a glance.
He's rummaging through the First Aid kit with a rather passive expression, though his movements carry a trace of urgency to them.
And that's when it hits you - the pain rippling through you.
"A gun range in Ohio," He states plainly, turning to face you, a cotton swab dabbed in an antiseptic solution in his grasp as gently grabs your arm and begins to work on your wounds.
You wince at the solution's contact, but you don't pull away, instead, you find yourself bringing your other arm to grasp his other hand sitting idle on your bedside, gripping it tightly with yours.
"I came in here awhile back, chasing a lead on a case I was helping someone with at the time," Jack explains, earning an eyebrow raise from you. "Needless to say, Gunny and I left on good terms, so I figured our best bet would be here. Turns out I was right."
"So he cleared out space in his store's storage closet?"
The man at your side nods, chuckling.
"When he laid eyes on your beaten up figure, he knew right then and there that I wouldn't have come back if it wasn't for good reason."
A beat of silence passes between the pair of you, other than the hum of the spatial heater running in the corner.
And as your cuts are cleaned and bandaged up, you let out a breath you didn't realize you'd been holding the entire time, a rather exhausted looking Jack Reacher sitting in your peripheral vision.
He almost looks as if he might fall asleep then and there on the uncomfortable looking camping chair.
So, you wordlessly shift over on the fold up cot Jack must've laid your sleeping figure down on when you'd first arrived, patting the empty space next to you.
At this, your rescuer and protector chuckles softly, somehow clambering in beside you, slipping beneath the sleeping bag acting as a blanket that had been tossed over you.
And almost instinctively, Jack reaches for you, pulling you close, your head yet again finding a comfortable spot against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heart a welcome sensation.
It turns out, your hunch had been correct.
There is a certain soft side to the man who calls himself Jack Reacher.
And now you know with utmost certainty...
That you're certainly safe once more in the arms of someone who is no longer just a stranger.