Work Text:
"Don't try to talk."
"I can't talk."
Delphine's voice was a croak, and the black spots had just barely faded from her vision. She'd known being shot was a risk, but strangulation was something that hadn't even occurred to her. She could see Satchel's feet and lower legs, the rest of him concealed by the couch. There was blood spatter on the wall. She didn't want to see how much of a mess Lorraine had made, not with the smell of cordite still heavy in the air. The other woman was limping, and she was sporting a black eye. Weren't they just a matching set?
"Thank you."
"I said shut up."
Delphine shut up, but when Lorraine brought a glass of water out of the kitchen, her hands weren't quite steady. From her position propped up against the wall, Delphine sipped carefully at the water, and they were avoiding each other's eyes. The glass rattled against her chin, but the liquid soothed her throat. When water splashed on her shirt, Lorraine muttered something under her breath, set the glass down on the floor. There was blood and gunpowder in the air, two smells mixing together. They sat there for several minutes, Lorraine looking down at the floor and Delphine staring at the couch's backrest.
"I need to move...that. Him."
Still, neither of them moved, and the tableau held until Delphine touched the other woman on the arm. The usually stoic expression, the flat stare, was missing. Pale eyes met dark ones, and when Lorraine opened her mouth, what first emerged was a stammer.
"I-i-i'm s..."
Delphine shook her head, a single negation to spare what was left of her voice. She'd gotten a crash course in exactly how dangerous this job was, and she'd wondered if - hoped that - Lorraine would get here in time. The other woman's shoulders loosened, then tightened up again.
"He should have tried to kill me instead. I might have let that slide."
Because whatever her career choice had made of her, as violently amoral as her work encouraged her to be, Lorraine had a flesh-and-blood heart. She'd shot Percival eight times, emptying her clip, then reloaded so she could put a ninth shot into his head. With the city in the mood it was in, the police likely wouldn't be informed for a while, maybe not until the next day. Plenty of time for her to do some scrubbing up, because she couldn't call a cleaner for this.
"You need to get out of here. I'm going to have to explain this, and I'm compromised as it is."
Reality. Delphine touched her bruised neck and winced. But Lorraine was right. Civilian authorities were one thing, their respective government ones entirely different. She braced her right palm against the wall, worked her way to her feet. Consciously avoiding looking in the direction of the couch.
"How...?"
"Here."
Lorraine emptied her wallet, counted out nearly a thousand Deutsche marks. The exchange rate was lousy, but it would be enough to get her a plane ticket, even if she had to fly third class. Lorraine looked at the results of her handiwork, and she was returning to herself until she looked at Delphine's face.
Her throat was bruised, her eyes were scared, and she kept not looking at Percival's feet where they stuck out from behind the sofa. Something subtle happened to Lorraine's expression, and her voice was a muted thing in the silence when she said, "All I could think was 'please don't be dead when I open the door'."
Despite everything, Delphine let out a raspy laugh, and she bent down to pick up the water glass for a drink. She'd suspected it, that there were feelings in there somewhere, and that she could count on Lorraine to protect her.
"You look like shit, by the way."
"I tripped over a few people on the way here."
Delphine finished the water, and when she set the glass aside, Lorraine said, "I can give you an address in London. Not my address, but it's where I can find you. There's going to be heat from this, even if he was a traitor. I don't want you wrapped up in it."
Christ, what was she playing at? The valiant savior? But two things were the truth here; she was partly responsible for getting Delphine into this, and she had wanted to find her still breathing. She'd told her to get out of Berlin, sure, but she should have seen to it. Call it a spring thaw, call it something more permanent. Whether she knew what to do with it or not, it sat in her gut like a miniature sun.
"Fly coach if you have to. I'd give you more money if I had it, but your people won't look for you if they're having to jockey with MI-6 at first."
Lorraine was writing as she talked, scrawling down a street and house number in London. Their fingers touched when Delphine took the paper away from her, and Lorraine felt the contact all the way up to her shoulder. Their eyes met fully, and she felt....something.
"Will I see you in England?"
She was like something out of a dream, beautiful and dangerous, a combination of kisses that burned and scars that spoke of things Delphine could just barely fathom. And in spite of the fact that she wasn't sure when her voice would be at full strength again, she wanted to fathom it.
"On my own life, I promise I'll be there as soon as I can."
Delphine shut the apartment door behind her very quietly, descended the stairs. The hallway was deserted despite all of the commotion from earlier, as if the city had become accustomed to bursts of gunfire and breaking furniture. She'd grabbed a scarf to cover the bruises, and she wound it around her neck as she reached the lobby, which was also stone-quiet.
She had the cash Lorraine had given her and one carry-on bag, which she'd packed earlier. And she had Lorraine's word about seeing her again. It shouldn't have meant as much as it did, but the world was a strange place.
And so the promise was enough. For now, it was enough.