Chapter Text
Sharpening one of your knives, you looked for any cracks in the thick black spray covering the blade. You’d need to fill it in after the mission.
Floyd’s voice broke through the other people’s conversations when he leaned closer to you, checking his own weapon. “I’ve been wondering for a while now, but why do you paint your knives black? Is it some kind of aesthetic shit? ‘Cause it’s all really classy, but, you know, a bit too much, if you ask me…”
“Maybe that’s why I’m not asking you,” you shot him a cocky smile. “I don’t want them to reflect the light when I don’t necessarily want to be spotted.”
“But that’s a lot of paint and work…” he looked over your little collection.
“So far it’s worked.”
“You should take notes, Deadshot,” Flag snickered, walking past you. “It’s called ‘precautions’ if you need to look it up.”
“Nice one, colonel. I’ll check the ‘boring useless shit’ section.”
You burst out laughing, shaking your head. Resuming your work, you set your gaze downward, so you didn’t notice the sharp glance Flag sent you, tightening lips in a thin line.
“Wheels up in ten,” was all he growled out before stroding away to the Bravo team.
“The hell’s wrong with that guy?” Deadshot frowned, filling his belt with more ammo. You just shrugged it off, putting your belongings back on you. You eyed Flag from a distance, but couldn’t find anything unusual. He’s always been tense during missions and he couldn’t be blamed for that - he not only wanted to complete the mission, but also had to watch over the Squad constantly, and prevent them from implementing any dumb ideas. That was a full-time job that had probably created multiple nightmare scenarios for him since you first met. Strange how he hadn’t gone mad yet.
“Harley, move your ass,” you kicked her leg a few minutes later, trying to get into one of the cars.
“No way! I’m not sitting any closer to the croc!” she objected in a high-pitched voice that always annoyed you. “You’ve seen how he gets during the rides!”
“Don’t be a bitch, I’m not gonna ride on the roof-...”
“And I’m not gonna let my clothes smell like fish!”
Flag appeared out of nowhere, separating you. “Shut up, both of you. Go to the other one,” he added to you calmer. You only rolled your eyes, but didn’t continue any longer. You could almost see Harley’s point, but it didn’t change the very basic fact that the other car was old and shaking your bones off on every bump in the road.
“Fine,” you muttered, throwing your hands up like a child. The car smelled like gunpowder, oil, and sweat. “Just out of curiosity - are all soldiers immune to this stench or do you just like it?” you asked Flag once he hopped into the back, slapping the roof to let the driver know to go.
“It’s better than running,” he shrugged, checking his radio.
He was close in the small space, partially occupied by gear for later use. Your legs touched, as did your arms, even though you tried to become one with the car’s door, suddenly aware of the heat radiating from the man.
“Are you okay?” he asked, probably noticing the color creeping on your face. Why did he have to be so close? You didn’t even have a place to turn around.
“Yeah, I’m just tired,” you tried to shrug it off casually, thanking gods for the wind blowing in the open window, for it cooled your face down at least a little bit. “I just want all of this to be over with. I’m tired of chasing the shadows throughout the whole city.”
Flag seemed to become concerned about it more than you expected. He eyed you alarmed. “Are you sure you can finish the mission? Don’t push yourself, it’s not necessary.”
“I’m not a kid, Flag, I can take of myself,” you stopped his ranting before he got wound up too much.
“I know,” he agreed lightly, much to your surprise, and even with half of a smile. “And since you’re all grown up, I take it you won’t want to go for the usual after we finish?”
“No burnt pancakes and cheap blunts during the football streaming?” you gasped. “Now, that’s just mean.”
Flag laughed under his breath. You could see the tiny wrinkles forming around his eyes and mouth. Your mouth opened, ready to quip something witty, but before you managed, something hit the car with a crash that sent you spinning without control over your body.
First came the blessed fog of stupor, when everything around you was still a blur and voices distant and meaningless. You were hung in between spinning colors and unexpectedly cold air. The weightlessness ended with a sharp pull that pushed you into the hard ground and pulled the air from your lungs.
Gasping like a fish on the shore, you blinked, sending the blur away while tossing to the side. You had no idea what just happened, but your experience in the field was certain that staying in one place was not the best of ideas.
Finding cover, you finally swallowed what felt like a handful of dust in your mouth. Shots echoed unnaturaly. Pulling your hands to your ears, you felt the hot, thick blood dripping on your neck. At least you weren’t completely deafened.
Unsheathing a knife, you threw yourself into the closest enemy, throwing him off-balance since you were still on the ground. You didn’t trust your legs yet, but knives had never once failed you. Dipping it into the man’s throat, you failed to notice a big, heavy boot coming at you from the side.
The kick flipped you around causing your back to roughly crash into the ground. A jolt of pain rushed through your body, making stars dance in front of your eyes.
Before you managed to move, the second man fell, clutching his chest, a hole the size of an apple dripping blood down the front of his shirt. Glancing around, you noticed a very worn-looking Flag running in your direction. Deadshot ducked down the alley nearby, running after the rest of the attackers.
“Are you alright?” Flag knelt by your side, jerking you upwards before you uttered a word.
A sharp needle of pain burned through your leg, now all bloody and shaky. Flag noticed it immediately.
“No!” you exclaimed, pushing him away from you, and away from the bottle he already pulled out from one of his countless pockets. “I’m totally fine, I don’t need that!”
Writhing in his grip sent new shots of pain through your body, but you didn’t care. Only once had you ever had the unpleasantness of using the ‘magic med’ and you’d rather die than repeat the treatment.
“Look at that gash, it’s going to get infected!” Flag pulled you back to him, struggling to hold you in place. “Look, it’s just a few drops-”
“It burns like hell! You can put those drops in your b-”
Deadshot came around you, holding your leg down all of the sudden.
“No one’s in sight range,” he reported, joining the colonel in holding you. “I think the rest fled to regroup, but there aren’t many left judging by the number of bodies around us. Give me the bottle.”
“Don’t give him the bottle!” you yelled. “Deadshot, you’re a traitor and I will never forget that!”
The man just grinned, openly laughing at your misery. Harley waved to you from Flag’s back. Of course she didn’t even get a scratch.
“Don’t you dare give it to that rat,” you threatened Flag. “I want you to do it and to do it quickly or I’ll kill you both- Oh my god!”
You gasped for air when Flag just spilled the sanitizer onto the wound.
“That’s flattering,” he smirked, obviously pleased that you’d chosen him over Deadshot, “but you need to work on your threats. You can’t even walk right now.”
“I’m gonna crawl and bite through your aorta in your sleep,” you muttered through gritted teeth, watching the yellowish foam come from the wound. The blood stopped leaking, but your whole leg burned like it was dipped in acid.
“Now, that’s what I call commitment,” Harley proudly clapped her hands.
“Alright, end of the show, now go contact Alpha team in front of us and get us a good place to regroup,” Flag commanded loudly, waving the people off.
“You’re a bitch,” you whispered to him once you were alone. He helped you up, putting your arm on his shoulder to steady you. “I’m gonna need double stuffed crust pizza afterwards.”
“Anything for you,” Flag promised with amusement, half dragging you to the group.