Work Text:
Stocke took deep breaths as Marco and Raynie talked plans for celebrating their first successful mission. He was lightheaded with the relief. He’d seen them fall, but here they were, bickering playfully about who’d buy the first round of drinks.
So… This is the way history should have gone… Abruptly, he felt his legs tremble, and felt the pain of his wounds from Palomides, pushed to the edge of his awareness by adrenaline, slowly returning. He’d lost a lot of blood, too, he remembered distantly – the lightheadedness had not been simply relief.
Within moments, he could barely stand, his vision going white. Of course changing history wouldn’t come without a price, Stocke thought, and slumped to his knees. Still, it was absolutely worth it to have saved his subordinates and protected the agent and his information.
His companions’ voices turned urgent, but his ears were filing with a roaring and it was hard to hear what they said. His name, called frantically, and someone tried to offer him support.
“A-Are you two…safe…?” he managed. He could hardly hear his own words.
Raynie’s face filled what remained of his vision. “Yeah, Stocke, we’re fine. See? No holes in me.” He tried to look where she was gesturing, but it was a grey blur. His tenuous hold on consciousness was slipping. “It’s all thanks to you…”
“Good…” he said, or tried to, but the world slipped away.