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~.~
She raced for the building as the gunfire battered the air like an out of tune orchestra, and her blood rushed around her system at the knowledge that her squadmates were trading fire in that room and it was so small, with no cover and she wasn't there-
"I'm almost there!" she yelled, needlessly, for they'd know she was.
Fuck, but she still hadn't found-
"I am downed!"
No!
"Aww crap, they got me-"
A deadly calm settled over her head like a silver fog, cutting aside every thought, every doubt. Battle thrummed in her blood as she kicked open the door. Three heads turned her way, and for a heartbeat's length they met her eye.
Wraith spun, swift as the wind on her feet as she threw out her arm and fired.
One.
She curved as the air around her was filled with returning fire, twisting behind the pillar and sliding to the ground, firing again with barely time to glance to check her aim.
Move!
Two.
She rolled away from the shotgun shell that exploded against the concrete where her head had been, sending shards flying everywhere. She ran, through the hail of a Spitfire biting, twirling on her heel without pause.
Three.
She dodged left and squeezed again.
Four.
Something hit her hard in the chest and cracked her shield, but she ripped open a rift and slid between the worlds. Her blood kept pounding, and she kept moving. The doorway. She slid through, letting go of the Void and dragging closed one door to take the hits that were meant for her. She leapt straight up like a hare and swung onto the rooftop, racing right across and dropping to her feet at the other end, pivoting with her momentum and shouldering open the first door she came to.
On the left.
She swung into the room, and fired.
Five.
DOWN!
Wraith plummeted under the shot, tucking her legs into her gut and arcing over herself in a single fluid motion. When she returned to her knees, she raised her arm and took the shot.
Six.
The world fell silent instantly. It was as though life itself had paused, suspended there as her weapon was emptied.
She blinked as the fog over her eyes seemed to lift. On the ground, like three points of a star expanding from her knees, lay an enemy team. Wraith blinked again, and it was only then that her brain seemed to come back online.
An enemy team was bleeding out on the floor. Her gun was empty, and she was left alive. A chill ran down her spine. Six bullets. Six. Mirage and Path had done enough work - despite being jumped while under-equipped from their last fight - that she'd slain them all.
Pride for the three of them flared hot in her chest. Her squad were a fucking force to be-
No!
She whirled, panic lancing sharply up her windpipe, to see them both slumped weakly against the wall. She swore her heart stopped. Were they breathing? She stumbled to her feet, moving too fast for her legs to keep up, desperate to see for herself.
Later, Wraith would berate herself for her utter loss of self-control, but right then in that second her singular thought was that she might have just lost them both.
Pathfinder raised an arm weakly when she got to him, and with jittery, shaking hands she pressed a syringe into his palm, helped him into a crouch and to pry open the dented panel on his chest to tinker with repairs. As he found his balance, she turned hastily to their teammate.
Mirage's mouth hung open, and his garbled breathing made Wraith feel weak. Her hands were shaking and she couldn't stop them, and it didn't help that there was something fragile in his eyes as he met her frantic gaze. Neither said anything for a long moment as she helped him into a seated position against the wall, and Wraith realised her fingers had curled hard enough around his shoulders that she might be bruising him. She forced the muscles to release, kicking down the panic and the compulsion that sprang up in her heart to see him like that, and instead she grabbed the medkit from the side pocket of his pack, opened the clasps for him, and began handing him needles and bandages to help stem the bleeding while the coagulants and painkillers went to work.
The compulsion beat against her concentration, to take hold of him and never let him go again. She passed him his water bottle too. His fingers were clumsy and uncooperative and Wraith felt almost like it burned when they brushed across the back of her own hand.
Quickly. There will be others.
It wasn't until moments later, on watch with her now fully-loaded weapons, (finally Heavy ammo, courtesy of the deceased,) guarding the enclosed space under the stairs where her friends were healing, that Wraith even felt the way her lungs were still aching. Her mouth was dry. Even her head was complaining about the panting that was still settling down. She heaved a huge breath as it began to dawn on her what she'd just done. What odds she'd really had. A chill trickled through her veins at the thought that she'd run headfirst into that situation.
She'd heard their cries and she'd dropped every bit of self-preservation she had, and run in with a single clip in her Wingman. Dread gripped her gut as it always did at the thought that she might, would do something so stupid again, if they needed her. Every time she did, the fear never lessened. Eventually she'd step onto the wrong path, and she'd follow them to her death.
"Hey," the soft voice beside her said, making her jump, "you okay?"
She nodded, words failing her as she met his eye. He had dredged up a smile, aided by their victory and his returning strength as he started rummaging in the backpacks of the dead, but recognition flickered in Wraith's chest at the shadows in his eyes. He felt it too, how close it'd been. She didn't dare say it out loud, but she knew he knew. It had been a long time, in their journey as a squad, since a fight had come so close to ending them. Maybe she was growing complacent, so used to the comfort and security of their teamwork that she was forgetting the primal fight for survival that used to keep her alive alone.
Mirage seemed to sense where her head was at, because he sat close enough beside her that his holster brushed her leg when he started emptying stuff onto the floor. While he was laying everything out their legs bumped together every time he reached one way or the other, and Wraith didn't stop herself from leaning just that inch into the contact, wishing they weren't in the Game, that they were back in his apartment where she felt… Where she felt like they were safe.
Now was the wrong time to lose her cool. Emotional turmoil would have to wait, if only she could find a way to make it. She busied her hands with helping, but she didn't feel that she was focused, and she didn't know how to snap out of the dreadful whirlpool she was getting sucked into. They still had three other teams to take out.
"Did you even stop for breath?"
The mess in her head broke apart as she turned confused eyes on him.
"What?"
He eyed her from the side, his easy smile familiar.
"That whole time, when you came in ninja-style to save our asses." he prompted just as their third slipped back into the room, tipping his head further to raise his eyebrows playfully at her, "Did you even stop for breath?"
Wraith felt on her lips the smile he had gifted her. Pathfinder chuckled, finally settling on her other side to help with their loot, after fiddling with a Beacon on the roof.
"No." she said, and though her tone had lightened with the sunshine he seemed to just exude, her next words still held their weight, "I didn't dare."
His eyes told her he heard what she wasn't saying. But his lips grinned widely, and he gave her an appraising whistle.
"That was Promo material right there. I wouldn't be surprised if they approach you for it for next Season's commercials." he spoke louder than he needed to, filling the room with his flirtatious tone and laughter, "It was one of your best plays yet!"
And there went the bubble of tension she'd been holding onto, burst by his words and his jokes and his smile. Gone was the shrilling sea of dread. Wraith gave a nervous, relieved laugh, and rolled her eyes.
"Hey maybe if you weren't picking fights without me I wouldn't have to save you." she retorted, just to make him gasp, to make him pull his dopey mime antics and pretend she'd wounded his pride beyond repair.
When their shared laughter settled Mirage bumped her arm gently with his. Pathfinder took his cue to begin praising her, he too making enough light of their position that she could almost forget nearly losing them.
The Void breathed against her mind and for just a second she was somewhere else. Another time that whispered to her, filling her with the ghosts of agony, of broken bones and blood and a dark, hysterical pain of loss. Just a flash, enough to trip her breath and further her relief that it hadn't gone that way this time.
But then she was here again, in this time, with Elliot alive and breathing and smiling at her, and Pathfinder exclaiming brightly about how many squads they'd outlived so far and where the next ring was going to close, and she was grateful for it.
~.~